*
In a void filled with endless darkness, a single shining orb drifted—for how long, no one could tell. It showed no sign of stopping, no purpose, no weight. Just silence.
Upon closer inspection, there were more of them—dozens of orbs floating aimlessly through the abyss, just like the first. They hovered in that nothingness, timeless and still, as if trapped in an eternal dream.
Then, without warning, the first orb shimmered—its glow growing more intense, burning brighter than a star…
And in an instant—it vanished.
---
The orb reappeared in a completely different place.
What was once an endless abyss was now a barren land filled with black sand and jagged mountains. Even the still lake nearby was pitch black, reflecting the dim light from a strange violet sky. The very air pulsed with eerie silence.
The orb began to morph. Slowly, it shifted, contorting and stretching until it took the shape of a man—naked, vulnerable, and disoriented.
He stumbled forward as if gravity itself had changed. His feet struggled to find balance, and he collapsed onto the cold black sand.
---
Kaito groaned as a searing pain drilled through his skull. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was blackness—a thick void of color, stretching out in every direction. The sand beneath him, the air around him, even the still lake far off in the distance—all black.
"What the hell… Am I still alive?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and dry. "I thought I blew myself and that bastard to pieces… or… am I in hell already?"
"No. You're not alive, human. And you're not in hell."
The voice came from behind—sudden, oppressive, and so overwhelming that Kaito instinctively covered his ears. It wasn't just the sound—it was like the voice touched his bones, vibrating through his soul.
He spun around, raising his arms defensively.
"Who—what are you?! And if this isn't hell, then where the hell am I?"
He wanted to scream. He wanted answers. But something about the figure in front of him—a tall, lean being with glowing silver eyes and shadow-like skin—made him hesitate.
"I am a Fiend," the figure said, smirking. "And I manage this realm. No, this place isn't hell. Hell is a crude little furnace compared to this."
It gestured widely, as if welcoming Kaito to some grand estate.
"You're in the Realm of the Dead—Purgatory. This dimension was created by the fourth god of the multiverse: Nikeulødrahen, the God of Darkness and Death. But he's long gone now. His realm is now ruled by Mokodãel the Dark, a being far more… ambitious."
The Fiend's expression softened with reverence, almost like a fanboy caught in daydreams. It made Kaito raise an eyebrow.
'Seriously?' he thought. 'Even in death, I'm stuck with weirdos.'
Still, the word "Purgatory" echoed in his head.
So I'm dead… but not punished? Not saved? There must be a reason I'm here… right?
"If you're wondering why you're here and not in hell," the Fiend said suddenly, interrupting Kaito's thoughts, "the answer is very simple."
Kaito flinched. "How the hell did you—?"
"Oh, right. I forgot to mention. I can read minds. Lower-level beings like you are open books to us higher-level creatures. The stronger a being is, the deeper their power... and perception."
It turned and began walking toward a massive castle in the distance—tall, jagged, and made of pure black stone. Without thinking, Kaito followed.
"So… why is everything here black?" Kaito asked, trying to keep up. "No offense, but this place looks like it was designed by a depressed goth."
The Fiend chuckled. "What you see isn't just 'black.' It's Death Qi. The essence of necromancy and mortality itself. Lower beings like you can absorb it to grow stronger. In fact, standing here alone will empower you, slowly. But too much too fast—and your body will rupture."
"Qi?" Kaito blinked. "That sounds familiar… So every realm has its own energy?"
The Fiend nodded. "Exactly. And each form of Qi—or Aetherion, as we call it—leads to different cultivation arts. Magic, power, divinity… they all come from Aether."
Kaito's heart raced. Was this real? Could he actually learn to wield power like those martial legends he once thought were myths?
"Listen closely, human," the Fiend said, voice deepening. "There are thousands of cultivators across the multiverse, each practicing unique Aetherion paths. But the most feared—or respected—paths are: Dual Cultivation, Light Divinarch, and the Dark Mysticarts."
"The strongest among them shed their mortal bodies, becoming gods. They gain the right to create personal realms, hidden worlds where they can train in peace. The stronger the god, the stronger the realm they can forge."
Kaito nodded slowly. "So what's the power ladder like?"
The Fiend took a deep breath as they approached the obsidian gates of the castle. "Each art is divided into stages:
Initiate Aether, Primal Aether, Lunaris Aether, Solari Aether, Verdant Aether, Terran Aether, Zephyric Aether, Empyrean Aether.
Initiate is the beginning—fragile, basic. Empyrean is the limit of mortal potential. Beyond that, there's the path of ascension: Demi-God, God, Great God, Supreme God, and finally… the lone Creator God."
Kaito whistled. "That's... a hell of a system. Wait—these cultivators make realms and host people? Do they charge admission fees or something?"
The Fiend laughed hard. "You're from a low-tier world, so you wouldn't know… But for true geniuses, those mortal Aether stages are just stepping stones. A gifted cultivator can reach peak Empyrean in maybe 2000 to 3000 years."
"That's considered fast?!"
"Of course! But once you reach godhood, progress slows. A Demi-God might spend 3000 years just to become a God. Then another 5000 to become a Great God. Supreme God? Even longer."
Kaito stared, slack-jawed. "That's insane... You mean people live that long?"
The Fiend nodded. "They exist that long. Not quite the same."
Kaito was about to ask another question. "Wait—you didn't mention the Creator Go—"
Before he could finish, the Fiend moved like a shadow, slamming his palm over Kaito's mouth with lightning speed. The air around them froze.
"Don't you ever say that name out loud," Barukai whispered, trembling. "Some names should not echo in realms… not unless you want the attention of things best left forgotten."
A cold sweat ran down his face like a broken dam.
And Kaito—for once—decided to stay quiet.