[Chapter 1: An Unexpected Event]
It was deep into the night, and the oppressive glow of the computer monitor was the only thing illuminating the cramped, cluttered room. Images flickered and strobed across the screen, casting harsh blue light over the face of an average-looking man in his early thirties. He was currently lost in a session of a run-of-the-mill RPG, his eyes tracking the movement of sprites with a practiced, mechanical dullness.
Sitting in his worn-out chair, the listless expression on his face told a story that anyone could read: he wasn't exactly having fun, but he had nothing else to do. In fact, 'sitting' might have been a bit of a stretch at this point. It would be more accurate to say he was practically melting out of the seat, laying nearly flat underneath the edge of the table with his keyboard perched precariously on his lap. The game he was playing had a decently sized community and an even larger following on social media, the kind of title that lived and died by its updates.
The thing about this game was that it was just another gacha for the most part—a colorful trap designed to drain bank accounts—but the people in the community were a decent sort. They weren't necessarily 'good' people in the traditional sense, but they were decent enough for his needs. The global chat window on the side of the screen was moving by so fast that most normal people would have been unable to read a single word of it. The text and emotes scrolled by in a vertical blur, a chaotic stream of consciousness from thousands of strangers.
One comment in particular suddenly stood out, momentarily breaking through the noise:
"Dude, did anyone see that boss in the new zone? It looks like something out of a Lovecraftian horror."
This single observation was immediately followed by a flurry of others agreeing with it. Some users were complaining about how quickly they had died to it, their characters deleted in seconds. Others were bragging about how they had managed to kill it through sheer luck or deep pockets. However, the only thing on the man's mind was his finances. He was calculating how he was going to scrape together enough money to buy the newest gacha banner.
The game was the only thing keeping him going at this point. It was the only thing keeping him grounded, or perhaps, the only thing keeping him sane. The world outside of his room was little more than a blur to him; he didn’t know what was going on in the news, and he didn’t particularly care. All he wanted to do was play, pull for rare characters, and forget that the rest of the world existed.
He was so engrossed in the flashing lights of the interface that he didn’t notice the change at first. Then, the scrolling chat froze mid-emote. The animated characters on his screen locked into their final poses, mid-stride. It wasn't a typical game crash or a blue screen. This was different. The cursor, which he had been hovering over the 'Purchase Premium Currency' button, refused to move an inch.
A profound, unnerving stillness descended. It wasn't just limited to the game; it felt as though the very air in his cramped room had turned to lead. The hum of the computer’s cooling fans, the distant, muffled wail of a siren outside, and even the frantic, uneven beating of his own heart—all of it ceased. He tried to scream, to push himself away from the desk in a panic, but his limbs were like heavy stone statues.
Then came the darkness. This was no mere power outage. Even if the grid had failed, there would have been some ambient light filtering in from outside his window. But this was pure, absolute darkness. There was nothing. No light, no sound, no sensation.
A sickening lurch followed, the feeling of falling—or perhaps rising—he couldn't truly tell. It was a physical heave in what he thought was his stomach, but he quickly realized there was no stomach to feel it. There was no body at all. He was simply a floating consciousness, a disembodied point of awareness adrift in an endless, silent void. He tried to reach out, to feel for his hands, his face, or the familiar texture of his clothing, but there was only the horrifying emptiness of a formless existence.
Time lost all meaning in that place. A single second could have been an eternity, or an entire aeon might have passed in the blink of a non-existent eye. There was no up or down, no warmth or cold, just the profound, soul-crushing isolation of being utterly alone and completely unbound from the physical world he had always known.
Then, the light sound of a bell or a chime resonated through the void.
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<Greetings, Progenitor. You have been selected for this honor.>
The voice wasn't heard with his ears. Instead, it was felt directly in the core of his being—an intrusive, crystalline thought that was clearly not his own.
<Planet Earth is about to face a stage 5 causality effect,> the voice continued, vibrating through his consciousness. <This will destroy the planet and all life on it. The System will intervene and must descend upon it. This will have dire consequences for the world as humanity knows it. As one of the Progenitors, you will be the first to Awaken. Your role is to be the foundation for the new era. Your role is to survive, to adapt, to become strong...>
The man couldn't speak, so he directed his thoughts toward the source of the voice.
`Ahhh... can you hold on there for a minute? I feel very uncomfortable being spoken down to by a... feeling.`
The moment the thought left his mind, the void shifted. Suddenly, he was sitting in a chair. To be fair, it was not a comfortable chair—it was hard and utilitarian—but it was a chair nonetheless. Now possessed of a physical form again, he found himself sitting before a desk in the vast, empty nothingness.
A being with no features, looking like a smooth, faceless mannequin, sat behind the desk. The piece of furniture looked like the high-end executive types seen in movies, typically found in a CEO's office. There was no other furniture or decoration in the infinite space; just the desk, the chair, and the featureless entity. The surface of the desk was made of a polished, obsidian-like material, so dark it seemed to drink the faint, sourceless light that permeated the void.
The being's head tilted slightly to the side. It was a gesture so unnervingly human that it made the surrounding void feel even more alien.
<Your discomfort is noted, Progenitor. However, the parameters of your selection are immutable. The descent is inevitable.>
"This is far more comfortable, but it’s not any less creepy," the man said aloud. His voice was working now that he had a body and a chair to sit in. "What exactly are you?"
The being across from him steepled its fingers. The motion was fluid but devoid of any real warmth or intent.
<I am a Guide. An administrative construct of the System. My purpose is to facilitate your understanding of the forthcoming changes and ensure your successful integration.>
"Alright, so something is happening and I have to prepare for it... or what?" He felt like a fool for saying it, but he truly had no clue what was going on. He was just a normal guy who played games to escape the mind-numbing reality of a life that felt like it was going nowhere.
<That is the core of it, yes,> the Guide replied. Its perfectly modulated voice began to grate on his nerves. <In exactly one week of your local time, Planet Earth—Designation: 734, Sector 82-Gamma—will experience a Class-3 Mana Infusion Event. This is imminent. The pre-planned introduction of a System-based reality layer will result in the planetary saturation of ambient mana within the first seventy-two hours.>
The mannequin-like figure leaned back slightly. <This will trigger rapid ecological mutation, giving rise to what your nascent understanding will initially classify as 'beasts.' Your function, Progenitor, is to serve as the vanguard. You will be the first to receive a Class and a System-granted Ability.>
"Wait, what do you mean ‘what my nascent understanding will initially classify as beasts’?" the man interrupted, his frustration bubbling up. "I am not an idiot, even if I am a nobody."
He had to stop for a moment after the words left his mouth. Realizing he had just insulted a cosmic entity that seemingly held all the cards was probably not the smartest idea he’d ever had.
<Apologies if my terminology was unclear,> the Guide continued, entirely unfazed by his tone. <I do not make assessments of your intellect. The term 'beast' is a preliminary, System-assigned designation for non-sapient lifeforms mutated by mana infusion. Your understanding of this process is nascent because the process itself has not yet occurred. You are a blank slate upon which the System will write its laws.>
The man rubbed his temples, trying to process the sheer scale of the absurdity. "So, in one week, my world is going to end as I know it and I need to become strong... but I have a normal job that I need to go to tomorrow. So how am I supposed to do this... training?"
The sarcasm was thick in his voice, a defense mechanism against the terrifying reality being presented to him.
<Your routine commitments are now irrelevant,> the Guide stated flatly. <The System will provide the framework for your 'training'. Your progression is your new occupation. There are no wages. There are no holidays. There is only survival and growth. Do you have any questions that are not about your previous employment, Progenitor?>
The man looked around the dark, infinite space, then back at the obsidian desk. "Several, to be honest... but none of them seem necessary right now. How will we go on from here?"
The Guide leaned forward slightly, its featureless face giving the eerie impression of intense, focused scrutiny.
<We will proceed with your Awakening. This process will grant you a Class and a starting Ability. The parameters of your Class will be determined by a combination of your latent potential and a choice you will make. As stated, you are to be the foundation for the new era. Your role is to survive, to adapt, and to become strong. After your Awakening, you will be given three Awakening Runes. These can be used on any three beings of your choosing.>
The man stared at the mannequin, the weight of the 'choice' finally beginning to settle in his gut. One week. He had one week before the world turned into the very games he used to play to escape.