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Darkness. Not just the absence of light—something heavier. A presence. It coils around me, dense, suffocating, pressing against my skin like wet velvet. No up, no down. No walls, no ground. Just the void.
Then—pain.
Not sharp. Not sudden. Slow. Insidious. Like ice seeping into my skull, curling through my thoughts, unraveling, rewriting. I try to move—no body. I try to scream—no mouth. Only thought remains, sluggish, tangled in the fog choking my mind.
[Assimilation: 67% Complete]
The words sear into the void behind my eyes. Wrong. Alien. Cold. Something is reaching inside, hollowing me out to make space for itself.
I remember—
A field, gold-drenched beneath the afternoon sun. The scent of tilled earth. The hum of cicadas. My hands, rough and calloused, gripping the wheel of a tractor. The engine sputtering. A flash of metal. Weightlessness. Impact.
Then nothing.
Now this.
Dead. I must be dead.
But the pain says otherwise. The pressure behind my eyes, the sharp tug at my thoughts—too much. Too real. Something is digging through me, sorting, reshaping.
[Cognitive Integration in Progress…]
A buzzing fills the emptiness. Static writhes along my senses, crawling like insects beneath my skin. Words pulse, glitching, half-formed. I can’t focus.
[Soul-Binder detected…]
[Parsing cognitive structure…]
[Error—memory partitioning incomplete…]
A system. A force beyond my understanding, treating me like data. No permission. No explanation. It just takes.
I push back—instinct, desperation, sheer refusal. But there’s nothing to fight. No enemy to grasp. My resistance is a ripple in an ocean. Meaningless.
The pressure builds.
I stretch—no, I break, pulling apart and reforming all at once. My past fractures. Memories shift, rearrange—puzzle pieces jammed into the wrong places. The farm. The scent of fresh bread in a quiet kitchen. Mornings in the fields. They twist, bend, become something other.
[Assimilation: 83% Complete]
The void pulses. Breathing.
Weight returns—the memory of movement without form. My fingers twitch—except they don’t. I have no fingers. Just the thought of them.
Panic grips me. My mind thrashes against the tide, but it’s like fighting the pull of a river too strong to escape. It drags me under.
No.
I will not let it take me.
I reach—blind, desperate—for something, anything. A lifeline in the dark.
And I find it.
A name.
Etched into my thoughts like a brand.
Grant Calloway.
The void shudders.
A crack splits the darkness. Jagged light seeps through like torn flesh. The system flickers, uncertain.
I push harder, clutching the pieces of myself before they can be rewritten.
I am Grant Calloway. I am not data. I am not some system’s to command.
The words anchor me. The static shrieks, but I hold on.
I refuse to be erased.
The pressure in my mind snaps.
Light floods in.
Gravity slams into me. My lungs burn—air surging in like a dam breaking. The scent of stone and dust fills my nose. A cold surface presses against my back.
I am lying down.
I am alive.
The void is gone. The system is silent.
But something else is here.
A presence. Vast. Patient. Watching from just beyond perception. It does not speak, but I feel it. Ancient. Waiting. And somehow, impossibly—familiar.
My vision swims. My body—wrong. Limbs sluggish. Breath ragged. I sit up, muscles screaming, my bones aching like they don’t belong to me.
I blink.
A throne looms before me.
Massive. Hewn from dark stone. Its surface worn by time, etched with glyphs that pulse faintly, their rhythm matching the thrum beneath my skin. The air hums with something old. Power radiates from it, coiled like a beast waiting to strike.
The seat is empty.
But not abandoned.
It waits.
For me.
The presence stirs. Expectant.
A shiver rolls through me. My stomach knots.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what’s happening.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I was brought here for a reason.
And whoever I was before—
No longer matters.
Because Grant Calloway, the farmer, the soldier, the man—
I think he just died.
----------------------------------------
I wake in darkness. Again.
The first breath comes sharp—air thick with dust and damp stone. Cold seeps deep, wrapping around my bones. A shudder rolls through me, but I don’t move. Can’t. My limbs are locked, heavy, unresponsive. A low hum vibrates at the edge of my mind. Steady. Endless.
Then—a flicker.
Light behind my eyelids. Artificial. Rhythmic. Like a failing screen blinking in and out. I brace for impact, for the raw vulnerability of waking on the ground.
But—
Again, I wake in darkness.
The same breath. The same dust, the same stone, the same hum gnawing at my skull. But this time, the cold is gone. The weight holding me down? Gone, too.
A flicker. The same light. The same rhythm. The same moment, looping.
Again. Again. Again.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
This is wrong.
[Choose Awakening Origin]
The words pulse in the dark, shifting in and out of focus. Below them, a list of choices:
[Lying | Vulnerable]
[Lying | Clothed]
[Standing | Vulnerable]
[Standing | Clothed]
[Falling | Vulnerable]
[Falling | Clothed]
I hesitate.
A test? A reset? My pulse pounds in my ears. Vulnerable or clothed—why does it matter? Standing or lying—does it change anything?
A flicker of instinct. A gut decision.
I select the fourth option.
The world slams into place.
One moment, I’m weightless. The next—I’m standing. Clothed. Grounded. My lungs seize as I gasp, like I’ve been holding my breath for hours. My knees threaten to buckle, but I plant my feet. Steady.
A flicker in my vision—symbols shifting at the edges, unfamiliar. Then, gone.
[Tutorial Quest Available]
I flex my fingers. My movements feel... off. Not sluggish, not weak—just measured. Like my body is still calibrating. My skin tingles—not quite pain, but close. Like standing too near a live wire.
I take a step. My boot scrapes against stone—too loud.
Something shifts in the ruins.
Stone settling?
Or something else?
I freeze. Listen.
Nothing.
I exhale—slow, steady. I need to assess.
First—the system. Real. Not a hallucination. Not a dream. It’s inside my head, responding to me. But it’s not friendly. No guiding voice. No comforting AI. Just prompts. Commands. Impersonal. Efficient.
Second—the ruins. Ancient. The air is thick with history, like time has pooled here. Faint runes flicker along the walls, reacting to my presence. Watching? Waiting?
Third—my body. No weakness, despite the stiffness. If anything, I feel… optimized. Tuned. My reflexes sharp, my senses too crisp.
But for what?
I reach for my belt. Nothing. No weapon. No supplies. Just the clothes on my back—sturdy, practical. A long-sleeved tunic, reinforced trousers, durable boots. Functional.
A flicker at the edge of my vision. Instinct screams—move. But there’s nothing. No movement. Just the ruins breathing around me.
I exhale. Slow. Steady.
“This isn’t Earth,” I whisper.
My voice is wrong here—too small. The silence swallows it whole.
A pulse ripples beneath my feet.
I take another step. Another pulse. Not from me. From the ruins themselves. The runes shift—just slightly. Just enough to notice. Acknowledging me.
I press my palm to the nearest wall. Rough. Weathered. Warm.
Alive.
I shouldn’t be here.
I feel it in my bones. In the way the castle breathes with me. Like I’ve trespassed into something old. Something sacred.
The silence stretches.
Then—another flicker.
A shape. Barely there. Burned into my vision.
A throne.
A beast.
A figure standing over them both.
Gone.
I jerk back, chest tight. My breath quickens. The ruins don’t just know I’m here.
They recognize me.
I step through the archway.
The world shifts.
Again.
The moment my boot crosses the threshold, the stale corridor air vanishes. Cold stone. Heavy silence. The scent of rain on old earth.
I’m back in the throne room.
Again. And again. And again.
The chamber looms, vast and hollow. Shadows coil in the vaulted ceiling. Walls whisper of centuries, their carved reliefs buried under vines and dust. Gold veins pulse in the cracked stone—a slow, steady heartbeat.
At the far end, waiting—
The throne.
My pulse slams against my ribs. My jaw tightens. This isn’t right. I was leaving. Walking away.
Yet here I stand.
The throne isn’t just a seat. It’s a monument. Jagged black stone, shot through with twisting veins of gold. Vines creep along its base, too green, too alive. The air around it hums—not with magic.
With awareness.
I exhale. My breath curls in the unnatural chill.
I turn sharply, striding toward another archway. My boots echo. I don’t hesitate. The hall beyond beckons—dim, empty, real.
I step forward—
—And the throne room swallows me whole.
I stop mid-step. My stomach lurches.
The exit is gone.
The corridors—erased.
I stand exactly where I started, facing the throne.
A notification pings in my mind, sharp and inescapable:
[Landmark Discovered: Throne of the Beast Lord]
A pulse rolls through the chamber. The stone beneath me rattles. The air thickens.
"This place is waiting for something," I murmur. My voice barely carries.
No. Not waiting.
Watching.
The hairs on my arms rise. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching for a weapon I don’t have. I spin on my heel, striding toward another exit—
And I am here.
Again. And again. And again.
"FUCK!"
The throne looms. Unyielding.
I drag a hand down my face. "Alright. Fine. Son of a bitch."
I step forward, drawn despite myself. Each movement feels heavier, like wading through unseen tides. The air thrums against my skin. The gold veins in the stone glow brighter. My breath shudders.
My fingers brush the armrest.
A shock lances through me—
Not pain. Not quite. More like a thousand hands pressing against my mind, rifling through thoughts that aren’t my own.
Memories crash over me in flashes—
A beast with molten silver eyes.
A warrior in obsidian armor, standing atop a battlefield of fallen titans.
A name, whispered in reverence and fear.
[Accessing Legacy Data…]
The voice isn’t sound. It’s inside me, threading through my thoughts—clearer than before. No static. No distortion. Just cold, undeniable truth.
Designation: [BEAST LORD].
The words settle over me, sink into my bones. My knees lock. My chest tightens.
[Soul-Binder Protocols Unlocked.]
The air shatters.
The throne isn’t just a seat. It’s a conduit. A binding point.
The pulse in the stone syncs with the hammering in my chest. Energy spills from the seat of power, threading into me, through me. My skin burns. My vision blurs.
A choice. A door opening. A path I don’t yet understand.
The System has recognized me.
And now—so has the castle.
----------------------------------------
I stagger back, gasping. The glow fades, but the presence remains. Not oppressive. Not hostile. Just there. A constant awareness pressing against my mind.
I am not alone in this place.
I am claimed.
The moment my fingers brush the throne, the air tightens. A pulse rolls through the stone—slow, deep—like the sluggish beat of a waking giant’s heart. The ruins groan. Dust drifts from the vaulted ceiling.
My breath hitches.
The castle is waking up.
A low vibration hums beneath my boots. Faint at first. Then rising. Pressing into my bones. Into my skull. Not sound. Something older. Something alive.
The throne isn’t just a seat. It’s a keystone. A tether.
And now—
It sees me.
The air warps. Heat-shimmer distortions ripple before me. A figure flickers into existence on the throne. Not quite flesh. Not quite shadow.
It tilts its head—mirroring me.
My pulse spikes.
It has a face.
My face.
The System chimes.
[Welcome, Soul-Binder.]
I don’t answer. I barely breathe. My ghostly twin stares back—still, watchful. A memory? A recording?
No.
This thing is aware.
The ruins pulse again.
[First Tutorial Quest Available: Reshape Your Avatar.]
The words hum with finality. No moving forward until I accept.
I exhale. “Accept.”
Light flares.
The world twists.
My skin burns—not pain, more like… molding. Unseen hands shaping bone, muscle, presence. It’s not comfortable. It’s not right.
Then—
Darkness crashes in.
A growl rolls through the void—low, guttural, deep enough to rattle stone.
[WARNING: Entity Detected.]
The ruins shudder. The void recoils. The growl comes again. Closer.
[Guardian of the Throne Approaching.]
My heartbeat slams into my ribs. No time to think. No time to question. Move.
I need a weapon.
A chime. A prompt.
[Primary Armament Selection Available.]
My mind moves before the System can list choices. A sword. Simple. Reliable. The kind of weapon I know in muscle memory, in marrow.
[Secondary Armament Selection Available.]
Again, instinct takes over—then halts.
No fucking way.
There it is. Plain as day.
A rifle.
[Weapon Class: Ranged]
[Weapon Type: Magitech-Carbine]
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate.
[Primary Weapon: Magitech-Carbine]
[Secondary Weapon: Shortsword]
Light gathers. Steel forms.
I exhale.
The growl comes again—close enough to taste.
The void shudders.
I tighten my grip on the rifle.
“…Shit.”
Light explodes. The world lurches.
Then—
I wake.
The same throne. The same room.
But I am not the same.
The weight in my limbs—different. Balanced. Honed. The aches of old wounds, the years spent in a body well past its prime—gone.
I lift my hands. Different. Not foreign, but sharpened.
This is me. Refined.
I flex my fingers.
My body listens.
I am my avatar now.