Beneath a vast realm forged of blood and obsidian, there existed a silence so deep it seemed to swallow sound itself. At its center hung five black suns, their orbit slow and deliberate, revolving around a single figure bound in heavy chains. The light they cast was dark, distorted, and cold, a light that illuminated nothing, yet revealed everything.
Beside that eternal prisoner stood another human.
He was young, no older than seventeen, his tousled hair dimly reflecting the suns' strange glow. The boy, Vale, sat cross-legged upon the surface of the crimson sea, a thick book open in his hands. Its cover was weathered and ancient, the golden title barely legible:
ATUM THEORY
He flipped through the pages with care, his brow furrowed. Though he could understand every word written upon the yellowed paper, their meaning twisted in ways that left him uneasy. He lifted a hand to his chin, reading another line, and exhaled in quiet frustration.
"It makes sense… but it doesn't," he muttered. The words described something that felt real, yet defied logic at every turn.
From what he had gathered so far, three things stood out to him with absolute certainty.
The first: the term "Atum" was not the true name of the substance it described. It was merely a placeholder, a word created by those who needed to call the unnameable something. Reality itself, the book said, depended so utterly on Atum that giving it a name was an act of arrogance. It simply was.
The second: Atum was the foundation of existence. Every law, every form, every atom of being was born from it. No realm, no creature, no breath of wind escaped its touch.
And the third discovery, the one that unsettled him most, was that Atum possessed two distinct natures.
In one form, it was wild and unrestrained, like a sea of storms whose raging currents corrupted anything in their path. This chaotic Atum twisted whatever it touched, warping life into grotesque reflections of itself. The other form, however, was calm and balanced, a still lake that could be shaped by those capable of perceiving its rhythm. This was harmonic Atum, the essence from which all living beings were formed.
Chaotic Atum could not be controlled, not by human hands. Those who tried were inevitably consumed, transformed into monsters.
Vale's fingers tightened on the book. "So they were once normal too, huh?" he whispered.
A grim expression crossed his face, not one of guilt, but of pity. The book had made it clear: once the transformation began, there was no returning to what one had been. A cure did not exist; change moved only in one direction. Worse still, the process was nearly instantaneous.
The moment they turned was the moment their fate was sealed.
He closed the book softly and stared across the sea toward the chained man. The prisoner had crafted a throne of blood beneath himself, the crimson sea bending to his silent command. It rose and solidified beneath him like molten glass.
Vale couldn't help but think how strange it was that the man hadn't shared this knowledge earlier. Maybe he believed the best way for Vale to learn was through struggle, through dying and rising again, each time stronger than before. Still, the fact that the man allowed him moments like this suggested tolerance, perhaps even approval.
Though the mask hid his face, his body language made one thing clear: the man was bored.
After all, Vale had read the thick book twice already, which, by his estimation, had taken an entire day. In all that time, the chained man had done little beyond sitting there, watching, waiting.
A small, amused smile tugged at the corner of Vale's lips. He turned his gaze to the side, where his weapon rested beside the pale egg. The egg pulsed faintly, alive with soft energy that resonated in time with the rhythm of the five black suns.
He closed the book and set it aside. Then, standing, he reached for his weapon, the sword given to him by the very man he now faced, and straightened his stance.
The chained man's head turned slightly in his direction, wordlessly acknowledging the challenge.
Vale grinned and raised his sword. "Ready for another training session?"
A faint sound escaped the prisoner, something between a sigh and a laugh, echoing hollowly from behind his obsidian mask. He rose from his throne with an effortless grace, lifting one hand above the surface of the crimson sea.
The sea responded.
From its depths, ripples formed, then swelled, then broke as a blade rose up, dark, sleek, and dripping scarlet. The chained man grasped it, and the sea stilled once more.
"Show-off," Vale muttered, though there was a note of admiration in his voice.
Both combatants took their stances.
Vale's armor shimmered faintly under the dark suns it was sleek, black, and minimal in metal. Most of it was made from some kind of thick, durable hide that flexed easily with his movement. It felt impossibly light, a perfect balance of speed and defense.
"Let's hope it can regenerate too," he murmured with a faint smirk.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The silence grew taut, electric. Even the three small creatures watching from behind seemed to sense what was coming.
Then, in a single instant, the stillness shattered.
Both moved at once, two streaks of motion cutting through the heavy air. Their blades met mid-swing, clashing with a metallic roar that rippled across the crimson sea. Sparks of light danced briefly before being swallowed by the darkness above.
The training had begun.
As their blades collided, the shockwave rippled across the crimson sea, sending waves of blood rolling outward. Vale felt the impact jolt through his arms and shoulders, the sheer force behind the chained man's strike far exceeding anything a human could match.
He realized it instantly, this wasn't a battle of strength. If he tried to meet the chained man's power head-on, he'd be crushed in moments.
He needed to think.
The mind, that was the only battlefield where he could hope to stand as an equal.
With a sharp twist of his body, Vale pivoted to the side, letting the chained man's blade slide past him. The movement was clean, quick, deliberate. The prisoner's sword cut through empty air with the weight of his own momentum behind it, and Vale used that brief opening to reposition himself.
But the chained man recovered faster than Vale could have imagined. He adjusted his stance with mechanical precision, boots pressing firmly against the liquid surface beneath them as if it were solid stone. Without hesitation, he thrust his blade forward, straight for Vale's abdomen.
Vale barely managed to parry, but not without consequence. The strike tore through the dark material of his armor, slicing across his side in a clean arc. A hot sting of pain surged through him, followed by the faint metallic scent of his own blood.
"Damn it…" he hissed under his breath.
It wasn't fatal, but that didn't matter. He knew how this would end. The chained man never hesitated, never relented. This was training through death, and Vale had died countless times before.
The man leapt backward a meter, landing gracefully before launching forward again in a blur of movement. His feet barely touched the sea's surface as he closed the distance in a single step. Vale barely had time to react before the next strike came, a wide, horizontal slash aimed at his ribs.
Vale caught the blade just in time. The force of the impact sent him flying sideways, his boots skimming across the crimson surface before he tumbled, rolling several times. He coughed violently as he came to a stop, blood spilling from his lips and staining the sea beneath him.
But he didn't stay down.
He couldn't afford to.
The chained man was already upon him again, his blackened armor glinting faintly under the false suns. Vale threw his blade up in desperation, catching another mighty strike. The clang of metal rang like thunder across the realm.
The clash of power sent tremors through his arms, his feet sliding backward as he tried to hold firm. Both hands gripped the hilt of his weapon tightly, redistributing the force to keep from being overpowered. For a fleeting second, he managed to hold his ground, but the chained man pressed harder, the weight of his strength slowly driving Vale downward.
'I can't win like this.'
Desperation sharpened his instincts. He decided to gamble.
With a sudden twist, Vale redirected the force of the man's blade, letting it slide off the edge of his sword and downward toward the crimson surface. The chained man's blade plunged into the bloody sea, scattering droplets that hissed as they fell.
For the briefest moment, there was an opening.
Vale struck.
He retracted his sword and lunged forward with lightning speed, thrusting directly at the chained man's mask. The point of his blade gleamed as it cut through the air, a perfect strike.
But it never connected.
The chained man tilted his head slightly, and the strike passed harmlessly beside him.
"Fuck," Vale managed to curse, his voice cut short.
Pain exploded through his neck before the word could finish. His eyes went wide, pale and lifeless, as a long, bone-like blade emerged from the side of his throat. It was grown, not forged, its edges slick with his own blood.
The chained man withdrew the weapon in one smooth motion, the strike nearly severing Vale's head. His body collapsed, lifeless, to the surface of the sea. The blood beneath him rippled once, then began to move unnaturally, flowing back into his wounds, mending torn flesh and knitting broken veins.
Moments passed.
Then his fingers twitched. His chest rose. His eyes fluttered open, pale and faintly glowing once more.
He lay there, staring up at the black suns, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Lost again, huh," he murmured softly, almost amused.
The crimson sea rippled gently beneath him, reflecting the unending cycle of his defeat, and his stubborn will to rise again.