Adrian stood in the stillness of the great hall, his eyes locked on the three glowing potions before him—Seer, Apprentice, Marauder. Each beckoned with silent promise, their swirling liquids whispering of power, mystery, and transformation. But beneath the awe, a creeping doubt took root. This wasn't the world he'd read about so many nights under a blanket, heart racing over the fate of Klein Moretti. No—this was London. A grim, gray 1925 echo of reality. The castle might look the same, and the potions might seem true, but what if the rules were different? What if the corruption, the madness, the irreversible descent that came with the wrong choice were even worse here—untamed, unbound by the laws he thought he understood? He swallowed hard. Was this still a system of order... or a trap wearing a familiar face?
Yet even as the weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, Adrian felt something shift inside—a spark, defiant and hungry. Madness or not, this was power. Real, undeniable power in a world where he was weak, alone, and hunted by men with guns and greed. Whether this was Lord of the Mysteries or some twisted reflection didn't matter. The potions still pulsed with the same promise: to transcend the ordinary. To become something more. He clenched his fists, his heartbeat steadying with quiet resolve. If the world was cruel, then he needed strength to face it. Even if the cost was his sanity, he would not return to powerlessness."Extraordinary or nothing," he whispered, stepping toward the tables—ready to embrace whatever fate awaited beyond the first sip.
His eyes flicked between the three pedestals, each one a doorway to a different fate. The Seer Path—intuitive, mysterious, full of knowledge hidden in dreams and signs. It promised power through understanding, but also madness through visions too vast for the human mind. He remembered how fragile early Sequences could be. One wrong ritual, one misread omen, and he'd spiral into paranoia—or worse. The burden of insight could crush a weak mind.
The Apprentice Path seemed safer—structured, scholarly. The Path of mystics, researchers, and spellcasters. Its progress was slower, more methodical, perhaps even rigid. But it came with discipline, logic, and a clearer hierarchy. He imagined himself in a study, surrounded by tomes and rituals, piecing together power like an academic puzzle. It was alluring, in a different way. Calm, predictable… perhaps even sterile.
Then there was the Marauder—the most visceral of the three. Brute strength, instinct, and dominance. Power that could shake the physical world—but with a risk of losing oneself to violence and impulse. He imagined the transformation: muscle, rage, the thrill of combat. But would that power erode who he was? Would he become just another beast in a world already filled with monsters?
Adrian rubbed his temples, his head still pounding faintly from the earlier shock. "What am I even doing?" he muttered. "I was just a guy in 2025. No job. No drive. No clue. And now I'm choosing which kind of god I want to become?"
The absurdity of it nearly made him laugh—but he didn't. The castle was watching. He could feel it. The walls didn't move, the air didn't shift, but something behind it all noticed him. Judging. Waiting.
He looked down again. The potions hadn't changed, but somehow their glow felt warmer—more expectant. Maybe they were reacting to his presence. Or maybe he was already beginning to sense things differently. Was that the start of madness… or the awakening of power?
In the end, familiarity won. Adrian took a slow, steady breath and stepped toward the table marked by the Fool symbol—a crooked smile carved into the stone, playful yet unfathomable. This was the Seer Pathway. Of all the possibilities, it was the one he knew best. He had studied its progression, memorized its dangers, and admired the cunning required to survive within it. Yes, it was laced with madness and hallucinations, but it was also a Path of hidden truths, of intuition and insight—power that worked through understanding rather than brute force.
If there was one Path he had any chance of surviving, it was this."Better the devil I know," he muttered, reaching for the swirling bottle atop the stone. The liquid shimmered like liquid shadow, constantly shifting shape, almost as if it were watching him back. His hand closed around it. Familiar or not, he was about to step into the unknown.
He hesitated just a heartbeat longer. "This isn't a game," he whispered. "Once I drink this, there's no going back." He brought the bottle closer. It smelled faintly of lavender and rust, oddly nostalgic and metallic all at once. Was that his imagination… or something more?
Without giving himself time to reconsider, Adrian popped the ornate stopper and raised the bottle to his lips. The potion was ice-cold and bitter, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then the world shattered.
It felt like being torn apart and stitched back together by something ancient and blind. Visions flooded his mind—flashes of eyes watching from impossible angles, symbols etched into the backs of stars, whispers crawling just beneath the threshold of hearing. His thoughts twisted, spiraled, and broke, only to reform into something... more.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face. But when his eyes opened again, they gleamed with a strange clarity.
He had crossed the threshold.He was no longer just Adrian White.He was a Beyonder.