Aston Garfield stared at the cracked phone in his hand, thumb hovering over the calculator app as if the numbers might change if he glared hard enough.
They didn't.
Rent..... Food.... Utilities....The last of his student loan payments. His part-time job barely covered half of it, and the construction site where he sometimes picked up shifts had laid off temporary workers again.
The dusty apartment room he shared with two other struggling graduates smelled faintly of instant noodles and damp clothes. A single ceiling bulb flickered, buzzing like a dying insect. Outside the narrow window, Nairobi's night stretched in shades of orange and neon, the city humming with life he felt increasingly disconnected from.
He should have been asleep.
He definitely should have been preparing for tomorrow's job interview.
Instead, he sat hunched over a stack of forms—insurance claims, bills, and one stubborn medical invoice he kept pretending didn't exist.
Aston exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to stop shaking.
Just as he was still immersed in his endless thoughts, suddenly—like an explosion—the earth trembled.
Not a gentle vibration.
The entire building lurched, throwing Aston forward as his phone skittered across the floor. The table rattled violently, papers lifting like startled birds. The ceiling bulb flickered once—twice—then burst with a sharp pop, plunging the room into stuttering darkness.
"What the hell—?"
Aston grabbed the edge of the table as the floor rippled beneath him, rolling like the surface of an angry sea. From the hallway came sudden voices—panic rising fast.
"Earthquake!"
"Get outside!"
"Where's my brother?!"
"Oh God—oh God—"
Feet pounded down the stairwell. Doors slammed open. Someone screamed outside, a raw, terrified sound that sent a cold spike up Aston's spine.
He staggered toward the window.
Nairobi's skyline was… tilting!
Buildings shuddered, swaying like reeds in a storm. Loose debris rained down the streets. Streetlights flickered erratically, casting frantic strobe flashes over crowds stumbling onto the sidewalks. Car alarms wailed. Dogs barked and howled.
A low, monstrous hum vibrated through the air—too deep to be natural, too steady to be tectonic.
Aston's heart hammered.
He felt something—some pressure—pressing against his lungs, as if invisible hands were squeezing the air out of him.
"What is happening?" he gasped, gripping the windowsill.
The hum grew louder, trembling through his bones. The sky above the city blazed with sudden golden cracks—thin at first, then widening, spreading, twisting like blazing fissures across the night.
And then the gravity changed.
It hit with the force of a collapsing star.
Aston's knees buckled instantly. His chest compressed, crushing pain exploding behind his ribs like a heart attack. He couldn't breathe—couldn't inhale—couldn't even move his fingers. The air thickened into wet cement, pinning him to the floor.
The pressure intensified—merciless, absolute—crushing down on him, squeezing every thought, every breath, every sense into a narrowing tunnel of darkness.
Outside screams warped into muffled, underwater echoes.
A child crying.
Someone praying aloud.
Someone else begging for help.
Buildings groaning as if the city itself were in agony.
His vision blurred —and Aston's world snapped to black as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Everything vanished.
Pain. Sound. Light.
Even fear.
Only darkness remained.
......
Aston woke to a throbbing pain.
A deep, pulsing ache throbbed through every bone. His lungs burned, his ribs felt bruised, and a cold draft brushed across his skin. He groaned and rolled onto his side, grit scraping against his arms as he pushed himself up.
Wind.
Real wind.
His eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in his apartment.
He was lying in the middle of a ruined structure—collapsed walls, broken support beams, shattered glass scattered like glittering frost across the ground. Everything around him looked torn apart, ancient and abandoned, as if the building had fallen long before he arrived.
Aston blinked hard, trying to steady his thoughts through the haze of pain.
"What… happened?"
He forced himself into a sitting position. The sky above him was a dull silver-gray, swirling in unnatural spirals. The air felt thin and metallic, carrying a strange, sharp scent that didn't belong anywhere on Earth.
His pulse kicked up.
This wasn't Nairobi.
This wasn't anywhere he recognized.
Before fear could fully settle, a sudden vibration pulsed through his mind—like a soft shockwave inside his skull.
A voice followed. Ethereal. Cosmic. Absolute.
"Hear me, mortals."
Aston stiffened, breath caught in his throat.
The voice echoed inside his head, resonating with a weight that felt too large, too ancient, too real to ignore.
"Your home world has been dissolved. All humans of Earth, totaling nine billion, have been successfully transmigrated to the Desolate Star Universe."
Aston's blood ran cold.
Nine billion? Everyone?
The voice continued, steady and emotionless:
"This is the Origin Continent, cradle of ascension and battlefield of dominion. Here begins the Age of Dominion and the Path of Ascension."
Above the ruins, faint glowing symbols formed in the air—runic letters drifting like dust, aligning in spiraling rings.
"Understand these rules, Candidates."
The runes brightened.
The Rules of Ascension
"Rule One: All able beings between the ages of fourteen and seventy are Candidates. You are bound to the Trials of Dominion."
"Rule Two: Those younger than fourteen or older than seventy have been transported to Green Zones. They will be protected and sustained until they reach the age of ascension or natural death. No harm shall befall them."
Aston let out a shaky breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Relief washed through him, mixed with dread. At least his younger cousins… might be safe.
The voice continued.
"Rule Three: All Candidates have been distributed to racial camps—Human, Beast men, Elven, Draconic, Demonic, Angelic, and others. Placement is random."
Aston's stomach twisted.
Random placement meant he could be anywhere… with anyone.
"Rule Four: Candidates cannot leave their starting camp until they complete the First Rite."
"Rule Five: Survival, strength, worship, conquest, and evolution determine your path. Ascend to godhood… or fall into oblivion."
The runes dissolved, drifting apart like dying sparks.
Aston stood shakily, still surrounded by rubble, dust clinging to his clothes. His head pounded. His breathing was uneven. But one thing was painfully clear.
This was real.
The air shifted—vibrating again with that same cosmic hum—and the voice returned, calmer now, almost instructional:
"Candidates, hear the final directive.
System functions will remain sealed until your spawn camp is confirmed and your innate talents are drawn."
Aston swallowed hard.
Talents?
"You have five minutes to complete the Talent Selection.
Failure to draw within the allotted time will result in a random allocation"
"Your Initial Talent is Very Important and bound to your soul. It determines your growth rate, your affinity, and your potential in the Age of Dominion!."
Note: The talent system progresses from lowest to highest as Common(E-rank), Uncommon(D), Rare(C), Epic(B), Legendary(A), Mythic(S), and finally Primordial(U).
A faint ringing filled the air, like chimes echoing across a vast empty sky.
"Your Talent Draw begins now."
The world around him dimmed.
The sky seemed to fold inward.
The ruined building blurred into streaks of shadow.
Then—
WHOOMPH.....
A circular construct of light exploded into existence before him.
A massive floating wheel—three meters tall—made of intertwining segments. Each segment contained shifting words he couldn't fully read.
"Touch the Wheel of Talents to initiate your Draw."