Chapter 0

The morning light barely penetrated through the heavy, dark curtains that Neron had forgotten to fully draw the night before. The room was shrouded in semi-darkness, its silence only gently disturbed by the hum of streetcars somewhere below. The alarm clock rang precisely at seven in the morning, although Neron couldn't remember the last time he needed that alarm to wake up on time. After all, there was no real reason to. Time seemed to be nothing more than an unending loop, aimless and without purpose.

He opened his eyes with difficulty, rubbing his face, the cold, unpleasant skin reminding him of the sleepless hours of the night. He lay on his side, staring blankly at the wall. For a long moment, he considered closing his eyes again and ignoring the whole world, but the inner voice— the same one that hated laziness— compelled him to get up.

He moved sluggishly, as if rising from bed required superhuman effort. When he finally sat on the edge of the mattress, he remained still for a moment, gathering his strength. The room around him was full of chaos—a pile of clothes on the floor, unwashed dishes on the desk, empty cans of drinks, and on the computer screen, a cursor still blinking, waiting for some activity. "Another day," he thought with a heavy sigh. "Will anything change today?" He knew the answer was obvious, but that glimmer of hope still lurking within him compelled him to ask the question every day.

Instead of starting anything constructive, his first action was to approach the computer. He moved the mouse, and the monitor sprang to life, revealing the startup screen. "At least the computer is reliable," he thought, though even that notion seemed trivial. He clicked on the icon to launch his favorite game, but instead of starting to play, he slowly moved toward the window.

He opened it in one swift motion, and the crisp autumn air immediately hit his face, sending a brief shiver down his spine. From the drawer next to the sill, he took out a pack of cigarettes, automatically lighting one, as if it were a ritual. He inhaled deeply, staring at the bleak view outside. In winter, it was a gray housing estate; in summer, a bit greener, but at that moment, every landscape seemed equally depressing to him.

His face, reflected in the glass, was neutral. Perhaps even too neutral for his age. At 24, his features were already weary, as if life had affected him more than his peers. His short, black hair, usually in slight disarray, was now somewhat slicked down from sleep, and his blue eyes, which once might have sparkled with the promise of something greater, had lost their former luster. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much, despite having, by all accounts, never seen anything significant in life.

He wasn't unattractive—on the contrary. Many might say he had a certain rugged masculinity that could develop into something more over time. But something in his gaze, something in his quiet, subdued manner always repelled. It was as if he wore an invisible cloak that read "stay away." Women? They always sensed it instinctively. He could have been more, but too often he was seen as someone unable to express himself, someone withdrawn, maybe even a bit frightening in his silence.

"What do you expect?" his thoughts wandered. "You never knew how to talk to them. You never fit in with them. Neither with the boys nor the girls. You've always been alone." The smoke from his cigarette lazily drifted toward the ceiling, and he continued his inner monologue. School... that's where it all began. Before, as a child, he believed the world had something more for him. He thought the future might bring something better, that he just had to survive. But then school came.

In school, he learned one thing: that he was different. He wasn't someone who easily blended into a group. He stood out. And that attracted attention—the wrong kind of attention. Laughter, mockery, small comments that over time turned into shoving, humiliation. "At least I was never beaten," he smiled bitterly at his memories. "They didn't have to. Words were enough."

He took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs longer than necessary. He had never had a girlfriend. "24 years... How did this happen?" He couldn't find the answer. Not that he hadn't tried, but everything he ever said, everything he tried to build in relationships, seemed to just come out wrong. Words were his enemy. He remained silent too often, spoke too little. And when he did speak, he felt as if he wasn't talking to people, but to walls.

School was over, but the anger that had begun to grow there hadn't faded. On the contrary. Over time, it became part of him, the foundation upon which he built his adult life. And life? Life hadn't changed. While others around him made friends, found partners, and built careers, he sank deeper into his dark thoughts. The aggression he once managed to suppress was now escalating. He had stopped listening to the music that once calmed him. Instead, he began to listen to something that could express his inner fury: heavy guitar riffs, aggressive vocals, lyrics that spoke of pain, anger, and violence. It soothed him. In some way, he felt understood. "Finally, someone is singing what I feel."

But it wasn't enough. Those thoughts that had once been mere fleeting fantasies were now daily companions. Fantasies of revenge, of sadistic acts that could bring him relief. He was acutely aware of how much he wanted his enemies to suffer. "They deserve it... They deserve the pain." These thoughts terrified him, but at the same time, they were the only thing that gave him any sense of control. He knew he had to hide them. The world would never accept such a truth about him. So he wore a mask. Outwardly, he was just a quiet, withdrawn man, but inwardly he was filled with a rage that simmered like hot lava, ready to erupt.

Fantasy became his escape. Books where magic met violence, where heroes exacted bloody revenge, offered him solace. He could lose himself in them, forget his weakness, and transform for a moment into someone powerful. Video games, where he could embody antiheroes who destroyed everything around them, became his way of experiencing emotions he couldn't reveal in reality. Anime, filled with violence, tragedy, and suffering, drew him in deeper. Those sadistic images became more than just entertainment for him. They were like a mirror in which he could see his hidden desires.

"After all... who says this is wrong?" he thought, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill. The last wisp of smoke rose upward, dissipating in the air. He looked at the ash, which now reminded him of his own life—gray, dead, meaningless.

Having put out the cigarette, he slowly made his way to the kitchen. His footsteps echoed softly on the cold floor, and he felt another hour of the day begin to seep in, just like the smoke he had just released from his lungs.

Neron entered the kitchen slowly, still feeling the weight of the morning lethargy. The smell of stale air mixed with the aroma of old coffee. His mother stood at the counter, preparing breakfast, while his father sat at the table, reading the newspaper. Their presence was a daily reality he had never fully reconciled with. He didn't want confrontation, but their presence wouldn't allow him full peace. On one hand, he loved them; after all, they were his parents. But on the other hand, every day he felt they were one of the reasons his life weighed so heavily on him.

"Neron, take out the trash," his mother addressed him coldly, without looking him in the eye.

It was another routine request, but he sensed something more in her tone—perhaps resentment, perhaps exhaustion. In any case, it was something that always weighed him down. Even though he fulfilled his duties at home, even those simple commands seemed to express their dissatisfaction with his life.

His father, sitting at the table, muttered something under his breath before throwing out a quick, brusque question:

"When are you finally going to find a job? It's been another month, and you're still just sitting at home."

Neron felt a pang in his heart. He knew his father was right; his unemployment was a source of their frustration. But every time he heard it, he felt as if his worth diminished. Work felt like a distant dream, as if the world didn't want him among its ranks. "As if it were that easy…" he thought, but he didn't dare voice it. His father's words, though spoken with concern, sounded like an accusation to him.

He reminded himself that he loved his parents. There had been times when they laughed together over meals, watched TV, or talked about simple things. Those fleeting moments when he felt part of a family were becoming increasingly rare. Usually, when he was with them, he felt as if he were trapped in an emotional pit from which he couldn't escape. They dragged him down, even though they never did it consciously.

Instead of responding, Neron sighed softly, bending down to pick up the trash bag. His mother glanced at him briefly, as if waiting for any reaction, but he remained silent. He left the kitchen, feeling their gazes on his back. Outside, the air was cool, almost refreshing compared to the stifling atmosphere of the apartment. He disposed of the trash, staring blankly at the bin as if the sight of the waste held some symbolic meaning. "This is what I am... trash," crossed his mind, but he immediately tried to push it away. He returned to the apartment, feeling a growing weight in his chest.

When he closed the door to his room, relief washed over him. It was the only place where he could breathe. His room was his refuge, his little fortress, from which he didn't have to emerge until his mother called him for more household chores. He sat down at the computer, booted up his favorite game, and for a moment lost himself in a virtual world that offered him a sliver of relief. "Here, I can be whoever I want... no one judges me here," he thought, the keyboard clicking rhythmically under his fingers.

However, the game didn't provide him with full escape. He quickly set the controller aside and reached for a book, immersing himself in fictional worlds where heroes experienced tragedies, revenge, and triumphs he had never known. Each story he read held something he craved—brutality, final solutions, often sadistic. The themes of revenge drew him like a magnet. He felt he could be one of those heroes if only his life were different. Breaks from reading were sporadic—when his mother called him for small tasks like dusting or washing dishes. Yet he always returned to his room, to his oasis of silence.

The social communicator was one of the few windows to the world that he had left. There, he conversed with people he had never met in real life, but with whom he felt a certain bond. These conversations were sometimes funny, sometimes nonsensical, but they provided him with a momentary relief from the daily grind. "At least here I can be myself," he thought. But even these chats were just a temporary solution; they didn't change anything in the long run. As soon as the computer screen went dark, the same loneliness returned.

After hours spent in this endless routine, something strange began to happen. The computer, without any warning, suddenly shut down. Neron furrowed his brows, staring at the monitor. "What's going on? Another malfunction?" he thought, reaching for the mouse, but it didn't respond. He sat still for a moment, feeling a growing sense of unease.

Then he noticed something odd. A green glow began to seep from the corner of the room, subtle yet distinct. His gaze immediately fixed on the strange phenomenon. It lasted only a few seconds before he realized that the glow was not only filling the room—it was starting to consume everything around him.

First, the chair next to the desk disappeared. Moments later, the table began to vanish, and then the computer. Neron stared wide-eyed, his heart pounding like crazy. "What the hell…?" His thoughts were scattered, and panic began to take control of his body.

Every object in the room slowly faded into the air, as if it were merely an illusion. The sight quickened his breath, and his hands began to tremble. He tried to stand, but his legs felt like lead. He screamed. The cry echoed within the four walls of the room but brought him no relief. "What's happening?! This can't be real!" he screamed in his mind as his heart raced faster.

The glow consumed everything: clothes, books, games, until he started losing his footing. The walls melted away before his eyes, the floor beneath him began to disappear. The clock on the wall, which had been ticking uninterrupted for years, suddenly ceased to exist.

"No, no, no…" he repeated, trying to take a deep breath, but the view unfolding before him wouldn't let him calm down. Each familiar thing was vanishing in the company of the green glow, and he could do nothing to stop it. Even his own clothes began to dissolve until he stood completely naked.

And then everything vanished. The room, the furniture, the floor—everything ceased to exist. Only a black void remained. Darkness enveloped him on all sides. He stood there, naked, alone, and his scream disappeared into that impenetrable space.

He was alone, in nothingness.

A blinding green light exploded around him, as if a thousand suns had burst forth in an instant. Neron, shaken, screamed in pain and shock.

"Fuck!" he spat through clenched teeth, trying to shield his eyes with his hands.

The pulsating light surged into his senses, violently erasing the remnants of the black void that had surrounded him just moments before. His heart raced wildly, and chaotic thoughts swirled in his mind. "What the hell is happening?! Where am I?! What the fuck was that?"—he frantically tried to comprehend the situation.

After a few moments of blinding brightness, the light began to fade slowly, and his vision gradually returned to normal. Blinking hard, he winced as he looked ahead, trying to understand what he was seeing. As the image sharpened in his eyes, he noticed he was standing on something solid—hard, cold, and richly adorned. Beneath his feet stretched a floor that seemed to be made of porcelain tiles he had never seen before. The decorations were incredibly intricate and complex, as if each tile were a separate work of art. Saturated with a green glow, they not only reflected light but seemed to emit it, as if powered by some unknown, powerful energy.

Neron looked at his bare feet, feeling a slight chill emanating from this incredible surface. His breath was still quick, but his heart began to calm down. "What is this place?"—he thought, analyzing every detail of the strange surroundings. The whole situation felt so unreal that for a moment he wondered if he was in some damned dream.

As he looked around, he noticed that although the floor was clearly visible, the space around him remained shrouded in thick green mist. Nevertheless, something entirely different caught his attention. In the distance, before him, something monumental began to emerge.

At the far end of the room, the boundaries of which he could not discern, stood an enormous throne, clearly made of something he had never seen before. The throne appeared to be shaped from hundreds, perhaps thousands of souls, twisting and intertwining in endless agony. Each of these souls, encased in translucent green clouds, emanated a strange, ominous aura. Some faces seemed to be in torment, others twisted in grimaces of helpless rage, but all were caught in the eternal whirl of this bizarre tangle, forming the throne.

On the throne sat a figure that at first glance resembled a human, but its form was something more—something inhuman. It was a powerful, monumental being, composed of pure shadow, as if made from green smoke that danced around it, outlining a massive armor. The contours of the figure were defined by ominous, colossal armor—spiked pauldrons, a helmet with openings instead of eyes, which seemed to absorb light, reminiscent of a dark lord from the most terrifying fantasy tales.

Everything this being represented was pure majesty of destruction and dominance. The green glow around it flickered like flames, giving it an even more ghastly appearance. Each of its movements, though subtle, seemed to vibrate with the power it exuded. Neron could have sworn he heard a faint moan of the souls imprisoned in that throne somewhere in the distance, as if begging for release.

He stood there, paralyzed, unable to move, and the heart that had momentarily calmed began to race again. "Is it possible that I'm in some game? In a fanfic? This is..."—he couldn't comprehend it. The whole situation reminded him of scenes from his favorite stories. The being before him looked as if it had stepped out of one of his darkest imaginings. Despite the fear, he felt a rush of excitement—what was happening was like the realization of his deepest fantasies.

But before he could delve deeper into these thoughts, a deep, powerful voice pierced through the silence.

— Kneel.

Here's the translation:

The words struck him with the force of a hammer. Their tone was irrefutable—like they were uttered by the very force governing this world, beyond any discussion. The excitement he had felt moments ago was instantly replaced by fear. His heart leaped into his throat, and his legs began to tremble. He tried to control his body, but he had no power over it. Before this being, there was no will to resist. His body, as if it were a mere puppet, fell to its knees, as if the entity on the throne were pulling the strings.

Neron, naked and defenseless, looked ahead. Fear penetrated every part of his being, yet he couldn't tear his gaze away from the entity sitting before him on the throne. He felt he was in the presence of something he couldn't even describe—something ultimate.

Neron trembled, still on his knees, trying to collect his thoughts. Suddenly, in the hand of the mysterious being on the throne, a document appeared, which—like its creator—seemed to be made of green, translucent shadow. The document pulsed with a faint glow, moving subtly, as if it had a life of its own. For a moment, an awkward silence fell. Neron was clueless about what was happening, and his heart began to race again. Thoughts swirled in his head. "What the hell is this?!" he tried to grasp. But no answers came.

The mysterious entity lifted its gaze from the document and looked directly at him, its eyes—rather, dark voids that seemed to devour light—piercing into Neron with an indescribable chill.

— Useless — it intoned with a deep, resonant voice, as if the words were spoken by the ocean crashing against the rocks.

Neron froze. That one word pierced his heart like a dagger. He felt anger swelling within him, like a flame trying to ignite, though stifled by fear and helplessness. "Useless?!" he thought with fury. "Who are you to judge me?!" Images of years filled with rage and sorrow flooded his mind—school bullying, loneliness, the constant feeling of being a nobody, and now this unknown, powerful being dared to call him useless? His hands trembled into tight fists. In his mind, he envisioned what it would be like to leap at this shadow lord, to tear it apart, to destroy it.

But anger was quickly quelled by understanding. He stood before something he couldn't comprehend, before an entity whose power surpassed anything he had ever encountered. Any attempt at resistance would be futile. "It would kill me with a single motion. It would devour me, like the darkness that surrounds it." This thought extinguished the fire of anger, leaving him helpless.

Before he could drown in this storm of emotions, the mysterious figure interrupted his thoughts.

— Look at me.

That command left no room for dissent. Just as before, when his body had fallen to its knees, now Neron's head automatically rose, directing his gaze toward the entity on the throne. He could do nothing about it—his body seemed to act of its own accord, surrendering to the will of this being. His eyes, despite wanting to look away, were fixed on the figure that seemed to attract every particle of light and darkness around it.

The mysterious entity straightened on the throne, and its deep voice filled the entire space.

—I am Asmodar, the God of Void, Destruction, and Creation. The one who birthed everything from nothing and can return it to nothing. I am the force that leads the chaos of the universe, while also being the creator of order. Every existence in the universe exists because of me or in spite of me. No life, no thought, escapes my influence.

His words were delivered with such certainty that Neron felt like a minuscule speck, barely noticeable on the vast cosmic stage. The tone in which Asmodar spoke was filled with narcissistic superiority, as if every word he uttered were the absolute truth of the universe, independent of whether anyone understood it. This being, sitting before him, looked at the world from the perspective of an immortal who shapes and destroys at will, without a shadow of doubt.

Neron could only stare, unable to react. "Is this... God?" he thought in confusion, his mind still chaotically swirling. "A God... of Void, Destruction, and Creation? What does he want from me?"

Asmodar smiled slightly, seeing the bewilderment in Neron's eyes.

—You, Neron, are... a disappointment. — The voice of the God was tinged with a clear tone of contempt. — You have never fulfilled your potential. You were never who you could have been. You were planted like a seed in poor soil, where you couldn't grow. You are like a flower that never bloomed because the surroundings did not allow it to flourish. Your life was... improperly arranged, which is why you never achieved the fullness of what you could have accomplished.

These words, though still judgmental, sounded somewhat gentler. As if Asmodar, despite not considering Neron worthy, saw something more in him—a potential that never had the chance to manifest.

—That is why you are here. — The God continued. — Somehow, you have caught my attention. Perhaps it is your dark thoughts, your fascinations with destruction and revenge. Or perhaps... something more. But it doesn't matter much. You have been chosen.

Neron, though still terrified, felt a sudden surge of excitement. "Chosen?" The idea that he could be someone special conjured images from his favorite fanfics, where heroes were transported to magical worlds, becoming powerful wizards or warriors, gaining incredible powers. Maybe this was the moment he had waited for his entire life? Maybe this was his chance to become something more?

But before these thoughts could fully develop, Asmodar interrupted his hopes, as if reading his mind.

— Don't think you'll get what you dreamed of. — He said, amusement lacing his voice. — You won't receive the extraordinary powers you admired in your stories and games. Nothing is that simple. In the world I'm sending you to, the law of karma reigns. The amount you've accumulated in your life will determine your power.

Neron felt a cold shiver down his spine. "Karma?" That sounded... bad. Very bad.

Asmodar, with a devilish smile, raised his hand, pointing at Neron.

— And you have very little of it. Almost none. Your life has been barren, without significant achievements, without meaningful contributions to the world. If it weren't for the books that millions read, which gave them a brief escape from their daily troubles... you would have nothing. — Asmodar tilted his head, examining Neron's reaction. — And now you have barely a few karma points.

Neron froze.

Still reeling from what he heard, Neron felt an increasing tension. Each passing second in this green void filled him with a growing sense of helplessness. Asmodar, sitting on his grotesque throne, observed him with clear amusement, as if relishing the chaos in Neron's thoughts.

— You now stand before a choice — said Asmodar, his deep voice vibrating through the space. — Although your karma points are minuscule, I have a proposal for you. You can choose one of four things. It could be a magical item corresponding to your amount of karma. It could be a special power you can use in the world I'm sending you to. Or you could choose a magical affinity — something that may initially be modest but could develop into something powerful with the right training over time.

His words were dramatic, and the way he spoke made the air tense, as if each choice would irreversibly impact Neron's life.

Still on his knees, Neron felt his heart begin to race. A choice. He felt his thoughts starting to work at full speed, trying to weigh all the options.

"A magical item... What a useless option," he thought. With his karma points so low, even if he chose a magical item, what could he get? Probably something barely functional, something that would have minimal significance. "No. That's off the table."

Neron then thought about a special power. "Power... that sounds good. But... what powers would I have to choose from?" He decided to ask.

— What special powers could I receive? — he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Asmodar smiled, as if he had anticipated this question.

— Ah, special powers... — he began, not hiding a touch of amusement. — With your amount of karma... you could gain the ability to heal minor wounds, or the skill to transform a small amount of energy into heat. Perhaps something as modest as the ability to communicate with small animals...

Neron felt his heart sink. "What a joke... Is he mocking me?" Each of these powers was laughably weak. Where was the incredible power he had always wanted? He had the feeling that Asmodar was fully aware of how hopeless these options were but was deliberately prolonging his torment. "That's off the table too."

That left magical affinity. His last lifeline. "That could have some potential," he thought. The decision was starting to clarify.

— And what about magical affinity? — he asked, even though he knew it was his only option that held any hope.

Asmodar tilted his head slightly, as if evaluating Neron before he answered.

— Magical affinity... Due to your low level of karma, you can choose one of the weaker affinities. You have the choice of four elements: fire, water, earth, and air. Each of these affinities, at first, will be weak. But if you learn to use it and develop it, it could become something much greater.

A subtle tone in Asmodar's voice could be interpreted as a hint of hope. That was enough to spark a flicker of optimism in Neron. Perhaps, with the right effort and determination, he could transform this modest affinity into something truly powerful.

"Fire sounds tempting, but... I'm not sure if it's for me." He thought intensely, analyzing his options. "Air? Control over the wind... too abstract." He dismissed that thought almost immediately. "Earth? Stable, but... that's not what I'm looking for."

Water seemed the most promising. "Water magic... it's not just water. It could be control over ice, blood magic, or even the strength of waves." The thought of blood magic convinced him. The sense of control that might come with water magic spoke to him like nothing else.

— I choose water. — he finally said, a note of determination in his voice.

Asmodar smiled, and his eyes gleamed.

— Wise choice. Water is a force of nature, flowing, changing, adapting to every shape and situation. It can be gentle like a stream, but also destructive like a storm. This affinity can become a powerful tool in your hands over time.

Neron felt something stir within him. Perhaps, despite everything, he would find his place. Maybe he would finally have a chance to become someone.

Asmodar looked at him with a satisfied expression, as if he were pleased that Neron had made a decision that aligned with his plans.

— Now you will be sent to a world full of magic and monsters, as I mentioned before. — Asmodar continued. — A random place, a random time... It doesn't matter. The world to which I send you awaits you.

He closed the document, which dissolved in his hands, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Then he added, almost casually:

— But as a gesture of goodwill... I will give you a piece of advice.

A mysterious smile appeared on his shadowy face, and his voice took on a sinister tone.

— Show aggression.

These words hung in the air, as if they bore the weight of a final verdict. Before Neron could ask what Asmodar meant, he was again blinded by the bright green light.