With every step he dragged the sword in the dirt.
Ming's breaths came in ragged bursts, his vision fogging. The world tilted beneath him, threatening to swallow him whole. His grip on the blade tightened as if it were the only anchor left in existence.
A few more steps—and his knees gave out. The ground rushed up, and everything went black.
And in that darkness… the story of the world unfolded.
One day, the sky tore open. Not with storms or fire, but with rifts that bled darkness and shadow.
From those cracks poured nightmares—monsters born of soul and void, twisted creatures that should never have existed.
Cities fell in hours. Humanity's weapons meant nothing. Armies burned. Families scattered. Blood filled the streets. It was the end of the world.
Then came the System. A voice that reached into every human soul, cold and absolute. It offered "power" to survive—but in exchange, forced them into endless battles. Those who accepted awakened strange abilities, fragments of strength stolen from the gods. Some commanded firestorms, scorching armies of beasts in waves of flame.
Others bent gravity itself, crushing monsters into the earth with invisible weight.
Lightning-born awakened shattered the skies, tearing creatures apart with spears of thunder.
Shadow-wielders bound enemies in chains of darkness, pinning horrors that once seemed unstoppable.
And everyone wanted power, but some gained only minor abilities in this world where the strong survive.
And so humanity became tools in a cruel game.
Every city became a battlefield. Every survivor a fighter. Every breath, borrowed.
Those with minor or no abilities became prey.
Those with great abilities… became weapons.
---
(Back to the story)
Ming's eyes snapped open. He jolted awake, lungs burning and heart racing.
A ceiling of rough stone greeted him, glowing faintly with firelight. He lay on a rough mat of cloth, bandages wrapped tight around his ribs and shoulder. His body was heavy.
A cavern, he thought… then sat up.
His hand immediately reached for the sword at his side. His fingers closed around the hilt, relief sparking even through the haze of pain.
Then, he heard footsteps.
Ming rose shakily, dragging the blade up with him. His instincts screamed. His body was still weak from the battle he fought. He readied himself as the sound grew closer.
The moment a shadow crossed the corner, his sword slashed forward.
"W–wait!"
The strike stopped a hair's breadth from hitting the target.
A girl froze, eyes wide, her hands trembling as they clutched a strip of cloth. "D–don't! It's me! I'm the one who patched you up!"
Ming's blade trembled at her throat. She couldn't have been older than eighteen. Dirt smudged her cheeks, her hair tied back in a loose braid. Her hands bore cuts and bruises, but her gaze was sharp with courage despite the fear.
Ming lowered the sword slowly but didn't release his grip.
The girl exhaled shakily. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have wasted half my supplies on you. So… maybe don't try to kill the one who kept you breathing?"
Before Ming could answer, another voice echoed from deeper in the cavern.
"You always were quick to strike."
Ming's head snapped toward the sound.
A figure stepped into the firelight—tall, lean, calm. White hair fell loosely across his forehead, framing a face too composed for the world they lived in. His eyes, steady and thoughtful, studied Ming with quiet intensity. Despite the dirt and exhaustion clinging to him, there was a natural handsomeness in his features, a calm presence that steadied the room.
"Lucien…" Ming's voice cracked, rough with disbelief.
Lucien smirked. "It's good to see you, buddy."
Doubts clouded Ming's mind; people with illusion skills were common, and maybe this was an illusion.
But Lucien spoke as if reading Ming's mind.
> "We are not illusions, Ming. If I hadn't passed that place and seen you bloodied, you would have died."
Lucien grinned, tilting his head. "Four years apart, and that's all you've got? Not even a 'long time no see'? You're cold, Ming."
For the first time since burying his family, Ming felt relief flicker in his chest—relief that his friend was still alive.
Lucien crossed the cavern, kneeling by his side. His hands were firm but gentle as he checked the bandages. "You've lost too much blood. It's a miracle you're awake this soon. If not for her work, you'd already be gone." He nodded toward the girl.
She crossed her arms, clearly irritated. "Thank you. Finally, someone acknowledges it."
Ming remained silent, his gaze flickering between them. "…How did I get here?"
Lucien sat back, expression dimming. "I found you collapsed at the ridge. You were bleeding out, gripping that sword like it was all you had left. Which, I suppose, it was."
Ming's jaw tightened. Memories of the beast, his blood soaking the dirt, and the oath he swore burned in his mind.
Lucien went on. "I carried you here. She was already hiding in this cavern. Insisted on treating you."
"I saved him," the girl corrected, glaring.
"I wasn't going to let someone else die right in front of me. Not again."
Lucien allowed himself a small smile but didn't argue.
Ming's gaze hardened. "What about Kael?"
Lucien's smile faded. "Alive. But separated. Last I saw, he was heading east. He knows how to survive—he'll last. But we'll need to find him soon."
"But you have healing soul powers. Why didn't you use them on me?" Ming asked.
Lucien became serious and replied,
"I tried… but it was like your body rejected it. Or something blocked me."
Ming fell into thought. It felt like it was because of the System.
Ming gripped the sword tighter until his knuckles whitened. His voice was low, steady, filled with venom.
"The System gave me twenty-four hours before the next trial. That's all the time I have. I don't care how broken I am—I'll stand. I'll fight. I swore I'd tear the gods apart for what they stole from me."
The girl flinched at the raw hatred in his words. Lucien only studied him, eyes calm, unreadable.
At last, Lucien spoke softly. "Can you tell me what happened to you since the last time we met and that vow? If it's the only fuel keeping you alive, use it until nothing remains."
Their eyes locked—two survivors, broken but unyielding. No more words were needed.
The fire crackled, the wind howled faintly outside, and the coun
tdown ticked unseen toward the next trial.
Then the System pinged:
> [Next trial: 18 hours, 40 minutes]