"A New Dark Light Rises"
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A young boy wandered through the dimly lit streets, his steps unsteady, each one heavier than the last. His hands were smeared with blood—fresh, sticky, and warm—clashing against his trembling fingers. He wore a brown hoodie, its fabric darkened in places where blood had soaked through, staining his clothes with the weight of his actions.
Fear gripped his chest like a vice. He had killed someone. The realization echoed in his mind, louder with every breath he took. His heart raced—not from running, but from the dread of what came next.
What had he done?
What would happen to him now?
The night felt colder than before, and every shadow seemed to whisper his guilt.
Suddenly, the sky began to glow.
A radiant light tore through the dark veil above, painting the heavens with streaks of brilliance. Meteorites scattered like falling stars, their fiery tails slicing across the night. The boy froze, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't understand what was happening. Was this a dream? Or had he finally lost his mind?
His eyes refused to look away, as though bound by an unseen force. He stood still, paralyzed—whether by fear or awe, he couldn't tell. Then, without warning, the sky erupted. A deafening blast shattered the silence, as if the very fabric of the world was being torn apart.
"What… is this…?" he whispered, but no answer came.
Minutes passed—or perhaps it was only seconds. Time seemed to blur. He stood there, swallowed by amazement and confusion, his earlier dread momentarily pushed aside. And then, through the glowing sky, a voice descended. Clear, powerful, and yet strangely warm.
["Do not be surprised—time for action."]
The boy's heart skipped a beat. He craned his neck, searching for the source of the voice. From the sky, a figure descended—bathed in light, shining like a star. The radiance was overwhelming; he couldn't make out their face or form. All he could see was the outline of something—someone—beyond human comprehension.
Before he could gather his thoughts, everything stopped.
The glowing sky.
The falling stars.
The voice.
Silence swallowed the world.
The boy stood alone, hands still stained with blood, beneath a sky that now seemed far too calm.
As the stillness wrapped around him like a heavy fog, the boy's eyes slowly adjusted to the brilliance before him.
And then, he saw it.
A figure, descending from the sky—like an angel.
Bathed in pure, white light, its form was barely visible beneath the radiance. The boy couldn't make out the details of their face, nor the shape of their body, but the overwhelming glow carried an undeniable divinity. It was beautiful—yet terrifying.
His breath caught in his throat.
How can something so bright exist…?
Before his mind could process the sight, the voice returned. Clearer this time. Echoing from all directions, as though the heavens themselves were speaking.
["It seems all of you are in shock... confused by what is happening."]
The voice was calm but heavy, like a distant judgment pressing upon their souls.
["But do not be surprised. The time to merely watch is over. The end approaches. This world is changing... and all of you will bear witness to its final days."]
The boy's heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to move, to scream, to run—but he couldn't.
No one could.
He glanced around and saw others on the street—frozen in place. Faces twisted with fear, eyes wide with disbelief, but their bodies refused to respond. Their mouths opened slightly, but no voice came forth.
Silence.
It was as if time itself had gripped their limbs, chaining them to the earth beneath their feet.
Fear. Shock. Awe.
Emotions twisted together, suffocating the boy as he stood helpless beneath the angel's glow.
The world was ending.
And all they could do... was watch.
The boy's eyes trembled, his vision blurring as thoughts flooded his mind.
What have I done...?
The blood on his hands was still warm, staining his fingers, seeping into his clothes. The weight of his sins bore down on him now, heavier than ever beneath the gaze of that radiant being.
Is this... punishment? Is this judgment for what I've done?
His breathing quickened, but before he could find an answer, the world shifted again.
All around him, the people dropped to their knees.
One by one, as though pulled by an invisible force, they collapsed onto the cold ground—bowing before the presence in the sky. Their heads hung low, bodies trembling, as if their very souls had been laid bare.
The boy felt it too.
A force beyond his control overtook him. His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees. His body quivered, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He couldn't fight it. None of them could.
Fear had shackled them all.
The divine presence in the sky demanded nothing—yet their bodies answered with submission.
The boy gritted his teeth, his mind racing.
What is this...? What's happening to us?
But no voice would come from his throat.
Only the sound of his own ragged breathing, blending with the hushed whimpers of those around him.
They were powerless.
All they could do was bow and tremble... before a being beyond their understanding.
The being's voice echoed through the stillness, weaving through their hearts like a divine melody—both beautiful and terrifying.
["I am astonished by your human thinking."]
Her tone carried neither mockery nor praise—only a calm, distant understanding, as though she had watched over them for centuries.
["But now, the time has come. All of you must change."]
The boy's chest tightened. The words felt like a decree—an unavoidable truth.
Change...?
["I am a messenger of the gods. You may call me... Messenger."]
The boy's gaze remained fixed on her, eyes wide with awe and confusion.
A messenger... from the gods...?
The radiance surrounding her pulsed softly, like a heartbeat in the sky.
["I have come not to punish... but to grant you all something."]
Her words hung in the air, stirring a strange mixture of hope and dread within the crowd.
The boy's blood-stained hands trembled against the ground. His heart whispered a single question:
Grant us... what?
The tension in the air was suffocating, but amidst the trembling crowd, a young man slowly rose to his feet. His voice, though shaky, dared to break the heavy silence.
"W-What...? Are you here to... grant us a wish—"
He couldn't finish.
In an instant, before anyone could blink, the Messenger's hand moved. A flash of light—blinding and swift—cut through the air.
The next moment, the young man's head was gone.
It fell to the ground with a dull thud, his body collapsing beside it. Blood splattered onto the earth, soaking into the dirt beneath their knees.
The boy gasped. His heart stopped. His breath caught in his throat.
The crowd was frozen—every last one of them. The shock was too great for screams. All they could do was watch in horror, their eyes locked on the lifeless body before them.
The Messenger's voice rang out again, but this time, it was filled with cold anger.
"How dare you speak without permission?"
Her presence grew heavier, pressing down on their souls like a crushing weight.
"You do not question me. You do not speak unless I allow it. Stay within your boundaries... understand?"
No one answered. They couldn't. Fear had stolen their voices.
Slowly, trembling, they raised their heads—just enough to look upon her glowing figure. Their gazes met divinity wrapped in wrath, and it left them breathless.
The Messenger's expression softened slightly, but the lingering threat in her voice remained.
"From this moment forward, your world will change."
Her words carved into their hearts like an irreversible curse.
"But first... we shall see who among you is worthy of witnessing that new world—and who is not."
She paused, a faint smirk in her tone.
"Let's begin... our little game."
The boy's heart tightened.
A game...?
But he already knew—this was no ordinary game. This was life and death.
The boy's name was Shin Kuroda.
Eighteen years old—just stepping into adulthood—yet in this moment, he felt like a helpless child.
He was a handsome young man, though such things hardly mattered now. His sharp features, slightly narrowed eyes, and smooth skin had often drawn attention from others. His hair, a blend of dark brown and black, was slightly messy, peeking out from under the hood of his brown hoodie.
That hoodie—now stained with blood—clung to him like a reminder of what he had done before this night turned into something far worse.
Murderer... and now... a pawn in this game.
Shin clenched his fists, trying to steady his breathing. His thoughts swirled between regret, fear, and confusion. Yet, no matter how much he tried to deny it, the image of that severed head—of the Messenger's merciless gaze—was now burned into his mind.
And this was only the beginning.