Marc lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dim light as exhaustion began to take its toll. As usual, he felt completely drained after an endless day of work. Today had been the end-of-month closing, and he had to push through all the accumulated paperwork—not just his own, but his boss's as well. Twelve hours in front of a screen, doing the work of two people for half of one person's salary. The mental exhaustion was so severe that tonight he didn't even have the energy to turn on his console or watch a show to disconnect; his mind was entirely spent.
He just wanted the day to finally end, though deep down he knew that falling asleep simply meant the next morning would arrive faster, mercilessly throwing him right back into the same old routine.
He closed his eyes anyway.
Then, sleep arrived.
A strange, invasive peace enveloped him, sinking him into a brilliant light. It was a comforting sensation that contrasted drastically with his usual erratic dreams.
I feel light. This dream is peaceful, not chaotic at all compared to the ones I usually have. They say dreams have meaning, but last night's was absurd: a diabolical doll the size of my palm was trying to murder me while I escaped riding a bear. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
—"Ahem," a voice echoed from afar.
But this dream... it only transmits peace.
—"Excuse me," the same voice insisted, a bit closer this time.
His usual worries had evaporated, leaving him in a perfect state of trance.
I wish all my dreams were like this. Though it's strange that it feels so damn real...
—"Would you mind paying attention to me?! I don't have all day," the voice demanded, now with a stern and powerful tone.
Huh?
Marc blinked, only realizing at that exact instant that he was lying on the ground. Upon opening his eyes, the first thing he encountered was a monumental ceiling towering several meters above him; it was made of polished marble, adorned with a canvas whose celestial painting rivaled the works of the greatest museums or the most ancient religious temples.
He slowly sat up. Around him stretched long rows of carved wooden pews, tall stained-glass windows with colorful mosaics, and an imposing double door that reached almost to the ceiling. He had the unmistakable feeling of being in a Catholic cathedral, though his memory was a total blank regarding how the hell he had gotten there.
Standing a few meters away from him, right behind a stone altar, was a man who appeared to be around fifty years old. He possessed a long mane of hair and a beard, both of an immaculate white, and wore robes that seemed woven out of light. Despite his slender silhouette, a firm musculature could be sensed beneath the fabric. His face was a perfect combination of eternal compassion and absolute authority.
For his part, Marc's face only reflected absolute and indisputable disbelief.
—"Alright, why not?" Marc said as he stood up.
—"My son," the man said.
—"I am very sure you are not my father," Marc interrupted, flashing a mocking smile.
—"I have summoned you to a new world," the older man continued, paying no mind to the interruption.
Marc looked at his surroundings. A new world? What is this old man talking about?
—"In this world, you must take charge of an important mission, one that will save the living beings that inhabit it," the strange man declared. Marc noticed how he brought his fist to his chest with an exaggerated gesture, loaded with a theatricality that bordered on the ridiculous.
Well, compared to an assassin doll, I suppose this isn't too bad for a dream. Though it's still pretty weird.
—"This is not a dream," the stranger cut in, responding with surgical precision, as if he had read the thoughts directly from Marc's mind. His expression snapped shut; he furrowed his brow in a gesture of annoyance, as if Marc's skepticism were a personal offense that genuinely bothered him.
—"You read my mind?" Marc let out a dry laugh, refusing to be intimidated. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; after all, you are a product of my subconscious, right?"
The stranger's face held that tight grimace of annoyance for a few tense seconds, but with an almost unnatural speed, his features softened back into an unshakeable serenity.
—"Forgive my manners. Perhaps I should have started by introducing myself," he said, his voice regaining a velvety tone. "I summoned you while you slept, so it is understandable that your mind seeks refuge in confusion. My name is Amir, and I am the God of this world."
A God? Yeah, sure you are, buddy.
Marc accompanied the thought with a gaze that swept Amir from head to toe, with the same skepticism of someone observing a patient in a psychiatric institute who insists his diagnosis is wrong. The idea was so damn absurd that he didn't even bother to hide his incredulity.
—"I adopt this attire and this physical appearance because it is the way gods are typically represented in the religious icons of your world," the old man explained with deliberate slowness, spreading his arms. "In the same way, I projected this environment to recreate the cathedrals you already know. I considered it wiser to present myself before you with familiar imagery, something that would ease your understanding and reflect, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my divine nature."
An appearance to reflect his divinity? He has to be joking. Marc felt a sting of irony in his chest.
Is my subconscious not aware that I am an atheist?
He had never given credence to the existence of a God, much less one that fit into the rigid, anthropomorphic molds of traditional religions. He had always held the firm conviction that, if anything remotely resembling a creator force existed, it would be a purely abstract entity: a cosmic entity stripped of human morality, detached from earthly concepts of good and evil. A silent architect; not a stage actor with an importance complex.
—"I know your way of thinking, Marc, and I suppose you have a point in your deductions," Amir conceded, tilting his head with a smile that wasn't entirely kind, "but at the same time, you are deeply mistaken."
His voice resonated with a vibration that seemed to come from everywhere at once, reminding Marc that, even if he looked like a man, the rules of human logic did not apply here.
—"As I said, I presented myself to you in this physical form only to facilitate our chat, but in reality, we gods lack a defined shape," Amir continued. "Furthermore, although I intend to charge you with the salvation of that world, I do not do so out of a simple impulse of kindness. You see, you are partly right: we gods are not necessarily good or bad, nor merciful or ruthless. The concepts of justice and injustice are... human limitations."
Amir paused. For an instant, his gaze seemed to hold the weight of something that had no name in any language.
—"We are not impartial, but we do not take anyone's side in particular either. What truly moves us is the Balance of our creation, and that Balance is about to fracture in the world to which I have brought you. Hence the urgency of my request." The God's voice lost all its lightness, turning dense and vibrating, heavy with a primordial weight that Marc felt directly in the pit of his stomach.
Marc remained silent, processing Amir's words with caution. Gods in the plural? Does that mean more than one exists? And what the hell does he mean by the urgency of his request? The idea that he was dealing not with a single entity, but with an entire divine hierarchy, was a hard pill to swallow.
Even though on the outside he forced himself to maintain a calm, analytical facade, he couldn't stop a dark, cold conclusion from beginning to solidify in his mind. He gathered the remaining air in his lungs and let out the question he had been dodging since the very first second.
—"Am I... dead?" Marc asked.
His voice, previously loaded with biting skepticism, cracked slightly. The defiant tone vanished, replaced by a cold worry that squeezed his chest as he waited for the answer.
—"Not yet," Amir replied. The phrase was short, intended to be reassuring, but it left a strange echo in the air.
The god made a vague gesture with his hand, as if brushing away an nonexistent speck of dust.
—"Summoning is simply part of a God's 'powers,' if you need a label to understand it. Let's just say that for me, bringing you to this space is as simple as breathing is for you. Death is not necessary to cross this threshold... at least, not at this moment."
Marc kept his gaze fixed on his own hands. Despite Amir's overwhelming words, a trace of unease still rippled down his spine, but he was quick to stifle it through sheer force of will.
What the hell am I thinking? There is no way any of this is real.
Almost mechanically, he regained his composure, forcing his mind to process the situation with his trademark analytical coldness. His eyes, previously clouded by the flash of fear, regained a surgical clarity.
—"I'm sorry, but I still can't believe you," Marc said, his voice regaining its former solidity. "I went to bed just a few minutes ago, exhausted after a full day of work. Most likely, my brain is trapped in a state of deep sleep. Some kind of hypnagogic limbo, like those episodes of sleep paralysis where the mind wakes up before the body and projects hallucinations to fill the void."
Marc crossed his arms, radiating renewed confidence. To him, it was far more logical to be suffering from a neurological anomaly than to be conversing with the architect of the universe.
—"So you think..." An almost imperceptible smile crept onto the god's lips. "But tell me, Marc, have you ever felt this way in any dream? Have you ever experienced this absolute sharpness in one of your paralyses?"
Amir's voice turned defiant, charged with a vibration that seemed to shake the very foundations of Marc's logic.
—"Tell me, in your dreams, can you feel the weight of your own existence with such clarity? Can you feel the pulse of magic brushing against your skin?" His eyes flashed with an intensity that made the hypnagogic limbo theory begin to feel like a desperate excuse.
Marc felt the unease seep under his skin again as he heard Amir's words, which rumbled in the vacuum with a physical depth, as if space itself were speaking.
—"I must admit the sharpness of all this... is unsettling. It feels too real compared to my usual dreams," Marc confessed, though the words came out through gritted teeth, as if it pained him to admit it. "But even so, what you're suggesting is absolute madness. It makes much more sense for my brain to be suffering a massive hallucination than for a god to have summoned me. I simply cannot accept it; I don't believe in deities, or the paranormal... or fairy tales."
His voice, though firm, reflected a violent internal struggle. His eyes scanned the environment with desperation, searching for a crack, an error in the simulation, any logical flaw that would allow him to return to the safety of his skepticism. He was entrenched in his disbelief, defending it as if it were his final line of defense.
—"I see," the god replied, unperturbed. "In that case, why don't I prove it to you with something more tangible than mere words?"
The moment Amir finished speaking, he made a gesture loaded with that same exaggerated theatricality. In a blink, the walls and ceiling of the cathedral violently contracted. There was no shaking, no sound; only a brutal, silent transition that ripped them from that place to materialize them right in the center of Marc's bedroom.
Marc landed on his feet, swaying from disorientation. His lungs instantly filled with the stale, familiar air of his own room. With a frantic gaze, he began to scan every corner: the clothes thrown over the chair, the slight mess on his desk, the dense echo of the nocturnal silence. Everything was exactly as he had left it before surrendering to sleep. It wasn't a copy; it was his own reality, but he was right there, observing it from outside his bed.
In that instant, Marc's unease transformed into a sharp fear that froze his blood. His theories about sleep paralysis and vivid hallucinations crumbled like a house of cards before the overwhelming physical evidence of his surroundings.
—"Is this enough, Marc?" Amir asked, his divine, radiant figure looking grotesquely out of place among the mundane walls of the room. "Or do you need more demonstrations? There is an infinity of wonders I can perform to convince you... until your human mind manages to process what your eyes already know."
—"Alright..." Marc managed to articulate. His voice was barely a thread, a whisper broken by the weight of reality. "I am beginning to believe you."
He couldn't say more. His eyes remained fixed on the daily details of his room, which now felt like a foreign and threatening territory.
—"Excellent. In that case, let us return to our sanctuary; there I will be able to explain everything to you without the distractions of your world," Amir declared. His tone was openly victorious. He knew he had just won his first contest against Marc's logic, tearing down his rational walls with a simple snap of reality.
Displaying his eternal theatricality, Amir repeated the gesture. In a blink, the bedroom walls dissolved and the space abruptly expanded to return them to the cathedral.
Marc, however, remained petrified, his gaze lost on the marble floor. Fear was no longer a suspicion, but an absolute certainty that chilled him to the bone. Finally, the understanding had hit him with full force: this was not a dream, nor a trick of his brain, nor a neurological glitch. He was standing before a God, and his life had just ceased to belong to him.
—"But what the fuck is all this?!" Marc exploded, his voice bouncing violently off the cathedral vaults. His contained fear had transformed into an electric desperation. "Listen, I don't know what the hell you want from me, but I assure you you've got the wrong man. Save a world? That's not something I can do. I'm just an ordinary guy, another cog in the machinery of my reality. I don't have special abilities, I don't have training... I don't have anything that can serve you, let alone an entire world."
Marc gestured frantically, trying to cling to his identity as an ordinary man as if it were a shield.
—"You were an ordinary guy in your world," Amir stated. His voice regained a vibrating solemnity, while an enigmatic smile spread across his face. "But the rules have changed, Marc. In this new world, you will have MAGIC and a power that will completely eclipse the average!" he exclaimed, raising his voice with that theatricality that seemed to inflate the space around them.
Marc hesitated. The panic, for a moment, was swept away by a tide of absolute bewilderment. Out of the entire divine speech, a single word had burned itself into his mind, glowing with its own light, making him forget, if only for a few seconds, the absurdity and terror of his situation.
Magic?
The word floated in his thoughts with its own weight.
—"Exactly, Marc. The place I have brought you to is a world vibrant with magic. A world of Fantasy, just as they are known in the legends of your earth," Amir confirmed, watching as Marc's armor of incredulity finished crumbling.
—"Of Fantasy?" Marc repeated, his voice rising an octave. The fear that previously squeezed his chest evaporated all at once, replaced by an electrifying astonishment. "You mean mythological creatures exist? Dragons? Beasts of legend?"
—"You are correct. Though in this realm they are not considered 'mythological'; they are as tangible and common as any animal in your world. In addition to humans, you will coexist with elves, dwarves, and demons, among many other beings that will challenge everything you think you know," Amir replied with a smug smile. He knew he had thrown the perfect bait: the mystery of the unknown was the only force capable of bending Marc's logic.
Marc felt overwhelmed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a child who had just been promised entry to the largest amusement park in the universe. His questions collided in his mind, but they all converged on a single point.
—"And magic... is it a common thing there?" he asked, not really knowing where to start. Intrigue gleamed in his eyes. "What kind of power is it? How does it manifest?"
—"In your world, magic is a physical impossibility; so, by definition, here it is infinitely more common," Amir explained, adopting that ancestral teacher tone once again. "However, it is a common belief that not everyone is born with the gift; only one person out of a thousand possesses the spark necessary to manifest it. That power consists of bending the fundamental elements: fire, water, earth, and air, along with other much more complex branches."
Marc opened his mouth, but Amir raised a hand in a solemn gesture, stopping the flood of questions he saw coming.
—"But let's not get ahead of ourselves, someone else will handle explaining the technical details to you later on..." the God said, making a calculated pause. "I know the concept of magic fascinates you, Marc, but first I must explain the real reason why I ripped you from your bed and brought you to this place."
He turned around and walked slowly toward the large stained-glass window that dominated the back wall. The light filtering through the glass stained the floor with fragmented colors. Amir stopped in front of it, hands clasped behind his back, and spoke without looking at him.
—"In this world, the races do not coexist in harmony; they are fragmented. Humans, demons, elves, and dwarves claim their own territories, separated by borders of blood and mistrust," he explained, his voice taking on a historical undertone. "Something similar to your earth occurs: humans have marked demons as their natural enemy, fueled by religious dogmas and scars of ancestral conflicts. Currently, the world breathes under a fragile and deceptive peace... but the clock keeps ticking. A new Holy War will break out in a few short years, and the balance will be blown to pieces."
Marc observed the god's silhouette outlined against the stained-glass window and processed the information with his usual methodology: separate the data, find the critical variable, reach the most probable conclusion.
I can imagine it. If they are called "demons," it's because their nature is malignant. Beings of darkness sowing chaos... it's logical that war is inevitable.
—"I understand. Then, from what you're saying, I suppose your mission for me is to become humanity's champion, defeat the demons, and save this world, right?" Marc ventured, squaring his shoulders with a mix of resignation and purpose.
Amir turned slowly. The light from the mosaics crossed his face diagonally.
—"Not exactly," he replied. An enigmatic, almost predatory smile drew across his face. "My assignment for you is much more specific, Marc: in this world, you will be a demon. And to be precise, I need you to ascend to become their King."
The silence that followed was absolute. Dense. Expansive like an empty cathedral.
Demon? Marc felt Amir's words were static in his brain. For me to become... a demon?
—"But what the shit are you talking about?!" Marc exploded, his voice breaking the stillness with a shout of pure disbelief. "A demon? How the fuck do you expect me to be a monster? This has to be a joke!"
This supposed God is pulling my leg. There is no other explanation.
—"Not just any demon, Marc. The Demon King," Amir repeated, savoring every single syllable with a satisfaction that bordered on mockery. "The absolute sovereign of the race you seemingly despise so much."
He is definitely screwing with me, Marc thought, clenching his fists while his mind desperately searched for an exit from this madness. He is screwing with me big time.
—"You said you wanted me to save the world. You're contradicting yourself!" Marc snapped, his fury boiling beneath his skin. "Aren't the demons the villains of this story?"
—"I know perfectly well what I said, Marc. And I keep my word: I want you to save this world," Amir countered, sustaining that mocking smile that was beginning to grate on Marc's nerves.
—"Is this supposed to be some kind of divine joke? Because I don't find it fucking funny," Marc spat, insulted by the lightness with which this being handled his destiny.
—"It is no joke," Amir's smile vanished, replaced by a temperatureless gravity. "In your world, demons are myths, spiritual entities of pure evil. Here, however, they are a race of flesh and blood. They have horns, yes, and a physical strength that makes human power look ridiculous. It is true that because of this advantage, many demons view humans as inferior beings; but within their species, there are both heroes and scoundrels... exactly the same as among humans."
I suppose he has a point, Marc thought, forcing his brain to process the information without the filter of emotion. My concept of a "demon" is contaminated by centuries of a folklore I never even believed in. As an atheist, to me, there is no heaven or hell; there is only biology. If they are a race, then good and evil are nothing more than subjective labels.
—"However," Amir continued, turning his gaze toward the grand stained-glass window towering behind him, "humans have decided that the very existence of demons is a heresy. An intolerable stain on creation... a direct insult to divinity."
This latest piece of information left Marc petrified, processing the absolute irony of the matter.
—"An insult to divinity?" he asked, a spark of disbelief in his voice. "Aren't you the God of this world?"
—"Yes," Amir replied flatly. The word sounded heavy, loaded with an almost human discomfort.
—"Let me see if I understand this," Marc felt an involuntary, almost cynical smile creep onto his lips. The absurdity of the situation was so massive that it was starting to strike him as comical. Now, it was his turn to press. "Humans believe that demons are an insult to you... and you, the very God they worship, summon me to become the Demon King. To become their worst nightmare."
—"Well..." Amir shifted, attempting to regain his poise, "the thing is, even though they believe in me, religion is their invention, not mine. They wrote the rules; they invented the dogmas."
Wow, what a permissive God to his subjects, Marc thought with a sting of deep contempt. Can someone really be called a God when he lets his fan club decide who lives and who dies in his name?
—"And couldn't you just appear before them?" Marc asked, falling back on his pragmatism. "Tell them their religion is a mistake, that they are misinterpreting your silences."
—"It is not that simple," Amir replied, his voice taking on an ancestral gravity.
—"For you, everything seems suspiciously easy," Marc shot back, gesturing toward the vastness of the cathedral with an exasperated sweep of his hand.
—"It seems so, but it isn't. It is infinitely simpler for me to summon a being from another plane like yourself than to manifest before the masses of this world; an act of that magnitude would unleash unprecedented chaos. Besides, I already told you: my priority is the Balance. What humans choose to believe or pray to is irrelevant to me... as long as they do not fracture existence itself."
—"But they are using your name!" Marc snapped, losing his composure completely. "They want to exterminate an entire race in your name!"
The anger boiling in Marc's chest was fueled by the ghosts of his own world's history. He remembered the Crusades, the Templars, the witch hunts, and the countless massacres perpetrated under the banner of faith. It had always seemed to him the most despicable trait of humanity, the main reason why he loathed religious institutions. And now, verging on seeing that same absurd, bloody pattern repeating itself in a universe ruled by a real and dangerously indifferent God, was simply unbearance.
—"And why do you think I have brought you here?" Amir took a step toward him, his shadow lengthening impossibly. "I will turn you into the Demon King and grant you a power that will eclipse any mortal. Why do you think I ask such a burden of you?"
—"You want me to be their shield..." Marc muttered. "You want me to save the demons from the humans?"
—"In part. But there is something darker on the horizon. In a hundred years, a human will be born with a terrifying magical potential. The Church will call him 'The Hero' and entrust him with the mission to eradicate your new lineage. But that man, intoxicated by his own legend and a blind faith, will lose his mind. After killing the Demon King and extinguishing the demons, he will turn against the elves, the dwarves, and any being that doesn't fit into his vision of a purely human world. He will proclaim himself the sole King... the chosen one of a God who never gave him permission."
A hundred years... Marc processed the numbers in his head. If Amir wanted him to become the Demon King, it meant unequivocally that this so-called "Hero" would be coming for his head. However, the more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. There was a fundamental flaw in the entire strategy.
—"Why summon me now if the problem arises in a century?" Marc asked. "And more importantly: if that guy is so dangerous, why don't you just give me a power superior to his right now and send me to the future to finish him off?"
—"Because power without effort is a disease," Amir answered. "That is the Hero's error: he will receive a divine gift without having sweated for it, which will feed his arrogance and his immaturity. You, on the other hand, must forge your own path. You need the years, the sweat, and the experience to understand the responsibility of what you hold in your hands."
—"That doesn't guarantee anything," Marc countered, regaining his analytical tone. "There are plenty of people who strive to reach the top and, once there, are just as arrogant and tyrannical. Effort also feeds the ego."
—"True. Which is why I ask you this: if I were to hand you absolute power over life and death this very day... can you assure me you wouldn't become intoxicated by it? Can you swear you wouldn't attempt to conquer the world under your own logic?"
Amir locked his gaze onto Marc, a look that seemed to dissect every neuron in his brain. Marc opened his mouth to respond with a flat "no," but the words got stuck in his throat.
Me? Conquer the world? It's absurd... isn't it?
—"Of course I wouldn't..." he finally answered, though his voice lacked its previous firmness. "Or so I'd like to think."
—"But you aren't completely sure," Amir concluded with a calmness that was terrifying. "You have never held the power of a god between your fingers. No one knows who they truly are until they possess the capacity to crush others without suffering consequences."
Marc fell silent. For the first time in his life, his logical mind lacked a quick response. He found himself scrutinizing the abyss of his own nature.
What the hell does he mean? Of course I wouldn't! Marc tried to cling to his own moral compass, to hold onto that comforting certainty, but a sharp doubt ran down his spine. If I'm so sure... why the fuck am I hesitating?
—"I've never been an ambitious person," Marc managed to say, though his words sounded like an apology. "Just imagining myself as a King is already... too much for me. It's not what I'm looking for."
—"Marc!" Amir's voice snapped like a whip, forcing the young man to lock eyes with the god. "The reason I ripped you from your reality is because you possess exactly the ambition required to wear a crown. Because, in the depths of your soul, you have always desperately desired to live an adventure like this."
Marc lowered his head, letting the dense silence of the temple envelop him. In that moment of stillness, he remembered with absolute clarity why he was so fascinated by those fantasy stories—those shows where a nobody, trapped in monotony, became the hero or was thrust into an extraordinary adventure that tore him away from a purposeless existence. And in the twilight of his own self-reflection, a dangerous spark ignited in his gaze. Slowly, a dark, genuine smile began to spread across his face.
Damn it... this God is absolutely right.
It didn't matter his atheism, his blind devotion to logic, or his facade of a rational man. The truth, finally stripped bare, was that he had always longed for the veil of the mundane to be torn apart; he had always dreamed of something like this happening to him, no matter how absurd or unreal it seemed. Human or demon, he didn't care about the vessel. He wanted his adventure. And if claiming it meant crushing that second-rate "Hero" and his extremist church, he would do it with a pleasure that was almost terrifying.
Amir, reading every fiber of ambition within Marc's thoughts, smiled with genuine satisfaction. There was no longer a trace of mockery in his features; it was the pure recognition of an architect watching his masterpiece come to life. He had not been mistaken: he had summoned the perfect man for the job.
—"Excellent, Marc, excellent," Amir said with total satisfaction. "Now, I must warn you of certain things. Your physical traits will adapt to your new lineage: you will bear two horns as a natural crown, and your eyes will take on the deep hue of indigo blue. Furthermore, I shall grant you a more imposing stature," the God announced.
Well, that doesn't sound too bad, Marc thought, relieved that he wouldn't be turning into a shapeless mass of fangs, scales, and claws.
—"And I will make you a bit more attractive... not that you were hard to look at before," Amir flashed a mockery-laden smile.
Son of a bitch. He just mocked my face right to my face.
—"You should know that your eyes will burn with their own light when you channel your magic or when anger claims you," the god continued, returning to technical precision. "I will not send you to the north, to the heart of demon territory; it is a barren wasteland where you would die within days. I have prepared a refuge for you in the far south. A cabin with grimoires for you to study the fabric of the world, maps, and supplies for a year. There is an orchard and enough game. You will learn to be a god before claiming your throne."
—"Far south? Why so far away?" Marc protested. "Couldn't you leave me in a decent place that isn't a continent away?"
I'm already looking for the easy way out and I haven't even landed yet, Marc reprimanded himself internally.
—"I have my motives," Amir replied with a seriousness that admitted no replication. "Your journey is your training. Only then will you guarantee your victory against the current Demon King."
Wait. What?
—"The current Demon King?!" Marc's shout ripped through the silence. "Are you telling me there's already someone sitting on the throne and I have to remove him myself?!"
—"It's a minor detail, right?" Amir laughed, enjoying Marc's panic. "Unlike humans and their bloodlines, demons only respect brute strength. The current sovereign is... formidable."
—"I think I'm starting to regret this," Marc let out a nervous laugh bordering on hysteria.
—"Your potential is practically infinite, Marc. By the time your steps lead you before him, you will have eclipsed him." Amir paused, letting his words sink in. "By then, your doubts will be ash."
Marc remained silent, dissecting the information. Out of all the data streams still processing in his mind, a cold, precise thought emerged above the chaos.
—"Wait... you said a hundred years. I'm thirty. Are you telling me I'm going to live for an entire century? Or am I immortal?"
—"Your longevity will be far superior to that of a human," Amir explained. "But listen closely: what I will send is your soul into a new body, a perfect vessel designed by me. When those hundred years are up, I can return your essence to this exact moment, to your original body in your old world, as if you had only blinked."
Marc nodded slowly, but his mind was already beginning to drift elsewhere. He looked down at his hands, imagining them already crackling with an untamable elemental fire.
Return? he asked himself. To an office, to the loneliness and the suffocating routine of a purposeless world? He looked at Amir, and for the first time, he felt no fear—only a fierce, blood-kindling anticipation. There was absolutely nothing to miss from the place he came from.
—"Time is running out, so listen carefully," Amir urged, his voice taking on a new urgency. "I will grant you absolute immunity to poisons and diseases. I will not allow an unknown fruit or a banal virus to end my investment before it even begins. You will be in a new body, but your biology must be impenetrable."
That will come in handy, Marc thought, imagining the invisible dangers of a wild world.
—"And, since you will inhabit that realm for at least a century, I grant you the gift of Immortality."
The word resonated in Marc's mind like a clap of thunder, echoing through every corner of his rational consciousness.
—"By this, I mean that time will not make a dent in you; you will not age or die of natural causes," Amir clarified. "However, make no mistake: you remain mortal before steel, magic, or the jaws of a monster. Do not grow overconfident, Demon King."
Not age! Marc felt his heart leap. The dream of every man of science... made reality by a God he hadn't wanted to believe in.
—"As for your return," Amir continued, "near your cabin, you will find a small temple with an altar. To go back to your old world, you only need to stand there and manifest your firm will to leave. The words do not matter; the only thing that counts is the pure desire of your soul. That sanctuary will remain untouched, even if a thousand years pass."
Amir continued to dissect Marc's mind, scrutinizing with fascination every single thought he formulated.
—"Ah, and one final detail that I know will please you: once you fulfill your mission and defeat the Hero, you are free to return. But it doesn't have to be immediate. With your immortality, you could very well reign for two hundred, five hundred, or a thousand years before deciding you've had enough. The sole condition is that the Balance is maintained; do not attempt to crush the world beneath your boot."
Marc lowered his gaze, processing the heavy weight of eternity that had just been draped over his shoulders as if it were a mantle.
Magic and immortality?
A smile spread across his face, wider and darker than any expression he had ever worn in his past life. For the first time, Marc didn't feel like a replaceable cog in an office; he felt important.
He lifted his gaze. The gleam in his eyes no longer reflected doubt, but a mix of electric nervousness and a euphoria he thought had been buried since childhood. His monotonous existence and his lack of purpose evaporated like mist beneath the sun.
—"Then when do I start?" Marc asked, his voice no longer holding a trace of a tremble.
—"Right now!" Amir exclaimed, extending a hand enveloped in a blinding light. "Welcome to your new realm... Demon King."
The light erupted, wrapping Marc in an embrace that was simultaneously warm and violent. As his human body disintegrated to give way to the legend, Marc knew it with absolute certainty: he wasn't just changing worlds.
He was being born anew.