Sure is funny.
If we're talking diverse, surely, the most diverse thing in the known universe would be people.
People who calculate, plan and plot every step, people who just rush in head first and destroy everything around them.
People who get angry easily, people who are shy, people who are weak, strong, motivational, born leaders, or born villains.
The differences are endless.
But yet, when faced with death, which no person can escape, everyone desperately searches for a God.
This is my story, a story of where a bunch of assholes who wanted to be that God tore a world apart, each of them thinking they were saving it.
My name's Sword, and at some point in the past it was something else. Remember that.
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"Starting Project Pharo."
I didn't question the voice in my head. I didn't wonder why it was there. I wasn't thinking about what those three words meant. No, my mind was far too occupied, since I was stuck in a hole, two hundred feet deep, with no apparent difference between having my eyes open or closed. The only sounds to be heard were the eerie skittering of bugs, the hiss of snakes, and the restless slither of lizards.
Oh, and the terrified stranger beside me, hyperventilating and sobbing and screeching. He wasn't exactly much help.
Okay, rewind, to before... whatever this is.
My name's Reid Russell. Twenty-two and, of course, dead parents. Fresh out of the most prestigious academy in the Northern Continent, having majored in Chrona (short for chronaplasma) Engineering, Battle Strategy, Technology and the odd Hand-to-Hand combat. My life was mapped out in front of me like some pre-written script—success, respect, and wealth. My future? Perfectly seasoned and mouth-wateringly savoury. My only family, my younger sister, far away on the Western Continent in some boarding school, hadn't seen me in months, and vice versa - not exactly great, but I was sure she was fine. Everything was going right, until came the man in black.
He stood at the edge of my doorstep, waiting, as I returned from my daily run. He was dressed totally in black, and I couldn't see any part of his body - even his hands were wrapped tightly in black leather gloves and his face was covered with an opaque, black, featureless mask. And my head went up to his chin. It was pretty damn scary.
And thinking back, he was kinda suspicious. Like, he was practically the most suspicious man in the world, and the right course of action was obviously to turn, run, and call the Guard, tell them there was a ten-foot-tall suspicious man in black on my doorstep. I majored in science with flying colours and didn't think of that.
"I greet you, sir." His voice was smooth, commanding, and creepily calm. "Would you be interested in aiding the war effort?"
"The war effort?" I blinked, confused like a dumbass. "Against the Skathers?"
"What other war is there, sir?" he asked, as if the answer should've been obvious, which it arguably was.
You see, my world, called Erisen, is split between five main continents - North, South, East, West and Central. I hail from the Northern Continent, the land of science, scholars and nerd with glasses. It's just as well because it's the furthest away from the South. No one wants to be near the South right now because it's a nest of aliens. 10 years ago, this giant mothership that blotted out the sky appeared above the Southern Continent and dropped billions of alien monsters dubbed 'Skathers' all over it, and in a night, Erisen lost one of its continents, and the strongest in military force too. Doesn't take a science degree to figure out that that was pretty bad news. But it DID force the other four to stop bickering and arguing with each other, and form a coalition to fight the threat, and we also gave them this cheesy nickname 'The Swarm'. Thus, here we are, at war against an alien species, with our only real advantage being the incredible natural energy this world runs on - chronoplasma (chrona for short). The reason they came was because of chrona too. It's fed by the Prisma Stream, an invisible channel of incredibly powerful energy that wraps around the whole world, harnessed by five reactors, one in each continent built two hundred years ago. It's said that they've never fallen before (except the one in the South which was flattened by a big spaceship), and the 20,000-word meter-long sheet of paper send by my headmaster to the Eastern Continent's Chronoplasma Engineering Research Institute essentially tells them that I'm good at playing around with the stuff. So yeah, my life was laid out before me. No danger grappling around with alien monsters like those muscle monsters in the combat division, and it pays well too.
Well, I guess I could've walked away. I could've stayed in my lane. But no. I had to ask,
"How do you want me to help? I'm already heading to the Chronoplasma Institute in Central."
The man's eyes glinted beneath his cloth, showing sudden interest.
"A scientist? Perhaps you'd be interested in something... more."
"More?" I repeated stupidly.
He produce a rolled-up paper out from his ass, like there was literally nowhere to put it.
I unrolled the paper. "Recruiting talented individuals for the greatest project ever undertaken in Erisen," I read aloud, my brow furrowing. "For… Project… Pharo?"
"It's pronounced 'Fair-roh," he says helpfully.
"Right. Lasts one week... pays 300,000 Imperials…" I stared at the number, my eyes widening.
Hold up.
I was doing the calculations. Six mansions, a private military force and a guarantee my descendants would live in wealth for eons to come.
"Yeah," I say. "Nice try. Youe xpect me to believe this sum is real?"
He points at the corner of the paper, and on it is the royal seal. Naturally, my eyes fall out my face.
"R-royal-"
"Yes," the man confirmed.
I whirred it through my head for a moment. No one would dare to fabricate the royal seal, and the King of a fifth, no quarter of Erisen would definitely not put a fake sum on a contract. A week-long project with such a ridiculous payout? It was hard to say no. But I should've. I should've stopped and wondered why the King's envoy was the most suspiciously dressed guy in the world. I should've asked myself why a giant in a black robe was waiting on my doorstep, inviting this random dude while offering to pay a sum only seen in dreams and movies, when there were many more MUCH more talented people in the world. I should've used my brains. But instead, I signed the paper like a doofus.
The next day, everything changed, alot, and then I died.
I came home to find my door wide open. As soon as I stepped inside, I was jumped instantly by forty guys in - you guessed it - all-black clothing. My training? Useless. No amount of hand-to-hand combat could save me from a legion of ninjas. And there, now you know the story of an idiot and the world's most violent scam. You sign a contract, you get a free party you never asked for with a bunch of uninvited guests who want to give you a hug, and the scammers get you.
I'd be lying if I said I knew it then, but when I signed that paper, Reid Russell died a miserable, stupid, quiet death.