CHAPTER 1: THE MEETING
The world went black with the crash.
The last thing he felt was glass, hot and biting, slicing across his cheek as metal folded in around him. A scream tore loose, but it was swallowed by the sound: grinding steel, bone snapping, the wet thump of something vital giving way. Then silence. No pain. No feeling. Just a numb, floating absence.
John let himself sink into it. After everything, after the burn of betrayal, the long, slow ache that had become his life, this seemed like the answer he had been looking for. Peace, at last. No grief, no memory, no need to fight. The thought arrived soft and ridiculous: maybe death was exactly this, and all the big images about light and judgment were inventions to make the end feel important.
'Maybe this is all I ever wanted,' he thought. 'To stop feeling. To stop trying.'
Then suddenly, before he could savor this moment, something hooked into him, sharp as a fishhook. The void bucked. It splintered into a dozen directions and pulled him through one of them like it was trying to tear him apart. He slammed into something solid; the shock rattled his bones, and, with a gasp, he had a body again.
Light hit him like a thing with teeth. Colors bled together, red into blue, green into yellow, so bright his eyes watered. The horizon smeared like paint flung across a sky, beautiful and obscene enough to twist his stomach.
He raised his arm against the light, eyes squinting. "Is this heaven or hell?" he muttered, testing his voice. "It doesn't look anything like I imagined."
"No shit, genius. To compare this masterpiece to those dull places is utterly ridiculous," a voice answered, mocking and quick as a blade.
John turned toward the voice. A throne loomed ahead, vast enough to swallow buildings in its shadow. Seated upon it was a figure that looked human, small against the enormity of the chair yet radiating inevitability. His hair spilled like oil, colors shifting in ways the eye couldn't hold. His face was unnaturally perfect, sculpted from light, and his eyes were the worst…or perhaps the best: pools of color that never settled, each glance a private storm.
He leaned forward, chin resting on one hand, watching like a man waiting for the story's best part. A faint smile curved his mouth, mischief edged with predatory intent.
John's chest tightened. He tried to catalog the obvious questions; who is this guy, what is this guy, how is this possible, and why was the boy in front of him ridiculously handsome then felt how stupid those questions felt in a place like this, especially the last one. The throne, the ridiculous hair, the grin that did not reach the eyes: the answers were obvious. The boy was not human but something else.
"Ah. Where are my manners?" the voice was casual, almost bored. "As you might have guessed, surprise. I am a god. I can't tell you my name. some things, when spoken, unravel people from the inside, but you may call me Jynx. Or just god is fine. It doesn't matter."
'This is a dream,' he thought. 'Yep, most definitely a dream.'
The god's fingers drummed the armrest in a lazy rhythm. "It's terribly rude to sit in silence when someone is being conversational. And this is not a dream. Before you ask — yes, I can read minds."
With a soft clap, the world shifted. A small table appeared between them, and two steaming cups of something that could politely be called coffee rose from nothing and settled onto the table. The god's movements were theatrical but easy, the sort you would see in someone who had practiced being charming as a profession for centuries.
"Okay, to start," The god said, when the steam had curled and faded, "introduce yourself."
John stared at the cup, still trying to comprehend what was happening. 'This is absurd. Coffee with a self-proclaimed god?'
"You just said you can read minds," he said. "What's the point in asking me?"
"Oh, come on." The god's tone was indulgent. "Where's the fun in that? Why spoil a conversation by skipping the small talk? And I will have you know I am not self-proclaimed. Even the universe attests to my glorious self."
John exhaled, the sound thin and frayed, as if even breathing cost more than it should. His words came slow, steady, stripped of any fight. "It doesn't matter," he murmured. "None of this does. I only want the quiet again… the void."
The god's amusement faded for a sliver of a second; his gaze sharpened. Then he laughed. A clean, sharp sound that lay oddly against the riotous colors of the place. "That is a new one. Most people fear the void," he said. "But who am I to judge? Let's get to business. You didn't think I dragged you here just to swap niceties, did you?"
"Not really and can you stop reading my mind?" he said, tired enough that the admission tasted like ash.
The god's grin widened, mocking and cruel. "Not much to read inside, it's really depressing, but I will stop if it gives you comfort."
"Thank you," he said with a tone that suggested he didn't really care either way.
"Ok, here's the deal. I will go straight to the point: I want you to be my avatar, my champion! I won't force you. After all, Free will is what gives life meaning. Say yes, and you will have everything. Power. Purpose. A world you can build a new life in. Your life will have meaning again. Destiny with your name on it. So. What do you say? Personally, I would accept it if I were you."
He looked at him. The words felt rehearsed, like bait disguised as promises. For a second, he allowed himself a memory of what it had been like, once, to want something again. Then that memory slid away like a muscle relaxing. 'This is like those cliché isekai web novels,' he thought. 'There's always a catch. But it won't matter, it's not like I will accept.'
"If this was before," he said, voice steady and worn, "I probably wouldn't have thought twice. I'd have said yes in a heartbeat. But now? I don't give a shit. Just send me back to where I was before."
The god blinked, then tapped the armrest. A small, contemplative noise ringing out rhythmically. "Huh," he said. "Unexpected. I figured you'd jump at a chance like this." He smirked, not angry; there was a lazy amusement to it that made John's skin crawl. "You're turning down the honor of being chosen by me. That's… a little annoying, but I can work with disappointment."
He shrugged. "Sorry, but that's my wish."
The god waved one hand as if dismissing a petty inconvenience. "Relax. I'll send you back." His voice was bright, almost companionable.
"Really? No catch?" he asked, squinting. "You'll just drop me back?"
"Of course. I'm a god of my word," the deity said, and the words sat between them like a glass you were meant to believe was full.
He closed his eyes. "Then be done with it."
'Please, 'he thought.' Just let me rest.'
For a beat, the god watched him, fingers drumming slower now. "It cost me a lot to pull you here. A little too much." The laugh that followed was softer, almost intimate. "So, humor me at least. Let's talk for five minutes. Call it payment."
John's jaw tightened so hard his molars ached. "You just said you'd send me back."
"I did," the god said. His smile smoothed into something that might have been patience. "But I want a little conversation first. Start with your name."
"John. John Blackwell." His voice was small in the enormous room.
"John Blackwell," the god repeated, tasting the syllables as if they were an unfamiliar spice. "Nice to meet you." He watched John like a man watching a clock: slow, interested, amused.
"…"
A silence fell, careful and thin.
"So," the god said after a pause, casual as a breeze, "you sure you want the void? No last-minute change of heart?"
John looked up. "I'm sure. I want to go back. Just send me back."
The god's expression shifted, not to anger, but to a puzzled, almost curious narrowing of his eyes. "That's… disappointing. This makes things hard." He shrugged slowly. "You know, I thought you might change your mind. I would really like to return you, but I can't."
John blinked, then frowned. He let the words sit for a moment before he answered. "What? But you said you would return me "
The god's smile twitched, a fraction out of time. "Oops, me and my blabbering mouth," He leaned forward a hair, voice calm but thinly edged. "Sorry, must have slipp—"
John cut him off, voice flat but edged with annoyance.
"Is this a joke to you? You just dragged me out of the only peace I've had, and now, you sit there, a guy who says he is a god, but acting like a fucking child, while I'm stuck listening. If you are so bored and this is your idea of divine entertainment, it's stupid."
The god's smile deepened, deliberate and unshaken.
"Stupid? Hmm no, John… you mistake my indulgence for childishness. Children play with toys. I play with lives. What you call peace was nothing but oblivion... the refuge of a coward. I tore you from it because I had a use for you. You looked like an interesting toy. Never confuse my amusement with mercy."
His eyes shimmered, colors shifting like storms behind glass.
"You think I'd be insulted if an ant cursed me? That only shows your ignorance. Every breath you take exists because I permit it. Defiance amuses me, but amusement fades — and when it does, you'll learn how fragile mortal lives truly are."
John's jaw worked. Anger rose steadier this time.
"Yeah, yeah, spare me your bullshit."
The god's smile didn't falter, though for an instant it stretched wrong, teeth not quite following the curve of his lips, colors in his eyes slipping just a fraction offkey. He let the silence hang, then exhaled softly, almost bored.
"Forget it, then," he said at last, voice casual but edged. The smile returned, sharper now.
"If it were anyone else mouthing off, I'd have erased their soul without hesitation, dragged them through torments you can't begin to imagine. But you… You are different. You might entertain me a little."
He leaned forward, eyes glinting with shifting storms.
"Besides… you remind me of someone. Another stubborn fool who thought defiance made him untouchable. He was interesting too."
John frowned, frustration tightening his chest. "What the hell are you talking about?"
The god only chuckled, low and private, as if savoring a joke John wasn't allowed to hear.
"Ah, but that's a story for later. You'll understand… in time."
"I have said enough. I am looking forward to an interesting story, john."
He raised his hand, and the air bent. The walls of the chamber rippled like water, sound thinning until silence pressed against John's ears.
John's chest tightened. "What are you—"
"The best endings are the ones no one sees coming, so let's see what you offer."
The world folded in on itself. Darkness surged, swallowing sound, swallowing breath. John reached for words, but they dissolved before leaving his mouth. A single thought clawed through the haze. 'Is it too much to ask for a moment of peace?'
The last thing he heard was Jynx's voice, drifting like smoke:
"Try not to break too soon. Toys are no fun when they shatter early. And as a token of my generosity, take this gift."
And then… nothing.