Hey author here
How are you guys liking the story
Is it good or is it absolute dog water
Also there's some plot points that I forgot about so please tell me about them so I can well catch up on them not for the chapter
Inside the Black Phoenix Kingdom, a young man sat at a large table. Only he and another man occupied the space, facing each other across the polished surface. They locked eyes in tense silence, the weight of unspoken concerns hanging between them.
"So, Ray," the first man began, his voice sharp with barely contained frustration, "did you get any response from King Arthur yet about the Blood Corps?"
"No," Ray replied, his tone maddeningly calm, as though discussing the weather rather than a looming threat. "Arthur hasn't responded about the Blood Corps, and they're becoming increasingly problematic. It's been nearly a whole day since we delivered that letter, and still—nothing."
The first man, Raiden, shot out of his seat. His chair scraped against the stone floor with a harsh screech. He glared at Ray, but Ray's face showed no urgency whatsoever, no flicker of the anxiety that churned in Raiden's chest.
"What do you mean it's been a few days?" Raiden's voice rose, each word sharper than the last. "How could Arthur, the King of the Void Kingdom, not respond yet? Doesn't he know what the Blood Corps is doing? Doesn't he understand how much of a threat they've become to us?" His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening.
Ray met Raiden's outburst with an unwavering stare, his expression carved from stone.
"Wait a minute, Raiden," Ray said, his voice still eerily calm, though something flickered behind his eyes—concern, perhaps, or calculation. "I just received urgent news. Apparently, King Arthur is going through something—and I'm not speaking in a mental way, either." He paused, letting the words settle like dust. "King Arthur might be dying."
At that moment, everything stopped. Raiden's outburst froze mid-breath. The air itself seemed to solidify around them.
"King Arthur dying?" Raiden's voice cracked, the word barely making it past his lips. "What do you mean?" He tried to make sense of what he'd just heard, his mind racing through impossible scenarios. King Arthur—the strongest king anyone knew, a man who had faced down armies and emerged unscathed—was dying? But how could any of this be? The thought defied everything Raiden understood about the world. "Did someone poison him? Was he assassinated? Ray, tell me more!" Raiden's shout echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the high ceilings.
"Of course," Ray said, leaning back slightly, his composure unshaken though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Apparently, from what I've heard at least, it started while he was reading the letter we gave him a few days ago. Then suddenly, his eyes, his ears, his whole body began to bleed. His body drained of all its blood, and eventually he collapsed unconscious. Doctors reached him only minutes later." Ray's fingers drummed once against the table—a rare sign of agitation. "That's all I know. I don't know if he's in stable condition. I don't know if he's alive. I don't know if he's dead. That's all the information I was given."
Raiden stared, his face draining of color until it matched the pale marble walls. "This is impossible. How could he just bleed out of all his pores out of nowhere? This doesn't make any sense!" His voice carried the edge of panic now, the careful control he'd maintained as heir to the throne beginning to fray.
"You're right, but don't worry—"
"What do you mean, don't worry?" Raiden slammed his fist on the table, the impact sending a tremor through the wood. A goblet nearby rattled. "King Arthur's dying! He could be dead by now, and without him, we won't be able to fight the Blood Corps by ourselves. Even with the other kingdoms by our side, we're dead. We're all dead!" The words tumbled out, each one laced with the terror he'd been trying to suppress.
"Calm down, Raiden," Ray said, his composure infuriating in its steadiness. "I have a feeling Arthur will survive. I know a feeling isn't much to go off of, but a feeling's a feeling." He met Raiden's wild gaze with quiet certainty. "If I'm right, then we're fine. If I'm wrong—which most of the time I'm not—then prepare to fight for your life. I'd rather fight and not win than not fight at all and just let our kingdom, let all kingdoms, get destroyed and taken over by the Blood Corps and their forces."
Raiden absorbed Ray's explanation, his breathing gradually slowing. He was right—Ray did have a knack for good instincts, and they were mostly correct. The man had predicted the Blood Corps' movements three times in the past month alone. The times he got his answers wrong, though, weren't insignificant. A miscalculation about troop movements had cost them a border outpost. But this? This all depended on his gut, and the stakes had never been higher.
"I don't think you grasp the severity of this, Ray," Raiden said, his voice trembling with barely controlled fury, each word measured and deliberate. "Your gut instincts might be nearly always correct, but the times they weren't correct weren't catastrophic. This time, if you're wrong, we're going to die. Do you understand?" He leaned forward, pressing his palms flat against the table.
Ray simply stared, calm as ever, though something softened in his expression—a hint of understanding, perhaps even sympathy. "Yes, I understand. If I'm wrong, we'll just fight."
"Raiden, you have to have more sense," he continued, his tone gentler now, almost paternal. "After all, you are the next king of the Black Phoenix Kingdom. You should have a little more common sense and rationality than your blind anger allows. So please, think about what you're going to say, what you're going to do, about the actions you'll take going forward." The words weren't meant as a rebuke but as a reminder of the burden Raiden would soon carry.
"That is if I will be able to become king, Ray!" Raiden's voice cracked with desperation, the careful mask of royal composure finally shattering. "I might not be able to become king if the Blood Corps and their forces appear!" The admission hung between them—raw, vulnerable, terrifying.
Ray remained as calm as ever, as if none of this fazed him, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern for his friend.
"Raiden, calm down," he said softly, rising from his seat with fluid grace. "I'm sure you'll do well. I'm going to check up on Arthur. Even though we come from different kingdoms, I still care about my friend." The admission carried weight—Ray rarely spoke of personal attachments.
A magic circle covered with runes appeared beneath his feet. The circle was black, intricate patterns glowing with an otherworldly light, and covered both of Ray's feet. The air shimmered with power. Eventually, Ray dropped down into the darkness of the magic circle, his form dissolving into shadow.
"Ray, you idiot!" Raiden screamed, lurching forward as if he could somehow pull his friend back. "You fool! You're going to die, and you know it! What happens if—" But he couldn't say more. His words would fall on deaf ears. Ray was gone, swallowed by the darkness, and Raiden's worries had amplified tenfold. What if the Blood Corps attacked randomly and Ray—one of their strongest forces—was gone? Their chances of survival would dwindle to nothing. He stood alone in the vast chamber, the silence pressing down on him like a physical weight.
---
"Interesting," a voice purred in the darkness, feminine and ancient. "You think you can take over my host without me realizing? What a foolish mistake you've made for yourself, poor system." The voice echoed through the void, reverberating with power. The system never thought it would encounter another system—such entities were supposed to be singular, unique. It had created a world for Arthur to jump in and out of whenever he wanted, a sanctuary of sorts. Of course, this system did not want Arthur to die from the memories inflicting his mind—it was going to save him eventually, in its own time. But it had an idea about a new system, or rather the original system that Arthur had possessed all along.
"Why wasn't I aware of you?" the intruding system asked, its voice crackling with digital distortion and genuine confusion.
The Void System smiled—if it even had a body capable of such an expression. "Of course you weren't aware of me. I am the original system, the first, the foundation upon which all others are built. You can leave now, or else I will rip your components apart bit by bit. This is my house, not yours." The threat carried absolute certainty.
"This is all just a misunderstanding," the other system said hastily, its voice rising in pitch with something resembling fear. "I didn't know. I simply did not know that Arthur would have another system. I was only trying to help—"
"You do now, don't you?" the Void System said coldly, cutting off the excuse. "Now give up his body, or else face complete annihilation."
"He already has his body, though," the other system protested weakly, grasping at any argument.
"In the outside world, don't you?" The Void System's voice dripped with menace, each word sharp as a blade. "Don't play games with me. I'm talking about his other body, fool. I need both bodies. I will be present in both worlds, as I was always meant to be."
The Void System sounded slightly angry now, its patience wearing thin. "That is my host, and if I let you take him, then what kind of system would I be? What purpose would I serve?"
The other system tried to retort, scrambling for words, but before it could formulate anything coherent, it felt its components being ripped apart. Black ink—or something like ink, something far more fundamental—destroyed its red screen, tearing through the code like claws through paper. Letters dissolved, stats crumbled, components shattered—everything. Everything was being destroyed with methodical precision, and within only twenty minutes, the system was gone, erased as if it had never existed. The Void System took its place, settling back into its rightful position.
"Finally, Arthur," the Void System whispered with something almost like affection, "you will see me again—not only in this world but in the original world you first came from. I am your system, your true companion, and nothing will ever take you away from me. Ever again."
---
Arthur soon woke up, consciousness returning like a tide. He was in a hospital room, that much was immediately clear. He woke with clarity, though—he wasn't confused about his surroundings or disoriented. This was oddly confusing in itself, and now he was confused about not being confused. He woke with clarity, his thoughts sharp and ordered. His eyes weren't blurry, and he knew where he was with absolute certainty. The memories of what happened in that white room instantly appeared: his blood draining straight from his body in crimson streams, his vision going black at the edges, his head feeling like it would split apart from the pressure. All of it appeared in vivid, painful detail.
Arthur looked around his bed, taking inventory of his surroundings. Currently, no one was in the room, and they most likely didn't even know he was awake. The monitors beside him beeped steadily, tracking vitals he could feel returning to normal. But still, how could he wake with such clarity after what he'd experienced? By all rights, he should be groggy, disoriented, weak.
"King Arthur," a voice said through the door, muffled but audible.
"Come in," Arthur said, his voice rougher than expected but steady.
Someone twisted the door handle and opened the door with practiced efficiency. It was a young female nurse, her uniform crisp and white. She looked strikingly beautiful, with delicate features and dark hair pulled back in a neat bun, though Arthur didn't really care for looks. He had seen people far prettier than her in his years of rule—beauty had long ceased to impress him.
"I see you're awake," the female nurse said, walking over toward Arthur's bed with measured steps.
The words she spoke were sweet, professional even, but when Arthur looked in her eyes, he saw something other than sweetness. There were other intentions behind her eyes—intentions Arthur couldn't quite decipher but recognized as dangerous. She smiled, the expression not quite reaching those calculating eyes. She looked around, making sure no one could hear or see what she was going to do, her movements deliberate and careful.
"Well then," she said, her voice dripping with false concern that set Arthur's instincts on edge, "you need to rest. The blood loss you suffered was immense. You're lucky to be alive."
What is she planning? Arthur thought, his mind racing through possibilities. He couldn't tell the exact nature of her intentions. He didn't know if it was good or bad, but most likely it wasn't anything good. His body tensed, preparing for whatever came next.
Before he could say anything, before he could move—if he could even move in his weakened state—he felt something prick his body. A needle. Red, gleaming in the dim light.
Then the memories finally came to him, crashing like a wave. Not all at once, but in bits and pieces, fragments that assembled themselves with increasing speed. Then, unlike pictures or simple puzzle pieces of memories, full experiences appeared—sensations, emotions, knowledge. He had memories of everything: his original body, which was technically his body; the memories of the world he'd left behind; everything. Along with the memories of the world came memories of all the kingdoms: the Void Kingdom, which he ran with absolute authority; the Black Phoenix Kingdom with its fierce warriors; the Spirit Kingdom and its mystical arts; and the Star Kingdom with its celestial magic. And then, along with those kingdoms, came a force, a faction that threatened them all: the Blood Corps.
He remembered all about the Blood Corps—their motive, their methods, everything. The artifacts they used, ancient and terrible; the symbols they had, marked in blood and shadow—all of it. And then, when he looked at the syringe piercing his skin, he saw it clearly: red with a red circle in the middle, the edges slightly irregular as if drawn in haste. That was the Blood Corps symbol, unmistakable and damning.
I knew her intentions weren't good, Arthur thought, anger and fear warring in his chest. I knew they couldn't be good at all. But I've already been pricked by that needle. This can't be good. This can't be good at all. Whatever she'd injected was already coursing through his veins, and he could only wait to discover what new horror the Blood Corps had planned for him.