Ch. 6 - It Begins
The Serpent's spell dissipated.
The air grew heavier.
Screams erupted as the crowd surrounding Verez caught full sight of the aftermath, the bodies, the blood, the wreckage.
Panic spread like wildfire.
But Verez?
He didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
He simply stood there amidst the chaos, untouched, unfazed.
He slowly raised a hand, palm open as if grasping something unseen.
And then, he smiled.
He was now the Administrator.
A being of absolute omnipotence, not only over the laws of reality, but the very System itself.
Unlike gods or monsters of old, Verez wasn't just powerful.
He was structured.
He had complete administrative access over the System, like the master key to the universe's code.
With it, he could manipulate, regulate, evolve, or destroy anything with precision.
And he used it.
In a single thought, the world shifted.
The Awakened?
Revoked.
Every power from every individual was locked away.
> | Awakened State: Revoked. Awaiting Reconfiguration. |
He replaced the old balance with something new—his own order.
He forged a new faction into existence:
The Voltranumial.
Eight Thrones.
Seven Councillors.
And himself, at the head, the Arbitrary.
These seven weren't mere followers.
They were his creations.
Living constructs forged from code and soul, programmed with sentience yet bound by unwavering loyalty.
Each embodied a fundamental aspect of the new world:
🏅The Embodiment of Valor (Karythorpe)
🧠 The Embodiment of Knowledge (Zirnaja)
🎛️ The Embodiment of Control (Cornapo)
💥 The Embodiment of Chaos (Viscoshu)
🛡️The Embodiment of Preservation (Aixep)
🪽 The Embodiment of Ascension (Bornaver)
📜 The Embodiment of Judgment (Tarscrabio)
They knelt before no one but Verez.
And they waited.
The day soon came as the event started.
The sky was painted in neon blue streaks, torn by dimensional fractures.
Portal gates opened above the skyline like divine wounds.
It was night, but it wasn't dark.
The air itself seemed to glow with magical energy.
High above the chaos, sitting cross-legged on the rooftop of a building in Shibuya, Verez watched silently.
He whispered:
"It has begun."
His voice was swallowed by the wind.
"System."
"Total global population?"
> | 12.7 billion. |
"Casualties predicted for today?"
> | Estimated: 180 million. |
"...Then randomly select 10 million individuals to be Awakened."
> | Affirmative. Randomized Selection Commencing… Selection Complete. |
Across the globe, 10 million individuals received the notification.
One such soul, a 23-year-old university student named Nathan Wiles, sat in his dorm, headphones on, eyes on his laptop screen.
Suddenly something appears before his eyes.
> | You have been promoted to [Awakened]. |
"What the hell…?"
A moment later, a ripple of energy surged through his chest, knocking the breath out of him.
He stumbled to the ground, body glowing faintly.
"...What is this?!" he gasped, hands trembling.
And he wasn't alone.
Across the world, chaos reigned.
Monsters surged from portals—creatures with no form, born of pure malice, shaped only by fear and environment.
Some flew.
Some crawled.
Some were so massive they cracked city streets with a single step.
Governments tried to respond.
They failed.
In weeks, cities were swallowed whole.
Armies were torn apart.
Even nukes proved useless, monsters adapted.
Civilization shattered like glass.
And in its place, new powers emerged.
The Awakened became kings, warlords, and tyrants.
From the ruins of Moscow, a self-proclaimed "Crimson Saint" ruled over thousands from a throne made of frozen metal.
In Cairo, a faction called The Second Sun formed a theocracy around an Awakened claiming to be a prophet.
The U.S. fractured into dozens of microstates.
The strongest survived.
Some communities fled underground, building bunker societies in old subway lines and military tunnels.
But even there, portal gates manifested, no place was truly safe.
The Voltranumial.
Their name was whispered with fear and awe.
Some said they protected ancient ruins.
Others claimed they enslaved Awakened for their own purpose.
Many believed they were divine agents of "The Administrator"— a mythical being said to be able to rewrite the laws of existence itself.
Despite this, many Awakened began treating the world like a game.
They partied up.
Farmed monsters.
Leveled up.
Crafted weapons.
They called themselves "Raiders."
They wore guild tags, built bases, formed trade routes.
It became routine.
The world had changed.
But not in the way stories often imagined, no great salvation, no moral awakening, no divine reckoning.
Just raw, untamed humanity.
Once the collapse took hold and governments shattered, the floodgates opened.
There were no more rules. No more consequences.
Only System notifications that beeped indifferently, recording sin and sanctity with equal calm.
The Awakened led, yes ,but not all were warriors of justice.
Most weren't.
The System didn't care who you were before, only what you could become.
And many... became monsters.
> | You've received the title [Conqueror of Flesh] |
A man chuckled, kneeling atop a mountain of bodies.
Blood soaked his coat.
His laughter echoed down the empty street like a song from hell.
Children huddled in corners.
People begged for mercy that never came.
And the System simply blinked notifications in cold silence.
He looked up at the sky and screamed, "You see this, Administrator?! You watching me?!"
Somewhere else outside time and space, Verez sat watching through a floating projection.
The laughter, the madness, the chaos—it was art.
He sipped from a porcelain cup, staring blankly at the feed.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Entertainment comes in many forms," he muttered to himself. "Even rot has rhythm."
Underground Markets flourished, if one could call them that.
Trade wasn't in food or water anymore. It was in agony.
The darkest urges of man, bartered in code and favor.
Awakened guilds formed cities with walls of skulls.
Civilians either served or suffered.
The System, ever neutral, facilitated all.
In a glass-domed citadel built from melted aircraft carriers, a Council of Awakened debated not ethics, but efficiency.
How to extract more "product" from the broken.
How to enslave lesser Awakened through manipulation of their class trees.
One even proposed a farming system for passive XP from "non-combatant emotional decay."
No one objected.
Verez leaned back in his seat, overlooking a live stream of a once-sacred temple now drenched in filth.
He watched.
He smiled.
Not in cruelty, but in observation.
Like a child watching ants devour each other in a glass box.
Standing before the throne, dressed in armor that glowed with deep, warm gold, was The Embodiment of Valor.
Councilor Karythorpe.
His presence, unlike the others, was serene.
Not forged from chaos or pain like the rest.
He carried something the others had long discarded: hope—even if a distorted version of it.
He kneeled, one hand pressed to his chest. "My Lord, I come not with defiance… but with an idea."
Verez raised an eyebrow, lounging on the obsidian throne with one leg casually thrown over the armrest, as if he were relaxing after a long day at a café instead of ruling a damned world.
"You rarely speak, Karythorpe. Proceed."
Karythorpe stood tall, eyes glowing faintly beneath his hooded helm. "This world… it lacks structure. There is conflict, but no narrative. Despair, but no tension. I propose… the creation of a protagonist. A singular soul upon whom fate might turn."
Verez was silent for a moment. The shadows behind his cracked mask flickered with shifting thoughts.
Then, he grinned.
"A protagonist... in my story?"
Karythorpe nodded. "One born of hardship, tempered by truth. Someone who rises not above the world… but through it. Someone… to give them something to believe in."
A pause.
Then, the throne room trembled, System Core pulsing.
> | Proposal Registered: [Creation of Protagonist] |
| Status: Approved. |
| Location: Sector B-472. Germany. |
| Time: 03:12 AM CET. |
Beneath the ground.
Germany.
In the shelter of rusted iron and stone, lit by buzzing generators and old halogen bulbs, a woman screamed in labor.
Doctors moved swiftly, sleeves rolled up, voices calm but urgent.
The world above was fire.
Monsters roamed unchecked.
But here, in this sanctum deep beneath the ruined cities, something new was being born.
A child.
Lightning surged outside as though the sky itself sensed something greater was arriving.
The doctor's voice broke through the silence.
"He's out! It's a boy!"
The newborn cried, his wail strong and sudden.
It echoed through the base like the call of something ancient awakening once more.
The mother lay weak, drenched in sweat, her eyes full of both relief and sorrow.
Her hair clung to her forehead as she reached forward to cradle her child.
The caregiver stepped close, gently asking, "What shall we call him?"
The woman took a shaky breath.
Her eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion, glanced down at her baby, already quiet in her arms.
The weight of a world without mercy hung in the air.
But still, she smiled.
"Theo…" she whispered.
"Theo Friedrich."