On a bleak dawn, soldiers marched in silence down the well-trodden path in the dreary forest, surrounded by mist. Apprehension appeared on their faces as they could only see the back of the other soldiers in front of them. Fortunately, the standards symbolizing a red fat dragon were held high by the bearers, lifting the overall morale of the army. Some even sung, never hitting the right tone, to cheer up their comrades.

One of the soldiers took a quick glance at a floating obese man, Lord Gregory, hovering at the head of the army. His view changed to that of his white knuckles, gripping the handle of the spear. The reflection of the spearhead caught his eyes, it was crude, just a pointy metal head. Nothing fancy.

He hoped it wouldn't break off...

Besides him clasped another soldier, a young adult, onto his arm in reassurance. He glanced at him, signaled with his eyes his doubts. Another soldier caught his eye, it was a familiar face which looked straight at him in the eye. He nodded. He will survive, he promised to himself, after all, he must protect his little sister, Alex. He wanted to play with her again, petting her little head as she told him about her adorable adventures, hugging her when she cries.

The doubts in his mind, they vanished.

A loud shout awoke him out of his reverie. He readied himself. Cold air seeped into his very bones. Shivering he wrapped his arms around him to ward off the cold. His other comrades did the same, yet the temperature got colder as the time went.

Lord Gregory opened his eyes and squinted, piercing the thick mist to search for the enemies. He inhaled deeply into his belly, inflating the fat mass, then held his breath. Time slowed down until it came to a complete standstill.

Exactly seven seconds passed.

He pushed the air out of his lungs. His breath swept through the ranks of the army, filling the soldiers with warm.

Their spirit lifted, they readied themselves for the coming battle. One began to chant, "Gregory! Gregory! Gregory!" His fellow soldiers copied him, not long after the whole army chanted, their combined voices gave off pressure.

A wide smirk graced his big round face as he listened to the chant of his army.

The spoken words could not be ignored.

It seeped into the world, generating an invisible pressure on the surroundings. The mist gave way to the pressure, showing the once hidden enemies who were led by someone of Gregory's similar stature.

In contrast to Gregory's army, the enemy army didn't chant but marched in a silent tight formation at them. Heavy boots pounded into the dirt as the enemy army moved into the range of his army. Their armor reflected the sunlight, glistened, showing that it was well polished and maintained. The enemy soldiers' shields, big and round, displayed a giant fat yellow dog. The faces were set into an expressionless mask, eyes boring into his men and unsettling them.

Yet his men held their head high and just chanted louder.

He frowned a little at the silent display of power from his enemy.

He sneered at the enemy leader, showing his razor sharp teeth.

His mouth expanded once more.

Air surged into it.

Time crawled at a snail's pace.

The whole world ceased to exist.

The Path extended. The doubts he faced, disappeared.

The Weight accumulated. The pressure his army gathered, grew.

The Ranks evolved. The challenges he conquered, resurfaced.

Tied into Immortality. It was nothing and everything. Infinity.

And thus he breathed It out.

Path, Weight, Ranks.

His decision final.

The world snapped into place.

Time resumed.

A crack.

The enemy leader felt it.

A blow struck him, pushing him into the ground, smashing his soldiers to bloody pulps.

But he held onto it for he was Lord Gregory.

His decision was final.

As such he took it all.

The marching enemy soldiers stopped. They couldn't move their feet one inch anymore. The armor weighted heavy. Confusion spread.

The enemy leader struck another blow at him. Blood seeped out of his mouth. One of his eyes popped.

Yet he withstood it all.

For he was Lord Gregory.

Since eons, his house stood tall. Extended, accumulated and evolved.

His teeth bit into his lips, drawing blood. Blow by blow, he received all.

His knees shattered. Crippled as he was, he continued to draw on it.

It settled. The enemy army sought to steal what was his by birth, so he decided to steal from them.

The discipline vanished.

The morale went down.

Faced with uncertainty, the enemy army was on the brink of a rout.

And thus he commanded, "Charge!"

His army, seeing the enemy scared, bloodlust filled them.

With abandon, they threw themselves into the enemy disarrayed formation.

The enemy leader saw the tide slowly but surely turning against him, thus he ate.

His soldiers wailed as their once muscular body shriveled.

He ignored their cries.

After gathering enough, he spat at Lord Gregory.

It settled down.

Lord Gregory saw it, felt it even, yet he couldn't do anything. His hands bound. His decisions chained.

His fate final.

He stared at one of his men deep into his very being, his soul.

His final last word was, "Retreat," Before his mouth broke under the consecutive blows.

The enemy leader grunted. A force struck his body. He easily withstood it. That was Lord Gregory's last act of defiance before he was swarmed by enemy soldiers on all sides who stabbed repeatedly into him. Their swords blooded by his soldiers' life, gave off heavy pressure. His Ranks destroyed. His Weight evaporated. His Path lost.

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At last the enemy leader stood in front of him, tall and proud. His decimated body on the ground. The enemy looked down on him, smirking.

Yet Lord Gregory took ahold of his inner world.

Cannibalizing his broken Ranks, he formed an unsteady foundation.

Cannibalizing his remaining Weight, he transformed into a bomb.

Cannibalizing his false Path, he triggered it.

The enemy leader could only widen his eyes before the massive explosion swept him aside. The forest lightened up. Pressure waves caught all.

In the end, the forest burned. Come morning, everything was charred. Be it human or not. Dark ominous smoke clouds drifted in the sky. The wind blew the ashes far and wide.

A lone rider arrived in front of a castle. His body weak, just barely hanging on the horse. The guard over him called out, "Halt! Who goes there?"

He fought through the pain, took the standard, tried to hold it high once more and shouted with great effort, "L-last S-surviv-vor of L-lord Gr-regor-ry's a-ar -"

Overwhelmed by the pain he blanked out.

He felt something quite wet on his face, his eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the brightness. He instead took his time to feel out his surroundings. It seemed he slept on a big noble bed.

"Take it easy. You are safe," A soft giggle, belonging to a female, echoed through the chamber. Her face occupied his sight. The hell brown eyes stared back at him, caught him and devoured his every thought.

The big double door creaked open, guards in strange clothing stormed into the room, taking every corner. Lastly, a giant plump man walks in. His careful maintained spiky hairstyle denoted him as a noble.

"I am Joerg of House Maldrik. I hope you are ready to report, soldier," He introduced himself as he walked with an elegant poise, filling the room with his presence. His shadow split into four, spread out to him. His frozen expression spoke volumes as the Lord's shadows went near him.

"M-milord! O-our army was ambus-shed by-y t-the e-e-enemy. W-we were s-surrounded by mist. L-lord G-gregory fought the enemy leader a-a-a-and l-lost."

The words were difficult to utter, his trembling hands balled into fists and he just stared into nothing. The surroundings vanished. The battlefield appeared once more. Corpses littering the forest. Swords cut limbs. Blood spurted. Screams and cries begging for mercy were heard.

"Cara," The noble lord ordered.

Cara, the female besides his bed, touched him lightly on his shoulder, snapping him out of his nightmares.

"The battle took a toll on you. Such battle was never meant to be fought, it is against the accords," The noble paced back and forth around the bed and continued with a sullen look, " The situation is more severe than I previously thought. If they wantonly use their might, our kingdom could face extinction."

"Why did Lord Gregory ignore the accords?" His pacing speed up, moving nimbly his fat round body. The room fell into silence. His shadows moving around him.

"There's something missing," The lord finally concluded, turning to him again, he spoke, "You survived the might of two giants with your life intact which is unheard of. It seems you are fortunate enough. Such Fate," Here the lord paused for a moment and just stared at him, then continued, "Your Weight anchored into this world. This event you survived made yourself eligible for Cultivation. Congratulation you are worthy, George."

"W-w-what? C-cult-tivation? H-how d-do -" The lord lifted his hand, silencing him and clarified, "Cultivation. Path. Weight. Ranks. You choose your Path. You gain Weight. You ascend the Ranks. All to escape the mortal coils."

"A Cultivor can read mortals like an open book. I am a Cultivator."

"Weight is gained through the simple act of eating. However be careful of what you eat. After all, you will be what you eat. To ascend the Ranks, you need to solidify your Weight in the world. A chosen Path may lead you to True Immortality or if you lose sight of it, False Immortality. Once lost, hope that someone kills you quickly. The longer the time in False Immortality, the greater the negative Karma will be. The world will reject your very being," He paused, a sad look appeared on his round face. After the moment passed, he explained, "My Great-Grandfather tried to live his life in False Immortality. Unfortunately, because the world rejected him, everything was set against him. Enemies swarmed him from all sides like a massive horde of ants. He fought until his last breath."

"Remember to never lose your Path," The noble lord gestured to one of his servants for something. The servants went out of the room and came back with the standard, a red fat dragon.

The noble lord took it and stroked softly the flag.

"Every death of our own will impact the world. The Weight they anchored, it will leave an empty space."

He stopped stroking it and handed it over to him.

"Take it and make the House Gregory stand tall once more," He ordered with a sharp edge in his voice.