Darkness

The air seemed to crack around the punch as it came barreling toward Atlas.

The beast was so damn close that Atlas couldn't properly dodge. Raising his arms, he blocked.

His bones vibrated, feeling as if they were about to break. His body was thrown back, crashing into the scrawny guy on his left. They both fell over, and Atlas didn't even want to get back up. The damn bastard was so powerful—it was inhuman. That punch had almost killed him. If he hadn't blocked it, it probably would have been over for him.

The scrawny guy scrambled to his feet, but Atlas didn't—couldn't—follow.

He was out of breath. His lungs hurt. How did it hurt so damn much?

He looked up to see the beast preparing to lunge at him again—but then it stopped.

The next second, an object crashed into the wall between him and the beast. It was a bolt, shot from across the room.

A stocky guard appeared in the doorway. "Prisoner Near, halt!"

The big guy stopped dead in his tracks and almost looked... fearful?

The guard, clad in black armor, drew his sword and walked closer.

"You, get up."

Atlas finally caught his breath and pushed himself to his feet.

"Ivan, get back in your seat."

The scrawny man limped back to his seat and sat down. Near, the monster of a man, did too.

Atlas was left standing in the room, the guard offering no direction.

"You sit down. Everyone is already tired of you, and you just got here. If you bother Near anymore, there won't be a second warning shot."

The sheer injustice of it made Atlas furious, but he kept it hidden, deciding to accept his fate for now. He sat down and finished what was left on his plate.

Afterward, they all shuffled back into the cell block.

This time, as Atlas glanced past Near, he noticed something odd—there was no fourth guy. In fact, there were five plates, but only four people. How interesting.

As he reached his cell, he heard the familiar shout from the guard.

"Close C Block!"

The bars slid back into place without a sound. Atlas sat down, trying to piece together what exactly was happening.

He was in a prison, in a new body, surrounded by people who hated him. Clearly, he had taken someone else's place. But when? And what exactly was this prison?

It was a stark contrast to his known world. Guns were either not invented yet or ineffective. A type of magic seemed to exist, but it was unfamiliar to him.

Maybe he had a helping hand—some kind of system?

Atlas started thinking words like System, Help, Info... but nothing happened.

He closed his eyes and focused, feeling around his body, searching for anything new.

Eventually, he found something. Not a magical power, but a burn mark on the right side of his chest.

The number three was engraved there, and beneath it was an old scar, likely from a blade.

Something had happened to this guy—clearly. "Three," as Atlas now dubbed the man who used to own this body, had been up to something.

While pondering, a whisper came from his left.

"Fish, come here. The gods have something for you."

It was Ivan, the scrawny guy.

Atlas hesitantly moved closer.

As he approached, he saw Ivan's hand slip through the bars, tossing something into his cell.

"Keep this with you," Ivan muttered. "And don't waste it on the likes of the big guy—he isn't worth it."

What slid across the ground surprised Atlas. It was a small blade—simple, handcrafted, clearly Ivan's work.

He picked it up, inspecting it. The handle was wrapped in cloth, and the blade looked like it was made from a shard of glass fused with a small piece of metal.

Atlas appreciated the creativity, but a problem arose—where the hell was he supposed to hide it? If a guard searched him or tossed his cell like in the movies, he'd be screwed.

Not willing to discard his only weapon, he went over to his bedding and cut a small hole in the top. Carefully, he slid the knife inside before sitting down again.

Atlas exhaled, decompressing. He felt almost... lost.

It was clear that he needed to escape somehow. But that wasn't exactly easy given his current circumstances.

A seed of despair rooted itself in his heart.

This seemed impossible. Maybe it actually was. Maybe beating a trial was beyond him. Nine hours was just too little time. The most prominent person to ever complete a short trial was some woman named Iris. Atlas had read a brief interview about her, but it lacked details. She hadn't even looked like she wanted to be there.

Iris, after beating her trial—one of unheard-of difficulty—had quickly risen in rank. Now, she stood at the top of the Rising Five, humanity's strongest generation.

Atlas never bothered following those damn "Bounded," as they were called. Maybe it was jealousy.

As he silently berated them, a guard's voice rang out again.

"C Block, to your bars!"

Slowly, Atlas rose and walked over.

A white mask entered his vision.

A slim guard stood before him.

The bars were removed and Atlas was face to face with the man.

Without a word, shackles were slapped onto his wrists and ankles, the cold metal biting into his skin. Every prisoner around him shared the same fate.

I guess they were moving again.

They looked like a strange gang—

A small, crazy man.

An average-height, white-haired fiend wrapped in tattered cloth.

And a giant, shuffling down the prison walkway.

Atlas followed closely behind Ivan as the three of them moved forward until they reached a place labeled Yard. Sunshine poured in through the doorway, and Atlas realized they were going outside—well, still within the prison walls, but at least he could see the world. Maybe he could come up with a plan.

Thankfully, he had left his weapon hidden in the cell. Before entering the yard, each of them was patted down and searched. Ivan went through first, then Atlas was checked and waved forward, his shackles removed.

Stepping into the blinding sunlight, what he saw felt... unholy.

The sky was clear, with sunlight pouring down like a perfect summer day—except for one problem. The sky itself wasn't normal.

It was pitch black.

The damn sky looked like a void. And beneath it was what he had feared—an ocean of the same color.

The prison yard was large enough to give him space to separate from the others and investigate, but the sky kept sending chills down his spine. He almost hated looking at it, as if it was staring right back at him.

Deciding to keep his head down, he examined the bars holding them in. Maybe there was a way out.

But no, that was a foolish thought.

Lining the walls stood hundreds of guards, all aiming down at them. Breaking out here wasn't an option.

At the very least, he got to see the prison from the outside. And damn, it was... kind of beautiful.

The place looked like a dark castle, towering with spires, its architecture almost mesmerizing. The craftsmanship was undeniable. While admiring it, his gaze drifted past the bars and back to the ocean.

No land in sight.

They were on an island.

Then, something caught his attention.

Miles away, a wave was approaching. But it wasn't a normal wave.

It was massive.

A wall of darkness, surging straight toward them.