Chapter 1
Part 1 The End Before the Beginning
The first thing Adrian noticed was the silence. It wasn't the absence of sound; no, there was plenty of that. Steel clashed, wood snapped, and fire roared through what used to be homes. Men shouted orders they didn't believe in anymore.
But beneath all of it, there was something else. A pressure weighed down on him, like the world itself was holding its breath. He knelt in the dirt, one knee down, the other barely holding him upright. His hand pressed into the ground to stop himself from collapsing completely. Blood...his blood...dripped from his fingers, soaking into the cracked earth beneath him.
His breathing was uneven. It wasn't panicked, just heavy, controlled, and forced.
"Is this him?" The voice came from somewhere above him, sounding both amused and disappointed. Adrian didn't look up...not yet. "I expected more."
Another voice spoke, sharper this time and distinctly educated. It carried the kind of tone that came from someone who had never lost a fight they didn't choose to lose. Boots stepped closer, crunching over debris of broken wood, and something softer. Adrian didn't think too hard about that last one.
"You're telling me this is the one who's been causing problems?"
A third voice cut in now. This one carried immense weight and authority, causing the others to quiet slightly when he spoke.
"...Depends," he muttered. There was a pause. "...On what you consider a problem."
A boot slammed into his shoulder—not hard enough to kill him, but just enough to knock him sideways. He hit the ground, rolled once, and stopped on his back.
The sky above him was completely wrong. It was far too dark, with clouds churning unnaturally, streaked with faint gold and deep blue like bruises in the air itself. He stared up at it for a second.
"...Huh," he breathed. "That's new."
The general stepped into his line of sight. He was tall, heavily armored, and pristine not a single scratch on him. Of course.
"You're in no position to be making jokes," the man said.
Adrian turned his head slightly, intentionally looking past the general instead of at him. Around them, the soldiers had formed a loose circle with their weapons drawn, but none of them actually moved closer. They were waiting, watching, and being incredibly careful.
That almost made him smile. Almost.
"Funny thing," Adrian said, his voice dry despite the blood at the corner of his mouth. "I don't remember signing up for a 'position.'"
The general's expression didn't change, but one of the others scoffed. "Arrogant to the end."
Adrian slowly pushed himself up again. He didn't manage to stand fully, just enough to get back onto one knee. The ground cracked slightly under his hand. No one commented on the sound, but they all noticed it. Good.
"You're finished," the general said simply. There was no anger in his voice, no excitement; it was just a statement of fact.
Adrian tilted his head slightly. "...Yeah," he admitted. "...Probably."
That was honest, for once. His body was failing him—he could feel it. It wasn't pain, as he had moved past that a while ago. This was a deeper strain, a feeling of something inside him thinning out, like a structure pushed too far.
And yet, the pressure in the air shifted. It was subtle, but immediate.
Adrian frowned. "...Wait."
Something flickered. It wasn't out in the world, but inside him. Then it appeared—something golden and faint, glowing not in front of his eyes, but inside them. Lines and symbols formed. They weren't words, not exactly, but he understood them anyway. They arranged themselves slowly and deliberately, as if they had always been there... waiting.
Requirements Met
Adrian blinked once. "...Oh," he said quietly.
The generals didn't react; they couldn't see what was happening. Before his eyes, the symbols shifted and expanded.
Sovereign Collapse — Available
Silence fell over the clearing. Adrian stared at the glowing text for a long second, and then another.
"...That sounds," he said slowly, "like a terrible idea."
There was no response from the menu, of course.
But behind the generals, one of the soldiers shifted nervously. "Sir... something's—"
"Hold formation," the general cut him off.
Adrian let out a long, tired breath. "...Yeah," he muttered. "...That tracks."
He closed his eyes briefly. It wasn't an act of defeat, but rather a moment of deep, focused thought. Then, he opened them again.
"...Sovereign Collapse."
The world answered, not with light or sound, but with pressure. A low, deep, and almost inaudible hum spread outward. It didn't travel through the air; it went through everything.
The ground beneath him compressed, cracked, and then went completely still. The soldiers froze...not by choice. Their bodies simply stopped moving.
The generals' expressions shifted from confusion to something else entirely: fear.
The sky bent just slightly, looking like heat distortion, except it felt colder and significantly heavier as the hum deepened. Adrian exhaled slowly. "...Wha—"
Everything drew inward—light, sound, and even the wind.
"Wait."
The pressure paused.
"Wait, wait—"
Everything stopped.
"...Yeah," Adrian said. He glanced sideways. Somehow, despite everything happening, and despite reality folding in on itself, he looked directly at you.
"Yup... That's me. To explain how I got here..."
The world cracked.
"...We need to go back."
1 year ago
Adrian groaned. It wasn't dramatic or loud, but just the quiet, defeated sound of someone who had already decided the day wasn't worth it and had been proven right anyway.
His alarm was still going somewhere in the distance—annoying and persistent. He didn't move.
"...If I ignore it," he mumbled into his pillow, "it might go away."
It didn't. Of course it didn't.
He reached out blindly, knocked something off his bedside table, missed the alarm entirely, and groaned again.
"...I don't hate my life," he said to no one. "...I just strongly disagree with being conscious during it."
The alarm kept going.
"...Fine."
He sat up slowly and regretfully. The room was small, though not in a cozy way; it was strictly in a "this is all we can afford" way. Stacks of paper sat on his desk—notes, drafts, and half-finished ideas. A blinking cursor sat on his laptop screen, serving as a harsh reminder of his deadline.
Adrian stared at it. "...Right," he said. "...That's also a problem."
He checked the time and froze. "...That's a bigger problem."
"Adrian!"
His grandmother's voice carried easily through the thin walls of the apartment. It was warm, familiar, and dangerously capable of making him feel guilty.
"I'm up!" he called back. "...That's a lie, but I'm working on it!"
He stood up, tripped slightly on something that had absolutely been left on the floor yesterday, and recovered... mostly. By the time he made it to the kitchen, he was halfway dressed, fully late, and already mentally preparing excuses he knew wouldn't work.
His grandmother stood by the stove. She was small and calm, watching him with that look.
"You're late," she said.
"I'm efficiently delayed," Adrian corrected, grabbing a piece of toast.
"You need to eat properly."
He grabbed a strip of bacon, slapped it onto the toast, and considered it. "...Balanced diet."
She gave him a look.
He took a massive bite and immediately winced. "Too hot!" Still chewing, he backed toward the door. "I'm going!" he said quickly.
"You're forgetting—"
"I'm not!" He wasn't entirely sure what he was forgetting, but confidence was key. He reached the door and paused just long enough to glance back. "See you later, Grandma."
Her expression softened. "Be careful."
"...Always am."
That was also a lie. He stepped out, the door closed behind him, and just like that... the world was normal again. There was no pressure, no war, and no golden symbols—just a guy who was incredibly late for work, running down the street with toast in one hand and his dignity left somewhere far behind him.
"...This is fine," Adrian muttered.
It wasn't, but it would have to do.
Part 2 – The Grind
Adrian did not remember sitting down.
He remembered starting the day, he remembered being late, and he remembered promising himself very confidently that today would be "different." Then, suddenly, he was sitting on a plastic chair, holding a half-empty bottle of water, and staring at a hedge that no longer existed.
"...Huh," he said.
He blinked slowly. The hedge was gone, and in its place was a neat, trimmed line of green that looked like it had always been that way. He looked down at the hedge clippers in his hand, then at the pile of branches beside him, and then back at the hedge.
"...Well," he muttered, "either I blacked out..." He paused for a moment. "...or I'm finally getting good at this."
"Oi!"
Adrian turned his head. His boss stood near the driveway with his arms crossed, already looking irritated in advance. "You planning on admiring it all day, or are you going to finish the yard?"
Adrian looked at the yard, then back at him. "...I was building a relationship with the hedge," he said. "Trust is important."
His boss stared at him, completely unimpressed. "...Finish the lawn."
"Right."
Adrian stood up with the enthusiasm of a man being politely sentenced. The sun was already high—too high—which meant only one thing.
"I'm behind schedule," he muttered.
By midday, he had managed to complete two lawns, one massive hedge massacre, and a flowerbed reconstruction that he was fairly certain had been entirely unnecessary. His shirt clung to him, his arms ached, and his back had already filed a formal complaint. And that was just Job One.
"...I love my life," Adrian said flatly, loading tools back into the van. "...This is exactly what I imagined as a child."
His boss tossed him a bottle of water. "You're doing another site this afternoon."
Adrian caught it, stared at the bottle, and then looked up at him. "...Define 'another.'"
"The big one."
Adrian froze. "...The big one?"
"Yeah."
"...The one with the hill?"
"Yeah."
"...The one that's basically a vertical challenge disguised as a garden?"
"Yeah."
Adrian nodded slowly. "...Fantastic." He took a long drink, and then another. "...I've always wanted to experience suffering in new and exciting ways."
The hill was far worse than he remembered. It wasn't a garden; it was a test of endurance, of patience, and of whether or not gravity held a personal grudge against him. Halfway up, Adrian stopped and bent forward slightly, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
"...Okay," he said between gasps. "...This is fine."
The wind did not agree, pushing against him just enough to make the climb even harder.
"...You know," he added, glaring up at the sky, "I don't appreciate the teamwork."
There was no response, of course.
By the time he finished, his arms felt like they no longer belonged to his body—which, honestly, he would have been perfectly fine with. He checked his phone to find three missed calls, two messages, and one stubborn reminder: Deadline.
Adrian stared at the screen. "...Right," he said. "...That's still a thing."
Job Two started before Job One had even properly ended. It was a delivery shift—not glamorous and certainly not exciting, but it paid the bills, which meant he had to be there.
"...Name?" the customer asked, opening the door just enough to look incredibly suspicious.
"Adrian."
"...You're late."
Adrian blinked, looked at the time, and then looked back at them. "...I prefer 'fashionably delayed.'"
The door closed slightly. "...Just take it," the customer said, snatching the package as Adrian handed it over.
"...You ever notice," Adrian said, mostly to himself as the customer retreated, "that people only open doors halfway? Like they're expecting betrayal?"
The door slammed shut completely.
"...Fair enough."
By the time the sun started to dip, he was already on Job Three. It was a night shift at the warehouse, surrounded by boxes—so many boxes. Adrian stood in the middle of the massive floor and looked around slowly.
"...If I disappear in here," he muttered, "it'll take weeks before anyone finds me. ...Actually, that might solve a few problems."
He grabbed the nearest box, lifted it, and paused. "...Nope. Still heavy. That plan is cancelled."
Hours blurred together in a numb cycle: lift, carry, stack, repeat. His body moved entirely on habit while his mind drifted away. It drifted to numbers—savings, rent, food, and bills. Then, it settled on a much smaller, but steadily growing number. The one he actually cared about.
"...Almost," he muttered.
During a short break, he checked his phone again and opened his notes, staring at a single list titled: House Fund.
He stared at it, and then, he smiled—just slightly.
"...Yeah," he said quietly. "...Almost."
It took another week, another grueling set of jobs, and another stretch of exhaustion that blurred completely into routine. But eventually, he found himself standing in front of the office with keys in his hand.
"...This feels fake," Adrian said.
The agent smiled politely. "It's not."
"...That's concerning."
She laughed, but he didn't. He just looked down at the keys again. They were small, simple, and surprisingly heavy.
"...Well," he murmured, turning them slightly in his hand. "...I did it."
It wasn't dramatic or loud; it was just a quiet, real victory. But before he could focus on the house, there was one more thing he had to take care of—the storage unit.
Adrian stood in front of the facility, staring at the endless rows of identical, quiet metal doors.
"...This is either a great idea," he said to the empty air, "or the absolute start of a very specific horror movie."
He checked the number on his phone again, walked down the row, and stopped. There it was: old and completely unremarkable.
"...You," he said, pointing a finger slightly at the padlock.
"...These keys are either going to solve my problems," Adrian muttered, pausing for a long moment, "or create completely new ones."
He considered opening the storage unit right then. His hand hovered over the padlock, but he stopped and stepped back. "...Nope. I am far too tired for life-changing decisions."
It felt surprisingly responsible. "...Tomorrow," he decided.
That night, dinner was a simple but warm affair. His grandmother sat across from him, watching him in that quiet, knowing way she always had.
"You're exhausted," she said.
"I'm thriving," Adrian replied.
She clearly didn't believe him.
He ate a few bites in silence before looking up. "...I did it," he said.
She paused, her fork hovering. "Did what?"
"...We can move."
Silence fell over the kitchen. It wasn't an empty silence, but one completely full of unspoken relief and years of shared struggle.
"...Adrian..." she said softly.
"It's not big," he added quickly, "and it's not perfect. I still need to fix a few things and figure out some stuff, but—"
"You did it," she repeated, cutting him off.
He stopped. "...Yeah."
Her smile was small, but it meant everything. "I'm proud of you."
Adrian looked down at his plate. "...Don't say that like I'm going to cry," he muttered.
"I didn't say anything."
"...You implied it."
She laughed quietly, and the room instantly felt different—lighter. For the first time in a very long while, he wasn't thinking about work, money, or looming deadlines. He was just focused on this exact moment.
"...I've got one more thing to check tomorrow," he said after a pause.
"The storage unit?"
"...Yeah."
She nodded slowly. "Be careful."
Adrian smiled slightly. "...Always am."
That was still a lie.
Later that night, he sat at his desk with his laptop open. The cursor blinked steadily on the screen, a reminder that the deadline was still there, waiting for him. He stared at it.
"...Yeah," he muttered. "...You're next."
But it wouldn't be tonight. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and for once, sleep came quickly.
Part 3 – The Door of Viscera
Mornings at the library were quiet, which was the main reason Adrian liked them. There was no shouting, no hills pretending to be gardens, and no boxes plotting his early retirement...just silence.
He stood behind the front desk, flipping a page in a book he wasn't technically supposed to be reading. It wasn't because the text was restricted, but simply because he was supposed to be working.
"...This counts as work," he muttered under his breath. "...I'm maintaining the atmosphere."
No one argued, mostly because there were only three people in the entire building, and one of them was fast asleep. Adrian glanced at the clock. It was far too early. He sighed softly and leaned back slightly in his chair.
"...Okay," he said quietly. "...Let's think."
House sorted. Grandmother happy. Money... almost stable. Then there was the storage unit. He frowned slightly.
"...That's either going to be very boring," he said, "or very not boring." He paused for a beat. "...I would prefer boring."
By the time his shift ended, the sky had shifted into that soft, late-morning brightness that made everything feel deceptively manageable. Adrian stepped outside and stretched slightly, though he immediately regretted the motion.
"...Yeah," he muttered. "Still sore."
He started walking toward the storage facility. It wasn't far, just a few streets over in a quiet area that was cheap and practical. It was also incredibly suspicious.
"...Definitely suspicious," he added to himself.
The rows of storage units stretched out in front of him again, their metal doors completely uniform and silent—too silent.
Adrian slowed his pace slightly. "...You ever get that feeling," he said to absolutely no one, "that something is just... waiting?"
There was no answer.
"...Cool," he nodded. "Love that."
He walked down the row, counted the numbers, and stopped. There it was, exactly the same as yesterday: the same dull metal and the same unremarkable lock.
"...Alright," Adrian said, rolling his shoulders slightly. "...Let's see what you're hiding."
He unlocked it. The door creaked loudly as it opened—not dramatically or ominously, just old. Inside, there was dust. A lot of dust. Adrian coughed once, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the air.
"...Perfect," he muttered. "Exactly what I was hoping for."
He stepped inside. Boxes lined the walls, stacked unevenly with some crushed and others half-open. There was old furniture and broken tools—things that used to matter to someone.
"...Treasure," Adrian said flatly.
He nudged one of the boxes open with his foot. It contained old, worn clothes. Another box held books that were completely water-damaged and unreadable.
"...Riveting," he said.
He moved deeper inside, and the air suddenly felt still. It wasn't just quiet anymore; it felt heavy. Adrian paused.
"...Okay," he said slowly. "...That's weird."
He looked around. Nothing moved, and nothing changed. And yet...
"...Nope," he decided, backing away. "We're not doing that."
He grabbed the nearest object he could see: a white plastic hockey mask, worn smooth in places. Adrian turned it over in his hands.
"...Well," he said, "this is either decorative... or evidence." He held it up to his face briefly. "...Do I look intimidating?"
Silence.
"...Right. Wrong audience."
He set it aside, and then he saw it. At the very back, half-hidden behind the stacked boxes, stood what looked like an arch made out of stone. Adrian frowned.
"...That wasn't there yesterday."
He was absolutely sure of it. He stepped closer, slowly noticing that the boxes around it looked older and moved, as if they had been shifted recently.
"...Okay," he said quietly. "...Now we're definitely in horror movie territory."
The archway stood about two meters tall, made of rough stone with worn edges. It wasn't broken at all; it was perfectly whole—too whole. Adrian reached out, then stopped himself.
"...This is how people die," he muttered. "...Or get superpowers." He considered that for a moment. "...Fifty-fifty."
He stepped closer anyway. The surface of the stone looked solid, but something about it felt completely wrong. It wasn't visually off, not exactly, but it was the way the light touched it—or rather, the way it didn't reflect properly. The way it almost looked like...
"...Skin?" Adrian said slowly. He immediately grimaced. "...Nope. Don't like that comparison."
He circled it once, seeing no markings, no symbols, and no obvious mechanism. It was just an empty arch.
"...You're either incredibly useless," he said, "or extremely not."
He stepped back in front of it and reached out, hesitating one last time. "...I should not touch this." He paused. "...I am absolutely going to touch this."
His fingers brushed the surface, and for a moment, nothing happened.
"...See?" Adrian said. "Perfectly—"
The world pulsed. The shockwave didn't happen around him; it went completely through him. His breath caught in his throat. "...Oh no."
The stone moved...not physically, but it responded. A sudden pressure pushed against his hand, and then it gave way, feeling exactly like he was pushing into something soft. Adrian tried to jerk his hand back, but it was already too late. Something surged forward out of the archway, cold and fluid, wrapping tightly around his wrist.
"...Nope," he said immediately.
He pulled back with all his might, but the substance held him with a grip that wasn't tight, just completely inevitable. The strange sensation rapidly spread up his arm. It wasn't painful, but it felt deeply, fundamentally wrong.
"...This is a terrible decision," Adrian muttered.
Then, the energy hit his chest. Everything stopped.
Darkness flooded his vision, but it wasn't the mere absence of light; it was a physical presence. Deep inside his mind, something began to unfold. Golden lines, very faint and constantly shifting, appeared in his thoughts. He couldn't see them with his eyes, but he knew they were there. He could feel them, hearing them not as an actual sound, but as raw meaning. They formed slowly and deliberately.
Fusing with Host
Adrian's breath hitched in his throat. "...Okay," he whispered.
The glowing lines shifted again, rearranging themselves.
Form Aligning with Desire
He frowned at the text. "...That's vague."
And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Something deep within him answered the prompt. It wasn't the runes guiding the change, but him—his buried thoughts, his bone-deep exhaustion, his endless frustration, and his quiet, constant need for something more. Was it control? Was it freedom? Or maybe it was simply strength... not to dominate, but to finally stand his ground.
He just wanted to stop struggling like this.
The runes pulsed, and something deep within the magic agreed. The pressure returned tenfold, and the fluid surged forward. But it wasn't attacking him anymore; it was merging with him.
"...Okay?" Adrian breathed.
His arm shifted. It wasn't visible on the outside, but he could feel it changing, becoming something else entirely—something fluid, adaptable, and completely unyielding. His chest tightened, not with pain, but as if his inner structure was being completely rebuilt. Something solid formed deep inside him—a core, small but undeniably real. It pulsed once, and then again.
The world suddenly snapped back. Adrian stumbled and fell forward, catching himself on his hands. He froze the moment his palms pressed into the ground. It was dirt—cold and real.
"...That's not concrete," he whispered.
Slowly, he looked up. Giant, massive trees towered over him, completely unfamiliar. The air itself was different—cleaner, heavier, and vibrantly alive. Adrian blinked once, and then twice.
"...Okay. I'm in a... forest?"
He pushed himself up onto his feet and looked around. There were no buildings, no roads, and no storage units. There was just an endless expanse of wilderness stretching out in every direction.
"...Right," he said slowly.
He looked down at his right hand. For a split second, the skin shimmered with a faint, golden light before settling back to normal. He stared at it.
"...I'm going to need an explanation," he muttered to the empty woods.
The forest did not respond, but somewhere in the distance, something howled. Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
"...Of course it did," he muttered. "...Random howl. Not creepy at all."
He stood there for a moment longer, then slowly exhaled. "...Alright. Let's figure this out."