Doubt struck him like lightning—sharp, sudden, and illuminating. The words echoed in his mind with a dissonance that made his teeth ache. Is this real? Or am I losing my mind?
Artham clenched his fists, his pulse quickening as skepticism carved through his terror like a blade through silk. The voice claimed to be a god, yet something felt fundamentally wrong—like a masterpiece with a single brushstroke out of place.
This sounds like something straight out of a villain's monologue before they kill their target.
"I foresaw your skepticism," the voice cut through his thoughts with unnerving calm. "It's natural not to trust what you do not understand. But I told you to follow your heart, even if you believe yourself heartless."
Artham's lip curled, bitterness rising like bile. "So you expected me to fall for this the moment you introduced yourself as a god? What's next—demanding my soul like some cosmic loan shark?"
"You wound me," the voice replied, and he could practically hear the theatrical hand-to-chest gesture. "I prefer to think of myself as a cosmic entrepreneur. Much more dignified."
Despite everything, Artham felt his lips twitch. Even in the midst of existential terror, the voice had wit. "A cosmic entrepreneur. Right. And I suppose you're going to tell me this is all for my own good?"
"Oh, absolutely not," the voice said with cheerful honesty. "This is entirely for my amusement. Your own good is merely a delightful side effect."
The casual admission was so unexpected that Artham actually laughed—a short, sharp bark of disbelief. "Well, at least you're honest about it."
"Honesty is such an underrated virtue," the voice agreed solemnly. "Though I must say, you're taking this remarkably well. Most people would be having existential breakdowns by now."
"Who says I'm not?" Artham shot back. "I'm just having mine with style."
"Oh, I do like you," the voice purred with evident delight. "You have such potential. It would be a shame to waste it."
"You are absolutely right," the voice replied with theatrical grandeur. "I knew your answer before you spoke it. I can see the future, after all. Terribly useful for dramatic timing, though it does take the suspense out of most conversations."
The admission was so matter-of-fact that Artham found himself grinning despite the cosmic absurdity of it all. "So this whole thing is just entertainment for you?"
"Entertainment, education, cosmic intervention—I'm a multitasker," the voice said airily. "Though I must say, your skepticism is refreshing. Most people either grovel or threaten to sue me. You're doing neither."
"The day is young," Artham said dryly. "Give me time."
"Oh, I do hope you maintain that wit where you're going. It would be such a shame to see it wasted on groveling peasants and murderous dragons."
"Dragons?" Artham's interest perked up despite himself. "You mentioned another world..."
"Ah, but first—bureaucracy!" the voice announced with mock solemnity. "Even cosmic entities have paperwork. Your soul grants permission, you see. Universal law is quite strict about consent forms."
Artham raised an eyebrow. "So even gods can't escape bureaucracy?"
"Alas, no. The universe runs on paperwork. It's terribly tedious, but what can you do? The alternative is chaos, and chaos is so last eon."
The absurdity of it all—a cosmic entity complaining about universal paperwork—made him laugh outright. "You know what? I like you too. You're the most entertaining existential crisis I've ever had."
"Why, thank you! I do try to keep things interesting. Now, shall we skip the soul-selling dramatics and get to the fun part?"
"There were soul-selling dramatics?" Artham asked with mock disappointment. "Damn, I was looking forward to those."
"Oh, don't worry. I'll throw in some ominous thunder and mysterious fog for the full experience. But first—" The voice suddenly shifted, becoming warm and conspiratorial. "I should probably mention that the whole 'price of your soul' thing was just for dramatic effect. I don't actually need it."
"I accept." The words escaped him before he could think them through, carried by a sudden surge of reckless excitement. "Whatever it is, I'm in."
The silence that followed was pregnant with mischief. Then the voice returned, but now it carried an entirely different quality—younger, lighter, bubbling with barely contained laughter.
"Contract completed."
The formal words were immediately followed by delighted giggling. "Oh, this is too good! You should see your face right now!"
Artham's smile faltered as realization crashed over him like a cold wave. "Your voice—it's completely different."
"Surprise!" the voice exclaimed with the gleeful energy of a child who had just pulled off the ultimate prank. "Did you really think I was some stuffy, serious deity? Where's the fun in that?"
The cosmic whiplash left Artham reeling. "You... you were acting?"
"The whole time! Well, mostly. The god part is true, but the mysterious cosmic judge routine? Pure theater. I got bored of people taking me so seriously all the time."
Despite being thoroughly pranked, Artham found himself grinning. "You magnificent bastard. That was actually impressive."
"Right? I've been working on that voice for centuries. Very doom-and-gloom, properly intimidating. Though I must say, you handled it better than most. Usually people are crying by now."
"Well, I've never been called a magnificent bastard by someone I just cosmically pranked," the voice said with evident pleasure. "I think I like you even more now. Most people threaten to report me to the cosmic authorities."
"There are cosmic authorities?" Artham asked, intrigued despite himself.
"Oh yes, terribly stuffy bunch. All forms and procedures and 'proper cosmic conduct.' They have no sense of humor whatsoever." The voice sighed dramatically. "But enough about my workplace woes. You can call me Sinahtra, by the way. And before you ask—yes, like the singer, but with more universe-creating powers."
"Sinahtra," Artham repeated, testing the name. "I don't suppose you could show yourself? I'm getting a bit tired of talking to thin air."
"Oh, you want the full cosmic spectacle? I can do that." There was a pause, then: "Prepare to be dazzled!"
Light began to gather around Artham—not harsh or blinding, but warm and welcoming, like sunrise over mountain peaks. It swirled and danced, forming patterns that spoke of distant galaxies and newborn stars. Gradually, it coalesced into a humanoid shape that defied description.
Sinahtra stood before him, a being composed of living starlight and cosmic wonder. Galaxies spiraled slowly within its form, nebulae drifted like colorful clouds, and countless stars twinkled like diamonds scattered across dark velvet. Its face was both abstract and expressive, with eyes that held the light of binary suns and a smile that seemed to contain all the warmth of creation.
"Ta-da!" Sinahtra announced, spreading arms that trailed stellar dust. "One cosmic entity, as requested. Though I must say, the holographic comparison isn't entirely inaccurate—I'm more energy than matter at this point."
Artham stared in wonder, his earlier skepticism temporarily forgotten in the face of such magnificent impossibility. "That's... actually incredible. You really are a god."
"I do my best," Sinahtra said modestly, though the pride in its voice was unmistakable. "Now then, shall we discuss your upcoming adventure? I promise no more dramatic soul-bargaining. Well, mostly no more."
"Mostly?" Artham raised an eyebrow.
"I make no promises about dramatic flair. I have a reputation to maintain."
Excitement bubbled up through Artham's confusion like champagne through crystal. "So what happens next? What's this other world like?"
Sinahtra's starry eyes seemed to twinkle with anticipation. "You'll have the opportunity to choose the genre of world you wish to explore. Fantasy, science fiction, horror, romance, or something more... unique. And naturally, the difficulty level."
The cosmic figure gestured, and floating text appeared in the air like constellation maps: [Easy], [Medium], [Hard], and a fourth option that pulsed with mysterious energy: [Special].
"The special difficulty," Sinahtra continued with theatrical pause, "is only available after you complete two other worlds. Consider it... graduate-level reality manipulation."
Artham couldn't help but grin. The concept felt surreal—like browsing a cosmic video game menu, except the stakes were his actual existence. "And if I... die? In one of these worlds?"
Sinahtra leaned forward, the stars within its form pulsing with gentle light. "Excellent question. Death on hard difficulty sends you to medium. Death on medium drops you to easy. But death on easy..." The figure's smile grew more enigmatic. "Let's just say you'll be trapped there, reliving the same existence until you find your way out. And no rewards for failure."
The implications sent a chill down Artham's spine, but also a thrill. This was exactly what he'd been craving—real stakes, genuine consequences, a chance to prove himself against impossible odds.
"I'm ready," he said, his voice steady with determination. "Let's do this."
"Then choose," Sinahtra commanded, cosmic arms spreading wide. "Genre and difficulty."
Artham's pulse quickened as he stared at the options floating before him. This was it—the moment that would define his new existence. "I choose Fantasy," he declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "And hard difficulty."
Sinahtra's form flickered with what might have been approval or amusement. "Are you certain? This is not a game, despite appearances. This is a story—one that will test every aspect of your being and forge your destiny in fires you cannot imagine. Once you choose a difficulty, it can only be changed by death."
"Yeah, I get it," Artham said, though he was already being swept up in the momentum of possibility. "I've read enough fantasy to know what I'm—Wait, what do you mean by 'story'?"
But before he could complete the question, Sinahtra flicked its cosmic wrist with casual grace. The world exploded into motion.
Artham found himself hurtling backward through space, the magnificent figure of Sinahtra shrinking to a distant star as he was flung through the vastness of infinity. Cosmic wind roared in his ears, his vision blurred by streaks of color and light that painted reality in brushstrokes of chaos.
"Since you're so eager," Sinahtra's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, "I'll grant you a parting gift. I call it Plot Armor. Use it wisely, and try not to die too quickly!"
The words barely registered before a vortex tore itself open in the fabric of existence behind him. It was a wound in reality itself—a spiral of impossible colors and energies that pulsed with otherworldly hunger. The portal dragged at him like a cosmic black hole, its pull irresistible.
"Wait!" Artham screamed, clawing at empty air as panic flooded his system. "What do you mean by 'story'? And what's this Plot Armor? Are you treating my life like some kind of narrative?"
But Sinahtra's only response was a grin that burned itself into Artham's memory—a smile that held the secret amusement of gods who play with mortal lives like chess pieces.
Then the void swallowed him whole.
He tumbled through chaos, through colors that had no names and sensations that defied description. His body spun uncontrollably through dimensions that folded in on themselves, reality becoming a kaleidoscope of impossible geometries.
"Just you wait!" he managed to scream into the howling maelstrom, though his voice was lost in the cosmic thunder. "When we meet again, I'll make you pay for this!"
His threats dissolved into the endless dark, unheard and unanswered. Then, without warning, the chaos stopped.
Silence.
Profound, suffocating silence that pressed against his consciousness like velvet weights. Artham floated in a void so complete it seemed to erase the very concept of existence. Time became meaningless—seconds, minutes, hours, years—all collapsing into an eternal now of nothingness.
He could feel pieces of himself beginning to drift away, memories and thoughts dissolving into the hungry darkness. Despair crept in like ice water, threatening to freeze his soul solid.
Is this it? Is this the end?
Then, impossibly, a spark appeared in the distance. A pinprick of light no bigger than a grain of sand, but it blazed with the intensity of hope itself. It grew slowly, steadily, expanding until it took shape—a door wreathed in liquid starlight.
The door to his chosen world. The gateway to everything he had bargained for.
Artham's heart hammered against his ribs as he drifted toward it, propelled by currents of destiny he couldn't understand. Behind that threshold lay a fantasy world set to hard difficulty—a realm where nothing would be given freely, where every victory would be earned through blood and determination.
His trembling fingers brushed the door's surface, and electricity shot through him like liquid lightning. The portal responded to his touch, its light pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Without hesitation, he pushed it open.
Blinding radiance flooded his vision, overwhelming every sense as his body dissolved into pure possibility. He felt himself crossing the threshold between worlds, leaving behind everything he had ever known.
The last fragments of his old existence slipped away like morning mist, lost forever in the space between realities.
And as the light enveloped him completely, as the door to the unknown swung wide, Artham smiled—a fierce, defiant expression that held all his hunger for adventure, all his desperate need for meaning.
I'm ready.
The thought echoed through his dissolving consciousness as he stepped into his new life, into a story that would remake him or destroy him.
I'm finally ready.
And then he crossed over, leaving behind the boy who had wished on a falling star and becoming someone entirely new.