[ LIVING WITH THE EXISTENCE ]

After entering the vessel, he flexed his limbs, testing his newfound strength. There was no resistance—no bonds to tie him down. Yet, an unfamiliar weight settled on his soul. He glanced at the devil looming beside him, the creature's crimson eyes dull with indifference.

"Is there anything I must know?" he asked, his voice a whisper in the suffocating silence.

"Only the inevitable. You will encounter many… things. Kill them. Or let them kill you. Either way, what you find is yours to take," the devil replied, his words carrying the weight of both promise and damnation.

The vessel frowned. "And you? What is it you seek in this place?"

The devil's lips curled into something resembling a smile. "What we all seek—control. Over a land where gods and men are not so different. Where forgotten power lingers, waiting for a hand bold enough to seize it."

The vessel said nothing, merely nodding. "Then I will begin."

He stepped into the portal. The world twisted and contorted around him, light bleeding into shadow, until he emerged into a realm of swirling mist and silence. His senses recoiled at the emptiness—the air itself seemed dead. Far ahead, a faint light beckoned like a distant star.

He walked toward it, the fog parting reluctantly with each step. Then, with a sudden, violent 'SWOOSH,' the light shot upward, cracking the sky and illuminating a path made of ancient stone. He followed, driven not by curiosity but by the silent pull of destiny.

At the end of the path, he entered a crumbling room. The air was thick with the scent of decay. A corpse lay hunched against the wall, its skeletal fingers curled around a worn book. He approached slowly, his footsteps muffled by the dust of ages.

He pried the book from the corpse's grasp, the cover worn and faded, the title barely legible: THE FALL.

He opened it, his eyes scanning the jagged, cryptic script:

THE GOD'S SOUL WAS SHATTERED.

SHARDS WERE TAKEN BY DEMI-GODS, WHO FOUGHT TO CLAIM THE REMAINS.

CHAOS REIGNED.

AND FROM THE RUINS OF THAT WAR, NEW BEINGS AROSE—

THE UNDEAD KNIGHT.

THE TWO-FACED WARRIOR.

THE WISE MAN.

DEMON SIN.

AND HOPE, WHICH WILL NEVER FADE UNTIL A NEW GOD IS BORN FROM THE ASHES.

He closed the book, his hands trembling slightly. So this was the path—the road to becoming a god. But it was no path of light. It was soaked in the blood of those who had failed before him.

He glanced at the corpse. "FALL," he whispered.

The body disintegrated into dust, leaving nothing behind. The rot and decay that had plagued the room began to vanish, as though time itself had reversed. The book, now gleaming, bore the title THE FALL, clear and bold.

He turned and opened the wooden door with a low creak, stepping into a vast, bleak landscape. In the distance, a massive tower pierced the sky—a realm tower, like the ones described in the tome. Beneath him, the land seemed to hang precariously over a void, the abyss staring back with its cold, indifferent gaze.

He descended the cliffside, his footsteps echoing faintly in the desolate silence. There was only one way forward: across the bridge, where a grotesque statue of a woman stood guard, her face twisted in silent anguish. He paused, his gaze locked on the lifeless figure, but before he could linger too long, something stirred in the shadows.

A creature emerged—a mass of flesh and blades, moving with unnatural speed. It lunged at him, its swords slicing through the air.

'SWOOSH!' 'BOOM BOOM!' The impact knocked him off his feet, but the blades missed their mark. He staggered, the weight of his injuries dragging him down as the creature struck again, this time driving its weapon into his chest. Pain flared white-hot, his vision dimming as darkness clawed at the edges of his mind.

As consciousness slipped away, he glimpsed the creature retreating toward the statue. His blood stained the earth, marking the start of his fall.

In the deep void, a figure approached his broken body. It knelt beside him, eyes glimmering in the blackness.

"New blood seeking godhood," it murmured, a hint of derision in its voice. "Pity."

Then it was gone, leaving him alone in the silence.

He awoke abruptly, gasping for air, his body still weak but alive. Staggering to his feet, he crossed the bridge, his every step a defiance of the fate that sought to drag him down.

On the other side, he slipped through a shattered castle door, his eyes narrowing at the glowing tree in the courtyard. Its branches swayed gently, bathed in an eerie light that seemed neither welcoming nor dangerous—just indifferent. He ignored it, moving forward into the hall.

The castle had once been grand, but now, like all things, it lay in ruins. Most passages were blocked by debris, the remnants of whatever battle had left this place abandoned. He pushed onward, his path illuminated by faint, flickering torches.

Stepping out into the open, the barren land that once stretched before him had transformed. Lush greenery now covered the earth, the air rich with the scent of life. Yet he felt no relief. This beauty was but a fleeting illusion in a world built on rot and decay.

"Hey."

He turned. A figure stood near an effigy, grinning. There was something off about him—too eager, too friendly.

The vessel said nothing, moving away without a word. The man did not follow. He was not real, just another shadow in this forsaken place.

Something caught his eye—a strange object lying on the ground, its edges glowing faintly. He crouched and touched it, a shiver running down his spine as a notification appeared before him:

[LOST SOUL FOUND]

The memory of the demon's voice echoed in his mind, a low growl. He crushed the soul in his hand, feeling its essence flow through him. Power surged within him, his arm throbbing as it absorbed the soul's energy. It was as if a piece of himself that had been lost was returned, stronger than before.

Golden light rippled from his fingertips, spiraling around him before it was drawn back into his arm. The sensation was intoxicating, but he forced himself to move forward. There was no time to linger.

Sliding down the hill on his bare feet, he spotted a knight patrolling the edge of the forest. The armor was old and worn, but the knight moved with purpose. The vessel approached silently, his fists clenched.

With a single, powerful blow, he struck.

'CRASH!'

The knight crumbled beneath the force of his punch, its chest caving in with a sickening crunch. "FALL," he whispered once more, watching as the body dissolved into dust.

A set of broken armor remained, but he left it behind. It was useless to him, a relic of a bygone era. He continued through the forest, his steps light, his movements precise. One by one, he dispatched the knights that wandered aimlessly through the trees.

With each kill, more fragments of light rose from the corpses, swirling in the air before gathering in front of him. He crushed them with his arm, absorbing their strength, feeling the power course through his veins.

His arm had changed—become something more, something other. It pulsed with energy, each strike more devastating than the last.

He fought without hesitation, without mercy, cutting down his enemies one by one. He was a vessel of destruction, driven by an insatiable hunger for power.

And yet, as he stood in the heart of the forest, surrounded by the dust of those he had slain, he felt nothing.

No victory. No triumph.

Only the cold, hollow realization that this was just the beginning.