The early afternoon sun cast a gentle warmth over the bustling streets. A café on the corner exuded the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, its outdoor seating filled with couples and solitary patrons engrossed in their own worlds. Footsteps echoed faintly, blending into the symphony of chatter, laughter, and the occasional bark of a dog.
Amid this lively setting, a young woman in a brown coat hesitated near the café’s entrance. Her caramel hair framed her flushed face as she clutched the strap of her bag tightly. Her eyes darted nervously between the ground and a striking figure standing just a few feet away—a tall man with tousled red hair and piercing crimson eyes, engrossed in a call on his phone.
Her heart raced as she approached him, the words she had rehearsed repeatedly in her mind threatening to escape her. Swallowing her nerves, she finally stepped closer, her voice trembling slightly.
“Excuse me, sir,” she began, her tone faltering but polite. “Um, I would like to ask for your number, if that’s fine?”
The man turned at her voice, his phone still pressed to his ear. For a moment, he seemed caught off guard, his gaze sweeping over her with mild curiosity. Behind her, a few passersby glanced in their direction, but the young woman was too focused on the man’s reaction to notice.
“Oh,” she stammered, her face heating up as she realized he was mid-conversation. “I’m sorry. You’re calling someone—um, I’ll just—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off with a calm, dismissive wave. “No, that’s fine,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying an easy warmth. “It wasn’t that important.”
His tone and relaxed demeanor caught her off guard, and she hesitated, fidgeting with her bag strap. “Oh, well, um…” she trailed off, biting her lip before taking a deep breath. “I was wondering if you had some free time? Maybe we could hang out?”
Her courage seemed to falter as she spoke, her eyes flickering to the ground. Yet, to her surprise, the man simply smiled—a warm, genuine smile that seemed to light up his already striking features.
“Sure,” he replied with a casual shrug. “But I can’t right now. Let’s talk on the phone for now.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small notebook and pen, quickly jotting something down. With an effortless motion, he tore out the piece of paper and handed it to her.
“Here’s my number. See you later,” he added with a small wave before turning back toward the sidewalk, his phone already back in hand.
The young woman stood there, stunned, the note in her hand feeling heavier than it should. Her friend, who had been lingering nearby, finally stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with a mix of secondhand embarrassment and amusement.
“Did that seriously just happen?” her friend whispered, nudging her shoulder and shaking her head with a knowing grin.
The woman could only nod, her mind still replaying the interaction as she clutched the slip of paper like it was a treasure map. “Yeah… I think it did.”
Together, the two women began walking away, their voices hushed as they giggled and speculated about the red-haired man. Meanwhile, he disappeared into the crowd, his confident strides carrying him toward his destination, leaving behind only a flutter of excitement in his wake.
The scene shifts smoothly, and the red-haired man steps through the glass door of his office building, the cool metal handle under his grip. His polished shoes click against the marble floor, each step sharp and deliberate, cutting through the silence of the empty hallway. He nods politely to the security guard at the front desk, the exchange brief but cordial. His presence, though unassuming, commands a quiet respect as he moves past a few coworkers. They smile and greet him casually, their conversation light and familiar, the kind that fills the mundane rhythm of office life.
As he reaches the elevator, the doors slide open with a soft whoosh. He gives a friendly wave to his colleagues, his expression warm but composed. The sound of the elevator's mechanics hums quietly in the background as he steps inside, the door sliding shut behind him, leaving the floor behind in stillness. The anticipation of the next step lingers in the air, muted but palpable.
When the elevator reaches the top floor, he steps out and makes his way to his office, his pace purposeful yet unhurried. One of his coworkers, a man with a warm smile, hands him a steaming cup of coffee. "For you, Mr. Stansas," the coworker says.
He accepts it with a nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just call me Aven, Tim," he replies easily, offering a casual dismissal of the formal address. He takes a sip of the coffee, appreciating the warmth, before heading into his office.
The door clicks shut behind him as he places his bag on the desk. Aven sets the coffee down and takes a moment to smooth his business attire, adjusting his blue polo and light brown pants. The mirror on the far wall catches his reflection as he stands before it, straightening his posture and fixing his shirt. With a satisfied nod, he walks over to his chair and sinks into it, settling in for the day, the weight of the moment subtly shifting as he prepares to get to work.
As Aven takes a deep breath as he settles into his chair, the familiar rhythm of the office already beginning to take shape around him. He adjusts his posture, the slight shift of his body signaling the beginning of his regular day. The hum of the fluorescent lights above and the quiet clacking of keyboards from nearby desks create a dull, comforting background noise.
The first thing he does is glance at his inbox. Several new emails have piled up overnight—client updates, reports from his team, and a few meeting requests. He opens the first one, a progress report from his assistant. He skims through the figures, nodding to himself as he notes a slight increase in the last quarter's revenue. Nothing too exciting, but solid numbers. He makes a mental note to discuss it in the afternoon meeting.
Aven shifts to the next task: drafting a response to a client's inquiry about a project delay. The email is professional but empathetic, a balance he's mastered over the years. He types a few lines, carefully worded to ensure the client knows the delay is a result of unavoidable factors but that their concerns are heard. After hitting send, he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of coffee, mentally preparing for the day ahead.
The phone rings, interrupting his moment of respite. Aven picks it up on the second ring.
"Hello, Aven Stansas speaking."
"Hey, Aven. It's Tim. We're still good for the 2 PM meeting, right?" Tim's voice is steady but tinged with a hint of urgency.
"Yeah, we're set," Aven replies. "I'll be there. See you then."
Aven hangs up and checks his watch. It's still a little early for the 2 PM meeting, but he knows the next few hours will be packed. His to-do list looms in front of him, a steady stream of responsibilities that don't allow for much downtime. He dives into his next task: preparing for a presentation he'll be giving at the end of the week. The slides are mostly ready, but he still needs to fine-tune the data to make sure everything flows smoothly.
Minutes turn to hours as Aven runs through meeting agendas, answering emails, and reviewing project timelines. His assistant stops by to drop off a few files for him to sign. Aven glances through them quickly, checking the key points before scribbling his signature at the bottom. He thanks her with a quick smile and watches her leave, returning to the mountain of work on his desk.
The phone rings again, this time with a more familiar voice—his boss, Mr. Thompson.
"Aven, I need you to review the final draft of the quarterly report. Could you do that by the end of the day?"
"Of course, I'll get on it," Aven replies, making a note of it on his desk calendar.
"Great, I'll be looking forward to your thoughts. I trust you'll have it all in order."
The call ends, and Aven leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He's grateful for the trust Mr. Thompson has in him, but the constant stream of work does wear on him at times. Still, he takes pride in getting things done, in keeping everything organized and running smoothly.
The afternoon rolls around quickly. Aven joins the team for their regular meeting, where they discuss the latest projects, potential partnerships, and any challenges they're facing. As usual, Aven contributes his thoughts, offering insights on budgeting and timelines. His team members appreciate his clear, level-headed approach. The meeting wraps up, and Aven returns to his office, quickly transitioning to his next tasks.
He reviews the final draft of the quarterly report, fine-tuning a few numbers and polishing the language to ensure everything is as concise and professional as possible. Once he's satisfied, he sends it off to Mr. Thompson.
As Aven sighs in relief as he pushes through the last of his tasks. The end is in sight—just a few more clarifications and confirmations, and his day will be over. He continues tapping away at his laptop, sending replies, finalizing meeting dates, and ensuring everything is in order. The steady rhythm of his work is interrupted when, suddenly, the power cuts out.
"What the...?" he mutters, glancing around his dark office. His fingers instinctively reach for his phone, flicking on the flashlight. "There should be a backup generator," he thinks, but there's no hum of power returning. The silence is unsettling. Normally, you'd hear people groaning or making jokes about the outage, but there's nothing.
His unease grows as he stands, heading for the door. He grasps the handle and turns it, pushing the door open to peer into the hallway. He raises his phone's flashlight, but the beam cuts through the darkness only a few feet before being swallowed. "It's way too dark," he thinks, a shiver running down his spine. His logical side tells him it's better to stay inside—he's not about to wander through a now unfamiliar, pitch-black hallway.
He shuts the door quickly, locks it, and, for good measure, drags a chair in front of it, barricading the door. His breath comes out in a shaky exhale as he steps back, reassured by the barrier, but the feeling of dread hasn't left him.
"That's weird," he mutters, glancing down at his phone again. He checks the battery percentage—73%. He remembers charging it only a little while ago, and the number seems off. He shakes his head, brushing it off, but the creeping unease won't leave.
He paces the room, his flashlight cutting through the thick darkness, but there's no sign of life outside his office. Through the window, he stares out at the city, but what he sees sends a chill up his spine. The usual city lights? Gone. The sky? No stars, no moon. Just an expanse of void. The darkness is absolute. It's as if the city itself has been swallowed by something far worse than just a power outage.
Aven checks his phone again. 39%.
"What? No... no way," he mutters under his breath. The phone was at 73% just moments ago. His heart rate quickens, and he glances at the phone in disbelief, then back at the darkened city beyond his office window.
Before he can process what's happening, the percentage drops again. 24%.
"What the hell?" Panic creeps into his voice. "No, no, no, this can't be right," he whispers, staring at the screen. The flashlight flickers, its beam growing weaker with every passing second.
The percentage drops again, 18%.
"Wait—no! I didn't mean to complain! Please—please, just stay on," he begs, his breath quickening. But the phone's flashlight is now almost useless, the light barely cutting through the darkness. As he stares in horror at his phone, the room around him begins to shift.
It's subtle at first—just a slight distortion—but as Aven looks around, it becomes clear: the office is aging. The once pristine desk is now scratched, the walls slightly peeling, the carpet a dull shade. The air feels different, heavier, as if the room itself is eroding.
But Aven doesn't notice it immediately, too focused on the phone and the ever-decreasing battery. His mind is racing, trying to understand what's happening, but every time he looks back at his phone, it's even worse.
"No, no, no..." he gasps, a strangled panic rising in his throat. The office continues to age, but his attention is locked on the device—on the now faint flashlight that's barely a glow. His mind screams for answers, but no matter where he turns, the silence is deafening, the darkness suffocating.
Aven stares at his phone, the screen completely black now, its battery drained to 0% in a matter of seconds. His breath catches as the weak glow of the flashlight fades entirely, plunging the room into an oppressive darkness. The silence around him is overwhelming, yet it feels as though something is shifting—something bigger, something far beyond his comprehension.
Unbeknownst to Aven, time around him begins to accelerate at an unimaginable rate. The office continues to decay, but now it's far more drastic. The walls crack and crumble, the carpet disintegrates into nothing but dust, and the desk warps and collapses. The once-modern fixtures of his workspace are now ancient, forgotten remnants of a time long past.
As the room crumbles away, Aven finally hears and notice the change . He stumbles back, his heart pounding. "What the hell is happening?" he whispers, but his voice feels small, swallowed by the vastness surrounding him.
Then, something miraculous begins. In the void beyond his window, pinpricks of light start to appear—small, flickering stars dotting the endless black canvas. Aven's eyes widen, his panic momentarily giving way to awe. The stars multiply rapidly, filling the dark expanse with constellations, nebulae, and swirling galaxies. Colors burst into existence—deep purples, radiant blues, and fiery oranges painting the sky in a cosmic dance.
The cityscape below his office window is gone now, replaced entirely by an endless, breathtaking view of space. Massive planets float in the distance, their surfaces shimmering with alien textures. Rings of debris encircle some of them, glowing faintly in the starlight. A comet streaks by, its fiery tail leaving a trail of light that illuminates the ever-changing scene.
Aven feels as though he's been transported to the edge of the universe, standing alone in his crumbling office amidst the infinite expanse of stars. The floor beneath him begins to dissolve, pieces of it breaking away and floating into the void like fragments of a forgotten memory. His office is no longer a building but an island suspended in space, a tiny speck in the vast, overwhelming grandeur of the cosmos.
Despite the beauty, unease claws at Aven. The speed of the changes is dizzying. Planets appear and vanish, stars explode in brilliant supernovas, and galaxies are born, only to wither into black holes moments later. It's as if time itself is unraveling before his eyes, rushing forward at an incomprehensible pace.
Aven reaches out instinctively, trying to steady himself on what remains of his desk, but his hand passes through it—it's no longer solid, fading like a ghost. He gasps, spinning in place as he looks around, searching for anything familiar, anything real.
As meteors streaked past him, their fiery trails lighting up the cosmos in a dazzling display, Aven's breath caught at the sight of something new—a spark of green amidst the swirling void. He watched in awe as tiny specks of light began to materialize around him, flickering like fireflies in the darkness.
Before his eyes, those specks morphed into seeds, floating gently in the zero-gravity expanse. They pulsed faintly, as if alive with an inner energy, and then began to sprout. Delicate tendrils extended outward, growing with impossible speed. Aven stood frozen as vibrant vines curled and twisted through the air, intertwining like dancers in a cosmic waltz.
Lush leaves unfurled, glowing faintly with an ethereal green light, casting gentle shadows on Aven's crumbling surroundings. From these vines, flowers began to bloom in colors he couldn't even name—blues deeper than any ocean, reds as fierce as the sun, and purples that seemed to drink in the starlight around them. Their petals shimmered with a translucent beauty, catching and refracting the light of the passing meteors.
The plants spread rapidly, carpeting the remains of the office floor and crawling up the decayed walls. Branches extended outward, sprouting fruit that glistened like polished gemstones. Trees formed next, their trunks solid yet iridescent, their roots weaving into the remnants of the crumbling structure. The trees stretched higher and higher, their canopies intertwining until they resembled a floating rainforest suspended in the vastness of space.
Aven reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers against a nearby leaf. It felt cool and smooth, yet it hummed faintly with life, as though it were breathing alongside him. Around him, flowers opened and closed in rhythm, responding to some unseen cosmic pulse.
The transformation was not just limited to greenery. Streams of water began to appear, weaving through the vegetation like shimmering rivers. They sparkled with light, reflecting the growing ecosystem as it flourished around him. Small orbs of light hovered near the plants, buzzing like curious insects, adding another layer of life to this surreal, floating garden.
Aven's awe deepened as he realized that this was more than just growth—it was creation itself, unfolding at an accelerated pace. He could feel the vibrancy in the air, as though the plants and flowers were alive in ways far beyond their physical presence. The once-terrifying void had transformed into a breathtaking sanctuary, a living, breathing ecosystem born from the ruins of his crumbling reality.
Even as the stars continued their chaotic dance in the background, this blossoming paradise offered a strange sense of peace—a quiet reminder that life, no matter how fleeting or fragile, could thrive even in the most unexpected places.
As Aven's bewilderment deepened as he stared at the strange young man that came out of nowhere. he looked far too at ease in this bizarre situation. The cosmic garden around them still pulsed with life, but the sudden intrusion of Party blower and this overly cheerful figure sitting atop a speaker felt entirely out of place, the vibrant green and glowing foliage framing him like a surreal painting. The man had unruly blonde hair and piercing dark blue eyes, his carefree grin at odds with the cosmic chaos around them.
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"Hey there!" the man called out, his voice warm and lively. He leapt down from the speaker with an effortless grace, landing as if gravity had no real claim on him, his blonde hair catching the faint glow of the shimmering plants. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, as if he found the entire situation amusing. Aven instinctively took a step back, his mind racing to make sense of this surreal encounter.
"Um, who are you?" Aven asked cautiously, his voice tinged with unease.
Yuri gave a casual wave, completely ignoring the tension in Aven's tone. "Hm who am I, Hm? just Call me Yuri. Nice and easy, right? Not like it matters too much anyway. See, I already know who you are, Aven Stansas." His grin widened as if he were sharing a private joke.
Aven's eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name? And what are you even talking about?"
Yuri shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, that's not important. What is important is this!" He gestured grandly to the enormous mystery wheel standing beside him. The wheel was an overwhelming spectacle, painted in bright colors with sections labeled with Power's: Reality Manipulation , Concept Manipulation, Death Manipulation, Adaptation, and Millions more. It radiated a faint, otherworldly glow, and just looking at it sent a shiver down Aven's spine.
"I'll explain it quick so we can get this over with," Yuri said, gripping the wheel's handle. "This bad boy here is gonna decide your power and your weapon. Think of it like a... divine lottery! Whatever the wheel lands on, you get. Simple, right? Let's hope you're lucky!"
Aven blinked, his confusion only growing. "What are you even talking about? Power? Weapon? I don't need anything like that—"
"Ah, ah, ah!" Yuri cut him off, wagging a finger. "Doesn't matter what you think. The rules are already in motion, my guy. You're here, so you spin the wheel. Or I spin it for you. Either way, destiny's got a plan, and I'm just the delivery guy."
Aven looked around, his heart pounding. The plants, the stars, the surreal environment—it was all too much. And now this? His instincts told him to refuse, to demand answers, but something about Yuri's casual confidence made it clear that resistance was futile.
"Fine," Aven muttered reluctantly, crossing his arms. "But if this is some kind of joke, I'm not going to find it funny."
Yuri's grin only grew. "Oh, trust me. You'll find it very funny... eventually." Without waiting for further protest, he spun the wheel with a dramatic flourish. The sound of clicking filled the air as the wheel spun rapidly, its colorful sections blurring together.
"Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows!" Yuri sang, stepping back and crossing his arms as he waited for the result.
Aven could only watch, his stomach twisting in knots as the wheel slowed down, the clicking growing louder with each passing moment
The wheel spun with a dizzying speed, its colorful segments flashing brightly in the air, accompanied by a lively tune that seemed to mock Aven's growing sense of disbelief. Despite the chaos around him, the spinning wheel almost felt... exhilarating. Bright lights reflected off the foliage, creating an otherworldly glow as Aven's mind raced. He had no idea what was happening or why he was even here, but the idea of possibly gaining a powerful ability from the wheel made him momentarily forget his panic. After all, who wouldn't want an op power straight out of an anime?
The wheel clicked to a halt, and the vibrant music abruptly stopped. Aven's heart skipped a beat as the pointer landed on "Flame Manipulation."
Yuri tilted his head, looking at the wheel as if considering it with mixed feelings. "Flame Manipulation, huh?" he mused aloud, scratching the back of his head. "Well, it's not bad... Could've been better, I guess. You could've gotten something crazier, like Reality or Death Manipulation, but hey, fire's always a classic."
Aven, still stunned by the rapid turn of events, let out a groan. Flame Manipulation? Of all the powers he could have gotten, this was the one he landed on. He had imagined something more... grandiose. Something that could bend the very fabric of reality or control time itself. But no, he was stuck with fire. He crossed his arms, clearly frustrated.
Yuri, noticing Aven's disappointed look. He clapped him on the shoulder with surprising familiarity. Hey, hey, don't be so down about it," Yuri said, patting Aven's shoulder with mock encouragement. "Fire's classic! Iconic, even! You're in the same club as some of the greats—fire-benders, wizards, uh... barbecues. Lots of potential here! You just gotta work it."
Aven exhaled sharply, still unsure of whether he should be relieved or annoyed. But Yuri's words did carry some weight. Fire had its uses—he'd seen enough action movies to know that. Maybe it wasn't the most glamorous, but it sure could be deadly. And who knew? Maybe it was just the start.
"Alright, fine," Aven muttered, forcing a half-smile. "Let's see what the weapon wheel has to offer."
Yuri's grin returned, more mischievous than ever. "That's the spirit! Now, let's get you some firepower." He motioned toward the next wheel, which loomed ominously in the distance, just waiting for its turn.
With a deep breath, Aven steeled himself for whatever came next.
Yuri's grin widened as he spun the second wheel with a dramatic flourish. "Alright, this is the bad baby! This one's gonna decide your weapon. Now, no matter what you're comfortable with—what you think you're good at—if this wheel picks it, you have to make it your main tool in battle. And if you don't... well..." Yuri paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully, his grin turning mischievous. "Well, let's just say you'll regret it. Paralyzed, cursed, maybe even worse. So, take this seriously, alright? Oh, and yeah, your powers count too. So, without further ado..." He gestured grandly at the wheel. "Let's spin!"
Aven stood stiffly, his jaw tightening as he eyed the black-and-red wheel. Its ominous design seemed to mock him, the sections filled with foreboding weapon names like The Revolt, Crain Rifle, Zweislander, Red Rover, and Dead Man's Blade and millions more. Each name radiated menace, as if the weapons themselves were alive, waiting to be unleashed. But one name, in particular, froze Aven in place Swift Blade.
His heart dropped. Not that one. Anything but that.
Yuri, catching the flicker of fear in Aven's expression, smirked with cruel amusement. "Oh, you're nervous. Good. Makes this more fun. Better start praying, my friend. You're gonna need it."
With a dramatic sweep, Yuri spun the wheel. The mechanism clicked rhythmically, each sound hammering into Aven's chest like a countdown to doom. The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unease as the wheel spun faster, blurring the names into a sinister haze.
Aven's fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms. Please, anything but the Swift Blade. He fixated on the spinning wheel, each click elongating time, turning seconds into agonizing eternities.
As the wheel began to slow, the clicking grew louder, each sound hitting like a gunshot. The hand inched closer to Swift Blade, the dreaded name now in sharp focus. Aven's stomach churned, his mind racing with panicked thoughts. This is it. I'm finished. I'm not strong enough to handle that.
The wheel crawled to a near stop. Aven's breath caught in his throat. The hand hovered, the thin sliver of safety shrinking as it drew closer to Swift Blade.
Then it happened. The wheel stopped.
Aven squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable.
This is it. I'm doomed. how in the world am I going to get stronger with that. I'll never—
Then, something unexpected happened
instead of Yuri's triumphant laughter, there was silence.
A puzzled voice broke the tension. "Huh?" Yuri leaned closer to the wheel, scratching the back of his head. "That's... weird." I don't remember putting that there."
Aven's eyes snapped open. The hand hadn't landed on Swift Blade. It had stopped on something else entirely—a section that had almost seemed invisible until now. The name glowed faintly, etched in jagged letters
The All Handed Blade.
Yuri's grin faltered for the first time, his playful demeanor giving way to genuine confusion. "The All Handed Blade?" he muttered, as if testing the name on his tongue. "Well, sounds like a strong Sword"
Aven stared at the wheel, his heart pounding. Relief washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by an odd sense of foreboding. The name resonated with him in a way that felt uncomfortably personal, as if the blade had chosen him rather than the other way around.
As the name glowed faintly, as if the Its name itself is alive. Aven stared in disbelief. He hadn't seen that option on the wheel before—he was sure of it even tho there was maybe a thousands or maybe even millions of possible weapons he didn't even saw it. The name alone seemed to resonate with an energy that felt both strange and familiar, as though it was calling out to him specifically.
Yuri straightened, his grin returning, though less confident now. "Well, well. Looks like you dodged a bullet—or a blade, in this case. But don't get too comfortable. That thing's bound to come with its own set of surprises." He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and mischief. "Guess you'll find out soon enough what it really means."
Aven exhaled shakily, his fists unclenching. His reprieve felt temporary, like the eye of a storm. The ominous hum of The All Handed Blade echoed in his mind, a promise of power—and the unknown.
This was far from over. But for now, he had his weapon. The real question loomed heavy in his mind: What will it demand of me?
Yuri's grin returned, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he adjusted his stance. "Ah, you see, that sword—The All Handed Blade—well, it's not exactly from around here. It's not something you can just pick up off a shelf, my friend." He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in closer to Aven as if sharing a secret. "It's hiding in a different universe. A little tricky, right?"
Aven blinked, still trying to process the surreal nature of everything happening around him. "Wait... so, you're telling me I have to travel to another universe to find my weapon?"
Yuri gave a carefree shrug. "Well, not exactly. Think of it more like... I need to locate the right universe where it's currently chilling. Once we pinpoint its location, we can pull it into this one. But hey, no big deal! It's just a minor cosmic detour."
Aven's confusion deepened, but something in Yuri's tone made it sound like this was just another typical day for him. Aven clenched his fists, trying to focus, despite the swirling chaos around them. "Alright, so what do we do now? How do you even find the right universe?"
Yuri's grin widened with a mix of pride and mischief. "Well, I'm glad you asked," he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "I've got this amazing ability. It's kind of like Time Manipulation, but, well, I can do pretty much anything with it. It's hard to explain in full, but let's just say... I can navigate between universes and pull things from them. In this case, I'll find the one where the strongest version of The All Handed Blade resides, then make a bunch of copies and hope for the best."
Aven stared at him, disbelief written all over his face. "So you're telling me you're going to create a bunch of different universes and just hope we land in the right one?"
Yuri gave a casual shrug, the gleam in his eyes not fading. "Exactly! A little chaos never hurt anyone, right? Besides, I've got a good feeling about this. Let's just pray the right universe decides to pop up."
Aven blinked, trying to wrap his mind around the sheer absurdity of the plan. "And what if it doesn't work?"
Yuri simply grinned wider. "Well, that's part of the fun. You'll get your weapon one way or another."
Aven let out an exasperated sigh, but before he could process his frustration, there was a strange flash. In the blink of an eye, he found himself sitting on a stool in a dimly lit bar, surrounded by the hum of idle chatter. Yuri, now beside him, was casually sipping a glass of milk, completely unfazed. Both of them were dressed in adventure gear straight out of an isekai anime—leather armor, boots, and various odd gadgets hanging from their belts.
Aven looked around, disoriented. "What... just happened?"
Yuri grinned, unbothered by the sudden change. "Oh, you know, just a little universe-hopping magic to speed up the process."
Aven groaned, still trying to wrap his head around everything. He glanced at the bartender, who was wiping a glass and staring at them with a mixture of suspicion and indifference. Yuri leaned forward, asking casually, "Afternoon, friend. Ever heard of a tale about the All Handed Blade?"
The bartender blinked at him, a confused frown pulling at his brow. "Im sorry sir but I have no information regarding such Weapon."
Yuri's face fell, clearly disappointed. "Man, I really thought we'd hit the jackpot on the first try." With a snap of his fingers, the atmosphere shifted, and suddenly, they were no longer in the bar.
Aven's stomach lurched as the world around them warped, and before he knew it, they were standing at the entrance to a dimly lit dungeon. The air was thick with dampness, and the sound of dripping water echoed from deep within the stone walls. Aven blinked, adjusting to the new environment as he looked at Yuri, who was already adjusting his armor and grinning like this was just another ordinary day.
"Alright, Aven," Yuri said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's try our luck here. Time to find your weapon in this dungeon!"
Aven shot him an incredulous look, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Are we seriously just going to wander into a dungeon like this?"
Yuri gave a nonchalant shrug. "Why not? Dungeons are always a good place to find hidden treasures... or powerful weapons. Plus, it's not like we have any better leads."
With that, they ventured into the dungeon, the atmosphere growing heavier as they descended further into its depths.
As they wandered through the dimly lit dungeon, Yuri suddenly stopped, his face lighting up with excitement. "Hey, Aven! I just had a brilliant idea. Why don't we use this chance to try out your new fire powers?" He turned to Aven with a wide grin, clearly proud of his suggestion.
Aven shrugged, still adjusting to everything. "Sure, I guess. Might as well figure out how this works."
Yuri nodded, satisfied, and continued leading the way. "Perfect! So, what do you think of—ouch!" He stumbled back, rubbing his forehead after walking straight into a wooden sign hanging from the ceiling.
"What the—?" Yuri grumbled, glaring at the offending sign. His irritation quickly turned into intrigue as he read the text scrawled in bold, messy letters: "Free OP Limited Items This Way →"
Yuri froze for a moment before dramatically turning to Aven with an exaggerated gasp, his eyes wide as if he'd just discovered the meaning of life. "Aven, look! FREE OP ITEMS!" He pointed at the sign with both hands as if it were some divine revelation. "We have to go down that scary, totally not suspicious dark hallway. It's destiny!"
Aven squinted at the ominous path the sign was pointing to. The corridor was pitch black, with strange echoes coming from its depths. "You sure about this? It's probably a trap."
Yuri waved off Aven's concern with a dismissive gesture. "Pfft, come on! What's the worst that could happen? We'll either find amazing loot... or die in a blaze of glory. Either way, it's a win-win!"
Before Aven could argue, Yuri was already striding confidently into the darkness, his enthusiasm practically dragging Aven along.
"Oh, come on!" Aven groaned as he followed Yuri, his reluctance clear in every step. Before he could finish voicing his protest, the ground beneath them gave way.
With a loud crash, they tumbled down into a trap. "OUCH!" Aven shouted as they hit the bottom of the booby trap Youch that has to hurt. But before he could fully process what had happened, his vision went black for a split second.
When Aven opened his eyes again, he found himself back on his feet, completely unharmed. Yuri stood beside him, grinning smugly. "Tada! See? Told you the sign wasn't lying!" Yuri gestured grandly ahead, and Aven's eyes widened in awe.
"Don't try to lighten up the situation! We literally just fell into a tra—" Aven's voice was abruptly silenced as Yuri raised a finger to his lips, his expression suddenly tense.
"Shh," Yuri whispered, his eyes narrowing as he gestured toward the floor pointing where they are standing on in a vast, ornate hall, its atmosphere both majestic and unsettling. Marble sculptures of soldiers and famous emperors were scattered throughout, all depicted on their knees as if bowing in eternal submission. The statues bore expressions of anguish and reverence, their postures eerily lifelike.
The walls were lined with massive banners, battle-torn and weathered. Each bore the symbol of various factions, united only by a prominent cross, a haunting reminder of their shared struggle. Above them hung an enormous chandelier made entirely of hands—skeletal, stone, and flesh-like. Some of the hands gripped glowing orbs of light, while others were sculpted in desperate poses, clawing toward the luminescence.
And at the center of it all, illuminated by a beam of eerie golden light, stood The All Handed Blade. The weapon rested in a pedestal reminiscent of the legendary Excalibur's, but with a grotesque twist—dozens of hands were gripping to the blade, their fingers clutching it tightly, as if refusing to let go even in death. The blade itself was a masterpiece of ominous design, its surface etched with intricate, almost otherworldly carvings, and its edge gleaming with a dangerous, otherworldly glow.
Aven took a step closer, the weight of the hall's ominous atmosphere pressing down on him. "That... is the creepiest sword I've ever seen."
Yuri, completely unfazed by the eerie surroundings, rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Creepy or not, that beauty is yours, my friend! Now, let's grab it before something—oh, I don't know—tries to kill us."
Aven nodded, his resolve hardening as he stepped forward. Each step echoed ominously in the vast hall, the sound bouncing off the cold marble walls. As he approached the sword, he noticed something unsettling—the sculpted hands gripping the blade seemed to shift ever so slightly, their fingers loosening and tightening as though they were alive. It wasn't his imagination; the hands were moving, as if recognizing his presence.
The statues of knights and kings scattered throughout the hall reacted as well. One by one, they lowered their heads in reverence, bowing so deeply that their foreheads touched the ground. Their once-stoic faces now bore expressions of humility and submission, as though acknowledging Aven as the rightful heir to the weapon.
Above him, the chandelier began to descend, its ghostly light casting eerie shadows across the room. The hands forming the chandelier seemed to writhe and twist, reshaping themselves. Fingers extended toward Aven, not in menace but in a gesture that almost felt... welcoming, as if they were guiding him toward the blade.
Aven could feel the air grow heavier, thick with a strange energy that sent shivers down his spine. Each step seemed to carry more weight, not from fear, but from the sheer magnitude of the moment. This wasn't just about claiming a weapon—it was about accepting the legacy, the power, and the responsibility that came with it.
As he reached the pedestal, the hands on the blade shifted once more, loosening their grip slightly, as if granting him permission to take what was now his. Aven extended his hand, the energy around the blade pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Whatever came next, he knew there was no turning back.
Aven wrapped his fingers around the handle of the weapon, its cold surface sending a jolt through his arm. As he pulled, the blade resisted at first, as if testing his resolve. Slowly but surely, it began to slide free from its eerie grasp. The sculpted hands clutching the blade trembled violently, their stone-like texture cracking and splintering.
Then, something horrifying began to unfold. The hands touching the blade started to bleed, dark crimson dripping from their fingers and pooling at the base of the pedestal. The lifelike statues scattered throughout the hall followed suit, their unyielding marble exteriors splitting open to reveal veins and arteries that oozed with fresh blood.
Aven's eyes widened as he noticed the sword itself was changing. Its polished steel surface darkened, and pulsating veins began to appear, intertwining across its length. The weapon seemed alive now, a grotesque yet mesmerizing creation, breathing with an ominous power that radiated in waves. The veins glowed faintly, as if the sword was drinking in the bloodshed around it, feeding on the chaos.
The hall responded in kind. The chandeliers above dripped with blood from the reshaping hands, and the statues let out faint groans, as if awakening from centuries of silent torment. The air grew thick with a metallic scent, and the energy around Aven became suffocating, pressing down on him from all sides.
Despite the growing horror, Aven didn't falter. He tightened his grip on the weapon, his determination unwavering. Whatever this sword was—whatever it demanded of him—he had chosen it. And now, it seemed, it had chosen him too.
As the room darkened further, shadows stretched and slithered across the walls like living tendrils. An unsettling silence swallowed the hall, the air thickening with an oppressive weight. A swirling mist began to gather before Aven, spiraling upward in unnatural patterns. It coalesced into a hazy, indistinct figure, its edges shifting like smoke, as though reality itself struggled to contain its form.
Then, a voice broke the silence—deep, resonant, and imbued with an ancient authority. Each word struck Aven like the toll of a bell, vibrating through his core.
"I see you have claimed me," it intoned, the cadence slow and deliberate, each syllable reverberating as if drawn from the marrow of the earth itself.
Aven's pulse quickened, but his face betrayed no fear. His sharp eyes narrowed at the apparition, his stance steady despite the oppressive aura emanating from it. "Are you... my blade?" he asked cautiously, his voice even but laced with curiosity.
The figure shifted, its form trembling on the brink of coherence. Slowly, it began to solidify, as though emerging from behind a veil of dense fog. The outline sharpened, revealing more of its essence, and the motion of its nod was deliberate, almost reverent.
"Yes," the figure replied, its voice carrying an ethereal timbre. "The voice you hear is the very essence of the blade. I am the soul bound to its core."
Aven tilted his head slightly, his expression calm, though his thoughts raced. Encounters with ancient artifacts imbued with sentience were not foreign to him, yet this felt different—heavier, more personal. "I see," he murmured, his tone thoughtful. "Then tell me—will your loyalty to me be absolute?"
The mist continued to dissipate, and as the figure stepped forward, Aven's breath caught for a fraction of a moment. The figure was him—or rather, a reflection of what he could be. It wore a flowing white robe, its surface adorned with intricate gold patterns that glimmered faintly in the dim light. A hood rested on its head, shadowing its features, yet a few strands of jet-black hair escaped, catching the glow of the surrounding room.
What transfixed Aven most were its eyes. A mesmerizing fusion of ruby red and molten amber, they radiated an ageless wisdom, drawing him in like the pull of a powerful tide. They weren't just looking at him—they were peering into him, unearthing every thought, every fear, every ambition.
The figure smiled faintly, an expression of serene assurance that carried an almost divine quality. "Rest assured," it said, its voice unwavering and resolute, "I WILL BE YOUR BLADE"
The words carried a weight that was both a promise and a pact, echoing through the chamber like a sacred vow. Aven felt an electric surge coursing through his veins, a tide of power that left his senses sharpened and his resolve steeled. This was more than a weapon—it was a bond, forged in the crucible of destiny.
As the oppressive atmosphere lifted slightly, Aven straightened, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the blade by his side. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would not be faced alone. With this ally—this fragment of himself—he felt, for the first time, an unshakable certainty.