As Devon stepped out of his apartment, a chill ran down his spine. The street, usually bustling with noise and life, was empty. There were no voices, not even the hum of electricity. Just absolute, unnatural silence.
A cold wind blew between the buildings, but not a single leaf moved. Something was wrong.
Then, without warning, the space in front of him distorted as if reality itself was being torn apart. Out of nowhere, the tall, slender figure in a grey suit and sunglasses appeared before him, his expression indifferent. A suffocating aura of power emanated from him, as if gravity itself was bending around him.
“Say hello to the Watchers for me,” he said in a calm voice, but with a barely concealed mocking tone. “You’re late for the tutorial, so… goodbye.”
Devon barely had time to react. The man moved with inhuman speed, his arm reaching out like a whip of steel. Before his brain could process it, a cold, firm hand grabbed his head.
And then, devastation.
A shattering impact. Devon’s vision filled with light and debris as his skull slammed into the apartment wall. A deafening boom echoed through the area as concrete exploded like cardboard. The entire building shook, and in an instant, the structure gave way.
The ground disappeared beneath his feet. Shards of metal and concrete rained down around him as he fell into the ruins of what was once his home. The pain was a fiery storm in his head, his consciousness teetering on the edge of the abyss.
As his body was devoured by dust and darkness, one last image was etched into his mind: the man in the grey suit, standing amidst the rubble as if nothing had happened, adjusting his sleeves with eerie calm.
And then, it all faded away.
The impact was absolute. Devon felt his skull fracture under the relentless pressure of that hand, felt his bones splinter as his body was crushed into the rubble. There was no resistance, only the certainty that he was being reduced to nothing.
Pain.
Darkness.
And then… something worse.
His consciousness didn’t fade away entirely, but unraveled and crawled through a void that burned with colors that shouldn’t exist. Something was devouring him, something beyond pain and death, something he didn’t understand but that claimed him as its own.
When he opened his eyes, the world was no longer the same.
The forest smelled of rust and burning flesh. Devon gasped, pain searing through every fiber of his being. His shaking hands clutched at the ground—a carpet of violet leaves that crunched like broken bones beneath his knees. His vision flickered between shadows and a sickly amber glow.
The sky was torn, crisscrossed by luminescent cracks. They were not just fissures in the firmament, they were wounds in reality itself, gaping like hungry mouths. They were the same ones he had seen in his visions, but now they were wider, more voracious. A spectral light filtered through them, staining everything with a feverish glow.
There was no sun. There was no moon.
Just the hum of something ancient breathing through the metallic-barked trees.
And Devon, broken, trapped in a place that shouldn't exist.
“This is real,” he repeated to himself, digging his nails into the scar on his jaw. The pain was a whip of clarity. “Salvatore, this is what you hid in your encrypted journals. This is the price.”
All around them, the screams of the other initiates echoed like distorted reverberations. Hundreds of people were running in all directions: some toward the heart of the forest, others toward rock formations that looked like giant fangs. One man stumbled into Devon, his eyes bloodshot.
—The Saviors! The Saviors will get us out of here! —he shouted, pointing upwards.
On a platform of intertwined roots, three reptilian figures watched the chaos with their arms crossed. The tallest carried a curved sword made of twisted wood, its golden scales glistening in the unnatural light. Devon suppressed a shudder. They are not gods. They are jailers. And jailers have routines.
“Silence, maggots!” the reptile roared, and an invisible pressure crushed the air. The crowd fell to their knees, Devon included. His teeth gnashed under the weight of that mental force. Telepathy? Telekinesis? No… it’s something dirtier.
“Welcome to the Garden of Three Twilights,” the creature announced, scanning the crowd with the gaze of a bored predator. “Survive sixty days and you will be restored to your miserable existence. Fail…” it smiled, revealing obsidian fangs, “and you will feed the roots.”
The speech continued, but Devon was no longer listening. His attention was focused on the details:
1: Their weapons are living wooden staffs that writhe like snakes. 2: The leader has a scar running down his chest, too precise to be an accident. 3: The youngest's bracelet flashes green - is it a communicator? A sensor?
An explosion interrupted his thoughts. A man with a gun emptied his magazine into the reptiles. The bullets stopped in mid-air and fell like stones.
“Fools!” the reptilian leader snapped. With a gesture, five wooden spears flew into the crowd. Devon threw himself to the ground, but others were not so lucky. The projectiles tore through bodies, leaving wet cracks. A splash of warm blood hit his face.
They're not invincible, he thought, noticing how the younger reptile panted after throwing the spears. They use their own energy. They get tired.
The purple forest echoed with the cries of three thousand lost souls. These were not just screams of panic: they were roars of despair, broken pleas and sobs of those who had not yet understood that their old world no longer existed.
In the crowd, trembling bodies clung to each other. Some tried to run, but the ground beneath their feet rippled like a living thing, trapping them in its cruel embrace. Others screamed names that would never be answered.
Amidst the chaos, the Watcher raised his claw.
It was an impossible entity: a reptile with golden scales that shone like liquid fire under the amber light. Its vertical eyes were deathly cold. When it spoke, its voice pierced the bones.
“Pathetic initiates,” he said in guttural Spanish, as if his tongue were not made for it. “Forget your weak laws. The Rules of the System reign here. If you want to survive, say “Status.”
A brief silence. Then a murmur. Some whispered the word hesitantly, others hoping it was all a dream. Devon, however, did not hesitate.
"Status."
It wasn't a choice, it was instinct.
The word left his lips and instantly a holographic screen appeared before his eyes. It was invisible to others, but he saw it clearly:
---
[Devon Fiore - Level 1]
Race: Human (Grade G)
Health: 80/80
Mana: 70/70
Stamina: 70/70
--
Attributes:
Strength: 13
Agility: 14
Endurance: 11
Vitality: 8
Toughness: 8
Intelligence: 16
Wisdom: 12
Perception: 15
Free points: 0
--
Titles: None
Class: Locked (Available at level 10)
Profession: Locked
---
Numbers.
Without context, that was all. But something didn't add up.
Beside him, a woman was panting, her hands shaking in front of her face.
—No… this can’t be… My numbers… my numbers are too low!
Another man muttered with empty eyes:
—Vitality… only six…
Devon narrowed his eyes. Then, slowly, he realized what he was seeing.
I had no way of knowing what was “normal,” but if some people were panicking, it meant the numbers mattered. And if their fear was due to low values, then…
Why didn't he feel the same despair?
The Watcher continued his speech, his voice tearing through the atmosphere:
—Each level will grant you 1 point in all attributes and 5 free points. Increase Vitality so you don't bleed out, Wisdom to resist the lies of the Garden, or Toughness so your bones don't break like this idiot's.
CRACK
The Watcher disappeared and reappeared in front of a man in the blink of an eye. Before the victim could react, a golden claw slashed across his face with a wet, sickening sound. There was a moment of silence, a flash of disbelief in the man's eyes... and then, his skull exploded in a shower of bone fragments and gray matter.
His body convulsed uncontrollably before collapsing onto the carpet of violet leaves, which sucked up his blood as if they were hungry.
Panic turned into pure hysteria.
Some fell to their knees, others burst into tears. One young man tried to run, but the earth swallowed him up to his waist before spitting out his lifeless body.
Devon felt his heart pounding in his chest, but he didn't let the adrenaline get the better of him. He couldn't afford to lose his mind.
“Survive 60 days,” he said, a cruel glint in his vertical eyes. “And maybe… we’ll let you choose a Class.”
Grades... G to C, he mentioned. And after that? B, A, S? How many steps are there on this damn cosmic ladder?
Salvatore wrote about “grading up” in his journal, but he never said how. Accumulated levels? Specific tests? If these lizards are Grade E… how many grades above them are the Devourers?”
The watch burns in my pocket. 3:14. The time Angelo died. The time Salvatore stitched this scar on me. Coincidence? In this place, nothing is. Moving up in rank won't just mean moving up a level... it'll mean paying a different price .
Sixty days.
Devon scanned the broken souls around him, their faces in shock.
There is no point in trusting anyone, but there is no point in trusting the system either.
Salvatore… what the fuck did you know?
The Watcher spun his twisted wooden sword, cutting through the air with an unearthly whistle.
“You are not the first. Nor will you be the last,” his voice echoed with a multidimensional resonance. “This Garden is but a grain of sand in the desert of the Multiverse. Survive, and perhaps you will be deemed worthy of setting foot within the confines of the multiverse. Fall...—” his eyes glittered with malice—“...and not even your souls will be remembered.”
Silence.
The impact was immediate. Most humans paled, their minds struggling to process what they had just heard. Multiverse . This wasn’t just a survival game, this wasn’t just a personal hell. There was something beyond. Something immense. Something watching them from an unimaginable distance.
Devon didn't move. His mind worked fast, unraveling the hidden meaning behind the Watcher's words. They weren't the first. How many others had gone through this before them? How many had made it? How many had died before even catching a glimpse of this supposed Multiverse?
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
But most importantly… what did it mean to you to deserve to set foot there?
If this is a test, then it has rules. And if it has rules… I can break them.
He looked around. Some were terrified. Others looked hopeful, as if those words had given them purpose. But what Devon saw was something else.
A staircase.
If humans were at their lowest, if they were nothing more than cattle for something greater, then there was only one option: climb up, no matter the cost.
The Watcher's eyes scanned the crowd until they settled on him. Devon held his gaze, unwavering.
The reptile tilted its head, as if it recognized him, as if it expected something from him.
Devon didn't smile. Not yet.
But in his mind, a thought ignited like fire.
I will reach higher than you can imagine. And when I do... you will remember my name.
It was not the time for answers.
It was time to survive.
Panic broke out. People fled into the woods, but Devon crouched in the sharp-leafed bushes. He looked at the Watchers:
“Specimen 667-F is still alive,” one murmured, checking his bracelet. “Orders?”
“Let him go,” the leader replied, wiping the blood from his claws. “The Rippers will take care of it.”
Rippers. The name rang in his mind like a funeral bell.
---
The forest was a living organ. The trees oozed violet sap that burned on contact with the skin. Devon followed the trail of a group of initiates, keeping his distance. They were not allies. They were bait.
The first victims fell quickly. A cougar-like creature with moss-covered fur appeared out of nowhere, ripping throats with crystal claws. Devon stood paralyzed, remembering Salvatore's lessons: "Predators smell fear. Turn to stone."
The monster brushed past him, leaving a bleeding cut on his arm. He endured the pain without flinching. As the beast moved away, he followed the human pack, now reduced to three.
“We need to find shelter!” a woman shouted.
—Look! Water! —a man pointed to a jet of silver liquid.
Devon didn't warn them. He watched as the first to drink convulsed, his skin becoming covered in metallic scales. The others fled, but not fast enough. The roots in the ground coiled around their ankles and dragged them underground. Their screams lasted less than a second.
The forest itself is a predator, he realized as he retreated. And the reptiles just watch.
He found shelter in a hollow log. The inside smelled of sweet rot, but it was dry. He pulled out Angelo’s watch. The hands were still stuck at 3:14, but the ticking was louder, as if the mechanism were turning beneath his skin.
"What do you want from me?" he whispered into the device.
The answer was a fleeting vision: Salvatore kneeling in that very forest, signing a contract with a creature made of shadows and broken clocks. "I accept the pact. Blood for power. Soul for time."
The sound of breaking branches brought him back to reality. Someone was lurking nearby.
It was a man with a homemade knife and his eyes wide with panic.
—Go away! This is my refuge! —he growled.
Devon considered his options: he could kill him (easy, the guy was shaking like a fawn) or use him. He chose the latter.
“There’s a supply terminal,” he lied, pointing east. “I saw lights. Weapons. Food.”
The man hesitated, but greed won out over fear. He headed in that direction. Devon followed him from the shadows.
The trap was obvious to anyone who knew how to look: the bioluminescent mushrooms formed an all-too-perfect circle. The man ran towards them and the ground opened up. His screams attracted the Rippers.
There were three of them. Humanoid creatures with bark-like skin and flat, eyeless faces. Moving silently, they dismembered the man with surgical precision. Devon watched, memorizing every movement.
The first ripper used his nails as scalpels, the second preferred to strangle with vines and the third collected fingers.
When they were done, Devon acted. He threw a rock at the mushrooms, which triggered another trap. Poisonous vines wrapped around the Rippers. The third managed to escape, but was limping.
He followed the trail of black blood to a cave. Inside he found what he was looking for: a nest of chewed bones and, among them, Salvatore's diary.
"Day 43 in the Garden," one entry read. "The Watchers have a weak spot: the gland under the left armpit. If you cut it there, they deflate like balloons."
He smiled. The old bastard had really been there.
---
The night in the woods was a nightmare of sound. Unseen creatures howled in fractal languages and roots moved stealthily beneath the leaves. Devon took refuge in a cave of black crystals, using the journal as a pillow.
The visions came with the dream:
Salvatore, decades younger, fights a Watcher. His knife hits the creature in the left armpit. The creature explodes in an amber liquid.
“Grade F reached,” a metallic voice echoed. “Do you wish to ascend?”
Salvatore spat out blood. "Not for me, but for him."
The scene changed: an iron cradle, a crying baby (was it him?) with the scar already marked on his jaw.
He woke up with a start. Angelo's watch burned on his chest. Outside, something was growling.
The Watcher moved with the grace of an ancient predator, its golden scales clanging like war bells. Devon clung to the cave ceiling, the acidic sap of the forest burning on his skin like a cold shroud. He couldn’t see the reptile’s numbers—the System hid data from living targets—but he knew.
"Watchers are Grade E. Level 30 minimum," Salvatore had written in his journal. "Killing one will give you more XP than killing a hundred humans."
"Specimen 667-F... irregular energy signature... possible Bloodline mutation..." The reptilian voice boomed through his translator bracelet as he scanned the area with eyes that glowed in the infrared spectrum. Devon knew this because Salvatore's journal had warned him:
"Day 22: The Watchers see the heat of blood, not shadows. Cover your skin in frozen mud or acidic sap. Their eyes are their weapon... and their curse."
That was why, hours earlier, he had rubbed his torso with the purple sap of the carnivorous tree. The liquid, now dried, emitted an unnatural chill that distorted his thermal signature. Still, the Watcher moved forward, leaving furrows in the stone with his claws.
“I know you’re here, Fiore,” he whispered. “The Devourers whisper your name into my marrow.”
The creature threw its living wooden staff. The weapon glided through the air and pierced the glass just inches from Devon's head.
“Your bloodline ends here, rotten seed!” the reptile roared, its voice an earthquake in her mind.
Devon leaped and landed silently. The pain from his bleeding palms was a mantra: "The Fiores don't retreat. They take advantage."
The Watcher struck again, his claws scarring the stone. Devon rolled, feeling the air cut through his neck just seconds before.
“Will you run like your grandfather?” the creature taunted, launching an amber sphere of energy that vaporized a rock.
"Bullshit," Devon thought as a shard embedded itself in his thigh. "Salvatore won against you. And I'll do worse."
With a studied movement, he threw black crystal dust at the reptile's face. The particles glowed and blinded its infrared eyes for a second. Enough.
The black bone dagger, the same one Salvatore had hidden decades ago, was found in his left armpit. The blade vibrated as it struck the thermoregulatory gland, and the Watcher's scream shook the forest.
The reptile collapsed, its body convulsing in a storm of sparks and acidic smoke. Devon didn't wait. He climbed onto its scaly back and stabbed the dagger into the base of its skull, where the journal had marked a worn blue stain.
---
[Death confirmed!]
[Name: Kraxil Vorn]
[Race: Garden Watcher (subspecies: Draconis Custodis)]
[Level: 32 | Grade: E]
[XP gained]
The body disintegrated into glowing ash, leaving only a bracelet of liquid gold and a fading cosmic wail.
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[+4 to all stats]
[+20 free points]
Devon fell to his knees, his breath ragged as he pulled up his Status.
--
[Devon Fiore - Level 6]
[Race: Human (Grade G)]
Health: 112/130
Mana: 160/160
Stamina: 102/130
--
Attributes:
Strength: 13 → 17
Agility: 14 → 18
Endurance: 11 → 15
Vitality: 8 → 13
Toughness: 8 → 12
Intelligence: 16 → 20
Wisdom: 12 → 16
Perception: 15 → 19
Free points: 20
--
"Grade E... and I killed him while he was still Grade G."
His fingers trembled as he distributed the points: 10 in Agility, 10 in Perception. And then it happened.
A storm brewed beneath his skin. His muscles didn’t just grow , they moved , reforming in real time, tensing like coils ready to snap. His vision sharpened, the world exploding into detail—every flash of movement, every pulse of heat, every ripple in the leaves of unseen creatures lurking just beyond sight.
Vitality defines my flesh. Thirteen points... one hundred and thirty health points. Every wound will heal faster, every blow will be better resisted. But it is not enough. The Watchers had thousands.
Wisdom increases mana: one hundred and sixty. For what? There are no skills that use it yet, but Salvatore's journal mentions "Gift of the Hollows." Something will come.
And Agility… twenty-eight. The air is honey now, thick and predictable. I feel much lighter, too. I can count the specks of dust in the wind, see the quiver of a muscle before it contracts. This is power. This is what Salvatore coveted.
He clenched his fists. Salvatore was right. The system rewards boldness... or stupidity.
The forest fell into a tense silence. Distant howls could be heard: the other Watchers had noticed.
Devon reached for the bracelet, ignoring the sting of the alien metal against his skin.
[Acquired Item: Fallen Watcher's Bracelet (Grade E)]
[Effect: +5 Perception against Garden threats]
Grade E. The bracelet vibrates with strange energy, but it doesn't burn me... not yet. Could it be that the System doesn't restrict the use of higher-grade items? Or perhaps the Watchers are so insignificant in the Multiverse that even their items aren't protected?
Salvatore, if you were able to steal the secrets from these lizards... what else is there in the upper levels? Weapons that traverse dimensions? Weapons that defy the laws of physics?
Never mind. This trophy is the first step. And I'll keep climbing until even the Devourers see Fiore's name in their nightmares.
A slow smile spread across his face. Angelo's watch burned cold against his chest. It was 3:14 a.m.
"Next."
---
When he emerged from the cave, the forest had changed. The cracks in the sky bled more freely, the trees whispered his name... in Salvatore's voice.
A group of initiates saw him emerge, his body covered in reptilian ashes.
“It’s one of them!” a woman shouted.
"Kill him before he gives us away!" another man shouted
Devon didn't run.
He allowed them to come closer and see the Watcher's bracelet that surrounded his wrist.
“I know how to survive,” he said.
And for the first time since we got here, it was the truth.
The hunger in his eyes transformed into something else: hope.
"They don't ask me how I know. They don't question the bracelet. They just see the shine of the gold and think 'salvation.' Pathetic."
Grades are cages. G for cattle, E for jailers... And what am I? The wolf who learned to bite through bars.
If ascending the ranks requires crossing thresholds that even the Watchers will not speak of... then I will break down the doors. I will use their fear as my ladder, their corpses as my steps.
After all, isn't that what you wanted, Grandfather? To turn every lie into a weapon, every soul into a resource ... until even the Devourers learned to fear the name of Fiore.
Devon exhaled. This was the true Pact. Not one of blood or power, but of hope, Twisted, reshaped and controlled.
Angelo's watch still read 3:14 AM.
Always 3:14.