Chapter 1: Summoned
Inside a dimly lit apartment, a young man sat motionless. The only light came from the flickering screen of a thin television, casting long shadows that danced across the room. The faint glow barely touched the edges of the apartment, but it revealed just enough—the peeling wallpaper, the stacks of old newspapers, and the ghostly silhouette of the man hunched over on a couch. His figure, draped in black clothes, blended seamlessly with the dark leather of the couch, making him almost vanish into the shadows. Only the faint reflection of the TV gleamed in his dark eyes, highlighting the tension etched into his solemn face.
A single vein throbbed on his temple, pulsing in rhythm with the simmering anger within him. The world around him seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable storm.
A voice, soft yet hollow, emanated from the TV. "Specialists from various countries have concluded that the mysterious organization known as Icarus is behind the disappearance of another 100,000 people. As with previous cases, the targets appear to be random, and the reasons behind the abductions remain unknown."
The man’s lips curled in a bitter snarl. "Bullshit! They know nothing!" His voice cut through the stagnant air, the venom in his words causing spit to fly. His once-average face twisted into something feral, a brief glimpse of the monster that grief had birthed inside him. But for all his ferocity, his body was a contradiction—a thin, delicate frame that sagged with exhaustion, betraying the hollowness beneath the rage.
A sudden coughing fit wracked his body, violent and uncontrollable. He lurched forward, fingers scrabbling for the orange pill bottle on the cluttered coffee table. His name, Niko Lazar, stood out in bold letters on the label, a mocking reminder of his fragile existence. He yanked the cap off with trembling hands and downed the pills without water.
It did little to help.
Niko slumped back onto the couch, gasping, his body drenched in sweat. His breath rattled in his chest like a death rattle, a sound he had grown all too familiar with. This disease—this mysterious, creeping thing—had been his companion for as long as he could remember. No doctor could diagnose it, no treatment could cure it. Each day it gnawed away at him, leaving him weaker, more broken.
But the pain in his body was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
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Three years ago, the first 100,000 people vanished. Among them was his sister, Anita. The only person he had left in this world. Since then, his life had been a never-ending cycle of searching, hoping, and raging against the world that had stolen her away. Every waking moment was consumed by it. He scoured every corner of the internet, chasing conspiracy theories, debunked reports, and grainy security footage that seemed to hint at the truth.
"They’re gone," he whispered, voice cracking. "They aren’t even on this Earth anymore."
It wasn’t an organization. It wasn’t Icarus. It wasn’t some elaborate trafficking scheme. People didn’t just vanish into thin air, one hundred thousand at a time, without a trace. He had seen the footage—the way they flickered, the way their bodies simply dissolved into nothing. And yet the world clung to their lies, to their fragile explanations. The government had created this Icarus to give people something, anything, to believe in. But it was all an illusion, a patchwork of lies sewn together to keep the masses calm.
"Idiots," Niko muttered, turning off the television. The silence that followed was suffocating. The shadows seemed to close in around him as he leaned back on the couch, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
"How can people be so blind? One hundred thousand people in one day? Every damn month?" His voice rose again, shaking with fury. "Where the hell do they keep them? In some giant underground bunker? What kind of idiot believes that crap!?"
The anger stirred another round of coughing, harsher this time. His vision blurred as he struggled to regain control. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the fit subsided. He sat there, trembling, his throat raw and his lungs burning.
He forced himself to stand, each movement slow and labored, his body barely able to carry him across the room. "Anita..." he whispered, the name a prayer and a curse all at once. Her absence gnawed at him, a wound that refused to heal. She had always been there, even when their parents were gone, even when the world had turned its back on them. Now, she was gone too, ripped away from him like everything else.
Tears pricked his eyes as he reached for the door to his bedroom, his hand trembling. But before he could touch the handle, something happened.
Dong.
The sound was low and haunting, reverberating through his skull. Niko staggered back, his weakened body unable to handle the sudden shock. He collapsed to the floor, pain flaring through his spine as his body hit the ground with a dull thud.
"What the hell..." he gasped, his mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened. He tried to move, but his muscles screamed in protest, pain shooting through every nerve.
Then it happened again.
Ding.
This time, it wasn’t just a sound. It was a presence—a cold, detached voice that echoed inside his mind.
[100,000 Humans acquired. Summoning will begin in 3... 2... 1...]
And just like that, his world went black.