The opening passage wasn’t comforting. It read:
"To the seeker of forbidden truths, beware: this is not a tome for the faint-hearted or the rigid-minded. What you hold in your hands is a gateway—a key to the untamed essence of existence, where chaos dances freely and order falters.
You have been warned: chaos is not your ally, nor is it your enemy. It is a force eternal, a current that both creates and destroys without prejudice. Those who approach it with fear will find only ruin. Those who approach it with arrogance will find madness. But those who approach it with respect and understanding may glimpse the infinite.
The path ahead will challenge your mind, your will, and your very sense of self. But know this: in chaos, there is power, and in power, there is purpose.
Take your first step, brave reader, and remember: an anchored mind is the only barrier between mastery and oblivion.
— Mordekai Malpharix"
I turned the page, ignoring the eerie hum that seemed to resonate with my pulse. Curiosity killed the cat, sure, but satisfaction brought it back. And let’s face it—I’m no damn cat.
The next chapter loomed, its title scrawled in a jagged, almost primal script:
“The Khorathian Legacy: Architects of the Infinite Dance.”
Right off the bat, I knew I was in deep. The Khorathians weren’t just some ancient civilization—they were the kind of people who looked at chaos and said, “Yeah, let’s build our entire world on that. What’s the worst that could happen?” Spoiler: a lot happened, and none of it sounded great.
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The Introduction to the Khorathians
“Long before the first empires carved order into the world, there was the Khorathian civilization—a race of dreamers, innovators, and risk-takers who saw chaos not as a threat but as a foundation. They understood what so many have forgotten: chaos is not destruction alone. It is potential, raw and boundless, waiting to be shaped.”
“Dreamers and innovators, huh?” I muttered. “Or just a bunch of lunatics who got lucky until they didn’t.”
Apparently, the Khorathians built their cities on places where the veil between reality and the chaotic abyss was thinnest. They called it the Evershift, a poetic name for what was essentially the universe’s wildest roller coaster.
And instead of being terrified, these maniacs embraced it. They thought of chaos as a dance. A fucking dance. Their cities defied gravity, their constructs were alive, and their magic was basically what happens when genius and madness get drunk together.
But—and there’s always a but—chaos isn’t exactly a forgiving partner. When the Khorathians overstepped, when they let arrogance overshadow respect, chaos turned on them. Their achievements became their downfall. Cities collapsed, constructs went berserk, and eventually, the Khorathians were wiped off the map.
“Classic hubris,” I muttered. “Guess they didn’t know when to quit while they were ahead.”
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The Techniques of the Khorathians
The book didn’t stop at the history lesson. Oh no, it got way more specific, like it knew I was itching to learn. The Khorathians’ mastery of chaos magic was built on three principles:
1. Anchored Vessels
These weren’t just your average magic tools. Anchors were glyph-etched stones, crystalline conduits, or even living totems designed to guide chaos energy. They didn’t force it into submission but kept it from going full-on berserk.
1. The Resonance Chants
Their magi didn’t use cookie-cutter spells. Every chant was unique, tailored to the moment and the caster’s intent. No repeats. You screwed up? You didn’t get a redo—you got obliterated.
1. Fractal Constructs
The crown jewel of their craft, these constructs mirrored the endless complexity of chaos itself. They didn’t break chaos into manageable pieces; they built frameworks that danced with it.
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The Warning
The chapter ended on a note so ominous it felt personal:
"Should you seek the legacy of the Khorathians, tread carefully. The Evershift whispers promises of power but hides its costs. Only those who anchor their minds and walk with respect may glean its truths without being consumed."
"Reader, if you proceed, know that the Khorathian dance is not for the faint of heart. To wield chaos is to court both brilliance and ruin. Choose your steps wisely."
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I closed the book with a thud and leaned back in my chair. The air around me felt heavy again, like the damn thing had changed the atmosphere in the room. A faint breeze rustled the pages, almost as if it were challenging me to keep going.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
So here I was, staring at the fork in the road. I could delve deeper into this madness, seek out the ruins of the Khorathians to find their artifacts and secrets, or chuck the book and pretend none of this ever happened.
I tapped my fingers on the table, my mind racing. The promise of power was intoxicating, but the price? That was still a mystery.
"Alright, Mordekai," I muttered. "Let’s see how far down this rabbit hole goes."
And with that, I turned the page.
The second I laid eyes on The Fractured Order’s next excerpt, I could feel the weight of Mordekai’s words before I even read them. The guy wasn’t playing around—this wasn’t some dusty memoir about winning magic's equivalent of a science fair. No, this was a confession. A warning. Maybe even a desperate plea scratched into a page before the man himself unraveled like a cheap sweater caught on a nail.
Still, there I was, reading every damn word, because let’s face it—I wasn’t about to back out now.
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MORDEKAI’S DECLARATION
"To those who dare tread this path, know this: I was not born of chaos, nor did it flow naturally through my veins. I was, and always have been, a mere mortal—flesh and blood, bound by the limits of humanity. Yet, I craved the storm. I sought to wield what the ancients danced with, to bend the infinite energy of chaos to my will. And for a time, I succeeded. But heed my words, reader: chaos does not forgive. It does not forget. It takes, and takes, until there is nothing left."
“Well, shit,” I muttered. “Sounds like he had a great retirement plan.”
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THE BEGINNING OF THE EXPERIMENT
"It began as an academic pursuit. Chaos magic—untamed, unfathomable—was a puzzle begging to be solved. I had no inherent connection to it, no natural affinity, yet the Khorathian texts spoke of mortals who touched the Evershift through ingenuity rather than birthright. Their methods were reckless, dangerous, yet elegant in their simplicity. I had to try."
So this guy wasn’t born some magical prodigy, just another mortal, poking at chaos with a metaphorical stick. The difference? He didn’t stop when the stick caught fire.
"First, I created an anchor—a Khorathian relic I unearthed in the ruins of Khorathis. A jagged shard of black crystal, etched with fractal glyphs that hummed faintly with latent energy. I reawakened it, carving my own resonance patterns onto its surface. Through this, I could pull fragments of chaos from the air, tiny threads of the Evershift, and bind them to the crystal. It was like catching the wind in a net, fleeting yet exhilarating."
Let me tell you, the idea of “pulling fragments of chaos” sounded cool as hell. Catching the wind in a net? That’s some poetic bullshit I could get behind.
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THE FIRST TASTE OF CHAOS
"When the first thread of chaos entered my anchor, it was both triumph and terror. The energy pulsed violently, as if testing me, threatening to shatter the fragile tether. I could feel it clawing at the edges of my mind, whispering truths and untruths in equal measure. But I held firm, chanting the Resonance Patterns I had learned, coaxing the chaos into a semblance of stillness."
I could picture it—Mordekai, probably sweating bullets, holding on for dear life while this raw, untamed force tried to rip him apart. Respect, honestly.
"That day, I wielded chaos for the first time. A flicker of power—a spark, no larger than a candle’s flame. It felt... alive. In that moment, I understood why the Khorathians revered this force. It was creation and destruction entwined, infinite potential waiting to be shaped. But even that small spark left me drained, my mind heavy, my thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm."
That part hit me. The dude had just lit a tiny spark, and it nearly flattened him. And here I was, thinking about diving into this chaos nonsense headfirst.
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MASTERY... AND HUBRIS
"Over the years, I grew more adept. I constructed more anchors, refined the chants, and learned to shape fractal constructs as the Khorathians had. I created shields of shimmering chaos, tools that defied conventional magic, even weapons that resonated with the destructive beauty of the Evershift. Yet every success came at a cost. The more chaos I wielded, the more it demanded of me—my strength, my sanity, my very essence."
This was the part where Mordekai got cocky. Shields, weapons, tools—he was flexing on the universe, trying to outsmart chaos itself. I almost admired the audacity.
"Chaos is not like the elements. It does not obey. It does not compromise. It is a force that overwhelms, and though I managed to channel it, I never truly controlled it. I was a conductor guiding a symphony I could barely hear, a sailor navigating an endless storm. And with every use, the storm grew fiercer."
The storm metaphor? That one stuck. Made me think of all the times I’d thought I was in control, only to realize the ground beneath me was quicksand.
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THE BEGINNING OF THE END
"The first signs of the end were subtle. I would hear whispers in the silence, feel the ground tremble beneath my feet when no one else did. My thoughts became fragmented, my dreams filled with swirling patterns that made no sense. The chaos was... consuming me. I was no Khorathian. My mortal body, my finite mind, were never meant to hold this power."
The guy knew he was slipping, but instead of pulling the plug, he doubled down. Classic mistake.
"And yet, I pushed onward. I believed I could tame it, that my intellect and perseverance would prevail where others had failed. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps madness. But I could not stop, not when I was so close to understanding."
“Of course you couldn’t,” I said aloud. “Because that’s how it works. You get just enough of a taste to keep chasing the high, and then boom—off the cliff you go.”
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THE FINAL ENTRY
"Reader, if you have reached this point in my account, you must know that I write these words as a warning, not as a guide. Chaos has no master. I learned this too late. The anchors I so carefully crafted are no longer enough. The fractal constructs I shaped now collapse into wild storms of energy, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. My mind is not my own. Even now, as I pen these words, I feel the chaos seeping into me, unraveling the last threads of my being."
"I have seen what lies at the heart of the Evershift. It is not darkness, nor light, but something beyond comprehension—a truth that no mortal should ever glimpse. It is beautiful. It is terrifying. It is everything and nothing."
That line chilled me. Beautiful and terrifying. Everything and nothing. Mordekai wasn’t just waxing poetic—he’d glimpsed the abyss and couldn’t look away.
"Do not follow my path, for it leads only to ruin. The Khorathians were not fools—they were dreamers, and their dreams consumed them. I am no different. Chaos is infinite, and we are finite. To seek it is to lose yourself."
"If this book survives, let it be a tombstone for my folly, and a beacon for your caution. The Fractured Order is not a map to power. It is a record of a man who dared too much... and paid the price."
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The last page glowed faintly, a spiraling fractal pulsing like a heartbeat. It felt alive, almost like the chaos itself was lingering, waiting for someone stupid enough—bold enough—to pick up where Mordekai left off.
I leaned back, staring at the book. “Well,” I said to myself, “guess I’ve got a choice to make.”
Summary:
Alright, class, listen up. Today, we’re diving into Mordekai Malpharix’s The Fractured Order, and trust me, this is the kind of thing you’ll want to pay attention to unless you like the idea of your brain unraveling into cosmic spaghetti.
Here’s the gist:
Mordekai was just a regular guy—no special powers, no magical bloodline. But he got obsessed with chaos magic, which is basically the wildest, most untamable force out there. Imagine trying to grab lightning with your bare hands—that’s what he signed up for. He figured, "If the ancient Khorathians could do it, why not me?" Spoiler alert: there’s a reason people don’t mess with this stuff.
He started by making these “anchors”—fancy crystals that let him tap into chaos without blowing himself up. At first, it worked. He managed to pull tiny bits of chaos into the crystals and even shape them into shields and weapons. Sounds cool, right? But here’s the catch: chaos is like borrowing power from a loan shark—it always comes with a cost.
The more Mordekai used it, the more it messed him up. It didn’t just drain his energy; it started screwing with his mind. He’d hear whispers, see things that weren’t there, and dream of swirling patterns that made zero sense. But instead of stopping, he kept pushing, thinking he could control it. Classic hubris, right?
Eventually, chaos started fighting back. The anchors stopped working, his creations turned into wild storms, and his sanity started slipping through his fingers. In his final days, Mordekai wrote one last warning:
Chaos doesn’t care about you. It’s infinite, and we’re not. Try to control it, and you’ll lose yourself.
And that’s it, kids. Mordekai’s tale is a lesson in arrogance—thinking you can master something that’s meant to be untouchable. So, unless you’re itching to end up like him—a cautionary tale with glowing fractals carved on your tombstone—don’t mess with chaos magic. Got it? Good.