Age Of Lapse [ I ]

The words had barely left his lips when the space around him twisted. Reality itself warped and contorted, like an unseen force had reached into existence and begun reshaping it with invisible hands. The darkness pulsed—not just inwards, but through him, into him, as if acknowledging the moment of surrender he hadn't even realized he had given.

The golden eye bore down upon him.

It did not blink. It did not shift. It simply was.

An iris of pure cosmic energy swirled within its massive depths, endless rings of molten gold churning in spirals, collapsing in on themselves like dying stars, only to be reborn an instant later. Watching. Calculating. Understanding.

Then—

A pulse.

It wasn't light. It wasn't sound. It was something deeper, something fundamental. A ripple of pure existence that resonated through the void, through the very fabric of whatever Ryan had become. It was as if his very essence had been touched, plucked like the string of an instrument tuned beyond mortal comprehension.

A deep, visceral wrongness crept into his form.

Ryan's breath—if he even had breath—hitched.

Then came the pain.

No—not pain.

Something worse.

A sensation beyond nerves and flesh, beyond anything the human mind was meant to endure. A thousand invisible hands clawed into him, grasping at something beneath the skin, beneath the bones. They were not touching his body. They were touching him.

Tearing him apart.

Unraveling.

A scream built in his mind, but there was no voice to carry it. He had no mouth. No lungs. No self. Only raw, unfiltered existence being picked apart, strand by strand. His thoughts blurred, fragmented, scattered across the abyss like dust in a storm.

And yet, through it all—

The eye watched.

Unfeeling. Unmoved.

Judging.

Ryan wanted to resist. To struggle. To fight. But how could he? What was he now? A body? A thought? A whisper?

Nothing.

Then—

The eye blinked.

A blinding flash tore through the void, a silent explosion of golden radiance that swallowed everything.

And suddenly—

He was falling.

The transition was so violent, so immediate, that his mind barely had time to register it. One moment, he was in the nothingness; the next, gravity had him in its grip, yanking him downward like an anchor.

The wind screamed past him, ripping at his skin, his actual skin. A rush of cold air burned his lungs as his body reassembled itself in real-time, nerves reconnecting, bones reforming, muscles pulling taut as sensation returned all at once.

His stomach lurched violently. Too fast. Too high.

Ryan's eyes snapped open—

—just in time to see the world below rushing toward him.

A city.

But not home. Not the neon-lit colonies, not the steel towers of his world.

This place was ancient.

A monolithic graveyard, a sprawling maze of towering structures, shattered spires, and half-buried ruins beneath the golden sands. The buildings—if they could even be called that—rose like the ribs of a long-dead giant, metal and stone fused together in strange, alien patterns, pulsing faintly with lines of golden light. Old, but still alive.

Ryan's pulse thundered.

Panic surged. He flailed, arms and legs catching only air.

He was dropping too fast. The wind roared, his body twisting wildly, the sharp edges of skyscraper-like ruins streaking past him.

Think! THINK!

The ground raced toward him.

Then—a shadow passed overhead. Something moved.

Ryan barely had time to process it before something slammed into his chest.

Impact.

Air. Gone.

A crushing force knocked the breath from his lungs as he was yanked sideways, hard. His body tumbled through the air before smashing into a slanted rooftop. He hit, rolled—

Hard.

His vision blurred as he skidded, metal screeching beneath him. His momentum finally slowed, his battered form sliding to a stop near the edge of the rooftop, where he lay unmoving.

Silence.

Dust settled. A few pieces of debris clattered down the slope, vanishing into the vast, sunlit abyss below. The golden sands stretched endlessly in every direction, the ruins towering like forgotten sentinels of a bygone era.

Then—

A breath. A ragged, painful inhale.

Ryan's fingers twitched.

He was alive.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, his vision swimming, distorted by the brutal impact. The sky above was a deep, endless blue, too pure, too untouched. The buildings shimmered under the oppressive heat, their metallic surfaces reflecting the sunlight in sharp, blinding flashes.

Everything ached. Every muscle screamed, his ribs burning with sharp pain, his head pounding like he had been thrown through a dozen walls.

But he was alive.

Gasping, Ryan forced himself to move. Up. Get up. His fingers found purchase against the warped metal beneath him, his arms shaking as he struggled onto his hands and knees. His breathing was uneven, his thoughts disjointed.

What… the hell… just happened?

A sound.

A low, mechanical whir.

Ryan's breath hitched.

Slowly, painfully, he turned his head—

And froze.

A machine hovered just feet away.

Sleek. Black metal. A humanoid frame, slender yet impossibly advanced. Its body was pristine, unmarred by the decay of the ruins. Golden lines pulsed across its form, shifting in intricate patterns. Its head was smooth, featureless—

Save for a single, glowing yellow eye.

It was watching him.

Waiting.

Then—

It spoke.

"Identify yourself?"

Ryan sucked in a breath. His thoughts were a mess, his body wrecked, his mind screaming at him to run, to hide, to do something.

But instead—

He said the only thing that came to mind.

"…Fuck."