Do I Exist?

M-8 lay motionless on the gray sand, his hollow eyes gazing into the bleak, dark expanse of the sky above. There was nothing around him—no chains binding him, no scars marking his skin—just an empty, soulless feeling inside. This world was colorless, devoid of warmth, and M-8 felt as if he too was fading into the grayness.

He raised a trembling hand, his body weaker than ever before. The feeling unsettled him—this sense of powerlessness, of fragility. His arm flopped back onto the sand, and with a strained breath, he muttered to himself.

"Is it possible for me to exist? Even if I did… what would my name be? How would I even remember it?"

His voice was faint, lost in the desolate silence of the gray wasteland. He paused, the question lingering in his mind, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

"Is it worth existing if it feels no different from this?"

His words echoed back to him, hollow and unanswered. For a moment, there was nothing—only the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. But then, the soft sound of footsteps broke the stillness. Someone was approaching, but M-8 couldn't move. He didn't want to.

The footsteps halted beside him, and through his peripheral vision, M-8 saw a figure standing over him. The figure was glowing, bathed in white light, with hair that seemed to sway in an unseen breeze. Its face lacked features—no eyes, no nose—only ears and a mouth. But what stood out the most was the large red X across its face, like a mark that sealed its identity.

The figure looked down at the lifeless boy. "Young man," it said, its voice echoing with a strange familiarity.

M-8's eyelids fluttered. He recognized that voice—it was the same one he had heard before blacking out. But even though he knew it, he couldn't bring himself to respond.

"Why do you think such thoughts?" the figure asked.

M-8's mouth opened as if to answer, but no words came. Instead, he turned his head away, unwilling to face the figure.

The figure tilted its head slightly, as if curious. "Young man, do you have a desire to exist?"

Once again, M-8 remained silent, his thoughts too tangled, his will too fractured to respond.

The figure exhaled, its voice taking on a colder edge. "No matter." It paused, then continued, "I will grant you an existence, as a thank you for reuniting me with mine."

Suddenly, the figure kicked M-8's head, forcing him to face it. M-8's body was too weak to resist. Before he could even process the action, the figure placed its hand on his forehead, freezing him in place with its touch.

"From this day forward, you will walk among the existing, and your name will be Malphas Darkwood," the figure declared. "You will carry out my will—or more precisely, our will"

The words formed on M-8's lips, an eerie synchronization between him and the figure. "To kill the deities," they both said in unison.

As the words left his mouth, Malphas's body convulsed violently. Light erupted from his red eyes as two white X's seared into his pupils. A searing pain unlike anything he had ever felt tore through him. His skin cracked, blood pouring from the fissures as his nails and mouth bled profusely. The agony only deepened, stretching him to the brink of sanity.

"This would have been far more excruciating had you possessed an existence before this," the figure said, its voice almost mocking. "But you were born of my hatred, so count yourself lucky."

The world around them began to fracture. No, it didn't simply break—it shattered into millions of pieces, fragments of reality dispersing into the void. Words, thoughts, and language itself started to vanish, erased from existence. The story, the fate of this place, was unraveling. More could have been spoken—but the figure, that thing, ensured that nothing more would be revealed.

This was no ordinary being. It was a deity that didn't exist, a manifestation of the X-Factor. 

The unknown variable.

_____________________

Malphas's eyes flickered open, revealing a sterile room bathed in harsh fluorescent light. He blinked, disoriented, only to find men dressed in light blue scrubs closing in on him. They clutched sharp instruments in their hands, moving closer to his body. His instinct screamed danger. He attempted to pull his hand away, but it was restrained, tied down by thick straps. Panic surged through him as his pulse quickened, matching the erratic beeping of the nearby monitor.

The doctors recoiled as Malphas thrashed violently, his senses on overdrive. The straps strained under his resistance, and with a surge of strength, he snapped them. One doctor was too slow to react, and in the chaos, Malphas seized the scalpel from his hand, severing the man's finger in a swift motion. The doctor's scream echoed through the sterile room as he fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding hand.

Seizing the moment, Malphas leaped from the bed, crashing into a nearby window. The glass shattered into thousands of pieces, the shards raining like glittering fragments of the broken world he had just left behind. He hit the ground hard, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body, reopening his partially healed wounds.

Groaning, Malphas pushed himself up, his back pressed against the cold wall of the alley. His wounds oozed blood, but he had no time to linger. The sound and shouts reverberated from inside the building—security was coming. Malphas clenched his jaw and sprinted, his mind racing. 'Where am I?' 

The narrow hallways of the hospital twisted and turned like a labyrinth, but Malphas navigated them with raw desperation, knocking over anyone in his path. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he saw it—the exit. He bolted for the door, but as he neared, heavy footsteps approached from both sides. His eyes darted to the armored men, clad in black with bulky vests bearing the word "POLICE" in bold yellow letters.

"Trouble" Malphas's instincts flared, and without hesitation, he turned and sprinted towards the glass door. It shattered under his weight as he barreled through, skidding onto the pavement outside. 

As he stumbled to his feet, he froze. His breath hitched. The world around him wasn't the lifeless gray void he had just escaped. It was vibrant, alive. Neon lights bathed towering buildings in a kaleidoscope of colors, and cars whizzed by, honking impatiently. People walked by, engrossed in their phones, completely unaware of the otherworldly entity now standing among them.

'This... this isn't my world,' Malphas thought, overwhelmed by the sensory overload. 

A crowd had gathered, some recording him with their phones, others whispering. His heart raced as he struggled to make sense of it all. Just as panic began to seize him, a voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.

"MOVE!"

The crowd parted, and from the opening emerged a girl, about Malphas's age. Her beauty was striking, but what caught his attention more was her confidence—she walked with an air of authority, her hand casually resting on her hip, with flowing light blue hair and piercing azure eyes followed closely, Behind her, a Man his black suit and slicked-back hair gave him a polished, intimidating presence.

The girl's voice was calm, almost bored. "Listen, you might feel overwhelmed now, but everything will be explained in due time."

Malphas remained silent, his guard raised. 

The girl sighed, snapping her fingers. "Not in the mood to listen? Fine. We'll just have to detain you."

Suddenly, more men in black suits appeared from behind her, charging at Malphas. One grabbed his arm, but Malphas reacted instantly, his fist connecting with the man's face, shattering his glasses and sending him sprawling to the ground. 

The others followed, but they too fell just as quickly. Malphas's movements were swift and precise—each punch, each kick, leaving his attackers crumpled and groaning.

'My body…' A realization hit him like a surge of electricity. 'It feels so light. The air is clearer.' He inhaled deeply, feeling the rush of power coursing through him. 'What is going on?'

[Answer: Due to the environment being much more stable in this world, your body's capabilities have increased from 30% to 50%.]

'Not at 100% because of my injuries,' Malphas deduced, his mind racing.

He glanced back at the girl, who stood watching him, her expression unreadable. 

'H-How!?' The girl's mind raced. 'How can she move that fast while injured!?' A sly smile crept onto her face. 'If I can get her on my side, I can finally beat my brother.'

{AN: Characters will often refer to Malphas as a "she" because he looks like a girl. In chapter 2, A-2 mentions something like this}

Suddenly, blue light glowed from the girl's hand, forming shards of hollow crystals that shot toward Malphas. Before he could react, the shards coiled around his wrists, binding him. A chill ran down his spine—the sensation was unsettling, familiar, and hateful. The crystals solidified, their grip tightening as they spun around his wrists.

Lucinia smirked. 'Got her'

But that smirk quickly disappeared. With a snarl, Malphas gritted his teeth and pulled his wrists apart, shattering the restraints with raw strength. Lucinia's eyes widened in disbelief.

'What!?' Her mind raced again, the impossible happening before her eyes. 'How can someone fresh out of the First Trial overpower my resonance!?'

Malphas didn't give her time to recover. He lunged forward, his fist pulled back, aimed at her. She barely had time to summon a hollow shield of light in front of her. His punch collided with the shield, the impact so forceful that it cracked and bent under the pressure, throwing her backward. 

Gasping for breath, the girl braced herself, her heart pounding. 'This... this power…' Her thoughts swirled in confusion. 'No one from the First Trial should have this much strength!'

Then it hit her. 'Could it be her resonance?'

As she looked up, Malphas was already gone, leaping over her and sprinting into the street. A car screeched to a halt, its horn blaring as Malphas dodged it effortlessly. He weaved through the traffic with ease, his speed increasing with every step.

Back at the hospital, confusion reigned. An injured bodyguard staggered up to the girl, panting.

"Miss Lucinia, what... what should we do?"

Without hesitation, Lucinia stood tall. "Report it to the Fateweavers. Tell them it'll be a great training exercise to track them down."

"What should the difficulty rank be?" the guard asked.

Lucinia paused, thinking for a moment before smirking. "Third grade."

The guard's eyes widened. "But... but Miss Lucinia, the average rank for someone leaving their First Trial is first grade! How can you be sure he's a third?"

She glanced at the shattered restraints, the memory of Malphas's raw strength still fresh in her mind. "The fact he broke free from my weakened resonance, empowered by a God-given name, says more than enough."

"Understood," the guard stammered, rushing off to carry out her orders.

Lucinia watched the distant streets where Malphas had disappeared, her thoughts racing. 'What exactly is this Fateweaver's ability?'