Everything was bathed in violet and crimson. No sun or moon hung in the sky, only an arboreal canopy of light that pulsed with silent, furious lightning. The air, thick with the tang of sulphur and ash, was so heavy with the scent of blood you could almost taste the copper on your tongue.
Below this horrendous sky, scattered husks of humans, elves, dwarves, magical beasts, dragons, and demons formed mountains of the dead. In this field of annihilation, only a single entity remained. He knelt in this field, his hunched figure supported by a dark sword that seemed to actively swallow what little illumination the rage-filled sky offered.
His hair, white as starlight, danced with the eerie wind. Bloodstains painted across the strands gave it an otherworldly appeal. His face was handsome enough for an angel, but it bore a demeanor as hellish and brutal as that of a demon..
"Huuu… Huuu…"
His breath came in short, ragged pulses. Blood wept from his exposed bowel and the raw, empty space where his left arm used to be. Through the unnerving pain, a hellish smile never left his lips, his gaze fixed on the corpse that lay before him. At first glance, it looked human, but everything about it screamed the opposite. The body was largely unclad, yet every inch of exposed skin bore a majesty that no mortal could ever hope to possess, even in life.
"Qinnnngg—"
A sharp sound tore through the air as a figure materialized on the battlefield. Were it not for the piercing screech that announced his arrival, it would have seemed as if he had always been there. He appeared only a short distance from the white-haired, gutted warrior. They stared at each other for a long moment, a silent understanding passing between them. With a sigh, the newcomer, a humanoid figure in a simple cloak, broke the silence.
"You did well, Void."
The cloaked man brought a hand toward Void's gutted abdomen and muttered. In response, the charred edges of the wound pulsed with the green of nature, squirming like living organisms as they attempted to knit themselves shut. It continued for a long time, but one thing remained constant: no matter how fiercely the wound squirmed, it did not budge an inch.
The cloaked figure finally stopped his spell. "It's just as I thought. Even I can't heal a wound inflicted by Supreme Mana."
Void did not reply. At some point, he had let himself lie on the floor and allowed his dark sword to dematerialize. His eyes, however, never left the majestic corpse.
The cloaked figure walked towards the body, a short dagger materializing in his hand, It's blade so thin, so much so that no one below the Grandmaster rank could have seen or sensed it.
He dug into the majestic husk with the blade, and with the nimble movements of a trained hand, he soon harvested a radiant, orange-sized orb from its chest.
"Summon the blade–, Void," he ordered. The dark sword materialized behind its owner in response.
The cloaked figure, his movements betraying a frantic excitement, grabbed the sword as several artifacts, each pulsing with tremendous energy, appeared in the air around him.
"You have to hold on, Void," he rambled, his hands turning into blurs as they formed several seals. "You can't die yet. Just hold on until I am done."
In moments, the artifacts and the radiant orb merged with the dark sword. "With each defeat, we will only grow stronger." He spoke, perhaps in consolation to Void, perhaps in encouragement to himself.
"Ch… Chrono…" Void muttered with great effort.
The cloaked figure tilted his head, bringing his ear closer to listen.
"You… lie…" Void rasped. "You just want to stab me again, you lecherous mage."
A faint smile appeared on Chrono's lips. "I promise you, this time it will be different. We have the mana core of a supreme being. I can't even begin to fathom the changes this will cause. We have never had something like this before."
He brought the dark sword to hang directly above the dying warrior.
"For Aria," Chrono muttered.
Void's lips curved into a soft, final smile as if in correction. "For everything flawed."
Swooshh!
The cloaked figure brought down the sword, piercing clean through the midline of the man on the ground.
Then everything turned dark.
*****
In a white-themed room that smelled of antiseptic and something faintly nauseous, a boy of about sixteen lay on a mattress propped up by a metal-framed bed. His figure was so frail it looked as though breathing the wrong way would be enough to send him to the nether lands.
Several pieces of clinical equipment were connected to his slim self, their quiet beeps monitoring his vitals.
The only other catching thing about his emancipated form was a dark, flame-like birthmark on the inside of his wrist, a stark inkblot amidst the pale skin and translucent tubes.
Two figures stood some distance away, discussing in hushed tones.
"We have to tell him, Matt," the woman said, her voice worn thin. Her face bore the ghost of a beauty eroded by stress.
"I know," her male companion replied, gently stroking her shoulder. "But how? How do we tell our son he won't make it to his next birthday? Who knows maybe their one month prediction might be wrong."
"You always choose the wrong time to be delusional, Matt. It's a bit too late for miracles".
"You heard the doctor. His organs are shutting down."
Jay let his mind be caressed by the darkness that followed his recurrent dream, trying to shut off reality. It was a skill he had developed from years of bed rest: the art of waking up with his eyes still shut. He was quite proud of it. If he were a spy, he was sure it would come in handy. People had a habit of discussing important things in the least convenient places, like beside their supposedly sleeping, soon-to-be-dead kid.
The news didn't impress him; a past sleeping self of his had already heard the doctor's prognosis. It didn't shock him. Instead, a strange sense of calm washed over him. He contemplated opening his eyes, but they felt like stuck magnets. He knew what vision waited for him—his parents' pitiful, sad gazes. He wished for any other sight than that.
From the earliest he could recall, he had been a constant presence in hospitals. There was no definite diagnosis, just a long list of symptoms: anemia, anaphylactic shocks, seizures. The list went on and on.
After what felt like an eternity, his eyes finally slid open.
"Hey Jayy. Hope we didn't wake you." His mum's concern was evident, her eyes darting around like a child caught stealing candy.
Jay blushed at his own private thoughts; they were his only escape. She held a transparent cup filled with a milky cream liquid toward him. "I made your special smoothie. Care for some?"
A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, cemented by the smile that spread across his face. 'Smoothie!'
"Thanks a lot, Mom!"
'Nothing beats a good smoothie,' his thoughts chirped as he drew the straw that jutted outward from the straw closer to his lips. His mouth watered as the creamy delight drew closer. The moment it made contact with his tongue, the sensation was phenomenal.
He paused. "Hey, Mum, you used vanilla."
"Yes, I did," she replied, her brief words carrying the weight of a million unsaid sentiments. He loved making smoothies with ice cream, but his mum always made them the "healthier" way, with just banana and yogurt.
'My end-of-life care has already begun,' he thought with a hint of amusement.
"Hey Jay," his dad called. He paused his orgasmic experience to see what his dad wanted, but he didn't say anything. He just looked at him with those eyes. The eyes Jay hated. Eyes filled with pity and poorly hidden sorrow.
Jay dove back into the embrace of his smoothie, letting its imaginary hands give his brain a much-needed therapeutic massage.
"We are going home today," his dad's voice finally reached him.
He paused, straw hung in between parted lips. "Going home?"
"Yes."
He arched his head, an evident grin spreading across his face. Matt, Jay's dad, felt the heaviness on his chest lighten greatly. The hospital was no place to have that discussion. It was obvious they couldn't do much for him anymore. It would be better to let him enjoy his remaining days at home.
Jay couldn't stop smiling as he continued to wolf down the creamy delight.
'I deserve some binge-gaming sessions once I'm home.'
'Maybe I'll even call Lucy and Ben, see if they wanna hang out.'
'Nahh, I deserve some well-earned alone therapy. I'll call them tomorrow. Or the next day.'
His thoughts went haywire as he drifted into the endless possibilities awaiting him at home.
"I'll go and start processing the discharge," his dad's voice barely reached him in fantasy land.
When he finally resurfaced, he looked at his mum with deceit-filled eyes. He was going to make the best of this. "Ma, can we get some burgers from the cafeteria?"
Merry glared at him, a clear understanding of his play in her eyes, but she gave in. "I won't be long, Jay."
Beep! Beep! Beep!
His heart monitor went haywire. His mum was inches from the red emergency button in a flash.
"Mum, don't! It's nothing… I was just excited," he stopped her hurriedly.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.
"Yes, I am." He gently squeezed her hand away from the button, scared she would press it anyway. He could already picture Nurse Earl's frown when he saw the smoothie.
Merry pulled her hand back as the monitor returned to normal, but Jay kept his hold on her hand a moment longer.
"I love you guys a lot," he muttered, finally letting her go.
Merry didn't let his hand drop, catching it in her own as a smile formed on her lips. She just looked at his face, trying to engrave the moment in her mind.
"I would also really love it if you could get the Extra Large Beef Burger. With that special sauce filling."
Merry couldn't help but roll her eyes. It didn't stop her from pulling him into an embrace and giving him a peck on the head before she left.
"That was nice," Jay talked to himself after she was gone.
He finished his smoothie and brought his right hand up, admiring the dark, flame-like birthmark on his wrist.
"Wow there… why am I seeing double?"
Be–Beep. Be–Beep. Be–Beep.
His monitors went haywire. This time, it wasn't just his heart. Everything was pulsing, everything was dropping. His ventilation, his blood pressure, his temperature—all plummeting as if he were being plunged into ice.
His hand fell to his side. He could barely form a coherent thought. A bitter cold encroached upon his being, traveling up from his feet and hands, slowly seeping into his torso, and then steadily, inevitably, towards his head. Somehow he knew, if the cold got to his head, it was over.
He tried to move his hand with great difficulty. It was heavy, but it budged. The rapid advance of the terrible chill slowed, but not for long. He continued to fight, pushing his hand toward the red emergency button. Each second felt like an eternity.
He thought of the few friends he had made in the brief years he had attended high school. He recalled the bullies, before his parents told the school about his troubled physique.
Schooling became a pity party after that. He recalled his first real friend, Ben, who shared his sense of humor. He recalled Lucy, as lean as she was, but with a ravenous appetite that put his to shame. He thought of his parents, who were always there, throwing their resources into his care as if they were infinite.
'Damn, is my life flashing before my eyes?'
The thought renewed his efforts. He had to reach the button.
'Is it worth it, though?' a second question whispered, accompanied by the constant gloom that always lurked around him. 'At least Mum and Dad can finally start saving up to buy a house. Maybe even go on a real holiday.'
With those thoughts, the struggle left him. The chill reached his head. It felt very heavy.
'I would have really loved to binge-game a little bit. Just enough for my thumbs to start aching.'
Everything felt still. Then, incredibly free. Jay felt like he could see everything in a new light.
'What just happened?'
His answer came as he felt himself floating upwards, extremely fast. A rift had appeared in the ceiling, pulsing with an ancient hue. His ethereal frame slid through it into a massive swirl of colors. It felt like he was viewing the galaxy itself, but his ascent didn't end there. He slid through another rift, this time into a sight so majestic that his mind couldn't begin to make sense of what he was seeing.
The only thing he could comprehend were three great streams that ran parallel to each other in this ancient space. Each stream formed a circular loop above the other. The first shone with a brilliant, divine light. The second was the massive swirl of colors he had emerged from. The third was dark and cast an ethereal, shadowy glow.
Then his descent began. A natural force, like gravity, started pulling him back down into the second stream, the one of colors.
'Well, death is really exciting. It almost feels like riding a roller coaster,' he thought.
It was at that moment that he felt a second, sharper pull from his right hand. The dark, flame-like birthmark on his astral form was pulsing with a brilliant white light. The natural pull wanted to return him to the river of colors, but this new force was violent, absolute. It altered his trajectory, dragging him away from his predetermined path and towards the very center of the three streams, where a swirling ball of energy contained traces of all three streams.
His body silently slid into this amalgamated sphere. His consciousness became extremely muddy. He slowly lost it all as his mind went black.
After what felt like eons, he felt a warm sensation spread through his body from his stomach.
It felt really nice.
That was the only thought he could form before his consciousness slipped away.
Again, the warm sensation came, its niceness unmatched. These experiences continued in pulses, spread across an eternity. A time came when his consciousness could hold on a little longer between the pulses. He felt like his frame was stuck in a moist sock. Messy, but so comforting and warm that it was blissful. Even then, his thoughts were draggy, like wading through mud.
Time flew by, until he was rudely awoken. This time, it wasn't the warm feeling from his tummy, but a forceful shove from the very sack that had been his comforting, moist home.
The rejection was hurtful. He tried to resist, but it was relentless. The push did not stop until Void was born.