Eventually the pain ebbed. It would be determined later the whole process had only lasted five minutes, but for most of humanity, they passed out from the pain before it even finished.
Will was still standing—barely. Sweat had soaked through his clothes, dark patches spreading across his hoodie and down his back. His legs felt hollow. His hands shook like he'd run until he vomited, then ran again. His room spun in slow, ugly tilts, and when Will swallowed, his throat still tasted like bile.
Will tried to gather his thoughts.
Will didn't get the chance.
Something snapped into place inside Will's awareness, crisp and mechanical, like a screen turning on behind his eyes.
Cultivation Assist Defense System… LOADING…
A cold pause. Then the words hit clean, each line landing like it was being stamped onto Will's mind.
GREETING: HUMANITY OF EARTH.
NOTICE: Your planet will phase in 24 standard Earth hours to its new location in the Prime Realm.
Will blinked hard. The room was back—his bed, his clean floor, the heater hum—except now there was this other thing sitting over it, like reality had an overlay.
FUNCTION: Cultivation Assist Defense System (CADS) passively assists in combating Nether and Chaos, and in your cultivation.
Will's mouth opened. Nothing came out. Nether? Chaos? Will had no idea what those words meant at the time.
WORLD STATUS: As a new world of Prime, your world will assist the realm, and become a beacon for all Chaos and Nether. The Heavens protect you.
Will's stomach tightened again. Beacon. Protect you. The words didn't match each other, not cleanly.
DEFENSE PROTOCOL: System will gather and create portals and dungeons containing external threats of Nether and Chaos. Clear for Merits and humanity's survival.
Will stared at the air like he could see it. Will's hands came up, palms open, then dropped, because there was nothing to touch.
DEFINITION: Cultivation is the enlightenment of the Heavens and the culmination of Ki. Break your limits and defy the Heavens.
Will swallowed, once, twice, trying to force his brain to stay on one line at a time.
WARNING: Phase will cause earthquakes and tidal waves. Please plan accordingly.
Will's eyes cut to the door like he expected John to barge in, like he expected their father to start yelling, like any of that could matter against "tidal waves."
WARNING: As Ki accumulates and your world prepares to phase, your laws of science will no longer function. Please plan accordingly.
Will's breath hitched. The TV noise in the other room kept going. The heater kept humming. Normal sounds, normal apartment, and a system telling him physics was about to get replaced.
PATHS: The paths of the Heavens are Ki and enlightenment—its laws.
RECOMMENDATION: Cultivate, seek power, but do not forget your honor. Glory to the heavens.
Will was so confused he didn't know what to expect. What the hell was going on?
Will's stomach churned like he could throw up, but Will swallowed it down, breathing slow through his nose the way he did when he was trying not to show anything on his face. Sweat cooled on his skin in patches and stayed hot in others, hoodie sticking to his back and sides like wet cloth.
From the other room, Will heard it—someone retching hard. A man's voice. Rough and familiar.
His father.
Will didn't move right away. Will stood there, listening to the gagging and the wet splash, trying to connect it to what he'd just lived through. The system text still felt like it was hovering in the space behind his eyes, even when Will looked at his bedroom wall.
Questions stacked up fast. Nether. Chaos. Prime Realm. Earthquakes. Tidal waves. Cultivation. Merits.
Will's head felt full of noise, like he needed to do something right now, but Will didn't even know what "something" was. What the hell could Will even do?
Then another alert hit.
Scanning Host…
Scanning…
Scan Complete.
0 Special(s) detected.
Host qualifies for… calculating…
Calculating…
Basic Cultivation Package.
Please redeem at your earliest convenience.
Will took a deep breath and held it for half a second, forcing his hands to stop shaking. Will's heart was beating hard enough he could feel it in his throat.
A thought crossed Will's mind—was this all fake?
A few seconds was all it took for Will to steel his mind. The pain he had experienced wasn't fake.
Will still remembered the destabilizing pain, like it was sitting right under his skin.
Will focused on John. Will went to John's room. Will needed to check on him.
Will stepped into the hallway, moving quiet out of habit, bare feet whispering on the worn carpet. The air still felt warm and stale from the heater, and Will could feel sweat cooling along his ribs under the hoodie. The TV was still on in the living room, and Will heard his father retching—wet and harsh—like he was throwing up; Will couldn't tell why. Drunk, sick. Will's mind flicked toward it for a second, then Will shoved it aside. Will could care less. Will wiped a palm down his sweat-soaked hoodie without thinking and kept going, his fingers leaving a darker smear in the fabric.
Will stopped at John's door and pushed it open, the hinges giving a soft creak that made Will pause for half a beat and listen. No footsteps. No sudden movement. Just the TV noise and his father making those sounds again.
John was sprawled on his bed, passed out. John's sheets were twisted around his legs like he'd kicked in his sleep, one corner bunched up near his knee. John's face and neck shined with sweat, hair damp at the roots, blond strands stuck to his forehead and temple. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were parted like he'd been breathing through his mouth. He looked like he'd been through a wringer. One of John's hands was curled near his chest, the other hanging off the mattress, fingers slack, knuckles pale where they pressed into the sheet edge.
Will crossed the room, stepping around a couple scattered socks near the dresser, and crouched next to the bed, knees cracking faintly as he lowered himself. The mattress dipped under John's weight when Will leaned in. Will put a hand on John's shoulder and shook him, careful at first, like he didn't want to jolt him wrong.
"John," Will said, using his brother's name like it mattered.
John didn't react. His eyelashes didn't even twitch.
Will shook him again, firmer this time. John's head rolled slightly on the pillow, lips parting more, but his eyes stayed shut. John's breathing came in uneven pulls, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to speed up or settle, and a thin sound sat in his throat like he might gag.
Will kept shaking.
John finally dragged in a rough breath and jerked like he was coming up out of deep water. John's eyes cracked open, unfocused at first, then wide. His pupils looked blown for a second, like the light was too much. His gaze snapped around the room, catching on Will, then on the door, then back again like he was checking where he was. John's hands came up automatically, one wiping at his face, the other bracing on the mattress as if he didn't trust his balance.
John gasped and sat up fast, chest heaving, and John looked straight at Will.
John's eyes held terror. Will felt the same on the inside—how could Will not? The world had changed drastically in five minutes.
John spoke first, voice rough and thin. "What… what was that? I felt pain…" John's hand went to his forehead like he expected heat, then dropped to the sheet and gripped it.
Will cut him off. "Me too," Will said calmly. Will kept his voice even, even with his hoodie still damp on his back and his hands still shaking if he let them. Al taught a focused mentality, and even then Will embraced it. His father taught him being afraid was useless.
John took a deep breath, then another, forcing his breathing into something steady. John wiped at his face again, smearing sweat across his cheek, and his shoulders rose and fell like he was trying to reset his body. John's expression shifted into that thinking look Will knew—eyes narrowing a fraction, jaw set, like John was sorting the chaos into parts he could actually hold.
John's gaze drifted for a second, not at Will but past him, like John was looking at something that wasn't in the room. John's eyes tracked left to right, then stopped. John blinked hard once, then twice, like he'd just found the right angle to read something.
"Assuming this is real," John said, and the words came out more controlled, "the most concerning is the tidal waves and earthquakes." John glanced past Will toward the hallway, listening to the TV noise and their father's wet breathing like he was measuring how normal the apartment still sounded. "Twenty-four hours isn't a lot of time. People won't take it seriously fast enough."
John paused again, eyes flicking back to that same empty spot in front of him. John's lips moved without sound for half a second, like he was testing an idea in his head, then he looked Will in the eye, direct.
"Focus on the system."
Will blinked. "The system?" Will's throat felt raw when he spoke, like he'd been yelling even though he hadn't.
John nodded once. "It called itself the Cultivation Assist Defense System." John's fingers loosened on the sheet, then tightened again. "A lot of it remains unknown. But it's the only thing that just gave instructions and warnings. So focus."
Will swallowed and did what John said. Will focused on the idea of the system, and sure enough it pulled up like a computer screen in his eyes, slightly holographic.
— CULTIVATION ASSIST DEFENSE SYSTEM (CADS) —
A simple list hovered under it, each option sitting in its own faint bracket.
[STATUS]
[ALERT LOG]
[REDEEM PACKAGE]
[HELP]
Will's eyes flicked across the words, and the cursor-like highlight jumped with his focus like it could tell what he meant.
Will locked onto the first option.
[STATUS]
The screen shifted without sound.
Cultivation Assist Defense System (CADS)
Name: Will Johnson
Race: Human
Bonds: None Detected
Powers: N/A (No Bonds)
Cultivation: None
Enlightenment: None
Merits: None
Will stared at it. At the time, Will was completely clueless what any of it meant.
Will's focus slid down, caught on the bracketed option sitting at the bottom edge of the overlay.
[REDEEM PACKAGE]
Will's eyes tightened on it.
Basic Cultivation Package: AVAILABLE
Redeem at your earliest convenience.
Will was a pretty basic person. Not know what this all meant Will clicked [HELP], hopefully getting clarification or some kind of tutorial.
The overlay shifted.
HELP: CADS may assist in times of need.
REQUIREMENT: Host must swear an Oath.
OATH CLAUSE: Failure to fulfill the demand will result in Heavenly Retribution.
CONFIRMATION: Do you accept?
Will blinked. That sounded ominous.
John spoke up from the bed, voice steadier now, eyes flicking like he was reading his own overlay. "This is interesting. Apparently I can go to a school of cultivation for one month." John swallowed once, then added, like he didn't want to say it too loud, "Apparently I get a golden cultivation package."
Will blinked. What?
John looked at Will. "It says I will return to a safe spot after. What did you get?"
Will looked back at his own overlay. Basic Cultivation Package: AVAILABLE.
Will focused on it and the option expanded, lines unfolding under it like a drop-down menu.
Basic Cultivation Package: DETAILS
1x Rank: F — Grade: F weapon available
1x Rank: F — Grade: C cultivation manual available
Will stared at the lines, then forced himself to speak. "I… get a weapon and a manual," Will said. "I only have a basic package."
John blinked as he looked at Will. The brothers went quiet, both of them trying to understand what the fuck was going on.
John spoke first. "We need to get to safety." John pushed the sheet off his legs and planted his feet on the floor, still a little unsteady. "Let's put this aside for now. We get some bags and gear packed, and we get away from buildings when the quakes hit. I don't want to be here."
Will opened his mouth to answer.
The light in the room flared—bright enough to bleach the wall for a split second—then settled back to normal. The heater kept humming. The TV kept talking.
Will and John both looked up, then back down, and their eyes met.
John's throat bobbed. "I'll check on Dad while you—"
Will cut him off. "No."
Will hated his father. Will detested him. The man was a bastard. Thinking back, this would be one of Will's biggest takes—having a lack of conviction.
John's voice came sharper than before. "I know he has his problems, but he is still our father," John said, a tint of adamance in his voice. John swung his legs off the bed and stood, one hand bracing on the mattress for balance.
Will stayed where he was, shoulders tight, eyes fixed on John. "I don't care," Will said.
John straightened fully, wiped a palm down his sweat-damp shirt, and headed for the door. "I am checking on him," John said. "You get the bags ready." John walked out without waiting, ending the conversation by leaving it.
The lights started acting weird again. They flared slightly, then steadied, the bulb giving a faint buzz like it didn't know what voltage it wanted to live at.
Will exhaled through his nose, then got up and started preparing the bags.
Will changed. Will didn't bother helping. Will really didn't care.
Twenty minutes later, Will came out in fresh clothes with a backpack on. The straps dug a little into his shoulders through the fabric. A thermos of water sat in the side pocket. A couple dried bars and chips were stuffed into the front pouch, wrappers crinkling when he shifted. They didn't really have anything else worth packing, not in a rush like this.
His father was sitting up in the recliner, covered in throw up, shirt dark and crusted in spots, one pant leg damp where it had soaked through. The recliner's armrest had a smear on it where his father must've tried to push himself upright. His father looked a little confused, blinking slow at the room like it didn't line up right.
John was there with a towel in his hands, working around him. John kept his jaw tight as he wiped at his father's neck and shoulder, like he was doing it because it needed doing, not because he wanted to. John's hair was still damp at the roots, and sweat shined along his temples under the living room light.
John spoke without looking up. "He was drunk when the pain hit. I don't think it mixed well with the alcohol," John said, and he shifted the towel to a cleaner section before wiping again.
The television had a semi bad connection. The picture flickered, the sound cutting in and out, and the screen flashed brighter every time the signal snapped back. Some older movie from the '90s was playing—Will didn't remember the name, something with a watch that stopped time. The volume was too high, tinny through the cheap speakers, then it dipped for a second like the TV forgot it was supposed to be loud.
Honestly, his father probably passed out hours earlier, Will thought, not thinking much of him beyond that.
His father's eyes finally focused. His father spoke, voice thick, lips still wet at the corner. "What the hell…" His father looked around like he expected an answer to be sitting on the coffee table.
John spoke again, still trying to clean him. "Let's get you cleaned up, get more stuff, and we will get out of here."
Will exhaled and adjusted the backpack strap on his shoulder. Will noticed his father looking at him. Will was his spitting image—same set in the jaw, same heavy hands, even if Will hated it.
His father's mouth curled like he was finding his footing again. "Better get me a towel, boy," his father said, slurring a little. "Run the water. Need some respect…" His father waved a heavy hand, the gesture sloppy, fingers trembling slightly.
Will sighed, helplessly.