The End Of A World: Part 1
Hours Before the End of the World: 14
Valerie dropped onto the couch, her eyes flicking toward the clock as the sun sank behind the horizon.
Another long day finally over.
Or so she thought.
The office door slammed open with a loud bang!
James stood there, wild-eyed, panting like he had outrun death itself.
"Has being late become part of the therapy now?" Valerie asked dryly, not even looking up at him.
"We're all gonna die!" James shouted, stumbling forward and collapsing onto the couch across from her.
Valerie's head snapped up.
James was a mess — drenched in sweat, his tangled red hair plastered to his forehead.
Had he... run here?
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
James's frantic gaze darted around the room, searching for someone — or something — that wasn't there.
"What happened?" Valerie asked, keeping her tone calm, steady, even as unease prickled at the back of her mind.
"I made a huge mistake," James rasped, voice shaking. "And now... it might be the end..."
He sprang to his feet again, unable to stay still.
"Nobody believes me! I called the police, the Association—everyone! They're ignoring it! We're all gonna die!"
His voice cracked, barely holding together under the weight of panic.
"James, sit down. Let's talk about it, wha—"
She didn't even finish the sentence.
"There's no need to talk!" James roared, pointing a trembling finger at her.
"Just use your goddamn blessing already!"
A Blessing.
Every human had one — an innate ability, a fragment of power.
Valerie's blessing wasn't flashy.
It let her see truth — but only if she understood the person she was reading.
If she pushed too far without that connection, it could backfire badly. She knew that risk better than most.
Her gaze locked onto James.
Was he under mind control?
Drugged?
Some kind of curse?
She had worked with him for almost a year now.
She knew him.
...Didn't she?
Valerie took a slow breath.
And let her blessing reach out toward him.
Hours Before the End of the World: 8
James jabbed the power button on the coffee machine, desperate for even a hint of normalcy.
Instead of the familiar hum and gurgle of brewing coffee, a harsh, metallic screech grated through the air.
He winced.
"It broke... again," James muttered under his breath, a note of strained desperation bleeding into his voice.
He watched helplessly as a small, pathetic spark fizzled out near the top of the machine —
his only hope for caffeine dying in front of him.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Running a hand through his already-messy red hair, James leaned heavily against the counter, trying to gather himself.
The night had been long — restless — filled with half-remembered dreams and a feeling he couldn't shake.
The feeling that something was wrong.
Just one normal morning. That's all I wanted.
A sudden knock broke his train of thought.
Sharp. Urgent. Right at the door.
James tensed.
"If this bastard came to waste my time again, I swear I'll..." he muttered, irritation prickling his nerves.
Another sales pitch? Another lost package?
Another distraction?
Grumbling under his breath, he marched toward the door and yanked it open.
Empty hallway.
No one there?
James frowned — a deep, unsettled frown —
and then spotted it.
A letter.
Small, square, sitting neatly on the welcome mat as if it had been waiting for him.
No courier, no postman, no sound of footsteps fleeing.
Just... there?
He bent down, picking it up carefully.
The parchment felt old — unnervingly so.
Thick, rough against his fingertips, like something torn straight out of medieval history.
Across the front, in heavy black ink, bold letters spelled out:
-James JR-
-******************-
-Your Time Has Come-
-Everything That We Needed Is Ready-
-I Hope You Took Your Time To Say Goodbye To The Ones You Loved-
-Charon Is Finally Operational-
-It's Time To Finally End This Failure-
James stared at it, rereading the words once, twice.
His stomach twisted.
"Is this... a joke? Some kind of death threat?" he whispered aloud, voice dry, scraping against his throat.
Despite everything, it was addressed to him.
No mistake.
His 'name' was written clearly.
Purposefully.
Stepping back inside, he shut the door slowly, locking it without thinking.
The room felt colder now, somehow.
He held the letter up to the light, examining the fibers, the ink, the almost handmade quality of it.
Trying to rationalize it.
Trying to find some mundane, sane explanation.
Maybe I misread it.
He set the letter down, rubbing at his temples—
only then realizing another creeping wrongness.
The windows.
The shutters.
Still open from the night before.
But outside...
only blackness.
Pitch black.
No sunlight.
No city lights.
No morning.
Nothing.
His heart thudded once, painfully loud.
It was supposed to be morning.
He knew it was morning.
He had checked his clock not ten minutes ago.
A voice broke the suffocating silence.
Soft. Feminine.
"Aiden... the time has come."
Aiden? How..?
Behind him.
James spun around, chest heaving.
No one.
No one should have been here.
He lived alone.
The edges of his vision blurred, darkness bleeding into the corners.
His eyelids grew heavier.
I... know that voice...
I know that voice...
A faint ping echoed in the air.
A glowing blue window materialized in front of him — right where the voice had come from.
Floating. Waiting.
Words shimmered faintly across it.
"This thing is..." James whispered, staggering back.
"Why... here?"
His thoughts scrambled for explanations — for anything that made sense.
It wasn't the first time he had seen something like this.
Interfaces. Blessing aids.
Only those with complex or incomprehensible blessings needed one.
He had never needed one.
So why now?
Why him?
His knees buckled.
"Does this have something to do with the letter...?"
"Why is everything happening so fast...?"
The last thing James saw was the blue glow seeping into the room.
Then, he collapsed.
Vision darkened.
The world fell away.
[Good Night, James.]
Hours Before the End of the World: 7
Hours Before the End of the World: 6
Hours Before the End of the World: 5
Hours Before the End of the World: 4
Hours Before the End of the World: 3
Hours Before the End of the World: 2
Hours Before the End of the World: 1
HUMANITY HAS COLLAPSED.
[Time Passed = **]
[Location = Xenteria]
[A Trace Of Mana Was Found!]
[Following...]
[Following...]
[Following...]
[A Body Was Found!]
[Current Soul: **** 'James' Adler]
[Target Soul: Terry]
[>Merge or >Swap]
Where... am I?
James floated in suffocating darkness, the words blinking in front of him like faint stars.
No ground beneath him.
No sky above him.
No sound.
Only endless blackness.
Merge... or swap?
Souls? James and Terry...?
Wait... Current soul... James... I'm James?
Panic scratched at the edge of his mind — but there was nowhere to run.
No...
I don't want to swap.
I want to stay myself.
Even if I don't fully remember what 'myself' means right now.
[Merging Souls...]
[Done.]
A faint warmth flickered through the void.
Not comforting — almost clinical, like the press of cold metal against skin.
I see... James thought, though what he 'saw' was still nothing.
[Current Body is Unusable: Cause = ******]
[Using Mark: Regeneration]
[Mana Not Sufficient][Using Inner Capacity: Mana Gathering]
[...]
[Done.]
A sudden crack of light split the darkness—
blinding, searing, raw.
James gasped—
or tried to.
He had no lungs to draw breath.
Blinking away the white afterimage, he slowly became aware of a shape beneath him—
a form that should have been familiar.
His body.
Or what remained of it.
Bones.
Nothing but bones.
Skeletal hands flexed at his command, creaking faintly but otherwise obeying perfectly.
Every finger moved. Every joint rotated with unnatural precision.
He twisted his head slowly.
No flesh.
No muscle.
No heart pounding in his chest.
Just... bones.
Held together by some unseen force.
How is this possible?
How can I move? How can I see?
The logical part of his mind screamed for panic — for terror — but all he felt was a strange, eerie calm.
No pulse.
No breath.
No heartbeat.
And yet... he was alive.
Or something close enough.
Despite everything, a decision formed, sharp and unshakable.
Whatever is happening...
I can't stay here.
Carefully, James pressed one skeletal hand against the crumbling wall beside him.
The stone was rough, cool — grounding.
He found a loose brick and used it to pull himself upright, balancing without effort, as if he'd been like this his whole life.
A ridiculous thought for someone made entirely of bones.
His surroundings slowly came into focus.
A small cell — rough, unpolished grey stone on all sides.
No door.
No chains.
No guards.
Only a high, narrow window, its iron bars swallowing what little pale light trickled through.
James stood still, the silence pressing down on him.
No voices.
No life.
Only the sound of bones clicking faintly as he moved.
Steeling himself, he stepped forward, passing through the open archway into an endless, dim hallway.
No light to guide him.
Only the faintest touch of instinct —
whispering forward.
He moved cautiously, skeletal feet scraping softly across the stone.
A flash of movement caught the corner of his vision.
James stiffened, instincts flaring.
There — in the shadows.
A creature — small, low to the ground — its fur blending perfectly with the cracked grey stone.
A rat?
The creature turned its head, black beadlike eyes locking onto James.
There was no fear in it.
No aggression.
Almost... familiarity.
Without hesitation, it scurried closer to his feet, its tiny claws making soft clicking sounds against the stone.
James lowered his skeletal hand instinctively, curious —
and finally noticed something else.
A soft glow.
A faint, pale-blue crystal embedded in the creature's back, pulsing weakly.
What... is that? James thought, inching closer.
But the moment he moved, the rat darted away — vanishing into the endless corridor like a ghost.
James hesitated only a second before following.
In the end, it wasn't like he had many choices.
Better to follow something...
than to stay lost alone in the dark.