Ayelen stood in the clearing, a solitary figure amidst the wreckage. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and iron, the silence of the forest pressing in on him. As he moved to wipe the drying blood from his clothes, the wind stirred lightly, ruffling his hair. His hands were steady, mechanical in their movements, but his eyes were hollow. The light had gone out of them.
Suddenly, a spark flickered.
A small, sharp flash of light appeared just above his palm. Ayelen frowned, his brow furrowing as he leaned in to inspect it. The moment he focused, it vanished into thin air.
"What was that?" he whispered to the empty woods.
He tried again, moving his hand in a slow, deliberate arc through the air. Another spark ignited, stronger and brighter this time, humming with a strange frequency. Before he could pull back, the world tilted. The ground beneath his boots simply ceased to exist.
In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Somewhere Else
When Ayelen opened his eyes, he was met with a blinding whiteness.
Clouds. There was nothing but clouds as far as the eye could see. They were soft, endless, and glowing with an internal light. He stood up, his heart hammering against his ribs in confusion.
"Where... where am I?"
He began to walk, his footsteps making no sound on the misty surface. After a few uncertain steps, a silhouette began to form through the haze. A city.
It was floating, suspended in the white expanse. The buildings were unlike anything he had ever seen on Earth; they were tall, elegant spires made of a material that looked like polished pearl. Everything was clean, advanced, and shimmering with life. This was not his world.
He saw people in the distance. Children were running through a plaza, their laughter ringing out clearly in the thin air. Ayelen approached them cautiously.
"Hey," he called out, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. "Where am I?"
The children stopped playing, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. They didn't seem afraid, only intrigued by his tattered, blood-stained clothes.
"This is Planet Macon," one of the boys said.
Ayelen froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. "Planet?"
His mind struggled to grasp the concept. This wasn't a different country or a different continent. It was a different world. He took a staggering step back, his head spinning. He turned to run, to find a way back, to find anything familiar.
Then, a voice reached out to him.
It was soft, melodic, and hummed with a familiarity that made his chest ache.
"Ayelen..."
He turned, his heart leaping in his breast.
The Hospital
Back on Earth, Arnold sat upright in his hospital bed. He was silent, his gaze fixed on the world outside the window. Down in the courtyard, he watched a family walk by. A father was joking with his wife while two kids chased each other in circles, their joy radiant and simple.
Arnold watched them for a long time, his face a mask of stone. Without a word, he reached out and slid the window shut, cutting off the sound of their laughter.
"You're overthinking things."
Arnold looked up. Flauge was standing in the center of the room, appearing as he always did—without a sound.
"What happened?" Flauge asked, his voice neutral.
Arnold remained silent for a long moment, his eyes drifting back to the glass. "I don't remember everything clearly," he admitted, his voice a low rasp. He paused, his throat tightening. "But yeah. My family is gone."
Flauge didn't offer empty platitudes or fake sympathy. He simply stood there, a calm presence in the sterile room. "I felt a sense of loss for you," he said quietly.
He stepped closer to the bed, his shadow falling over Arnold. "Now tell me, Arnold. Do you want to live out your days as a normal human?" He leaned in. "Or will you become an Asek?"
There was no hesitation. The answer had been forged in the fire of the warehouse.
"I choose Asek," Arnold said, his voice hard and firm. He looked down at his bandaged hands. "Whatever happened to my family... I don't want anyone else to ever go through that."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Flauge let out a small, rare smile. "Then welcome. Welcome to the Divine Capsule."
A brilliant, strange light suddenly erupted around Arnold. He felt a surge of warmth wash over him. The ache in his bones vanished. His deep lacerations and broken ribs healed in an instant. Before he could even gasp at the sensation, the hospital room dissolved into light.
The Ancient World
Arnold found himself standing in a world that felt ancient and vast. The air was cool and smelled of mountain rain. He looked around in awe at the jagged peaks and the purple-hued sky.
"This place..."
"This is my dimension," Flauge said, appearing beside him. "It used to be something else entirely." He looked toward the horizon, his eyes distant. "It was beautiful. Peaceful."
Arnold followed his gaze. "It still looks beautiful to me." He turned back to his mentor. "What happened to it?"
Flauge didn't answer immediately. He looked at the ground, a shadow passing over his features. "I'll tell you another time."
His tone shifted, becoming sharp and professional. "From this point on, Arnold, we don't know who our enemy is. We don't know what is coming for us from the dark."
He looked Arnold dead in the eye. "I am giving you a responsibility. A heavy one."
Arnold straightened his back, listening with every fiber of his being.
"This planet," Flauge continued, "I care about it. I care about the people living on it."
Arnold's eyes shook. In a sudden, violent flash, he saw them again. His mother's scream. His father's last breath. His sister's broken body. The trauma hit him like a physical wave. He grabbed his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as a raw, agonized scream escaped his throat. His body began to tremble uncontrollably.
"Arnold!" Flauge called out, his voice commanding. "Are you okay?"
Arnold collapsed to his knees, breathing in ragged, heavy gasps. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "I... I'm fine."
But he wasn't. They both knew it.
Flauge looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "It isn't easy to recover from such a wound. Good luck, Arnold."
With those final words, Flauge vanished into the mist.
Footsteps echoed against the stone. A monk, old and weathered, walked toward Arnold with slow, deliberate steps. He looked calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"Are you Arnold?" the monk asked.
"Yes," Arnold replied, pushing himself to his feet.
Without a single word of warning, the monk lunged. He threw a direct punch, aimed straight at Arnold's core. It was impossibly fast. Arnold didn't even have time to raise his hands before the blow connected, sending him stumbling back in shock.
"If you can't even stop a simple strike like that," the monk said, his voice like gravel, "then you can forget about ever defeating Vanzayoree."
Arnold froze, the name echoing in his head. "Who is Vanzayoree?"
The monk looked at him with pity. "He is the King of Planet Arkon. The God of Destruction."
Arnold felt a chill run down his spine.
"But don't worry," the monk continued. "He is sealed away. He has been trapped for thirty million years."
Arnold took a breath, trying to steady his heart. "But there is a catch, isn't there?"
The monk nodded slowly. "He can only be released by one thing. Someone with golden blood."
Arnold's eyes widened. His mind went straight to the warehouse. To the shimmering, golden liquid he had seen.
"My brother," Arnold whispered, his voice shaking. "He had that blood. But... he's dead."
The monk shook his head. "No."
Arnold looked up, hope and fear warring in his chest.
"Golden blood cannot be destroyed so easily," the monk explained. "It does not end with a normal death. Your brother... he might still be alive."
Arnold stood rooted to the spot.
"If he lives," the monk said, "you must find him. You must keep him close at all costs. Because if that blood ever reaches Vanzayoree..." He paused, his face grim. "The entire universe will be in danger."
Arnold took a determined step forward. "Then why don't we just kill Vanzayoree while he's sealed?"
The monk placed a heavy hand on Arnold's shoulder. "You cannot kill a God of Destruction. He can only be sealed, and even then, only if the other two gods agree."
Arnold frowned. "Other two?"
"The God of Moderator and the God of Inventor," the monk replied.
"Then I'll just talk to them," Arnold said, his voice full of youthful confidence.
The monk let out a dry, sad smile. "The God of Inventor is lost to the stars. And the God of Moderator has not appeared in eons."
Arnold stayed silent, the weight of the universe pressing down on him.
"Flauge believes you have the potential to become the next God of Inventor," the monk said. "So train. Train until your bones ache and your spirit breaks. If you want to save this universe, you must understand Nyloxin."
"Nyloxin?"
"It is the divine energy that maintains the balance of all things," the monk explained. "But now, it is unstable. It has been misused, corrupted. And your planet is already feeling the effects."
Arnold took a deep, shaky breath. He looked at the old man and bowed low, a gesture of absolute respect. "I understand. I will do it."
He looked up, his eyes burning with a new fire. "Teach me. Tell me everything."
The journey had begun.
Arnold stood in the center of the training grounds, breathing slowly. He was trying to piece together everything the monk had told him.
"If I can stabilize the flow of Nyloxin within myself," he murmured, "then my power will increase."
The monk nodded. "Not just increase. It will truly become yours." He circled Arnold like a predator. "But for that, you need absolute control. You need calmness."
Before Arnold could respond, the world around him blurred. A vision tore through his mind, vivid and terrifying.
Miyara.
She was tied down, struggling against her bonds. She was crying, her face twisted in pain. "Ayelen!" her voice echoed, a scream of pure agony.
Arnold's eyes widened. "No..."
Lost to the trauma, he rushed forward. He forgot the training, forgot the monk. He lunged at the old man, grabbing him by the neck. "Stop this! Stop the vision!" Arnold roared.
But the monk was faster. With a precise, lightning-fast strike, he hit a pressure point on Arnold's chest. Arnold's body went rigid, his muscles locking up. He collapsed into the dirt.
The vision faded into gray. The monk looked down at him with a cold, hard gaze. "Train harder," he said. "Until that image..." He pointed to where the vision of Miyara had been. "...becomes your strength. Not your trauma."
Then, he was gone.
Time became a blur. The vision returned again and again. Miyara, captured. Miyara, screaming. Every time Arnold woke up, his face was drenched in sweat, his heart hammering.
But with every repetition, something shifted. First came the blind anger. Then the crushing pain. And finally, a cold, hard silence.
Far away, the monk stood before Flauge. "He is new to this," the monk said. "The wounds are still fresh."
Flauge listened, his expression unreadable. "He will learn."
"But for now," the monk asked, "what will you do?"
Flauge's gaze turned toward the stars. "The God of Moderator has awakened."
The silence that followed was chilling.
"I will search the entire universe," Flauge vowed. "I will look into every dark corner. This story will not end in ruin." He turned to leave. "Take care of him. And take care of this planet. I will return as soon as I can."
Without another word, Flauge vanished.
The monk stood alone for a moment. Suddenly, the old man's form shimmered and shifted. The weathered skin and gray beard melted away, revealing a woman. Her face remained hidden in shadow, but her presence was warm and full of a vibrant, ancient life. She smiled softly at the spot where Arnold was training, then shifted back into the monk and disappeared.
Back to Arnold
The monk returned to the training grounds, but Arnold was nowhere to be seen. The area was silent.
Suddenly, a blur of motion came from the side. A powerful kick aimed straight for the monk's head. The monk ducked effortlessly, the wind of the strike whistling over him. He straightened up, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Good."
Arnold stood there, his breathing steady and controlled. His eyes were sharper now, like flint.
Without a word, the monk raised his hand, and the vision returned. Miyara, captured and crying.
This time, Arnold didn't scream. He didn't rush. His fists tightened, and his jaw set, but he didn't break. He watched the scene play out, his breathing rhythmic and deep. Inside, a fire burned, but it was a controlled blaze.
The monk observed him carefully. "Better."
Arnold exhaled a long, slow cloud of breath. "It still annoys me."
The monk nodded. "It should. Pain doesn't just go away. You just learn how to harness it."
Silence settled over them.
"Can I ask you something?" Arnold asked.
The monk tilted his head.
"Why can't I become the God of Moderator?"
The monk didn't answer at first. He just looked at Arnold with a long, knowing gaze. Then, the space around them shifted again.
Another presence appeared in the distance, far across the stars.
It was Ayelen. But his eyes were no longer the eyes of a brother. They were cold, filled with a darkness that could swallow galaxies. They were filled with pure, unadulterated revenge.
The monk spoke, his voice heavy with fate. "Because, Arnold... that role was never meant for you."
Arnold didn't speak. He simply looked at the horizon, the truth settling into his bones. Somewhere out there, the universe was beginning to scream.
• CHAPTER 13 ENDS •