“In that split second of surprise, he capitalized on my vulnerability, altering his approach with frightening precision. His fist unfurled into an open palm, fingers splayed wide, and his hand shot upward with deadly accuracy, aiming to wrap around my neck. Before I could brace myself, his hand clamped down, his fingernails digging into my skin as he began to lift, his grip crushing my windpipe. I strained against him, my hands scrambling to seize his wrist, clamping down with all the strength I could muster, silently begging for release as I struggled to keep my feet planted. But his hold only tightened, and with a surge of effort, he hoisted me off the ground, my legs swinging helplessly beneath me.
Effortlessly, he tossed me aside like discarded trash, my body slamming into the dirt. Gasping, I felt the sharp sting of grit scraping my skin as I struggled to orient myself. In the distance, I caught sight again of the mother clawing her way to her child, frantic and desperate, the need to protect evident in every strained movement. I saw that only now, now that the crowd had finally gotten it through their thick skulls that they actually were in danger too, finally some had tried to run away. And run they did, far from the circle, as desperate as the mother, desperate as they were created to be capable of. The number in the notification ticked down with each soul who left the area. Fueled by the same desperation, I dug my hands into the earth, scraping through the dirt and grime as I dragged myself toward the group of teenagers who may be in better fighting condition than I, a sanctuary within reach. They could help me, beat him off, even if others couldn’t, and that small group of kids was one of the only that had idiotically remained here.
But he was faster, his footsteps pounding behind me as the seconds ticked away. My heart hammered with each passing moment, each frantic crawl bringing me closer, yet still achingly out of reach. Just as I thought I might make it to them, he overtook me, his shadow swallowing mine. I barely had time to brace myself before his foot came down, the heel crashing onto the back of my head. My cheek grated against the ground as he pressed down with merciless force, the skin tearing against an unfortunately placed stone, hot friction scraping and ripping away layers with a burning intensity. The rubber sole of his shoe continued to grind downward, twisting and turning, never stopping.
The world blurred in equal measure to how he’d appeared to me before, a fog of pain and dust filling my senses as I lay there, only a few feet from safety but nearly out of time. I couldn’t let him have the satisfaction of winning—not now. He seemed to sense my last bit of determination and moved quickly, yanking me upright once more. Without a word, he hurled me toward the circle, the ground rushing up to meet me.
I landed hard, face-first in the dirt, my breath knocked out of me as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Dazed, I lay there coughing out dust, every part of me aching as I struggled to find my bearings, my mind swimming in confusion and shock.
“I’ll say this once, and once only,” he called out, his voice distant and muffled through my dazed state, barely audible past the cacophony of sounds, “you owe me one.” I looked up, blinking to clear my vision, but before I could process what he meant, the world dissolved again, whisked away like the scene was a mere simulation controlled by some unseen hand, something it likely was. That or my deluded brain…Owe him what now? Why? When? Where am I?
[Would you like to enter a formal contract?]
My head throbbed relentlessly as I mumbled, “Fine,” barely registering his words. The whole concept of a “contract” didn’t really settle in until the system's message continued:
[At the sparing of your life, you have been put into a contract between life and death. You must fulfill the terms of the contract made by the stronger party, or your life will end instantaneously. This has been officially approved by the guardian deity of ‘Manúel Ramirez’ and further by–???]
The words in the notification struck me like a bludgeon against my skull, jolting me from the depths of fatigue that clouded my thoughts. Gradually, the enormity of the message began to penetrate the fog, carving out just enough space for a disquieting realization to emerge: I was now tethered to the terms dictated by this psychotic guy—or potentially by his enigmatic guardian deity. The ramifications of this binding felt ominous, like a shadow creeping over me. Did it signify a life of servitude, where I would be compelled to follow commands without question? The thought sent an involuntary shudder through my body, and the gravity of my predicament pressed heavily upon my chest.
As my mind wrestled to regain its composure, it scrambled to assemble the shards of comprehension I possessed. “Guardian deity”—the phrase felt alien, a notion I might have skimmed in the pages of fantasy novels or stumbled across in the realms of video games, but never truly understood. The idea that someone as unremarkable as Devin could be linked to such a formidable entity was disconcerting. Did I truly grasp what this entailed? Not in the least. The uncertainty wrapped around me like a vice, a persistent anxiety that urged me to hold off on exploring the full implications of my new circumstances.
Then there was the cryptic “???” at the end of the notification. It confounded me more than I cared to admit. Was it a reference to the system itself, or did it hint at a force even more powerful, lurking in the shadows? Each speculation I conjured felt tenuous, and my instinct to trust my intuition was waning under the weight of confusion.
Amidst this chaos, Crystal surged to the forefront of my thoughts, her presence vibrant yet marred by the bitter sting of loss. Our time together had been absurdly fleeting, yet she had rapidly morphed into a sisterly figure, a rare bastion of stability in the tumult of my reality. I hardly cared for the other guy outside of the sheer brutality.
[Enlightened races on your planet have completed attunement with the system. Immigration within your own universe for those capable is now permitted. Multiversal immigration may commence following path searches.]
As I absorbed this revelation, the atmosphere around me felt palpably transformed. Not in an overtly dramatic manner, but rather as if a subtle transformation had coursed through the fabric of reality itself. I found myself adrift in a vast, dimly lit expanse—void of solid form yet astonishingly breathable. The atmosphere, though tangible, bore an uncanny quality, wrapping around me like a shroud of silk, while the steady cadence of my breath provided a grounding rhythm in this bewildering environment. Beneath this comforting familiarity lingered an enigmatic essence, a whisper of energy that thrummed just out of reach, akin to the delicate reverberations of an ancient lullaby long forgotten. It beckoned to me, hinting at mysteries concealed within the depths of this shadowy realm.
Glimmers of energy swirled around me, pulsing with a soft luminescence, akin to the distant flicker of starlight. It crackled and spiraled, weaving an invisible web that wrapped itself around my form. I felt this energy within me too, a gentle warmth swirling near my heart, orbiting it with a rhythmic cadence that felt almost sentient. Driven by curiosity, I concentrated, attempting to extend this sensation outward, to fill every fiber of my being with this newfound awareness. With another thought, I sought to draw it back, coaxing it to encircle my heart once more, but it resisted; the energy remained stubbornly unattainable, as if teasing me from just beyond my reach.
Mana. The term flickered through my consciousness, summoning images from the countless role-playing games I had immersed myself in and the fantastical tales I had devoured. It seemed the most fitting explanation for this ethereal energy, yet uncertainty loomed large, casting a shadow over my understanding. I couldn’t be entirely sure what it all meant, but the sensation was both intoxicating and perplexing, an invitation to explore the depths of a reality that felt both foreign and familiar.
As I clung to that thought, a spark of excitement flickering at the prospect of mana use, assuming I could get it to move, and assuming I wouldn’t end my life, which seemed very viable at the moment, another notification appeared, flipping through lines of text like a slot machine.
It was difficult to make out most of them since they rushed past so quickly, but the last few were just barely legible, an annoying ticking sound playing as they swung by.
[Jungle Survival]
[Tournament]
[Crafting Hall]
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
[Dungeon Run]
[Test of Will]
Finally, it landed and stayed at: [Blank Slate]
A description appeared beneath it, reading: [An empty plane with infinite possibilities. You decide how you find your path. Anything requested within reason is possible for training, but you will not keep anything given past the end of the path-search.]
My surroundings shifted abruptly. The dark void resolved into an endless white expanse—a blank canvas of light. A minor improvement, I supposed. My body pitched forward, launching me through the space until I face-planted again, this time into a floor that was surprisingly soft, like a massive cushion. At least this time, there was a floor. Every other direction remained a hazy void, and squinting into the distance only revealed swirling, colored fog.
It was some sort of magical place, too, given that when I involuntarily vomited as a reaction to a delayed pain reception, my guts heaving as my body reacted to whatever this guy had done to me, the mess vanished in mid-air, dissolving before the greenish sludge could splatter across the floor. Why did everything have to be happening so fast? Couldn’t I get a calm, gradual integration? Instead, it was a whirlwind—losing everything, teleporting to who knows where, battling monster plants, stumbling upon some weird circle, then witnessing a vicious attack? What…what had I just seen? Had I witnessed a double homicide first hand? Crystal hadn’t even made it to the circle, her form vanishing from view in a blur of violence and noise, and that man, who had seemed to be a friend of Manúel had most certainly died as well, assuming a lack of immediate medical treatment. The realization hit like a punch into my gut, instantaneous and nauseating. It twisted at my insides, stirring up a thick, nauseous feeling that clawed its way up my throat. My mind raced, grappling to wrap itself around what I had just seen. And yet, it was as if some other part of me, colder and more detached, kept trying to dismiss the shock, whispering that this wasn’t so different from the flood of brutal images I’d seen online. The gore-filled content that had once shocked me had now grown all too familiar, dulling the edges of horror and making everything blur together into a surreal tapestry of violence.
But something about this was different. Watching the brutal act unfold right in front of me was a visceral experience that clung to my senses with an uncomfortable weight. It wasn’t the punch that killed her, the system had. But he…he, this Manúel, had known about what would happen, and purposefully gotten her killed. A real, breathing person had been struck down, and I’d just stood there, immobilized, frozen in my own disbelief, unable to do anything to stop the first punch, the punch that if it had hit me, I’d be dead instead. I didn’t want to be dead instead. Did I? It was possible, but not like that. Yes, I had morals, at least I liked to think so, but that didn’t mean much when they were stuffed away by the shock of the moment. Somewhere deep down, there was an unyielding instinct to look away, to detach and disconnect from the horrors playing out in front of me. But despite it all, another part of me—it felt cruel to admit—was already trying to shift my focus, as if some deeper part knew that survival hinged on being able to keep moving, to prioritize.
[You have begun the path-search. Stage 1: Find Yourself.]
[Warning: If you fail to find yourself within this stage, you will be unable to continue the path search and will be banished to a temporary realm for the remainder of the path-search.]
[Character Sheet (This may be opened at a thought):
Stats:
Note: Stats available are dependant on your Race, Class, and Profession
Titles: None
Note: Only one title may be equipped at a time
Skills: None
Equipment: None
Notice: Your soul is currently being held in the balance by a contract between life and death. Your growth is dependent on the contractor and is capped to not reach beyond that of the contractor.]
In an attempt to reclaim some sense of clarity, I pulled my gaze down to the glowing character sheet, the system-generated summary of my supposed strengths, weaknesses, and whatever fragmented identity this reality had assigned to me. The emptiness in the categories was almost mocking, as if it was pointing out everything I didn’t have, every skill I hadn’t earned. Was that the point? To feel stripped bare, exposed in a way that forced me to realize just how far I had to go? Or was it simply a cold reminder that I was nothing special here, a blank slate in a world that demanded progress with an unnerving lack of compassion? Huh…blank slate…wasn’t that the name of this ‘path-search?’
But the character sheet was just one distraction among many, and it was the notification that had captured my attention, drawing me in like a strange riddle I couldn’t quite solve. It had hinted at the need to “find myself,” but what did that even mean in a place like this? The phrase was broad, vague, almost laughably generic in a situation so far from anything “normal.” Did it want me to discover some grand, hidden purpose? To unveil a destiny I hadn’t realized was mine all along? Or maybe it was something smaller, more personal—a call to dig deep into the messy chaos of my thoughts and uncover who I truly was beyond the external pressures and endless judgments.
And then there were the other possibilities, the quieter, more unsettling questions that lurked in the corners of my mind. Maybe it wanted me to dissect my own values, to decide where I stood in a world that didn’t seem to care much for morals or ethics. Or was I supposed to examine the intricacies of my personality, analyze what made me tick, what defined me as a person? It felt absurd, a cosmic joke, to be considering something as trivial as my personality type while standing in the aftermath of violence, surrounded by the resounding screams of what I’d just witnessed, playing on repeat in my mind.
Yet, the thought lingered, winding its way through my consciousness like an unwelcome guest. As vague as it was, the question of “finding myself” pulled at me with an almost magnetic force, nagging at the edges of my awareness, demanding my attention. In this strange, warped reality, the notion of self-discovery took on a strange weight, one that felt both overwhelming and oddly necessary.
[Time remaining: 23 hours, 59 minutes, 43 seconds]
Slowly, I took in my surroundings, observing the uninterrupted spread of white beneath me, its peculiar nature somewhere between firm and yielding. The floor stretched endlessly in every direction, a terrain that seemed almost alive, responding subtly as if attuned to my movements. The material wasn’t quite like any ground I’d felt before; it was softer than stone yet denser than cloth, as if crafted for wanderers adrift. Its surface felt oddly pliant, supporting me yet curving slightly around each point of contact—a paradox of solidity and ease that both welcomed and unsettled me.
At least I had a sliver of time to unravel the meaning behind it, a small consolation amidst whatever was going on. With a resigned sigh, I settled onto the floor, the white cushion yielding softly beneath me. The surface felt plush yet oddly firm, cradling my weight as I sank into it. It was as if the ground itself was designed for comfort, a stark contrast to the tension swirling in my mind.
I focused the swirling tension within me, redirecting it to forge more intricate thoughts, determined to tackle the problem at hand. Emotions rarely fit neatly within the rigid boundaries of the English language, so why not expand beyond those constraints? To think lyrically, or at the very least with a touch of poetry, felt more liberating than adhering to the stringent demands of an academic essay.
A soft chuckle slipped from my lips as I bit my lip, my gaze drifting to the creases and wrinkles on the tip of my thumb. I ran my pointer finger along its pointed nail, tracing the delicate ridges. An itch prickled at my arm, and I scratched it absentmindedly, then shut my eyes tight, immersing myself in the moment. I began to hum a lighthearted tune, one that had likely drifted into my mind during a visit to a clothing store long ago. My bangs fell into my eyes, but I paid them no mind, allowing the playful melody to carry me away, weaving a thread of nostalgia through the haze of my thoughts. It was a small act of defiance against the world surrounding me, a simple pleasure amid the turmoil.”
