Chapter 1: The Weight of a Wager

---

The sky was wrong.

Eden D. Souldrake stood at the edge of the crumbling highway, his boots grinding against cracked asphalt. Above him, the heavens twisted — not with clouds, but with something far worse. Threads of violet light slithered across the darkened expanse like veins through shattered glass. Each pulse of energy brought an unsettling tremor to the air. It was a sky that should not exist, one that whispered of ancient ruin.

Yet it wasn't the sky that weighed on Eden's mind. It was the silence.

The city below, once a sprawling labyrinth of steel towers and humming transit lines, lay abandoned. Windows gaped like dead eyes. Rusted vehicles crowded the streets, their owners long gone. No sirens. No distant hum of life. Only the faint crackle of shifting debris carried on the wind.

They called it the Threshold Event.

A phenomenon that marked a world's ascension — or its downfall.

"E," a voice called from behind, steady but low. "It's time."

Eden didn't turn. He didn't need to. The speaker was Renka Vale, a fellow mercenary and one of the few people he trusted. Her presence, like always, was a calm certainty.

"They're gathering at the Central Spire," Renka continued. "World Council's panicking. Some want to negotiate. Others are ready to declare war. You know how that'll end."

Eden exhaled sharply, the bitter air tasting of smoke and regret. "Negotiation," he muttered. "With what?"

Renka said nothing. She didn't have to. There was no bargaining with the force that had appeared above their world. The Eternal Dominion had chosen.

Eidrem had crossed the threshold.

---

Two Hours Earlier

The Council chamber, an imposing structure of black marble and gold, thrummed with tension. Its domed ceiling reflected the violet hue of the sky, the corrupted light casting jagged shadows.

"We cannot submit!" A booming voice echoed from the far side of the hall. The speaker, Marshal Voren, slammed his armored fist against the table. "We are not cattle to be herded into their games."

"You speak of defiance as if it's a choice," came the measured voice of Chancellor Lira, her silver robes flowing like liquid light. "Eidrem has crossed the threshold. The Dominion does not negotiate. It demands."

The holographic display hovering above the table shifted, revealing a spiraling lattice of numbers — a terrifyingly simple calculation. Every world that reached a specific threshold of technological and supernatural advancement was entered into the competition. There were no exceptions.

"Our military capabilities are strong," Voren pressed. "Eden Souldrake alone—"

"He cannot fight for a world that has already lost," Lira interrupted.

Eden, silent until now, finally spoke. "I haven't lost anything yet." His voice was calm, but a dangerous edge lurked beneath. "If we're going to fight, we fight to win."

The Chancellor's gaze locked with his. "You don't understand. Winning isn't what you think it is."

Before Eden could respond, the chamber darkened. A low hum reverberated through the walls. The holographic display shifted once more, this time forming a perfect, glowing sigil. Twelve concentric rings surrounded a single black void.

The symbol of the Eternal Dominion.

A voice followed. It was neither male nor female — more akin to the grinding of stone and the echo of countless screams.

> "World of Eidrem. You are hereby marked. The Wager is made. Prepare your champion."

---

Present

Eden's hand curled into a fist as he descended the fractured highway, Renka close behind. The air grew heavier with each step. Whatever force had spoken to them from the sky lingered still, an oppressive presence that bent the very laws of reality.

"Do you think they're watching?" Renka asked quietly.

"They always watch," Eden said. "That's the point."

The Dominion's spectators — the countless inhabitants of higher-ranking worlds — were said to revel in the suffering of those beneath them. Every battle, every gamble, was nothing more than entertainment to them.

But Eden wasn't one of their pieces. Not yet.

The Central Spire loomed ahead, a monolithic tower that pulsed with a dull violet glow. Around its base, the surviving leaders of Eidrem gathered in desperation. But even from this distance, Eden could see the futility in their eyes.

"You still think we can win?" Renka's voice was low, almost uncertain.

Eden didn't answer. Winning? No. This wasn't about victory — not yet. It was about surviving the first move.

Because when the game began, there would be no second chances.

> "World of Eidrem. Your champion is chosen. Your wager is set."

Eden's eyes flickered upward. The sky cracked. And then — the first bell tolled.

The toll of the bell was not a sound. It was a presence.

It swept through the atmosphere like a pulse of malignant intent, vibrating through stone, steel, and bone alike. The twisted sky above Eidrem pulsed with violet light, the veins of energy writhing in time with the chime.

And in its wake, the world shuddered.

Eden stood motionless, the acrid wind tugging at his coat. The once-distant echoes of the toll lingered within him, reverberating deep in his chest. Every cell in his body screamed that something fundamental had shifted — like the very concept of reality had been stained.

But that was how the Dominion always began.

The first toll marked the claim.

"Eden," Renka's voice broke through the tense silence. She was at his side, her silver hair swept back by the wind, strands catching the violet glow. "The Spire is responding."

He followed her gaze. The Central Spire — an ancient structure said to predate civilization itself — groaned as its blackened surface pulsed with cascading sigils. Tendrils of violet energy slithered across its façade, carving spirals and symbols into the stone. The language of the Dominion.

A crowd had gathered below. Officials, soldiers, and civilians alike watched in fearful anticipation. Some whispered prayers to absent gods. Others stood silent, defeated before the games had even begun.

But Eden's gaze locked on the base of the Spire, where a jagged fracture had begun to form. The violet light spilled from within, spilling across the cracked stone like liquid malice.

Then, without warning, a figure stepped forth.

It was not human.

The entity wore no armor, no royal garments, and bore no symbols of allegiance. Its form was composed of fractured shadows, humanoid in shape but shifting with each passing second. A black void where a face should be, and twelve violet rings suspended behind its head like a mockery of divinity.

> "Eidrem."

The voice emerged not from the figure, but from the air itself. It was neither male nor female — instead, it was layered, fractured, as though a thousand voices spoke in unison. The crowd recoiled. Even the air tasted wrong.

> "Your Threshold has been met. Your existence is now bound to the Wager. Prepare your representative."

Eden's jaw tightened. There was no warmth in those words. No malice, no amusement. Just the inevitability of a system that had repeated itself countless times before.

The figure extended an arm, and the violet rings behind it spun with impossible precision. In the space between them, a geometric symbol formed — a circle lined with countless rotating runes.

The Sigil of Representation.

Renka stiffened. "They're not wasting time."

Of course not. The Dominion never did.

---

"State your champion."

The demand echoed, carrying across the ruined city like the aftermath of a storm. Eden could feel the weight of the crowd's eyes turning toward him. The silent expectation. The dread.

"Eden D. Souldrake." The words came from Chancellor Lira before anyone else could speak. Her voice rang clear, though her expression remained stoic. "Eidrem's chosen representative."

The Sigil pulsed. The entity did not move.

> "Eden D. Souldrake. A mercenary of fractured allegiance. Confirmed."

The violet rings shifted once more, glowing brighter. Something ancient stirred within the Spire. A pulse of energy rippled outward, shaking the ground beneath them.

> "The first Wager is set."

And then, the air cracked.

---

Eden wasn't prepared for the pain.

It struck without warning, driving through his skull like molten steel. He staggered, a guttural snarl escaping his lips as crimson flooded his vision. The world twisted, shapes bleeding into one another. Voices screamed. The sky cracked further.

And through it all, the violet light poured in.

> "The cost has been claimed. The Wager begins."

Then — silence.

When Eden opened his eyes, the world had changed.

---

The Dominion's Arena.

The shattered skyline of Eidrem was gone. In its place stood a monolithic expanse of ash-colored stone, stretching endlessly into the void. Towering spires of bone-like obsidian jutted from the ground, casting shadows that slithered like living things. Above, the sky remained fractured, the violet glow ever-present.

Eden staggered to his feet, the lingering ache in his skull fading. His hands instinctively clenched into fists — the familiar weight of his weapons absent. Stripped. They'd taken everything from him.

A voice followed.

> "World of Eidrem. The first Wager has been accepted. You will face your Trial."

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Unlike the entity before, this one was all too human. A towering man clad in dark armor, the metallic plates twisted with ancient runes. His eyes gleamed with violet light, and a predatory grin curled across his face.

> "Opponent: Champion of Krathos. Rank 842."

Krathos. A world that had devoured countless others to reach its position. Eden had heard the stories. Brutality, endless conquests — and now, they stood in his way.

> "Victory grants your world reprieve. Defeat..."

The voice lingered. It didn't need to finish. Everyone knew what came next.

Eden exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The Dominion had stripped him of his weapons, but that didn't matter. Weapons were never the source of his strength.

The grin on the Champion of Krathos widened. "No allies. No tricks. Just you and me."

Eden's voice was low, a dangerous calm washing over him.

"Good."

He cracked his knuckles. The violet rings above twisted once more.

The Trial had begun.

The air tasted of rust and ash.

Eden D. Souldrake stood with his feet planted firmly on the cracked stone floor, his sharp gaze locked on the towering figure before him. The Champion of Krathos loomed like a statue of war, clad in heavy, rune-etched armor that gleamed with the faint violet hue of the Dominion's influence.

But it wasn't the armor that unsettled Eden. It was the eyes.

Beneath the open visor, twin embers of violet fire burned, flickering with something that went beyond mere malice. It was hunger. The kind that came from countless victories — and the certainty of another.

> "Eidrem's Champion," the voice of the Dominion echoed from nowhere and everywhere. "Your Trial begins."

The violet sky pulsed. Across the distant horizon, massive runes burned in the air like searing brands, symbols of forgotten tongues. The arena trembled, responding to the unspoken will of the Dominion. The rules had been set.

No external weapons.

No outside interference.

A fight until surrender or death.

A fight Eden was not expected to win.

---

The Champion moved first.

A monstrous step shook the ground beneath him. His armored gauntlet ignited with violet energy, crackling like caged lightning. With a deafening roar, he charged — a streak of darkness and steel.

Eden didn't move. Not yet.

The ground exploded beneath the Champion's feet, sending fractured stone shards into the air. The force alone could have crushed a lesser man. But Eden's eyes flickered, and time slowed.

He watched.

The rise of the shoulder. The angle of the torso. The brief, fleeting moment where arrogance outweighed caution.

Eden moved.

He twisted aside, the air howling past him as the Champion's gauntlet carved through empty space. Stone shattered on impact. Dust erupted like a wave, blinding, choking — but Eden was already gone.

A heartbeat later, he was behind his opponent.

> "You're slow."

The words left Eden's mouth like a knife. And then, he struck.

---

Strength meant nothing without control.

Eden's fist slammed into the Champion's exposed side. The armor held, but the force transferred — ribs cracked beneath the blow. The sound was sickening, but Eden didn't stop. He shifted his stance, driving his knee upward into the Champion's chest.

The impact sent the armored giant staggering. But even as the Champion stumbled, he laughed.

"Good," the Champion growled, blood dripping from his mouth. "Fight harder."

A violet pulse erupted from the runes on his armor. The cracks Eden had made sealed themselves instantly. The embers in his eyes flared brighter.

Self-regeneration.

Eden's expression remained calm. Expected.

> "The Dominion rewards brutality."

The Champion lunged again, faster this time. His palm crackled with raw violet energy — a devastating burst meant to end the fight in one blow. But Eden had already anticipated it.

He ducked, the blast missing him by inches. The stone beneath his feet shattered from the sheer force, but Eden moved like smoke. Fluid. Calculated. A relentless counterstrike followed.

His elbow smashed into the Champion's jaw. A metallic crunch rang out.

But this time, the Champion didn't flinch. He grinned.

"You're not the only one who learned how to fight, mercenary."

The Dominion's Mark ignited across the Champion's body. Violet flames lashed out, twisting unnaturally. Eden tried to pull back — but the flames clung to him, scorching his skin. The pain was instant. Searing.

This wasn't just fire. It was something worse.

> "Corrupt Essence."

The Champion's voice rumbled with twisted delight. "A gift from the Dominion. Every victory, every world consumed — it strengthens us."

Eden gritted his teeth. The flames gnawed at his arms, sinking into the muscle beneath. He could feel it — a parasitic force, eager to consume.

But pain was nothing new to Eden D. Souldrake.

He exhaled. The flames burned. His skin blistered. But beneath it all, something stirred.

---

A memory.

A younger Eden, standing amidst the bloodied sands of a distant battlefield. Broken bodies surrounded him, the stench of death mingling with the distant cries of survivors. He had felt it then — the unbearable weight of existence. The realization that no god, no fate, would ever shield him from the cruelty of the world.

And so, he had carved his own path.

Eden did not fear pain. Pain was a teacher. A reminder.

The flames around him flickered. Then, they twisted.

> "No."

The violet fire writhed violently, but Eden's will clamped down. He had no gifts from the Dominion. No monstrous blessings. But he had control. The corrupted energy recoiled as he forced it back, extinguishing it in an instant.

The Champion's eyes widened. "Impossible."

But Eden didn't respond.

---

He moved.

No hesitation. No wasted motion. His palm struck the Champion's chest. The armor cracked once more, but this time, Eden's hand remained.

> "You fight with power given to you. I fight with power earned."

The Champion roared, violet energy surging in retaliation — but Eden was faster. His knee drove into the man's ribs once more, followed by a brutal elbow to the temple. Blood sprayed, and the monstrous warrior staggered.

But Eden wasn't done.

> "Your victories made you complacent. You forgot what it means to bleed."

A final strike. His fist connected. The force rippled through the Champion's skull, sending him crashing to the ground. Stone shattered on impact.

For a moment, silence.

Then the voice of the Dominion returned.

> "Trial Complete."

The violet sky pulsed once more. The Champion's body disintegrated, consumed by the Dominion's will. No blood. No corpse. Only the lingering echoes of defeat.

Eden stood alone, his breathing ragged, the weight of victory pressing down upon him. But there was no triumph in his eyes. Only resolve.

> "Eidrem's Champion. The first Wager has been won. But the game has only begun."

The violet sky pulsed once more. The fractured remains of the arena trembled as the Dominion claimed its due. The embers of its twisted power faded from the air, and the body of the defeated Champion of Krathos was no more — erased without ceremony.

But even as the battlefield returned to silence, the lingering presence of the Dominion remained.

Eden D. Souldrake stood alone. His chest rose and fell with steady, deliberate breaths. Blood seeped from fresh burns along his arms, the stench of scorched flesh mingling with the dust in the air. The pain was constant, but it had already become a distant thing. A fact to be acknowledged, then discarded.

He had won.

Yet the weight in his gut told him otherwise.

---

"Eden D. Souldrake, Champion of Eidrem."

The voice of the Dominion reverberated once more, its thousand-layered tones vibrating through the very fabric of the air. It was neither praise nor condemnation — only the empty acknowledgment of a mechanism set in motion.

> "The Trial has concluded. The Wager stands."

Eden's fists clenched. His pulse slowed, though the tension in his muscles refused to fade. He had no delusions about what victory here truly meant. The Dominion did not grant relief. Only escalation.

From the fractured sky, a new presence descended.

A violet spiral of energy twisted into existence, forming the warped figure of a robed Herald. Its form was obscured beneath countless folds of shimmering fabric, and where its face should have been, only a hollow mask of cracked porcelain remained. In its hand, it held a crooked staff, inscribed with crawling runes that shifted as if alive.

The Herald's arrival was neither grand nor sudden. It simply was, as though it had always been there.

> "By the laws of the Infinite Wager, the victorious world shall claim its recompense. The defeated world shall pay its due."

The words came not from the Herald, but from the air itself. Absolute. Binding.

And then, the Herald turned its empty gaze toward Eden.

---

"State your Claim."

The words struck like a declaration of war.

Eden did not respond immediately. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down upon him. The Dominion had no morality. No concept of fairness. Only the ruthless fulfillment of its own laws. His victory granted Eidrem a temporary reprieve — but now came the cost.

He was to take something from Krathos. Something stolen. Something owed.

And yet, no choice would come without consequence.

Eden's jaw tightened. He could already hear the distant echoes of Krathos' people — the screams that had been silenced, the echoes of their conquests. He knew what sort of world they were. A kingdom built on the ruins of others, clawing its way toward dominance.

But to claim recklessly would only ensure retaliation. And the next Trial would come sooner than expected.

The Herald waited. The spiraling runes on its staff pulsed with impatience.

> "State your Claim, Champion."

Eden's voice was low. Unyielding.

> "I claim the right to knowledge."

A ripple passed through the air. Even the violet sky seemed to flicker in response. The Herald tilted its head, the cracks in its porcelain mask splitting further.

> "Specify."

Eden's eyes narrowed.

> "The Dominion granted Krathos power. I want to know how."

For the first time, the Herald's form shifted. The runes along its staff flared with unstable light. It was subtle, but Eden caught it — the faintest tremor of resistance.

> "Knowledge is a dangerous Claim, Champion."

Eden didn't flinch.

> "So is ignorance."

The Herald said nothing for a long moment. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, it struck its staff against the stone. The sound echoed unnaturally, like the toll of a distant bell.

> "Claim acknowledged. Payment will be delivered in accordance with the Dominion's law."

The violet sky pulsed once more.

And then, the Herald was gone.

---

Eden remained unmoving.

The air around him had grown colder, the twisted presence of the Dominion lingering even after the Herald's departure. He could feel the unseen eyes upon him — the silent observers of the Wager. For them, this was only the beginning.

But Eden knew better.

The knowledge he had claimed would not come without a cost. There would be no grand revelation, no perfect understanding. The Dominion was a force beyond comprehension, and every answer it offered would bring new questions.

> "Eden."

A voice called to him from the distant edge of the arena.

Renka.

Her silver hair caught the dim light as she approached, her sharp gaze scanning him for any lingering wounds. But her concern was carefully masked beneath the cold resolve of a veteran.

"You shouldn't have asked for knowledge." Her voice was steady, though the accusation lingered beneath it. "It's never given freely."

Eden held her gaze. "I know."

She shook her head, frustration flickering behind her eyes. "Krathos won't forget this. You humiliated their Champion. Next time, they'll send something worse."

A grim smile tugged at the corner of Eden's lips. "Let them."

But even as he spoke, the weight of the Dominion's presence remained. The violet sky burned. The Infinite Wager had only just begun.

The arena was empty now. The jagged remnants of stone and shattered earth were the only evidence of the battle that had taken place. Bloodstains had long since faded — absorbed by the twisted will of the Dominion.

Eden D. Souldrake stood at the center, the echoes of the Herald's final words still reverberating in his mind. The weight of his Claim hung in the air like a bitter promise.

> "Knowledge is a dangerous Claim, Champion."

Yet he had made his choice. There was no undoing it.

---

"You really think they'll give you the truth?"

Renka's voice broke the silence. She stood at the arena's edge, her arms crossed tightly. The lingering violet light of the Dominion traced faint patterns across her pale skin, a reminder of the omnipresent power that watched over them.

Eden didn't respond right away. He could feel the sting of his burns beneath the torn fabric of his combat gear, but it was nothing compared to the dull ache gnawing at his thoughts.

"I don't expect the truth," he said at last. "But even lies have meaning."

Renka scoffed, though her frustration was thinly veiled. "You could've claimed resources. Strength. Territory. Anything that would've put us in a stronger position. But instead…"

> "You asked for knowledge."

She shook her head. "And now Krathos will be circling us like vultures."

Eden's gaze remained steady. "They were already circling. This just means I can see the knife before it's in my back."

The words were cold. Practical. Yet beneath them, a faint ember of defiance stirred.

Renka's jaw tightened. "You can't fight the Dominion with knowledge, Eden."

He stepped closer, the violet light catching the sharp lines of his face. "Then it's a good thing I'm not planning to fight."

---

The distant hum of the Dominion grew louder.

From the cracked sky above, a spiraling rift twisted open — a jagged wound in the fabric of existence. Tendrils of violet mist seeped from its depths, coiling like smoke.

Eden felt it immediately.

The weight.

It pressed against his mind, not like a physical force, but as an invasive presence. A mind that wasn't a mind. The Dominion had no face. No form. Only its will, vast and incomprehensible.

> "The Claim is honored."

The voice returned, layered and endless. But this time, there was something beneath it. A distant whisper. A knowing laughter.

> "Receive the knowledge of Krathos."

The violet mist coiled downward, wrapping around Eden like chains. His instincts screamed, but he stood firm. Resistance would mean nothing. The Dominion was already inside.

---

Then the memories came.

They struck without warning — violent and intrusive. His thoughts were not his own.

He saw barren wastelands, scorched beneath an eternal violet sky. Towers of bone and blackened stone loomed in the distance, twisted monuments to conquest. The air was thick with the scent of burnt flesh and the metallic sting of blood.

He was not himself. He was them.

He felt the hunger. The insatiable, all-consuming need. A thousand battles fought. A thousand worlds broken. Each victory fed the Dominion, and each defeat only strengthened its resolve.

And beneath it all, the mark of Corruption.

> "This is the gift of power."

The voice whispered directly into his mind. The memories burned. Krathos had accepted the Dominion's offering, and in return, they were granted strength. But the cost had been greater than they could ever comprehend.

The twisted runes that lined their cities. The ceaseless whispers that gnawed at the edges of their thoughts. Every triumph hollowed them further — until nothing remained but the will of the Dominion itself.

Strength without self. Power without purpose.

Eden's eyes snapped open.

---

The violet mist dissipated. The rift above sealed itself with a guttural shudder. Yet the echoes of what he had seen remained.

His breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat traced a cold path down his spine. But more than the physical toll, it was the weight of understanding that shook him.

The Dominion did not grant power. It consumed.

Renka's voice cut through the stillness. "What did they show you?"

Eden didn't answer right away. His hands were trembling. He forced them still.

"It wasn't knowledge," he said quietly. "It was a warning."

Renka's eyes narrowed. "A warning?"

Eden turned away from the shattered arena, the violet sky still burning above them.

"They wanted me to see the cost of victory."

---

But even as the words left his lips, another thought stirred.

If Krathos had been willing to pay that cost… what else had the Dominion offered?

And more importantly — who had accepted?

---