The False God
Akib woke with a shudder, the bitter cold biting into his bones. His body was drenched, trembling uncontrollably. He should've been dead; the last thing he remembered was plunging through a thin layer of ice into freezing water. Yet, against all logic, here he was—alive.
As his vision slowly cleared, Akib noticed unfamiliar faces gathered around him, their expressions a mix of concern and relief. He sat up shakily, still drenched. One of the strangers knelt down and wrapped a robe around his shoulders, its fabric woven from an unknown material, warm yet alien to the touch.
They guided him through their village, a place unlike anything Akib had ever seen. The sky shimmered with unnatural hues, and objects floated as if gravity had been redefined. Rivers twisted upward, flowing against reason. Trees spiraled into the sky, their bark glimmering like stars. The air had an odd, sweet taste—a sharp contrast to the cold that nipped at his skin.
Akib followed the strangers, his mind whirling. The villagers laughed and tossed glowing orbs into the sky, watching as they ascended until they dissolved into the multicolored heavens. The scene was peaceful—too peaceful, as if it were all carefully constructed. Akib couldn't shake the unease creeping through his thoughts. He brushed it off for now, forcing himself to smile and join the locals at their warm fires, but a whisper gnawed at him: something is wrong here.
---
Prinon and Shayed rode slowly through the vast desert, the heat radiating off the golden dunes. Their camels trudged onward, led by a man gripping the rope tightly, his eyes set on the distant horizon. Beyond the sea of sand stood towering pyramids, balanced precariously on three slender legs. The ancient structures swayed like living things, their surfaces rippling with shifting patterns. Scattered across the dunes were giant eggs, larger than any building, occasionally trembling as if something inside was waking.
The desert dwellers who had welcomed Prinon and Shayed spoke of a god named Yead, a name uttered in every prayer, every conversation. Yet there were no temples, no shrines—just the belief that Yead watched from far above, in a floating castle hidden in the clouds.
As the villagers spoke of Yead, Prinon noticed a tension beneath their words, a subtle fear in their eyes whenever his name was mentioned. It was as if they worshiped not out of love, but out of necessity. But why?
---
Raiyan darted through the thick forest, the trees twisting like massive spirals around him. He moved effortlessly, leaping from branch to branch, the locals laughing and swinging alongside him. The forest was alive in a way that defied explanation. Leaves glowed faintly in the dim light, flowers shifted in form and color, and creatures dissolved into mist only to reform seconds later.
Everything about this place felt like a dream. The vibrant beauty of the flora and fauna seemed endless, and Raiyan found himself lost in the wonder of it all. Yet as the day wore on, an unsettling realization began to creep into his mind. The world around him was constantly changing, evolving, as if someone—or something—was pulling the strings.
---
Shayaan gasped for air as he was dragged beneath the ocean's surface. The tentacles of a massive octopus coiled around him, pulling him deeper into the dark abyss. Panic seized his chest, but just as he was about to lose consciousness, a voice called out above.
"Thank the gods, he's safe!"
A human figure riding on the back of the giant octopus descended toward Shayaan, his voice calm and reassuring. The rider controlled the creature with effortless ease, guiding it to the surface where Shayaan was lifted onto a small island.
The islanders, strange fish-like creatures, tended to his wounds, their hands delicate but firm. Once he regained his strength, they took him on a journey across the glowing waters atop a massive flying fish. The world beneath the waves was just as breathtaking as the world above—coral towers pulsed with light, schools of luminous fish danced in the depths, and the ocean itself seemed to hum with life. Yet as Shayaan gazed upon the beauty surrounding him, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all… wrong. Like it wasn't real.
---
Arindom kicked the ball with all his might, sending it soaring through the air toward the floating goalpost. The island of clouds beneath his feet shifted, gravity twisting and bending unpredictably. His team struggled against Yead's, the deity's presence looming over the game.
Despite Yead's calm smile, there was a strange tension in the air. His team fought hard, but Arindom's group wasn't backing down. They played with a desperate intensity, knowing this wasn't just a game. Every movement felt vital. Every mistake felt like it would cost them far more than a simple loss.
When Arindom's team finally won, Yead stepped forward, clapping slowly. "Well done," he said, his voice smooth and warm, but his eyes… they were too calm. Too calculating.
They shared a meal after the game, but Arindom couldn't enjoy the victory. He glanced at his teammates, and he could see it in their eyes too. They all felt it—this world wasn't as it seemed, and neither was Yead.
---
The screams came suddenly, tearing through the tranquil air like a blade.
Akib bolted from the warmth of the villagers' fires, only to see them being slaughtered by dark figures emerging from the shadows. Blood soaked the icy ground as the attackers, faceless and silent, cut through everything in their path.
Prinon and Shayed fled the desert, the massive pyramids swaying ominously as the once-peaceful desert dwellers were butchered before their eyes. Raiyan ran through the forest, the once-beautiful plants now warping into grotesque shapes as the faceless invaders chased him. Shayaan escaped the island on the back of a fish-like creature, the once-glowing waters now turning a sickly red.
They all ran—ran toward Yead's floating castle island. The only place left. The only place they believed might hold answers.
---
Exhausted and wounded, the survivors reached the castle by climbing the enormous tree that connected it to the ground below. The castle loomed above them, ominous and cold.
When they reached the top, Yead stood waiting, a calm smile on his face.
Before they could speak, a monstrous figure emerged from the shadows, its form grotesque and twisted. The survivors barely had time to react before Yead stepped forward, dispatching the creature with a swift motion.
For a moment, relief washed over them. Yead had saved them. But as they knelt, something in Yead's gaze unnerved them. His smile was too controlled. His words, too soothing.
And then, without warning, Arindom snapped.
"You filthy rat!" Arindom growled, lunging forward. His hands wrapped around Yead's mouth, tearing it apart in a brutal, sudden motion.
Yead's calm demeanor shattered, his eyes widening in shock.
"Why, Arindom, why?" Yead croaked, his voice strained.
"It was all your plan, wasn't it?" Arindom spat, clutching a piece of paper in his trembling hand. "You used us. You killed those people—you're the one behind all of this!"
The others stood frozen in place as Arindom's words sunk in.
The truth was more horrifying than they'd imagined. This world, this entire twisted reality, was nothing more than Yead's story. They weren't people—they were characters. Pawns. Every event, every tragedy, was part of Yead's narrative.
The attacks, the horrors they witnessed—all orchestrated by Yead.