The great hall of the Olivia estate stood in silence, every eye fixed on the boy who should have been nothing. The testing chamber—an ancient relic said to measure every known ability—was destroyed. Its core crystal lay shattered on the ground, glowing fragments scattered like dying stars across polished stone.
And in the middle of that ruin knelt Peterson. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his right hand glowing faintly with streaks of silver light. The mark etched across his skin shimmered like constellations, shifting in shapes that no one could name.
One word echoed through the hall.
Infinity.
Gasps. Murmurs. Fear.
"Impossible…" one elder whispered, his face pale.
"No human can bear all affinities," muttered another, voice trembling.
"This isn't a gift," someone else hissed. "It's a curse."
Peterson barely heard them. His mind reeled, his vision unfocused. His arm felt heavy, burning with the strange energy still coursing beneath his skin.
What… what is happening to me?
Tom, standing at the edge of the ruined platform, shook with rage. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood.
"This—this is a trick!" Tom's voice cracked through the chaos, full of venom. "He's nothing but a weakling. A disgrace! How dare you call him chosen!"
The whispers grew louder, confusion spreading like wildfire. But before the crowd could break into chaos, a voice—low, calm, and sharper than steel—cut through the noise.
"Silence."
The matriarch of the Olivia family descended from her throne. Tall, cloaked in white that shimmered faintly in the hall's light, she moved with a grace that seemed more divine than human. Every Hunter, every Supporter, every Larker present lowered their eyes, trembling.
Her gaze fell upon Peterson. Not with anger, nor with pity, but with an unreadable weight that pressed against his chest like an invisible hand.
"Peterson Olivia," she said, her words carrying like thunder across the hall. "Infinity. A mark not seen in centuries. Spoken of only in myth. A blessing—or a curse—from the White Void Queen herself."
Peterson's lips parted, but no words came. His throat felt locked, his breath shallow.
He didn't want this. He didn't even understand it. Yet the mark burned, and deep inside, that voice—so faint before—now whispered again.
"Awaken. Break the chains."
The matriarch's eyes narrowed slightly, but only for a moment. Then her voice hardened.
"We will not take a machine's word alone. Power must be proven in blood. If you are truly chosen… you will survive."
She raised her hand. "Bring him to the trial grounds."
Minutes later, Peterson stood in the depths beneath the estate, where the Olivia family's private training grounds stretched wide and grim. The chamber was massive, its stone floor etched with ancient runes that glowed faint blue. Enormous sealed gates lined the walls, each thrumming faintly with void energy.
From the shadows above, Hunters gathered to watch. Their faces betrayed no kindness—only curiosity, fear, or outright disdain. Peterson could feel their gazes stabbing into his back.
Among them stood Tom, his smirk cruel, eyes burning with hatred. "This is it, brother," he muttered under his breath. "Your death."
The matriarch appeared on a platform above, her cloak flowing behind her. "Release the gate," she commanded.
At once, one of the runed seals cracked. Black mist bled into the chamber, thick and suffocating. The air grew colder, heavy with dread. From within crawled twisted figures, humanoid yet grotesque—limbs too long, jaws unhinged, eyes glowing like hot coals.
There were twelve. Enough to kill even trained recruits.
The matriarch's voice echoed. "Your trial: survive."
Peterson's heart hammered. His legs shook. He wanted to scream, to beg, to run. But he couldn't move.
One of the creatures screeched, lunging forward with claws raised high. Peterson's body reacted before his mind could. He lifted his arm—
CRACK!
A pulse of invisible force exploded outward. The monster was flung across the chamber, its bones breaking as it slammed into stone.
The audience gasped.
"He pushed it back—without touching it?"
"That energy… I've never seen anything like it."
Peterson stared at his trembling hand. He hadn't meant to do that. He hadn't known he could.
But the others weren't waiting. The remaining creatures shrieked and swarmed him from all directions.
Peterson's chest burned. The mark on his hand pulsed violently, each beat matching his racing heart.
"Do not fear," the whisper grew louder. "You are Infinity."
His vision blurred. The monsters closed in.
Something inside him snapped.
The ground split beneath his feet as a wave of silver void-light burst outward. The shockwave annihilated the creatures instantly, their bodies unraveling into ash.
But the power didn't stop.
It spread like wildfire, tearing through the chamber, cracking stone, ripping runes from the ground. The watching Hunters cried out as they were hurled back. Even Tom staggered, shielding his face from the blinding light.
And in the center of it all stood Peterson, eyes glowing faintly silver, his chest heaving. The mark on his hand blazed like a second sun.
Then, silence.
The energy dissipated. The light faded. What remained was ruin—shattered walls, destroyed runes, the scent of dust and smoke.
Peterson collapsed to his knees, gasping, trembling, horrified. "I… I didn't mean to. I… I can't control it…"
For a long moment, no one spoke. Even the matriarch seemed unsettled, her expression hard but shadowed by something else.
"This power…" she murmured. "It is not human."
Tom broke the silence, his voice raw with fury. "He's a danger! If you let him live, he'll kill us all!"
"Silence." The matriarch's voice lashed through the chamber.
Tom gritted his teeth, but obeyed. His glare never left Peterson, burning with hatred deep enough to scar eternity.
The matriarch looked down at Peterson. "You are one of the Voidwalkers. Whether blessing or curse, your existence belongs to the will of the Queen. You will be trained. You will be controlled. And if you falter—if you lose yourself—I will end you myself."
Her words rang heavy as chains.
That night, Peterson sat alone in his chamber, trembling. His body ached, but it was nothing compared to the storm in his mind. He could still feel it—the rush of power, the destruction, the screams.
He pressed his hands over his ears, but it didn't stop the memory of that voice.
"You are chosen."
"I never wanted this…" he whispered into the dark. His voice cracked, his eyes stung with tears. "So why me? Why… when I never asked for anything?"
No answer. Only silence.
But as he lay there, staring at the faint glow of the Infinity mark on his hand, he knew his life could never return to what it was.
He had stepped into something far beyond himself. Something that would either make him the savior of this world—or its destroyer.
And somewhere, far away, in the unseen reaches of the void, something stirred.
Something that smiled.