Author's Note
Before anything else, I want to thank you for choosing to read my book. That means a lot to me, and I hope the story manages to touch you in some way. But I need to be honest: you might find some mistakes in the English translation. I sincerely apologize for that, in case something doesn't sound natural or causes any confusion.
Portuguese is my first language, and English... well, let's say it's not my strong suit. I'm not very proficient or fluent in it, and that limited me quite a bit. To bring this story to you, I used artificial intelligence to help with the translation. It was the best resource I had at hand, but I know it's not perfect and some slips might have gotten through.
Writing this book in Portuguese was something I did with a lot of care and dedication. I wanted to share this journey with readers in other languages, and the English translation was my attempt to make that happen. Even if the result has its flaws, my wish is that the spirit of the story still reaches you.
So, I ask for a bit of patience and understanding. If you can look past the possible mistakes, I hope you find something special in the pages I wrote. Thank you for being here and for giving my voice a chance!
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The blood streamed down, warm and viscous, like ink etching a fate no one could evade. Her pale hands, smeared with a deep crimson, evoked the sky at twilight—yet in a way that felt shadowed, almost mournful, you understand? The metallic tang of iron thickened the air, each breath laden with a heaviness, as though pain lingered just out of sight, poised to unveil itself. All around, the world seemed to teeter, suspended between life and surrender, a liminal space where existence and oblivion intertwined without warning.
"Stay with me," Celestia whispered, her voice quivering—a fragile blend of desperate entreaty and a command she could scarcely uphold. Her eyes, once icy and untouchable, now brimmed with a fear so palpable it rendered her vulnerable. The formidable Lady Black, who had defied gods and rewritten the world's laws, knelt there, trembling like any mortal. She clutched Nael's face with fierce determination, as if she could seize his fading life and anchor it in place.
Nearby, Nayara stood upright, though within she was shattered. Her fists, clenched so tightly the effort radiated from them, shook visibly; and though no tears fell, her eyes bore an indescribable weight, a burden beyond words.
"You'll be alright," Celestia murmured again, but her voice faltered, thin and frail, as if her own belief had begun to crumble.
Nael's blinks grew sluggish, his mind battling to cling to consciousness, yet slipping away inch by inch. The world dissolved into a haze of shadows and muted sounds, but he still perceived it all: his mother's weary gaze, the pain Nayara gripped so resolutely, and a silence so oppressive it seemed to roar that the end was near.
Everything's unraveling, and nothing matters anymore, he thought, as memories dissolved into the tide of his agony.
Another slow blink. The surroundings twisted, voices fading into echoes of something he could no longer trust as real. His body weighed like stone, each heartbeat a faint, distant echo—like thunder long past. Yet his mind remained serene, a tranquil sea. He saw everything, preserved every fragment: each tear Nayara refused to shed, every fracture in Celestia's resolve, every mote of dust aglow in the dim light. In those tiny shards, the entire universe seemed to reside.
"Mom…" Nayara's voice emerged, a near-whisper saturated with pain she held fast with every ounce of her being.
Celestia's gaze never wavered from him. She didn't blink—she couldn't afford to. Time was merciless, each fleeting second stealing another piece of him away.
The ground resembled a battlefield in aftermath—silent, scarred. Steel glinted faintly, while scattered pools of blood lay like wounds, indelible marks of a moment etched into eternity. Her voice breaking, Celestia murmured, "I know it's my fault… I know he'll never forgive me… but he has to live."
It wasn't mere self-justification; it was as though she hurled herself into a tribunal of her own making. Her eyes held a cold shimmer, the faint echo of something once magnificent now crumbled into ruin. Nael met her stare—not with anger or pity, but with a steely certainty, unyielding and absolute.
As time crawled forward, memories of all that had transpired swirled in disarray. I stood there, observing, amid the wreckage, gazing at the faces of my foes—figures steeped in power and arrogance. Celestia, ensnared by her own pride, either failed to see or chose to ignore the peril lurking behind her veneer of invincibility. The Black Company fueled her confidence, yet that same hubris blinded her to the dangers of her creations: nanobots, war machines, weapons of radiant light, ships slicing through the heavens. I could have intervened, altered fate's course, but I never desired to.
I've always been the one to face chaos head-on, I thought, the burden of my choices pressing down like a vise.
Then came Nayara's forced marriage—an unseen blow that extinguished all hope. The world sought to bend her, to wield her as a pawn, but she refused to yield. Deep within, I knew she wouldn't break; her strength was singular, unbreakable.
"I won't let her lose her freedom," I said under my breath, a quiet vow laced with fury and defiance.
The war—a beast I had unleashed—reduced criminal empires to ash. Fragments of the Yakuza, the American mafia, countless cartels—all scattered like dust on the wind. But the cost… the cost was staggering. Los Angeles, Moscow, Beijing—cities once vibrant with life now stood as twisted husks of concrete. Twenty percent of the world lay in ruins, governments flailing to restore order to the remnants.
Every blast, every drop of blood, struck like a blow to the face—a reminder of what could not be undone. They branded me a monster, an antichrist, the devil's spawn. Yet within the silence I bore, I knew it was all for Nayara—my sister, the sole constant who never forsook me, even as I lost myself in the chaos.
I won't be merely the monster they depict, I thought, the reverberations of my deeds crashing against me.
They say life flashes before your eyes at the end, like a film. For me, it came in splinters—glimpses of a time before devastation reigned. The frigid stare of an enemy moments before I ended him. The roar of explosions rending broken valleys. The blood staining my hands, unyielding despite every attempt to scrub it away. And Nayara. Always her.
My vision blurred. Exhaustion dragged me toward an abyss without end. The voices around me warped, receding into a faint, lost hum. Then, teetering on the brink between wakefulness and oblivion, a scream pierced the void—raw with desperation and haste: "Look at that, Mom!"
Nayara's voice sliced through the haze, a final lifeline before I sank entirely. In that instant, the weight of my actions and the relentless chaos converged, leaving only anguish and the echo of a love lost forever.
Thus, poised between consciousness and nothingness, the prologue of our tale concluded—a farewell to a fractured world, a harbinger of a destiny inscribed in the shadows of our essence.
For a fleeting moment, I strained to focus, to grasp what Celestia beheld, but my strength had fled. Her voice drifted from a distance, tremulous, before dissolving into the air.
Darkness claimed me wholly. It wasn't the terror I'd envisioned, but a quiet chill, almost serene. Like a heavy drape, it descended over me, blotting out the last vestige of myself. My body sank into a boundless chasm, and—strange as it seems—I felt no fear, only a void that embraced all.
Perhaps I can rest now… I thought, as the darkness bore me away.
Yet, as I soon learned, death's truth is that it doesn't always bring an end.
Abruptly, the void gave way to a white that constricted the chest—a stark, oppressive expanse without edges or horizon to cling to. The silence, man, it pressed down as if to crush everything. Yet amid it, faint murmurs drifted—questions adrift in the ether, steeped in anxiety, fear, confusion—none of them mine, you see?
A gentle warmth cradled my head. I forced my eyes to fathom that infinite place, and then it dawned on me: it was Celestia's lap. She was there, her gaze overflowing with relief, as if she'd held her breath too long. Her eyes gleamed, pearlescent, heavy with a joy I—honestly—never knew how to repay.
"You're awake, son," she said, her voice so soft it seemed to coax warmth into a coldness within me, a part I wasn't sure still lingered.
I regarded her steadily, my usual mask in place—cool, detached, faintly hollow—and said nothing.
"Nael, I'm here too," Nayara said, leaning closer, as if trying to stir something within me, something I doubted still existed.
Around us, others inhabited their own realms. A man in a suit, jittery, rifled through a book as if it hid every answer; a woman, eyes wide as plates, pressed a knife to her chest—ready for whatever loomed, unmistakably so. Others merely stared upward, seeking something that would never materialize.
And then, I saw it.
Amid that bleak, lifeless white rose something black—a presence that seemed to devour all light. No mouth, no nose, no ears, but its eyes… white, vacant, they sliced through us, peering straight into the soul. Its form quivered, unstable, as if reality itself recoiled from it.
Then it spoke.
Not with a voice, no. The words pierced directly into the mind—a whisper swelling into a muted thunder, you get it?
"You're probably thinking I don't speak your tongue. That's irrelevant. You'll comprehend regardless." Its voice resounded within us, needing no mouth to emerge.
For a moment, the clamor of questions ceased. Its presence overwhelmed, erasing reason itself. The surrounding white pulsed, alive, as if responding to it.
I stood there, motionless, watching. Celestia and Nayara remained silent beside me. The weak, the anxious—they'd speak first. But me? I observed, dissected, as I always have.
The entity lingered in silence, an eternity condensed, its fathomless eyes fixed upon us. Then, inexplicably, it smiled—mouthless, featureless—and the space itself seemed to buckle, as if reality trembled in its shadow.
"We'll address what you wish to know," it declared, its tone an unshakable certainty.
The air stirred, a restless yet restrained tumult. Voices rose, fractured and halting:
"Who are you?"
"Where did you come from?"
"What's happening here?"
"Are we to be transmigrated?"
"Is this the final reckoning?"
"Are you a god or something?"
The atmosphere thickened, weighed down by an unseen force stirring all.
Suddenly, the black mass sharpened into form—a living distortion, uncanny, its white eyes boring through the emptiness. Voiceless, its words invaded our minds, a whisper that roared.
"Now, everyone shut up and listen," it commanded, its tone firm, edged with irritation, slicing through the hush. "You don't need to know your whereabouts. What matters is this: your world has fulfilled its purpose. And so have you."
Its words landed like stone. Celestia's fingers tightened around her wrist, her eyes locked on the dark shape. Nayara stood rigid, statue-like, lips pressed shut, while I cataloged every detail in my mind, letting nothing slip.
A man ventured to speak, but his words vanished upon release, swallowed by a creeping dread. That fear compelled us to obey, thought suspended.
He continued, his voice steady and deliberate:
"It's better this way. Listen: your world has fulfilled its purpose. Everything that begins must end, and it has returned to what it always was."
"Almost everything that exists has a reason for being. Earth—or whatever name you gave it—has completed its role. So have you."
His words carried the weight of a verdict, yet the crowd exchanged uncertain glances, their confusion palpable. What did he mean by "fulfilling its purpose"?
Seeking to illuminate his meaning, he pressed forward:
"For thousands of years, you chased truth, wove tales, and shattered boundaries. It was destined to be so—to question, to preserve, to pass down. That chapter has now drawn to its close."
His declaration lingered in the boundless expanse of white, an oppressive void that offered no pause for breath, no path to retreat. Celestia's fingers tightened once more, Nayara's gaze darted briefly aside, and I, as ever, stood apart, merely observing.
Slowly, understanding began to seep in—and with it, dread took root. The space throbbed, infinite and ungraspable, as if reality itself had folded toward that enigmatic figure.
His voice emerged again, unwavering, though he remained still:
"Existence fashioned you first. All that followed was sculpted from the dreams you dared to dream, the worlds you envisioned, the creations you birthed…"
Doubts murmured among the listeners, but he paid them no heed and forged ahead:
"You warped time's fabric so profoundly that a single minute in your reality stretches into billions of years for the realms beyond—sometimes more, sometimes less. Yet the mightier the Reality, the farther it drifts from you; the frailer it is, the nearer it clings."
A dense silence descended. Those who tried to speak faltered, their words stifled by the invisible force of that voice.
"Every barrier you breached, every discovery you claimed, every story, myth, and idea from the dawn of time to this moment—all of it became the bedrock. You didn't merely tell tales… you forged worlds, universes, multiverses, and realms beyond imagining."
Celestia's brow furrowed as she grappled with the enormity of his words, though her composure held firm. Nayara cast a fleeting glance aside—perhaps feigning indifference, or wishing it so—while I, motionless, absorbed each fragment with quiet precision.
"But why only now?" he murmured, the question seeming to rise unbidden from the air itself.
He turned toward us, and the void quivered:
"Because, until this moment, no one had aligned the order of existence. No one had conceived its full structure… until you."
It was a silent thunderclap, a truth that made the emptiness tremble. Some shivered, others stood frozen, scarcely daring to breathe. I simply watched.
His words struck deep, resonating within us. Celestia averted her eyes, Nayara grew as frigid as I, and I blinked slowly, taking it all in without a flicker of reaction.
"Now, you will see your points," he declared, raising a hand devoid of fingers. "We've crafted something you might comprehend: a system akin to those in your games."
In an instant, translucent screens flickered into being before each of us, suspended like shards of light. Eyes widened, breaths caught—numbers, words, and ranks glowed on the displays, tallying every deed, every thought, every limit defied. Those who had birthed new worlds earned greater rewards. Every act mattered.
Reactions surged through the throng: one man laughed, though the sound died unspoken, trapped between hysteria and release; a woman crumpled to her knees, hands trembling; others wept in quiet despair. Each bore the revelation in their own way, yet none could give it voice.
As for me? I regarded my screen with the same steady calm as always, scanning the figures as though they were a routine ledger—unmoved, unhurried.
"You will choose what you desire for your rebirth—powers, knowledge, anything within your means, so long as your points suffice," he proclaimed.
The air nearly erupted into chaos, brimming with anxious and eager voices, but no sound broke free. He raised his hand once more, slicing through the tumult with a silence sharp as steel.
"There are ten primary realities. I won't name them, but some of you already sense their pull. The ten thousand here, and the eight billion in other chambers, will journey to the reality that resonates most with you, the one that has called to your soul."
Hearts pounded. Some held their breath, others clutched themselves, seeking stability amid the storm.
"This is your reward," he said, his tone turning cold, cutting like a blade. "But never forget—the karma you bear will shadow you."
The silence that followed pressed down heavier than all else—a stark warning of what awaited. No power could outrun the past.
He lifted his hand again:
"Hold this truth."
With a sharp snap, the world lurched, and a cacophony of voices burst forth. I glanced around, noting the crowd recoil, their eyes fixed on me with a fear I had no need to decipher. The silence had already told me enough.
Lowering my gaze, I saw it: an E-18 with a silencer, its metal cool and familiar, beside the dried blood staining my shirt. I felt no shock, no stir—I accepted what I was.
Soon, voices pierced the white expanse, shattering the stillness:
"How many points do you have?"
"100,000 legend points."
"And you?"
"100,000."
"What about you?"
"100,000."
The numbers rippled outward, a dissonant chorus of astonishment and surrender. I glanced at my screen: 100,000 legend points.
So this is how I'm reduced to a number, as if all I've done distills to this… I mused, while for a fleeting moment, silence became the sole reality.
I blinked slowly, processing the data without a hint of emotion. Around me, the world buzzed, voices teetering between elation and doubt. Some hovered on the brink of collapse; others laughed, teetering toward madness. To me, it was merely another fact, a speck in a cosmos of trivialities.
The screen pulsed before me, brimming with endless potential. I studied the interface like a sage poring over an ancient text. It resembled a marketplace of the ethereal: legend points traded for skills, powers, traits.
The first choice that drew my eye was the form of rebirth—transmigration or reincarnation. I selected reincarnation—not out of disdain for transmigration, but because occupying another's form felt alien, almost unsettling. Next came birth attributes: strength, agility, speed, perception, charm. I read each entry with detachment, cataloging them as if they were mundane notes.
Further down, something piqued my curiosity: cultivation talents, ranked from common to divine. Divine talents demanded up to 10,000 points—a steep cost, yet within reach. But then I paused. Options exceeding 100,000 points hinted at realms beyond my current grasp. I noted their significance and moved on.
Scrolling further, I found soul talents, mind talents—and then a new attribute emerged: "Luck."
"Intriguing…" I murmured, my voice a quiet thread, as a realization took shape:
As I suspected, this wasn't here when the screen first appeared.
Without pause, I allocated 99,000 points to luck. Many claim it governs all—that even the most meticulous plans crumble without it, that fortune favors those who dance in its wake. I rejected fate, but probabilities? Those I trusted.
With the remaining 1,000 points, I spread them thinly: one point each into attributes, golden talents, divine forms, mystical bloodlines. I couldn't claim them fully, but I planted markers, seeds scattered to the breeze. If luck held sway, let it tilt the odds my way.
Exploring further, a darker entry caught my attention: "Torturer's Body." At just 500 points, its affordability belied its allure. Selecting it revealed:
Main Ability: Triples the pain inflicted on anyone you touch.
Side Effect: Triples the pleasure experienced during physical contact, scaled by intensity.
Additional Note: Each part of your body bears a "unique taste."
Oddly, the system flagged the pleasure boost as a "flaw." I murmured softly, weighing its implications. A body that amplifies pain could wield fear as a weapon—and with my investment in luck, this "flaw" might prove an unforeseen edge.
"Intriguing…" I repeated, a faint arch to my brow. I saw no downside—only another variable to wield.
With the final 400 points, I purchased a mysterious treasure. Thus, the 100,000 points were spent.
My fingers, steady and unyielding, glided across the interface as I reviewed my choices. All seemed settled—until a subtle arrow blinked, paired with a zero. I clicked. A hidden field unfurled: "Destiny Points." Beside it, an astronomical sum: 999 trillion.
Absurd… I thought, my face a mask of calm.
Internally, I dissected every angle. Destiny—a word that grated against me, implying a scripted course I'd never embrace.
I lifted my gaze and asked, my tone flat and resolute:
"Can we use all our points as we please, even for things not listed?"
The being regarded me, its eyes fathomless, steeped in an ancient weight that seemed to span eons. Then, in a voice that rippled through reality's core, it answered:
"Yes, you may."
I turned back to the screen, possibilities cascading through my mind. My choice was swift—a defiance of the system's very framework, an act no one else would dare:
"Use all 999 trillion destiny points to enhance my soul."
The ensuing silence cut like a honed edge. Perhaps others thought it a jest—who could amass such a fortune? What had I done to earn it?
The being stared, as if I were a fool incapable of fathoming my own audacity. Then, its voice boomed, resounding for all:
"Those with no destiny points can never gain them. Such a being will be erased from destiny and existence."
The crowd quaked. Whispers flared—fear, bewilderment, terror. Yet I stood unshaken, harboring neither doubt nor remorse. Only a path carved by my own hand.
"Do it regardless," I commanded, unmoved. Oblivion, to me, was preferable to subjugation.
For the first time, a tremor laced its voice, a note of uncertainty. But it relented. My fate was sealed.
A whisper, soft yet heavy, broke the stillness:
"Brother… I'll use my destiny points too."
Nayara's voice held firm, unshaken, yet rich with unspoken depth.
"There's a clause: spending just one point lets us be reborn together. I won't part from you… or from Mom. She and I have already bound our destinies. You're the last."
I stood still. Time seemed to halt. Celestia's gaze met mine, steady—but beneath it, a spark, an almost imperceptible hope.
"Very well," I replied, automatic and devoid of sentiment. Deep down, it was unavoidable.
I complied—not from love or longing, but from a lack of reason to resist. The being observed us one final time, its presence condensing into a voice that echoed like an ancient hymn:
"You have walked a nameless road, defined by choices that defy destiny's essence. May your souls bear the burden of what lies ahead. I wish you adventure… and may the infinite prove worthy of you."
Those were the last words we heard before darkness swallowed us whole.