The wind in this world didn't whisper—it screamed.
Ash swirled in the air like snowflakes from hell, coating my skin, burning my lungs. I wrapped the dark cloak Seraphina had given me tighter around my shoulders, trying to ignore the constant pressure that hung in the atmosphere like some invisible hand pressing down on my body.
This was no paradise. It was war waiting to happen.
We walked in silence, climbing over jagged obsidian rocks and crumbling cliffs. Seraphina said we had to reach a place called "The Shattered Gate"—the threshold between this forsaken land and the realm of mortals.
"If you wish to complete your mission," she had said, "you'll need to see what this world worships. Only then will you understand what must be destroyed."
I didn't argue. I didn't ask why. I just walked.
Every step brought more questions. How many others had the Devil chosen before me? Why me? What kind of world had I been reborn into?
And most importantly… was I already losing who I used to be?
---
We made camp near the ruins of a collapsed tower. The stone was still warm, as if it had only recently fallen, though no fire remained. Whatever had caused its destruction—it hadn't been natural.
I sat on the edge of the broken wall, watching the sky bleed red and black. Seraphina was sharpening her blade, seated across from me with her wings folded tightly behind her.
They were faint now, just outlines of what they once were—tattered and graying, like flags after a lost war.
"Do you regret it?" I asked her.
She looked up. "Regret what?"
"Falling. Losing your place in Heaven."
She paused for a long moment. "Heaven is not what you think, Jack. It is not a land of peace. It is a kingdom. With rulers, laws, wars, and betrayals. The only difference is that it hides behind the word 'divine.'"
Her voice was quiet. Not bitter—but honest.
"God created a system that favors control. If you question it, you fall. I asked a question. That was enough."
I nodded slowly. "Then you and I are both criminals in their eyes."
Seraphina gave a small smile. "Then we're in good company."
---
That night, I dreamt of the alley.
Not the beating—but the moment before. When I had looked to the sky, begging for help, and heard nothing in return.
Except this time, the silence spoke back.
"You were always alone," it whispered. "They all saw your suffering. And did nothing."
I turned in the dream, and the people from that night were there. Marcus. The woman under the awning. The man with the phone. The student behind the bus stop.
All standing in a line. All smiling.
All covered in blood.
I reached out, but my hand was no longer a hand—it was a blade. And as I stepped forward, they didn't run. They knelt.
"You are no longer one of them," the voice said. "You are power. And power is meant to rule."
---
I woke up with sweat dripping down my face, gasping for breath. The sky hadn't changed—still red, still cruel.
Seraphina was already awake.
"You dreamt of death," she said without turning.
"How did you know?"
"Because we all do. When we take this path."
---
We reached the Shattered Gate by nightfall the next day.
It was enormous—two broken pillars of white marble, split at the top like they'd been struck by lightning. Between them, a swirling veil of smoke and starlight stretched like a portal made of stretched skin. I could feel it pulling at my soul, calling me.
"The mortal world lies on the other side," Seraphina said. "You will cross it alone."
I turned to her, startled. "You're not coming?"
"I cannot." She reached into her cloak and handed me a dark crystal. "This will let you summon me if your life is in danger. But beyond this point, you must forge your own legend."
"Legend?"
"You were not just chosen to kill. You were chosen to conquer. The people of that world must come to fear your name, Jack Scott."
I stared into the gate. The wind from it howled like a thousand voices screaming at once.
"You will be tested," Seraphina said. "By kings. By angels. Even by your own desires. Be careful."
I didn't look back as I stepped forward. My body dissolved into light, pulled through the veil between worlds.
And then I fell.
A World Called Arkanis
The sky was blue.
Not blood-red. Not ash-stained. Just… blue. With clouds that looked soft instead of ominous. Birds called in the distance, and wind rustled green trees.
For a moment, I thought I was dreaming again.
But the ground beneath me was real. The air smelled clean, and I could hear running water nearby.
I was in a forest. Tall pines surrounded me, and sunlight broke through the leaves in golden shafts.
I stood slowly, flexing my hands.
Still mine.
I reached for my powers. Fire sparked at my fingertips. Water danced between my palms. My mind brushed against the thoughts of animals nearby—small, skittish. Squirrels. Birds. Rabbits.
My powers were still with me.
This… was Arkanis.
I didn't know much yet—but I could feel the magic in the air. It hummed, like a song just beneath hearing. And I was more than just part of it. I was above it.
---
My peace didn't last long.
A scream shattered the air.
I turned, sprinting toward the sound, instincts already awake. I followed the noise through the trees, branches slapping my face and arms.
Then I saw her.
A girl, maybe sixteen, in torn travel clothes, backed up against a boulder. Her leg was bleeding. A massive beast stood before her—six feet tall, fur like black steel, red eyes, and tusks curving from its mouth like blades.
A boar? No. Bigger. Tainted.
The creature roared.
The girl screamed again, raising a stick like it would matter.
I raised my hand.
The beast froze.
Its eyes went wide. It tried to move—but its muscles refused. Its limbs locked, its head twitched.
I stepped forward.
"Sit," I said.
The beast collapsed.
The girl stared, eyes wide.
I reached into the air and shaped a spear from fire and earth—molten metal forming in my hand. I walked toward the monster.
It growled.
I knelt beside it.
"Your rage is not your fault," I said quietly. "But I can't let you stay."
And with one clean strike, I ended its pain.
---
The girl didn't move.
When I turned, she was still frozen.
"What… what are you?" she whispered.
"Someone who doesn't like bullies."
She didn't laugh. Just stared at the corpse. "That was a forest beast. Normal people can't even scratch one."
"I'm not normal."
She blinked. "Are you a summoner? A mage? A bloodborn?"
"No," I said. "Something else."
She hesitated, then bowed. "Thank you… My name is Lira. I was gathering herbs when it found me. I—I thought I was going to die."
"You almost did," I said. "You should be more careful."
She nodded, then winced.
Her leg.
I knelt. "Let me help."
"I don't have coin…"
"I didn't ask for payment."
She watched as I placed my hand over the wound and focused. Water and fire combined—cleanse and seal. In seconds, the bleeding stopped. The skin began to mend.
She stared in shock.
"What are you?" she whispered again.
I looked toward the sky.
"I'm not sure yet."
A Name That Echoes
Lira led me to her village that evening.
A small settlement of wooden houses, thatched roofs, and curious eyes. Children ran barefoot in the dirt. Men carried buckets. Women chopped herbs and stirred pots. Simple, peaceful. Vulnerable.
As soon as we entered, people stared.
Lira explained what happened, and gasps followed.
No one could believe what I'd done. A few even backed away, eyeing me with fear.
Good.
Let them whisper. Let them wonder.
That night, the village elder offered me a meal and a bed. I declined the bed, but accepted the food.
I asked Lira about the world. She explained what she knew.
Arkanis was divided—north ruled by the Holy Dominion, south by the Crimson Pact, and the wildlands stretched between. Magic users were rare. Summoners rarer. Bloodborn were feared. Angels served the Dominion. Demons served the Pact.
And war was always one breath away.
I was walking into a world already torn.
Which made it perfect.
A place where gods played with lives.
Where power decided who lived and who begged.
Where no one remembered the weak.
---
Later, as I sat outside and stared at the stars, Lira joined me.
"People are afraid of you," she said.
"I know."
"You don't care?"
"No," I said. "Fear is better than pity."
She was quiet. Then: "You saved me. I don't care what you are."
I turned to her.
"I don't know what I am yet," I said. "But I know what I want."
"What's that?"
I looked up at the sky.
"To kill the one who made this world a place where pain goes unanswered."
She didn't speak after that. But she didn't leave either.
And somehow, her silence meant more than words.