Chapter 1: Descent of Inevitability; Part 2

  “Now, where are the monsters you spawned?” I say, looking around. Behind me, the ghost town still stands, whereas in front of me is utterly obliterated. There is nothing but crushed pieces of wood and metals—empty of life. Nothing stands beyond my feet. As I stay vigilant, there is no monster that jumped straight at me. Where are the monsters?

  I look up again. There are tens of floating veiled figures around the hole I made in the sky. They wear spotless white robes that are loose enough for me to be unable to identify their gender, and their figures looks human. They extend their palms upward. A huge array of red magic forms between them, and rather than flat, it looks like an umbrella protruding toward me. Danger.

  I attempt to escape, but metallic chains rise from the ground and shackles me. The obscure symbols on the back of my hand becomes a stream of light, however, they cannot cross the chains.

  “Who are you?” I shout, as I attempt to break free.

  No answer. Despite me trying to escape, they are still casting the magic array.

  A horn blares behind me. I see this huge vehicle with two blinding lights racing closer. I shut tight my eyes and brace myself for the impact. After the skidding, the vehicle crashes into me, throwing my body away. It cracks my bones and my limbs twist in a strange direction—I can’t move. Rather, I don’t want to move or I’ll feel it. I’m aloft for quite some time, groaning.

  I land in an area with small rocks where it’s like ants are biting me. Then a cold breeze washes me, healing all my pain; it seems my power has come back. I try to use it offensively, but it is still being blocked.

  The vehicle, a truck, drives toward me. It stops a few meters away, and a lanky man wearing ripped jean and baggy polo shirt shows up. The man has short hair, and has a few hairs growing on his chin. A towel wraps his shoulders, and he uses it to wipe his forehead.

  “That didn’t kill you?” The man asks in surprise. “Most people would’ve died and then they’ll wake up in another world.”

  “Huh?” I cock my head to the side. He looks pretty much like an average driver. A truck driver in this time? A shapeshifting monster?

  “Quite resilient, aren’t you? I insisted to do this, but it is no good so,” The man raises his right hand and motions it downwards. The veiled group from above does the same. The magic array materializes a beam with thousands of blades, it swishes through the air, and pierces me. Those pins me to the ground, however, they don’t hurt nor wound me. The immediate area before me becomes a graveyard of swords.

  “That was dangerous,” I say.

  The truck driver folds his arms and rubs his chin. “What a shame. I would have preferred it if you have died. We have started to return this world back to normal, so we must also remove you from this world.”

  I stay silent. Who are they? They were the first monsters that are human-like. They should all have vicious appearance, and don’t speak my language. And somehow, although chained and stabbed with these swords, I don’t feel enmity or malice coming from them. I relax myself a little.

  “Prepare yourself for another round,” Trakun says.

  “Wait!” I say, “Why are you doing this to me? Who are you?”

  “I am Trakun, a Deity of Fate, and these veiled people are my kin.”

  “Are you serious? Then I am Magisan, a magician, and these swords are my newfound kin.”

  “No, I am actually Trakun. I adopted the name because of the rise of interest in trucks. You know, people dying from a truck accident and suddenly find themselves in another world. As a deity of Fate, I must not let myself left behind by these imaginations.”

  “What a cruel way to be transported.”

  “I myself find it rather amusing.”

  They seem incapable of killing me, but can still incapacitate me. I heave a sigh. A truck can’t definitely send me to death (another world). “What do you want from me?” I ask.

  “Everything. We want to know everything.”

  “I don’t know things either, don’t ask me. I just somehow got myself chained to this situation.” I look for an escape path, however the tens of veiled figures become hundreds. The number and layers of the magic arrays multiplies, and are still aimed at me.

  “I am giving you two choices,” Trakun said. “First, resist and die in a barrage of these magic arrays and revive in my place. Second, come to my place and don’t resist.”

  A stream of light finally slips into my heart. It bursts around, clearing everything that restrains me. I thought again of the threads. They steadily, and slowly sprouts on the truck, the obliterated ground, the ghost town. However, none sprouts from Trakun and the veiled figures.

  Trakun smirks, “That’s futile against us. We are way ahead of your strength.” He snaps his right-hand fingers. The pulsing light from my left hand, my consciousness, and my strength to stand weakens. I lose sight of the ethereal threads and I fall down facing upward.

  Trakun approaches and looks down at me. “You have no choice but to come with me.”

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  He motions his left hand from his head to his chest. A simple wooden door appears beside me, and the chains and sword vanish at once. Since I can’t move, he rolls me toward the door with the rubbles hitting my face.

  I spit a rubble that entered my mouth. “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “My place.”

  I collide the open door, there seems to be an invisible barrier. He tries again and kicks me to the door, but it does not work. Then he continuously bashes my head, hoping I would be able to enter. He leaves me on the ground, and ride his truck, revs up the engine, and gives me the thumbs up.

  “Calm down, will you?” I say. “Although I can’t feel this pain, it doesn’t work.”

  “Ah. It seems the second option is not possible. My place can’t withstand your power. We’ll have to kill you here so we could continue our talks later. Look, the pavements are returning. The much longer you stay here, it’ll make this world unstable again.”

  Indeed, the pavements are returning, the buildings are forming again. People are materializing and walks around us mindlessly—they don’t seem to notice us though.

  Trakun motions his left hand from his head to his chest again. The magical arrays above are becoming brighter and larger.

  “Please don’t,” I request as I attempt to recover my control.

  “Your innate power is too strong for my place. Don’t worry, you’ll only feel it in less than a thousandth of a second.”

  The magic array fires beams of light which intersects, and becomes a single, concentrated ray with millions of gleaming blades. I stop from thinking of protecting myself, instead I focus on keeping my life. The ray devours and burns me relentlessly.

  The blades pierce my feet, my legs, pelvis, stomach, chest, arms, and even my head—everything, bloodless. Then the blades start to twist as they enter my body, with two twisting immensely on my eyes. It stays there for a while rather than passing through. I can’t even move to cover myself or react to it. All I can do is cry with this tremendous pain. In order to live, I exchange protection for an immunity from death.

  The barrage ceases after who knows how long. I can see no more, what has just happened? Where am I? My body hurts; my brain hurts; my eyes really hurt—I can’t feel anything else other than agony.

  “Oh, well,” the voice says. “To think you’ll still live after that; truly a resilient man you are. I guess you can now enter my hall in your weakened state. Can you hear me?”

  I let out a soft sound. Who? I try to say, but I can’t speak nor open my eyes. Numb. Paralyzed.

  “How unfortunate. I suppose I’ll have to wait until you return back to normal. If you just died, we would have been more lenient with you.”

  I notice a faint light in this complete darkness. Eventually it proliferates, lengthens, and writhes. The ends of thin lines of light are motioning to connect with each other, but they can’t combine since there is this almost transparent glass that intercepts it. The Ethereal Threads.

  This again, I thought.

  “Mend your wounds,” another voice says. “You can’t die. No matter what happens, you must not perish.” That voice do not to belong from outside, rather it is something entrenched deep inside the sea of my consciousness. It calls, and prompts me whenever I have most of my threads severed. Whose voice that belongs, I wonder. Why does it only rouses myself in these situations?

  I must live, I remind myself. So I take the form of the torn threads.

  I am the torn thread, and my other half is just beyond this glass; you are the severed thread, and your other half is just past this glass.

  My other half is my reflection, without it, I cannot live; your other half is your mirror, without it, you cannot survive.

  I shall shatter this glass, and unite with myself again; you shall crack this glass, and coalesce with yourself again.

  Ardently, I try to pierce in a certain spot; restlessly, you try to penetrate the glass in a certain spot.

  I finally perforate the glass; you ultimately puncture the glass.

  Thus a sliver of I becomes one again. I stare at the endless rows of severed threads. If only I could sigh in this state.

  Chapter 1 End.