Prologue: The Burning Choice
In the vast open plain, surrounded on all sides by tanks, armored vehicles, rows of soldiers, and towering war machines — one person stood alone.
Draped in a black jacket and matching pants, their face shadowed beneath a hood, the figure held something in his hand.
Something... otherworldly.
A disembodied eye, pulsing with dark energy, hovered just above his palm. Its eyelids were a bone-white hue, cracked like ancient porcelain, while the eye itself was an abyssal black — a depthless void from which no light returned. Shadowy tendrils writhed and danced around it, almost alive, almost... aware.
A glowing interface shimmered before him, visible only to his own eyes:
[Eye Of ???]
???????@?!?Holder of one of the primordial essence, the %@!#& is &@$#!
"CHRIS!! Hand over the item!" barked a voice from the ranks.
"If you do, we—"
Chris raised his head, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hand it over? Knowing what happens next?"
Someone from the crowd yelled, "That item will be the pivotal reas—"
"Oh yeah, for research, right?" Chris chuckled, but it wasn't joy. It was broken glass, bitter and sharp. "This item… this thing that took my family… That you all made up stories about. You want it for progress?"
He laughed. A mad, hollow thing. "That's exactly why I won't give it to you."
A man stepped forward. Rugged. Scars lined his face like a war map. His broad frame carried a massive sword etched with glowing runes — the weight of battles past.
Enderson, the Vanguard Commander.
"I don't know who you are, but that item will be ours."
Another stepped beside him — a girl, graceful like a ripple across still water. Violet hair flowed down her back like silk, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She held a strange hybrid of wand and book, arcane runes flickering across the pages as they turned by themselves.
Sivya, the Spellweaver.
"Now now, Enderson," she giggled, "That's going too far. The Eye belongs to the Government now, doesn't it?"
Two more figures joined the fray.
First, a man in a sleek black combat suit, twin pistols strapped to his hips. One eye was cybernetic, scanning constantly, glowing red beneath his visor.
Kael, the Ballistic Ghost.
"Doesn't matter who you were. You're now a threat. Target acquired."
Second, a short woman with wild green eyes and belts lined with glass vials clinking around her waist. She held a metal syringe-gun hybrid in one hand, and a bubbling green concoction in the other. Her hair was tied into a messy bun with syringes poking out.
Mira, the Alchemist of Decay.
"Oh, I do love forbidden artifacts… Mind if I dissect it? Or you?"
Chris looked at all of them. His eyes were sunken, rimmed with red. Not from lack of sleep — from loss. From pain. From fury.
"That's how you wanna play it, huh?" His voice cracked — not with weakness, but the brittle edge of despair.
He raised the Eye.
"But... a burning world doesn't seem so bad, does it?"
Silence.
Then chaos.
"Huh!?"
"What?!"
"Don't you dare!!"
"Stupid!!"
"Chris, DON'T!!" a soldier shouted, reaching out.
The Eye pulsed. The air bent. Darkness bled into the sky.
[Eye Of ???]
???????@?!?Holder of one of the primordial essence, the %@!#& is &@$#!
{Use it? Y/N}
Chris smiled.
"Yes."