In the void before time, before existence was dreamed, before space had breath—before the endless sea of multi-realms themselves took form—there was Chaos. An ancient entity, primal and boundless, existing not as a sibling to anything known or unknown, but as an absolute—a singurity in the truest sense. And yet, within its unfathomable depths, Chaos began to crave more—something beyond the vast and endless eternity it knew.

  Driven by a yearning it couldn’t understand, Chaos finally stirred. It wasn’t just want—it was an insatiable need, a desperation that tore at its infinite depths. It craved more—anything, something beyond its endless self. And so, in its madness, Chaos ruptured, its own being unraveling in a moment of cataclysmic violence. The force of its shattering echoed through the emptiness, tearing Chaos apart until nothing of its previous whole remained—only fragments, new possibilities shaped by destruction.

  Chaos, once whole, now y divided, its essence shattered and reborn into two distinct beings: Magic—a wild, alluring force weaving itself through the void—and Life—a radiant surge, an explosion of vitality brimming with unbridled creativity and boundless potential. Together, they emerged from the ruin as the progeny of Chaos’ demise—two newborn Primordials, bound as sisters, sprung from the same source.

  From this cosmic genesis emerged another presence that had been there all along, sleeping and slumbering.

  Not born of Chaos, but awakened by the rift—a counterpoint, a being that whispered in the silence where Chaos once roared. Where Magic surged with vibrancy, this presence brought stillness. Where Life blossomed, it lingered, silent—the inevitable end of all things. Death would eventually become her name, an entity forged not to rival but to complete, bringing closure where Magic brought yearning and Life brought creation.

  From her unseen corner of the endlessness, Death watched Magic with indifference, but when her gaze fell upon Life and her creations, something stirred within the end of all. Life’s children were as diverse as they were vibrant, thriving in forms beyond counting. Titans rose among them—majestic beings who wielded the threads of mana as if extensions of the Primordials themselves. For an age, Life expanded, her symphony of creation weaving one being after another, each a testament to her boundless vitality. And Death, ever the silent observer, stayed in the abyss, watching, waiting.

  Yet, as the centuries wore on, the Titans began to falter. Once vibrant with purpose, they grew aimless, their once-grand forms stagnant as if caught in the limbo of existence without end. Death saw what they cked—something essential to the beauty Life had woven. It wasn’t destruction that they needed but an ending, the closing chapter that would give meaning to their stories.

  Death approached Life, and at that moment—creation met cessation, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They saw in each other not just bance but a necessity, an unbreakable bond that neither had known they needed. Their eyes met, and something deeper blossomed—a spark beyond mere recognition.

  And from their union—born of love for one another—a cycle began: a dance of birth, death, and rebirth. Life created, Magic instilled desire, and Death—Death gave it all purpose, her touch filled with compassion rather than finality. Through this cycle, meaning emerged—existence transformed into more than just vitality; it became a journey, a story yered with depth and consequence. Together, they gave everything a reason, weaving the threads that would become the cycles of reincarnation.

  The bond between Life and Death flourished, their harmony weaving bance into reality. Yet, on the periphery, envy stirred—darkness lurking at the edges of creation, a quiet whisper growing louder. Magic, born of Chaos, watched their love unfold, and resentment took root. She longed to create, shape, and nurture as Life did, yearning to step beyond her purpose, much like she had when she and her sister were still one—when they were Chaos. But without Life’s touch, all she had was the raw, untamed power of her essence—chaos that resisted order, defied form. It was not enough. Not like what Life and Death had.

  Driven by impatience and ambition, Magic reached into the unknown, warping her power until it twisted beneath her grasp. She bent it to her will, her essence surging, and out of that reckless desire came the first soulless entities—monsters! They crawled into existence as grotesque parodies of Life’s creations, their forms cking purpose or beauty, feeding on the chaos from which they were born. They multiplied, pulling sustenance from the ambient mana around them, spreading unchecked—a sickness upon reality.

  Magic watched them, her lips curling in strange delight. A mistake? Perhaps. But it was a mistake she had no intention of correcting. She marveled at their grotesque forms—creatures that would, in time, adopt more familiar shapes: giant spiders, griffins, and countless other monsters. The Titans rallied, battling these blights with a fierceness that seemed almost noble, struggling to stem the tide of monsters Magic had unleashed.

  And she ughed. Magic ughed as her monsters spread, each spawn a living testament to her defiance, each monstrous birth forcing the Titans into endless battle, tearing apart the order they had sought to maintain. To her, it was the perfect game—a challenge thrown into the heart of harmony, a test for her sister’s beloved creations.

  When confronted by Life, Magic merely shrugged off her sister’s fury. “They give your children purpose,” she insisted, her eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement. “Something to overcome, to prove their strength.”

  Life’s protest fell on deaf ears. Magic continued, unrepentant, her ambition undiminished. She delved deeper into the unknown, experimenting without restraint until she succeeded in creating children of her own. Not fwed creatures this time, but something deliberate—the Eldritch. Twisted and terrible, born from Magic’s chaos and molded by her resentment, each Eldritch embodied a fragment of Magic’s dark desires. They were driven by a singur will—to consume and overcome—and they cshed with Life’s Titans in battles so fierce they scarred the very fabric of reality.

  Desperate to protect her children, Life turned to Death, and together, they merged their essences to create the Gods—beings forged to guide, defend, and bring strength to Life’s creations. In Magic’s eyes, it was hypocrisy; Life, in her desperation, forged a magical system to empower her creations with knowledge of her sister’s domain, giving them a fighting chance against the relentless tide of the Eldritch.

  Despite her efforts, the war escated, sting several millennia, and for a time, it looked as though Life’s children might persevere. However, towards the end, the Titans and Gods were losing ground, and so Life was left with no other options. She looked to Death for help, begging her to step in to end the war once and for all.

  Death refused.

  Destruction was not her domain. Though Life pleaded on behalf of her children, Death could not bear to intervene in such a way. And Life, seeing her creations torn asunder, her children sughtered by the madness of the Eldritch, became enraged. She discarded her creative mantle and fought with all the wrath of a scorned mother.

  The Eldritch, fierce and relentless, fought back. But they had not anticipated the raw, unfathomable power of a fully awakened Primordial in her fury. In desperation, they tore through reality itself with a grand ritual unlike any before, forcing Life and her Titans beyond the veil—casting them into a forsaken realm, banishing them to a pce devoid of mana: unreachable, lost.

  The Eldritch believed they had triumphed.

  But Death mourned the loss of Life. She hadn’t lifted a finger to protect the Titans, or even the Gods—her and Life’s shared children—but losing Life was too much to bear. In her grief and fury, Death emerged—not as a gentle shepherd, but as the harbinger of the end. She struck them down, obliterating the Eldritch, leaving only shattered remnants scattered across the cosmos. As she tore apart all of reality, the Eldritch became nothing more than bck puddings, pitiful echoes of what they once were.

  Magic herself did not intervene—too shocked, too ashamed by the loss of her sister.

  Yet even in her victory, Death found no soce. Life was gone, and with her absence, the cycle they had forged y shattered. Consumed by her grief, Death retreated to the only pce where traces of Life’s essence still lingered—the ethereal realm, where she lost herself in dreams of better times. There, she slumbered, abandoning her duty, abandoning her purpose.

  For a time, there was nothing, save for the three Gods who had managed to endure. Eventually, though, new life began to emerge. Stricken by guilt, Magic began to steal entire worlds filled with life from beyond their reality, desperate in her search for her lost sister—but to no avail. Death, shattered by grief, refused to acknowledge these new beings Magic had taken, choosing instead to stay lost within her dreams, untethered from everything.

  Drifting through a dream, Death cracked open an eye as wandering souls—those stolen by Magic—came and went, lost to the broken cycle of reincarnation, seeking soce among remnants of past dreams. Her attention sharpened when an unexpected presence made its way into the ethereal: a long-lost Titan soul entangled within a cocoon of ethereal silk. Beneath that false shroud, its true form y revealed—a Bck Pudding. The sight filled Death with disgust, her scowl deepening.

  A Titan soul within an Eldritch shell? It was an abomination—a bsphemy against everything Life and Death had nurtured. This creature had no pce in the ethereal realm, much less any right to exist.

  To her surprise, Magic herself intervened, eradicating the twisted amalgam of Titan and Eldritch. All was right again—at least for a fleeting moment. Still, a question lingered: Where had the Titan soul come from?

  Death, lost within her sorrow, almost dismissed the thought as irrelevant. She was about to slip back into her dreams when a shift pulled her attention—one of her three remaining children, Duskara, the Goddess of Dreams, was doing the impossible. Using her own divine essence, Duskara had begun to reweave the shattered soul, not as a mere resurrection, but reforging it—something entirely new.

  In this forsaken reality without Life, new souls were never supposed to come into being. The few births that happened were simply reincarnations, echoes of souls lost wandering the ethereal. But what Duskara was doing—bringing together broken, cursed fragments and giving them new form—was unlike anything Death had ever witnessed. Compelled by curiosity and a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity, Death rose from her slumber to watch this twisted new creation—an amalgamation of Life, Magic, and Death’s legacies.

  It wasn’t much of a surprise that the newborn’s mind was fractured. After all, having one’s soul shattered to dust wasn’t something existence was designed to recover from. And yet, against all odds, the girl had been born anew. Death had to admit—her daughter, Duskara, had done an impressive job. But it wasn’t enough. Not entirely. No, the final piece—the core that truly made one whole—was something the girl would have to find on her own.

  Originally, she had been a Titan, her soul woven into the very fabric of creation—an existence meant to shape reality through sheer will. But now, she bore the body of an Eldritch—an entity that was itself a physical manifestation of mana, untamed and chaotic. And then there was the divinity that now held her together—a tent potential, a spark yearning for a domain within the fabric of existence, a way to define itself… yet she cked that domain. Something essential had not been reborn with her, leaving her incomplete—a powerful force, yet directionless and fractured.

  Death frowned, a sigh escaping as she tapped into the System—her love’s creation. The access her beloved Life had once granted her extended to Magic as well, which still left a bitter taste in Death’s mouth. At least she had some leverage, enough influence to make things right. She blocked Magic’s interference and readministered the girl—her granddaughter, perhaps? The thought brought another sigh—Death wasn’t sure what to call the twisted amalgamation of Titan, Eldritch, and divinity.

  It might have been a mercy to simply end the abomination’s existence. But she knew Duskara would never allow it, and if she was honest, there was a flicker of something more—an inkling of hope.

  The newborn would have to find her domain eventually, though Death thought it was apparent what it should be. And the girl seemed to know, too, on some level. It was written in the fragments of her shattered soul, even listed within the System, no less. But it would take time for her to truly cim it. No matter how often she decred herself a nightmare, acknowledging it wasn’t enough—she was nowhere near becoming the Goddess of Nightmares.

  Until then, Death would watch. She would watch the demigoddess, the abomination, navigate a world that was not made for her. A twisted creation, yes—but maybe one that deserved a chance.

  The girl wandered the dream realm, fighting, tormenting, learning, and allowing her soul to heal. Death considered intervening many times but hesitated, knowing her presence might obliterate the child—she wasn’t ready yet. That was why Death had separated her from her mother. Oh, how Duskara was furious at her for it too.

  Despite her daughter’s anger, the best thing for the newborn was to let her stumble and learn on her own. Death watched as the girl moved through confusion, aimless wandering, strange encounters with lost souls, and fleeting dreamers. She danced between victories and defeats, clumsily navigating the dreamscape, creating chaos, and repeating her cycle without a care—things fitting of a nightmare, perhaps.

  Death’s patience, long and enduring, finally gave way. She decided it was time to approach the child. But a tremor through the fabric of reality halted her. Death sighed—a new convergence had begun, another one of Magic’s meddlesome events. The temptation to finally end Magic’s existence gnawed at her, but she held back. Even in her grief, Death knew her beloved Life would never forgive the death of her sister.

  But the time had come. She could not dey her interaction with the girl any longer.

  ~

  There I was, ducking yet another of Anylth’s wild swipes with her so-called magical weapon. Holy sword? Holy-infused bde? Who knows! The only holy thing about it was the “holy shit” that flew out of my mouth every time it whooshed past my head. Anylth’s got skills, sure, but bless her overzealous heart—she gets way too into it. Every ssh has her practically doing the splits—okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but her stance is so bow-legged I’m surprised she hasn’t torn something.

  And there it is again! Her feet are practically in different time zones, and I see my golden opportunity: a first-css delivery of my foot right to her... well, let’s just say, the center of gravity. No secret knockout kick to a fellow chick, but damn, the oof she lets out! It’s like a symphony—Beethoven’s Fifth but all oof, no notes. Every. Single. Time.

  However, let’s not mention my ability to have taste buds on every part of my exposed bck gooeyness.

  Ewwwww! I can taste her on my toe!

  How long have we been at this?

  Beats me.

  It’s like déjà vu on steroids—same song, same dance—but am I compining? Heck no! It’s just me, Anylth, and the gang, locked in this endless loop that resets with every killing blow—either theirs or mine. There’s a rhythm to it, you know? A twisted, exhirating beat that keeps my bck blood pumping. And hey, we might be stuck in this cycle until eternity waves the white fg, but I can’t help grinning through all the sweat, blood, and, well, the peculiar taste tingling at the tip of my gooey toe.

  Eww! That’s gross!

  And get this: I’ve been upping my game—finally snagging more wins than losses.

  Happy days, right?

  Yep—totally having the time of my life making these goblin-kid-murdering thieves pay for it. Not that I’m particurly sentimental about the kid—let’s be real. I’m just miffed they killed him before I could. Yep, that’s the reason. What? Don’t judge me!

  ...Sure.

  Oh, shut up.

  That kid was in his fifties!

  Here’s the real kicker: in this endless carousel of bloodbaths and gory glory, I haven’t managed to nd even a scratch on the gnome. Not a single poke. And no, it’s not out of some Earthling solidarity—please! It’s just that my dynamic, deranged voices are itching to pelt him with a few spicy questions. But every time I’m near these other asshats, my unleash-inner-psycho-Karen button doesn’t just get tapped—it gets body-smmed. And boom! I’m diving headfirst into a glorious kill-fest.

  Yeah, I know, right? The heart wants what it wants. Or, in our case...

  We.

  Crave.

  Entrails!

  And as a result, here I am, ensnared in this time-warp debacle. It’s like an infinite rerun of Elm Street, and guess who’s donning Freddy’s fedora? Spoiler alert: it’s us—um, I meant me—swear I’m losing my sanity more and more. And the crowd’s verdict? We’re killing it. Literally. Oh, and a little side note: I may or may not have reshaped some of our, uh, biomass into that iconic hat. What? Quit it with those judgy eyes!

  Electricity thrums through my veins—a live wire of anticipation—as my fist reels back, bck tar-like skin morphing and stretching into sinuous tentacles. I can almost taste victory once again—a dark, intoxicating fvor—as I aim straight for Anylth’s open scream.

  Stop tasting shit with our toes!

  Her battle cry, raw and seething with fury, echoes in my ears, a discordant symphony spurred by the crumpled forms of her fallen comrades. She is always the final boss fight, stubbornly defiant amidst the ruins of her party’s corpses.

  But then, in the space of a heartbeat—she isn’t.

  Reality hiccups. My tentacles cleave through nothing but thick, churning fog, as if I’ve plunged into a nebulous sea. Shadows coil and retreat in the gray, a pantomime of creatures lurking just out of sight. I pirouette, disoriented, tendrils shing out at the concealing murk, seeking something—anything—solid.

  Gradually, the fog whispered away like receding tides, revealing a tableau etched in sandstone and marble. Warm, flickering torchlight kissed the surfaces, throwing half the room into a dance of shadows. Scattered tables, a smoldering hearth, the lingering scent of spilled ale, and whispered secrets—an eerie familiarity tugged at my consciousness.

  The sight arrested me: the billboard—a mosaic of parchment and ink, each leaf a testament to quests id bare and glory just beyond grasp. It stood, immutable at the heart of the adventurers’ guild. A shiver, unbidden, slithered down the ridges of my getinous spine, a silent harbinger weaving through the crevices of my essence. It whispered of reality askew, a dawning comprehension filtering through the murk of my consciousness like the hesitant rays of a sullen sunrise.

  But was it truly the herald of a new day? Or the death knell of my ceaseless reverie—a dream, my dream, sweet as the darkest sin? I reveled in the thought, letting it twist and pirouette in the hollows of my—our—mind. Because if this was my dream, then it’s everyone else’s nightmare—a delicious, shadow-den terror for all those fools daring to tread the shifting sands beyond the walls of the kingdom over which I shall reign supreme.

  “Mwahaha!”

  Wait, did I just ugh out loud?

  Man, all this highbrow philosophizing is giving me brain cramps, and honestly, I’m barely keeping up with the what-the-hell-is-going-on of everything. Mental gymnastics aren’t my forte—unless they involve flipping people off, literally and figuratively. Shaking off the cerebral cobwebs, I continued to scan the adventurers’ guild. The pce was dead quiet—hold up, scratch that! Tucked away in a shadowy nook was a singur presence...

  There, in the dim, was this kid in pink. Was she smirking or scowling? Hard to tell, but her face was doing...something. The real showstoppers, though, were where her eyes should’ve been—two swirling abysses. Not empty sockets, but like entire gactic bck holes, greedily hoarding all the light.

  A shiver ran from my gooey tiptoes up to my gooey skull as I edged closer. Odd. I’d figured I was out of shivers, but this girl sparked a frisson of fear I thought I’d lost. Still, it didn’t glue my feet to the floor. Nope, I plopped down across from the runt, uninvited. Sure, I cmmed up, not offering a single word or greeting. Rude? Maybe. But then again, I’ve never been fond of stalkers. Instead, I stared right back at the girl with my arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

  Tension hung in the air between us, thick enough to choke on, before she cut through it. “I’m on the fence about whether to end you or not.”

  I couldn’t help but smirk. “Careful, sweetheart, I’m the kind of nightmare that makes the boogeyman check under his bed.”

  That got a genuine ugh out of her, surprising us both. “Sweetie, if I wanted you gone,” she grinned, all teeth, “you’d be dust before you even noticed you were falling. Believe that.”

  Her threat was unsettling—mostly because I was certain she could back it up—but the twinkle in her eye was downright infectious. I had to admit, I was kind of getting a kick out of her.

  “So, who are you supposed to be?” I asked, more intrigued than I’d like to admit.

  She tapped her chin, feigning thoughtfulness, all the while studying me with those abyssal eyes. “I’ve had countless names,” she began, pausing for effect, her gaze locking onto mine. Her grin widened, a streak of darkness beneath the childlike facade. “But you... you can call me Death.”

  The weight of her identity lingered, a foreboding shadow in the empty guild hall. But I wasn’t about to let her see me sweat.

  “Neat,” I grinned, casually shrugging off the gravity of her introduction. “So, what’s up? Why are you slumming it with the likes of little ol’ me, Death?”

  She stared at me for a moment, and I could swear even an eternal being was capable of a double-take. My nonchance had thrown her off, derailing the intimidation train she was likely used to conducting. Inside, I reveled in the tiny victory—ruffling Death’s feathers wasn’t something you did every day.

  “Good grief,” she mumbled to herself, “I must’ve been asleep for far too long if I’m neither striking terror nor inspiring groveling worship.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t do the whole ‘groveling at feet’ shtick. Bad for the knees. Plus, I’ve met scarier things—like Karen from HR.”

  She blinked, confusion marring her features. “Karen, from where?”

  “Never mind,” I waved it off. “Point is, you’re not exactly the scariest thing I’ve encountered.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely. I had the Teletubbies as childhood staples, so my shock threshold is pretty sky-high.”

  “Tele-what?” she echoed, perplexity dancing in her void-like eyes.

  “Picture this: creatures—technicolor nightmares, really—with weird symbols on their heads and TVs for stomachs. They were my ‘normal,’” I expined, air-quoting the st word, my smile morphing into a full-fledged grin at the absurdity. “You think you can scare me? Honey, I’ve stared into the soulless eyes of Tinky Winky and lived to tell the tale.”

  “TV?” Death repeated, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. “You were exposed to these...monsters...as a child?” The question seeped from her lips as if she were tasting something particurly foul.

  “Not ‘Elmo exposed,’” I crified, a dramatic shudder passing through me for emphasis. “But yeah, they were a staple of my childhood. Forced to watch ’em. Probably expins a lot, actually.”

  “That sounds...disturbing,” she conceded, her voice a melody of concern and confusion.

  I nodded solemnly, leaning in as if sharing a grave secret. “Yeah. It’s probably why I turned out the way I did,” I admitted, recognizing where things might’ve gone a tad sideways. “But enough about the scars of my childhood television trauma. What brings you to my neck of the woods, Death?” I quipped, deftly steering us away from my own warped origin story.

  You’re such a liar. You made all that shit up.

  Yep!

  “Neck of the woods?” Death echoed, her brows knitting together in delightful confusion.

  I couldn’t help the self-satisfied smile tugging at my lips. Watching the embodiment of the end times befuddled by mundane idioms? Priceless.

  “You... you are a peculiar creature,” she decred, a hint of wonder seeping into her tone. “And an unfortunate manipution at that. A Titan’s soul in an Eldritch vessel,” her tone dropped as if saddened by the revetion.

  “Hold up, rewind,” I interjected, making a reverse motion with my hands. “Eldritch, sure. I mean, look at this delightful bck gooey mess,” I gestured fmboyantly down at my gorgeous body. Sure, a lot of my silk shell was missing after being yanked here mid-battle, revealing most of my nightmarish tar-like form. “But Titan? As in the old-school, mountain-sized Greek mythology bigwigs?” I asked, genuine curiosity piquing my tone.

  We already know all of this!

  Yeaaah, but I like listening to this little girl call me a Titan anyway.

  The bewilderment etched on Death’s visage would have been downright hirious if she wasn’t, you know, the ender of all things. Scratch that—it was still funny.

  “I’m unfamiliar with your Greek tales, but Titans? Their ability to manipute mana transcends any mountains,” she asserted, the confusion in her tone giving way to a touch of awe, still seemingly thrown by the casual banter. “They were the cherished offspring of my dearest. But what baffles me is how your soul got tangled up in that... vile body.”

  Dearest?

  Shush, I’ve got a sassier comeback brewing!

  I feigned outrage, pcing a hand over where my heart would be. “Hey, no need to body-shame!” My tone was drenched in sarcasm, but it soared right over her childlike head. “But if you must know, I bme it all on Magic. Honestly, she’s at the core of most of my life’s problems. Shattered my soul.

  And that’s your sassier comeback?

  Let’s see you do better.

  “Magic,” Death whispered, the name dripping from her lips as her fingers curled into tight fists.

  “Yep, the one and only pain-in-the-ass Primordial of Magic,” I confirmed with a dismissive wave, like swatting away an annoying fly. “Total. Bitch,” I added, leaning in conspiratorially, making sure she caught every sylble dripping with venom.

  Death murmured under her breath, her voice like a breeze I couldn’t quite catch, pitch-bck eyes unfocusing as if staring into a past only she could see. “She’s the one who fractured your soul,” she mused aloud—not really asking, more like piecing together a puzzle she already had all the pieces for.

  Oh, she knew exactly what happened to me, the little drama queen. Acting all mysterious—spare me the theatrics.

  “And the System... I had been unaware Magic had any interest in its use or that it even remained intact after the war—not until I took notice of you,” she continued, her words drifting off as her thoughts spiraled into some ancient echo chamber, mumbling to herself, ignoring me altogether.

  I was right there, waving my metaphorical arms like a lunatic at a silent disco, but she was treating me like background noise to her epic internal monologue. Seriously, could she be any more absorbed in her own world?

  Maybe ‘we’ should juggle fming chainsaws next time.

  Or start reciting poetry in Klingon. That’d get her attention.

  We don’t know Klingon—I was a goth chick, not a fucking nerd.

  bIjatlh’ e’ yImev!

  …

  Her finger tapped against her lower lip, creating a staccato rhythm to her hushed mumbling. “Stealing worlds... to sync with a summoned race’s mana, she’d triangute origin worlds for convergence. Intriguing, but Titans don’t generate mana—they wield it. Unless... she leveraged their intrinsic mana manipution to fine-tune the System. Still, the complexity... she’d require a multitude of Titan souls across eons in this dimension for precise calibration. They’d have to weave mana with and without the System to get an accurate sync... That would take forever. But wait! An Eldritch vessel could expedite it! No. Still not enough... The core, perhaps! But that solves the power issue. What about the calibration? There’s more to it. Why shatter the girl’s soul, then? A cover? No. No. The backsh should have carried the mana back to the origin point. But why? Wait—wait—wait. She’s a Titan, that means the origin point—she’s found—”

  “Okay, what in the nine hells are you babbling about?” I cut in, waving a hand dramatically in front of her face. Her switch from ominous to adorably scatterbrained was giving me emotional whipsh. “And what’s with all this Titan talk?” I pressed, trying to drag the conversation back onto tracks that weren’t made of crazy.

  Yeah, I know my soul is that of this realm’s long-lost Titans and all, but seriously? I’m having a harder time following her word vomit than decoding ancient hieroglyphics after a tequi bender. My eyes are gzing over, and I’m pretty sure my brain just sprained itself.

  “That’d be you,” she said, as casually as pointing out the sky is blue.

  No shit!

  Then her eyes lifted—not just to the ceiling, but as if she were peering through the universe itself. “A convergence is nearing completion... Oh, that’s a nasty pce. Brace yourself for ceaseless wars spanning generations with that one. No, you’re not from there. Ah, here we go! Magic has started a second convergence. Sadly, it’s too soon for me to see into it. Still, I should be able to sense her presence. Yet it’s... not there. Why is it not there? No—I can feel her traces, but it should be stronger. Why is she so weak?”

  Her voice dwindled to a whisper, and my non-existent heart clenched upon seeing a lone tear slide down her cheek. Great, now I felt like a jerk.

  “Ugh, I’m so over this confusion,” I grumbled, running my hands through my tendrils—er, I mean hair. “I don’t even know my ‘where’ or ‘why’ I’m here, let alone why the Goddess of Dreams tossed my shattered mind—or soul—into this pce.” I heaved a dramatic sigh, the longing for Aurelia twisting like a knife in whatever serves as my heart. “And the cherry on this crap sundae? I just want to get back to my soulmate.”

  “Your mother,” Death echoed, the word rolling around in her mouth like it tasted funny.

  “Mother?” I repeated, blinking rapidly.

  “Your soul was utterly destroyed to nothing but dust. So you were reborn with Duskara’s own essence,” Death stated pinly.

  I already knew all this.

  Yeah, but the “mother” part wasn’t something I was really piecing together.

  “The Crone, Goddess of Dreams, is my mother,” I breathed. “Excuse me, what the actual hell?” I sputtered, taken aback.

  “Your ‘mother’ didn’t just toss you here—I did.” Death’s gaze remained unwavering.

  “Wait a second,” I said, gears in my head screeching—or maybe grinding to a halt. “You tossed me here?” I repeated, tentacles sprouting from my back as they prepared to sh out.

  Oh, crap—let’s not pick a fight with the embodiment of Death!

  “Hmm,” the little girl tilted her head, looking contemptive. “Yep,” she added nonchantly, like she was offering me a cookie, “your soul needed time to heal.”

  Taking a deep breath—not that I even needed to breathe—a grin spread across my face. “I’m going to kill you,” I purred.

  What! No, we are not!

  Death ughed—the little bitch ughed!

  “Good luck with that,” Death said, shaking her head with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Alright then, just to reiterate, you’re deep inside the Realm of Dreams. It’s a common destination for dreamers and wandering souls alike,” she expined, as if I was supposed to have known that.

  Um... we actually did know that.

  “As for the system, I reconnected you but temporarily held back your access while your soul healed—that’s why you can’t access it right now within the dream realm,” she said casually, as if suggesting a cup of tea. “It’ll help you pick up new magic, but beyond that, it’s kind of a dud for your kind,” she added, her tone ft.

  Oh, so that’s why you couldn’t access your System! And here you were, bming it on the realm. Well, don’t you feel like a dipshit.

  What happened to using ‘I’ or even a ‘we’?

  “My kind?”

  “Eldritch.”

  “Wait—new skills? HELL YES!” I excimed, pumping my fist like I’d just won the cosmic magical lottery. The system stuff had me over the moon. The whole Eldritch angle? Meh, small potatoes—though, let’s be real, being part cosmic horror is kind of badass.

  “Huh, didn’t peg you for the enthusiastic type,” Death remarked, a hint of surprise breaking through her cool demeanor—which was odd, seeing as she looked like a child. “You’ll find it hard to gain new skills until you find stronger USERS or stumble into a dungeon, but I’ll add some new skills to complement your new css. Only, you won’t be able to gain new skill slots, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Um... Thanks, but that does seem like a problem. How can I use those new skills if I can’t unlock them without gaining more skill slots?”

  “Swap out your skills,” Death said, raising an eyebrow as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Deactivate a skill you’ve learned to cast without the System for the skills you wish to learn. The System is a training tool—use it as such.” She shook her head, treating me like I was some kind of idiot.

  I crossed my arms, thoroughly miffed at Death treating me like a clueless kid. “Oh, sure, why didn’t I think of that?” I muttered sarcastically. Rolling my eyes so hard they nearly spun out of my head—which, given my current eldritch gooey body, wasn’t entirely impossible—I decided to see if my Character Status page would pull up. And lo and behold, it did!

  V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

  CharacterStatus

  Name:  Bke

  Race:  Eldritch Horror

  Subrace: Bck Pudding

  Concealed Race Designations Found.

  Hidden: Titan

  Hidden: Demigoddess

  Css:  Nightmare

  Level:  25

  Titles:

  - [Death’s Disciple]

  Racial Skills:

  - [Absorb]

  - [Arcane Insight]

  - [Corrosive]

  - [Polymorph]

  - [Thermal]

  Spells:

  - [Astral Insight]

  - [Blight]

  - [Fear]

  - [Life Drain]

  - [Mana Focus]

  - [Necrotic Fme]

  - [Paralysis]

  - [Spirit Vessel]

  - [Terror’s Infusion]

  Abilities:

  - [Burst]

  - [Ethereal Mist]

  - [Silk Webbing]

  - [Spider Walk]

  - [Spores]

  - [Venomous]

  Vulnerabilities:

  - [Fire]

  - [Holy]

  Immunities:

  - [Acid]

  - [Darkness]

  - [Disease]

  - [Dread]

  - [Fear]

  - [Poison]

  - [Sleep]

  - [Sorrow]

  Unique:

  - [Polyglot]

  - [Divine Stelr Core]

  Selectable Skills:

  - [Acid Breath]

  - [Dull Corrode]

  - [Fear Harvest]

  - [Fortress]

  - [Leap]

  - [Poison Spit]

  - [Shield Proficiency]

  _

  New Selectable Css and Racial Skills Unlocked:

  - [Birthright]

  - [Devourer]

  - [Disintegration]

  - [Nightmare Dominion]

  - [Phantasmal Mist]

  - [Phantasmal Nightmare]

  - [Heiress]

  - [Surge]

  - [Threads of Horror]

  V:\>

  “W-What the fuck?” I stammered as confusion skyrocketed within me. Regaining a sembnce of composure, I blurted out, “Demigoddess?” My eyes darted over the new skills—all of them, albeit in a bit of a rush, probably missing a few things—before snapping back to something even more surprising. “Your disciple?” I raised an eyebrow at the imposing figure of the little girl, who was happily kicking her feet in her chair, unable to reach the ground.

  “What? Oh, that,” Death responded nonchantly, as if discussing something as mundane as mispced socks. “It’s an arbitrary title; don’t worry about it too much,” she giggled, her casualness doing nothing to instill confidence.

  Well, at least the title’s no longer Helpless—or was it Hopeless?—Crusader, or whatever stupid shit Magic had saddled me with.

  “Fine,” I grumbled, defting slightly.

  “Now, what else before I depart?” she mused, ticking off points on her fingers. “Oh, and regarding that Dungeon Core—”

  “Dungeon Core!” I blurted out, remembering the thing had exploded inside me. I tried to cast Stelr Void to pull it out... only, the skill didn’t activate. A quick gnce at my skills showed an entirely different ability in its pce. “Divine Stelr Core?” I muttered.

  “Have fun using that one,” Death said casually, almost as an afterthought. “I’ll be watching you if you need me.”

  My head snapped away from my status page to find an empty chair—she was gone. No grand exit, no swirl of a cloak or dramatic gust of wind—she simply ceased to be, her form dissolving into the air as if she were never more than a wisp of smoke. Where she had sat, the world seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, the air itself holding its breath.

  But then, life rushed back into the void her departure left. The guild hall, quiet a moment before, burst into unbridled vitality, like a veil lifting to reveal a hidden world. Laughter cascaded from one corner where a group of adventurers shared a private jest; the clink of tankards and the low hum of dozens of conversations melded into a lively symphony. Here and there, the gleam of steel fshed as a weapon was carelessly brandished in a storyteller’s enthusiasm, candlelight flickering off well-worn hilts. The shuffle of booted feet echoed as patrons sidled up to the bar.

  I stood there, feeling like an outsider on a solitary isle amidst this tapestry of motion and vitality. A plethora of mysteries still swirled unanswered in my mind, yearnings unquenched for further expnations she had taken with her, leaving a residue of disappointment in the void of her absence.

  “Oi, ye ready tae make a move, ss?” the dwarf woman’s voice cut through the guild hall, her sudden presence catching me off guard. “We’ve a drake awaitin’ its death, we do.”

  “Ugh, I’m still in the dream realm,” I sighed, then muttered, “of course I am.”

  I miss Aurelia—my Aislinn!

  1

  Like what you read? Wait—you actually did? Well, hot damn! I thought I was the only one with mental issues!

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