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The Chronicle of time

Ciencia ficción
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Resumen

Welcome to a world where special abilities shape your place in society! In this tale, we follow folks navigating a society where your power level determines everything. With different races teaming up against beastly foes, a leveling system from 1 to 250 decides your prowess. From humble beginnings to the power to lay waste to continents, join us on the journey of individuals with unique abilities in a world teetering on the edge of destruction. Come on in and explore this thrilling adventure!

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Chapter 1Awakening

The shrill cry of the alarm echoed through the cramped apartment, a jarring wake-up call in the pre-dawn stillness. The boy, tangled in the sheets of sleep, swatted at the offending clock, the groan escaping his lips a guttural echo of his exhaustion. Squinting at the harsh red digits, frustration flared: 6:30 AM. School. Another day in the monotonous cycle that defined his existence.

He dragged himself out of bed, muscles protesting with familiar aches. The bathroom mirror offered no comfort, reflecting a stranger clad in sleep and worry. Messy black hair, dull brown eyes framed by oversized glasses – the uniform of awkwardness he wore both literally and figuratively. Skinny, short, average at best, below average by most standards.

Level 1. The invisible brand seared onto his soul, a constant reminder of his place at the bottom of the societal pyramid. No dazzling ability, no exceptional talent, no glittering future shimmering on the horizon. His fate was preordained: a life of servitude, his back bent in labor, his hands calloused from toil. If he was lucky, he might even survive the ever-present threat of the beasts that lurked beyond the city walls.

Hatred, a cold serpent coiled in his chest, hissed its silent venom. He loathed his life, loathed the reflection staring back with tired resignation. But as he pulled on the worn grey uniform, a spark flickered amidst the bleakness. A defiance, faint but stubborn, like a weed pushing through cracked pavement. This was his story, and it wasn't over yet. The ending, he knew with a nascent certainty, wasn't etched in stone.

The walk to the bus stop was a blur of grey concrete and weary faces. His small apartment, shared with his mother, was a microcosm of their existence - a haven on the fringes, a stark contrast to the gleaming towers that housed the privileged in the higher zones. The city itself was a testament to inequality, each district a reflection of its inhabitants' rank. The higher you climbed, the brighter the lights, the wider the opportunities. He was at the bottom, gazing up at a future that seemed perpetually out of reach.

But somewhere within him, amidst the dust and grime of his reality, a seed of hope had taken root. It was fragile, barely there, but it pulsed with a quiet insistence. This wasn't just another day, another step on the predetermined path. It was a chance, a whisper of possibility. The boy squared his shoulders, the worn straps of his backpack suddenly feeling lighter. He wouldn't let his level define him. He would write his own story, even if the pen had yet to be found. The journey would be arduous, the obstacles daunting, but the spark within him flickered brighter, fueled by a newfound determination. Today, he wouldn't just survive. He would start living.

The higher zones were mythical lands he'd only seen in faded propaganda posters. Gleaming towers clawed at the sky, basking in an opulence he could barely imagine. His reality was the grinding gears of the lower districts, a symphony of exhaust fumes and flickering neon. He knew his place, an insignificant cog in a machine indifferent to his dreams.

The bus groaned to a halt, its doors hissing open to reveal a throng of weary faces, mostly fellow Level 1s and 2s. He squeezed through the press of bodies, finding a window seat that offered a sliver of escape. Outside, the city sprawled in stark contrast. The distant gleam of the elite zone mocked him, a monument to power and privilege. The colossal dome, humanity's fragile shield against the wilderness, shimmered faintly. He imagined the heroes etched on its surface, their valor a constant reminder of his own powerlessness.

Envy coiled in his gut, a venomous serpent whispering of what-ifs. To wield a coveted ability, to be sculpted from strength and respect, to carve his name into the tapestry of legends – these were fantasies as distant as the stars. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the ache. It was a losing game, he knew. He was a leaf adrift in a raging current, tossed about by forces beyond his control.

Or so he thought.

A jolt ripped through him, a tangible crackle of energy that sent shivers down his spine. He snapped his eyes open, the world momentarily bleached white by a flash of azure light. A deafening boom shattered the air, the bus shuddering violently. Panic erupted around him, screams swallowed by the growing inferno that consumed the front of the vehicle. Bodies littered the floor, painted crimson against the warped metal. He stared, transfixed, as a gaping wound marred the once-impenetrable dome, a monstrous silhouette framed against the searing light beyond.

It was a dragon, a Level 50 behemoth, a creature of nightmares given horrifying form. Its scales shimmered like obsidian, claws glinted with malevolent intent, and eyes burned with an inner fire. It roared, a sound that shook the very foundation of the world, and unleashed a torrent of flame, transforming the bus into a pyre.

Terror choked him, a cold hand squeezing his lungs. Trapped beneath debris, his desperate screams turned into choked whimpers swallowed by the chaos. Alone, helpless, destined to be another nameless casualty. The behemoth loomed closer, maw agape, revealing a furnace of molten gold and razor-sharp teeth. Eyes, cold and reptilian, glinted with malevolent hunger. He braced for oblivion, eyes squeezed shut.

But the end… didn't come.

An uncanny stillness settled. Tentatively, he peeked through his lashes. The world had frozen. The dragon, mid-descent, its fiery breath paused in a grotesque snarl. Flames danced, suspended in air. Smoke hung motionless, a morbid tableau. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the eerie silence. He was the maestro of this bizarre symphony, his will conducting the frozen scene.

His ability. It had awakened. The very fabric of time obeyed his whim.

A surge of azure light bathed him, a bubble of temporal energy isolating him from the stasis. He had precious seconds, mere blips on the frozen clock. The dragon's fire, a macabre ballet now, licked inches away. He saw the individual tongues of flame, a terrifying beauty if not for the imminent doom they symbolized.

Ignoring the primal urge to cower, he propelled himself out of the wreckage, swift and silent in the unnatural quiet. Past petrified figures, their expressions mirroring his own frozen fear, he raced against the ticking clock in his mind. His escape, a desperate gamble born in the crucible of desperation, hinged on these stolen moments.

As the final sliver of the blue cocoon faded, the world lurched back into motion. The dragon's fiery breath resumed its descent, engulfing the bus in an inferno. Heat singed him even from his makeshift shelter behind a rubble pile, sweat stinging his eyes. He was safe, for now, but the creature's rampage echoed in the screams that rose from the city below. Its baleful gaze swept across the landscape, a challenge etched in fire.

He was no hero. He was a survivor, driven by the primal urge to get as far away as possible. Each minute dragged like an eternity as the dragon carved its fiery path, his power recharging excruciatingly slow. When it finally did, he didn't use it to fight. He used it to flee. With the world frozen once more, he sprinted with the desperation of a cornered animal, putting precious distance between himself and the devastation.

He reached his cramped apartment, its familiar dinginess now a haven. His mother's face, etched with worry, dissolved into relief at the sight of him. Words failed him, the experience too surreal to articulate. All he knew was that his life, once defined by his level, had irrevocably shifted. He wasn't a hero, but he was no longer powerless. He had been gifted with a responsibility, a power he desperately needed to understand.

The city's defense fell to others, the higher levels and the warriors sworn to protect it. He was just a boy, a flicker in the darkness, but a flicker with the potential to blaze. For now, survival was enough. But within him, a spark ignited, a whisper of what he could become. The boy who stopped time had a choice to make, and the world below waited, holding its breath.

(A/N: First chapter of my original, will post a few more later on. Wish me luck!)

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Exlor · Ciencia ficción
4.6
6798 Chs

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