Zayn blinked as he found himself standing atop a cliff that overlooked a landscape so vast and stunning it felt like it had been plucked from the dreams of gods. The sky stretched endlessly above, dominated by two brilliant suns, their golden light casting the world below in a warm, ethereal glow.
Before him lay a breathtaking expanse—a tapestry of life and wonder. Towering mountains with jagged peaks jutted into the heavens, their slopes covered in dense forests of trees with leaves in every shade of green imaginable. Rivers as wide as oceans snaked their way through the valleys, their waters sparkling like liquid crystals. Plains of golden grass swayed gently in the breeze, and fields of flowers bloomed in vibrant, unearthly colors.
In the distance, cities of grand architecture shimmered under the twin suns. Tall spires of stone and glass reached toward the heavens, their intricate designs defying the limits of mortal craftsmanship. The cities were alive with movement, tiny figures bustling about in a harmony that seemed almost choreographed.
Further still, colossal waterfalls cascaded down cliffsides, their roaring waters feeding into a shimmering sea that stretched beyond the horizon. The ocean's surface gleamed as if adorned with diamonds, its waves rolling gently against pristine white sands.
It was a world of majesty and grandeur, so utterly alien yet familiar enough to strike awe into Zayn’s core.
Zayn stood frozen, utterly overwhelmed. The sheer scale of it all was incomprehensible, and he couldn't decide whether it was awe or confusion that made his chest tighten.
"Zayn," a voice called softly to his side.
Startled, he turned his head sharply, but his gaze landed only on a blurry, indistinct figure. Its form shimmered and wavered like a heat mirage, but Zayn could tell it was male.
"Did you hear what I said?" the figure asked, his voice calm but tinged with mild exasperation.
Zayn, still dazed, instinctively answered, "I wasn't listening."
The figure sighed, the sound laced with familiar resignation. "Typical." After a pause, he repeated, "I said, it's beautiful, isn't it? The land we're looking at."
Zayn glanced back at the vast world before him. He took in the shimmering rivers, the crystalline forests, the glowing sands of the desert. It was stunning, undeniably so. Yet, something in him twisted, resisting the awe.
"It's not," he replied flatly.
The figure didn't react with surprise, only tilted his head slightly. "Why not?"
Zayn's gaze didn't leave the horizon as he spoke. "Because despite all that so-called beauty, it's still a world ruled by humans. And humans—" He paused, his voice sharpening, "—love to hide their ugliness beneath layers of false perfection. They put their filth deep enough that no one notices, but it's still there, festering." He shook his head. "I can never call something beautiful when it's built on lies and ugliness."
A chuckle escaped the figure. "A little dramatic, don't you think? And isn't it a bit... racist, blaming humans?"
Zayn turned to the blurry figure, his voice edged with irritation. "I only said humans because they're the most hypocritical offenders. Don't mistake me—every other sentient race is just as bad. I don't discriminate against bullshit."
The figure let out a long sigh. "You're narrow-minded, Zayn. There's no such thing as a truly peaceful world. Every paradise has its cracks, every beauty its flaws. The best anyone can hope for is a world that's mostly peaceful, mostly beautiful. You learn to appreciate what you have and settle for what you can get."
Zayn's expression hardened. "That's where you lose me. The settling part. That's the excuse of people who've given up. They tell themselves it's impossible to reach total peace, or true beauty all because they never really tried to achieve it in the first place."
The figure folded his arms, his form shifting slightly in the sunlight. "And what do you think, Zayn? You think the world can be perfect?"
"It is not perfection I seek. It is the underlying truth I want. I want a world that admits it is ugly and doesn't hide it. I want a world where there are no lies. A beautiful world is not one built to look beautiful, it is one that is true to itself." he said.
Zayn's voice grew colder, sharper. "This world, on the other hand, is built on an idea I hate. That everyone must work. That everyone must produce, contribute, feed the system—or it all crumbles into chaos. A world where survival depends on a constant cycle of exploitation and suffering? And even this suffering is hidden under their exploits and lies."
"I can't appreciate something like that. I don't want to."
The figure regarded him silently for a moment. Then, with a slight shrug, he said, "That's just the way things are. It's the natural order. From animals to gods, everything lives by that cycle. It's how existence is built. You can't change it."
Zayn's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. "Can't I?"
The figure tilted his head. "And how would you change the truth of this world?"
Zayn's gaze turned back to the horizon, his voice steady and unyielding. "Power."
The word hung in the air, simple yet profound.
"Power is a simple thing in a world full of complicated things. It can give you the most complex tools and the most meaningful relationships. It's the only constant in an ever-changing world. That's what power is.
"Power is the one truth in a world of lies.
"Power is the only thing that's true."
The figure stood silently, his blurry form motionless for a long moment. Then, he turned his gaze toward the grand landscape stretching out before them.
"Very well," he said finally, his voice calm and steady.
And then there was silence.
Zayn returned to the abyss, his existence unraveling thread by thread. The oppressive void of oblivion crept closer, consuming him piece by piece, while the blood-red word Power hovered before him, pulsing faintly.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
His thoughts were scattered, rattled by the inexplicable vision he had just experienced. The grand landscape, the blurred figure, and their conversation—none of it made sense to him. Yet, despite its unfamiliarity, it resonated deeply within him, striking a chord he couldn’t ignore.
The words he had spoken in that vision clawed at his memory, especially the last ones. Power is the only thing that is true. They stirred something within him, pulling at the fragments of his soul like a whisper from a forgotten past.
He didn't know why he said those words but he knew they were his own.
Suddenly, he recalled the first time he had died—shot in the head, after his rampage in the school. Back then, he had clung to those very same words, a simple sentence quote he thought of when asked how his life could change.
Now, here they were again, not as a fleeting thought but as an undeniable truth that demanded his attention.
And for the first time, Zayn understood why he had failed.
When he had fought to survive in the blood, he thought clarity had come to him. He had believed the answer was to focus solely on what he wanted, to exist on his cares in a world that gave nothing in return.
But that belief had been his undoing. He now saw it for what it was—a compromise. A pitiful acceptance of the world’s rules, of its flaws, of its tyranny over him. Refusing to change the world and instead changing himself.
He scowled into the encroaching void.
Why should I be the one to compromise?
Why should I be the one to ignore the world’s imperfections?
Why should I submit to its trials, its rules, its decrees?
The questions burned in his mind, each one sparking a defiance that swelled within him. The answer, he realized, was simple: he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t accept a world that demanded his submission, nor should he bow to its flawed logic.
He wasn’t the one who needed to change—the world itself should break before it could bend him.
A fierce conviction ignited in his chest, illuminating the darkness that sought to consume him. The golden runes that had been dissipating from his form sped up their departure. He watched as the blood-red word Power began to pulse more brightly, releasing crimson letters of its own that replaced his existence and fought against the chains dragging him. They empowered him.
The golden runes returned once more, stubbornly insisting on their decree.
[You Have Failed To Complete This Story]
[You Are Dead]
The proclamation echoed in his mind, but this time, he didn’t falter. He rejected it.
The golden silhouette of a massive book appeared in the void, its pages turning with deafening force. It bore the same decree, etched in shimmering letters:
[You Have Failed To Complete This Story]
[You Are Dead]
The words radiated a crushing presence, a divine authority that demanded submission.
Zayn felt the pressure bearing down on him, a weight that threatened to extinguish his very existence. But instead of cowering, he glared up at the words with unyielding defiance.
“I might be a foolish teen,” he muttered, his voice dripping with scorn, “but if a whole Story needs to throw its weight around just to make me submit, then you’re the one who’s powerless.”
The crimson runes around him flared brighter, intermingling with the golden letters of the decree. The book trembled as its authority was challenged, its pages vibrating with an almost imperceptible hesitation.
Zayn took a step forward, his form now fully remade with the crimson runes blazing across his body. The pressure intensified, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he raised his hand, the red runes coalescing into a searing glow, and slammed it down onto the colossal page beneath him.
“I refuse your lies,” he declared, his voice reverberating through the abyss.
The page cracked beneath his strike, and the golden letters above began to shatter, their light dimming as crimson fissures spread across them. The book itself trembled violently, its once-immovable authority now faltering.
With a final surge of will, Zayn roared, “My power is the only true thing!”
The golden words exploded into fragments, the massive book enveloped in crimson flames and light. The void around him shattered like glass, revealing a blinding crimson light that enveloped him.
And then, silence.
Meanwhile...
The dim glow of Libraros' endless lanterns cast flickering shadows on the polished wooden floors. Rows upon rows of towering shelves stretched infinitely in all directions, holding countless books bound in materials ranging from humble leather to shimmering starlight. At the center of this vast labyrinth sat the librarian, he lounged at the circular reception desk, occasionally humming as he read, his attention fully consumed by the tale of a long-forgotten war.
It was in the midst of this tranquility that he felt it—a faint tremor rippling through the air.
His gaze darted to the small notebook resting atop his desk, its golden runes faintly glowing on the cover. The Story participant’s book. At first, it appeared normal, its glow steady and unwavering. Yet, a strange scent reached his nostrils—smoke, faint but unmistakable.
The librarian’s expression darkened as he carefully picked up the notebook, his touch reverent. He flipped through its gilded pages with practiced speed, his keen eyes scanning each one. For a moment, nothing seemed amiss. But when he reached the final page, his breath caught in his throat.
The page was burning.
Not with ordinary flames, but with a strange, ethereal crimson fire that consumed without heat. The golden letters at the edges of the page were melting into crimson, and the destruction was spreading rapidly.
“This… should be impossible,” the librarian muttered, his calm demeanor cracking as he traced a hand over the page. The heatless fire defied his touch, its presence an unrelenting force of destruction.
For the first time in his existence, fear flickered in the librarian’s ancient eyes.
Back in the story.
The lead guard staggered, his boots crunching against scorched earth and smoldering debris. The mountain was unrecognizable—a charred wasteland of blackened stone and swirling ash. The explosion had devastated everything, wiping out his men, the surrounding forest, and even part of the mountain itself. He didn’t know how he was still alive.
Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, stinging his eye and blurring his vision. His legs shook beneath him, barely able to support his weight as he stumbled forward. Each step was a struggle, but his gaze remained locked on the shattered remains of the black monolith he had arrived with.
Half of the monolith lay in jagged ruins, but the runes on its surface still flickered faintly. Hope stirred within him. If it’s still functional…
Reaching the monolith, he knelt beside it, his trembling hands fumbling to retrieve the purple crystal from its compartment. Relief washed over him as he found it intact.
With what little strength he had left, the lead guard recited the activation chant. The purple crystal flared to life, its glow spreading across the surface of the monolith. The runes pulsed, casting eerie shadows across the destruction as a distant voice crackled through the crystal.
“What happened? There is a large explosion visible all the way in the Kingdom” the voice demanded, its tone sharp with urgency.
The lead guard coughed, blood splattering onto the ground as he struggled to speak. “The mission… failed. The mountain… destroyed. There was… an explosion. Crimson flames… everywhere…”
The voice on the other end stiffened. “Crimson flames? You mean bright red, correct?”
“No…” the lead guard wheezed. “It wasn’t bright. It was… blood-red.”
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the crystal. “Blood-red flames…? That’s impossible! It’s gone terribly wrong! Do you have any idea what that signifies?”
Before the lead guard could respond, something in the air shifted.
The crimson flames that had been consuming the ruins suddenly began to rise. He watched in stunned silence as the fire ascended into the sky, moving as though it were alive. The flames coiled and twisted, forming an intricate lattice high above before descending in long, arcing lines.
It wasn’t until the structure took shape that the guard realized what he was seeing.
A cage.
The crimson flames had woven themselves into a massive, glowing cage, its bars descending around the ruined area to trap him within. The lead guard staggered back, panic rising in his chest as the monolith at his side dimmed, its connection severed.
“What… is this…?” he whispered, his voice trembling.
His question was answered by a sight that froze him in place.
From the depths of the destruction, a figure emerged, shuffling through the smoke and ash. Its body was a grotesque sight—mostly bone with scraps of flesh clinging to it, a blood-stained face twisted into an expression of pure sorrow and rage. Crimson light burned in its hollow eyes, and its hair, once black, now glowed an unearthly red.
The lead guard’s breath caught as the figure stumbled toward him, its every step filled with unrelenting determination.
“No…” he whispered, his voice shaking as the realization dawned on him.
It was the Lower citizen.
But he wasn't anything he believed to be right in the world..