I was snatched—torn from my reality by a force I couldn't fight. Dropped into this new world. It's a twisted irony: I survived the streets only to be abducted by the divine machine.
The legendary Truck-kun might have missed me, but the universe found a way to take me anyway.
When it first appeared it was a system that looked like the ones in novels, anime and games. My brain was scrambling, misfiring, trying to make sense of the adrenaline still flooding my system. That's all this was. Shock. Trauma. Some kind of dissociative episode brought on by near-death terror.
[SYSTEM INSTALLATION: SUCCESS ✔]
[REINCARNATION PROTOCOL: INITIATED ⚡]
[INTEGRATION: IN PROGRESS… ░▒▓]
The windows felt real. They hung there in the air, crisp and impossibly solid, like they'd always been part of the world and I was only just now seeing them. The text was perfectly legible, rendered in a font that seemed both futuristic and ancient at once.
When I arrived in this new realm, I was not bestowed with memory or the gentle embrace of language. Instead, I was endowed with something far more ancient:
Understanding.
The system was also organizing my entire existence. And the worst part? I could feel it rewiring me. I was already thinking in its language, already seeing the world through its framework. My thoughts weren't my own anymore—they were being translated, categorized, optimized.
The parasite wasn't just living in my skull—it was teaching me to think like it.
I've been force-fed the architecture of this realm. This is the chronicle of its inception.
If the cosmos is a machine—its energy source is the Primordial Light, an unrefined, raw energy pulsating behind the stars. Yet, a machine cannot activate its own mechanisms, and a battery remains futile without a circuit to channel its current.
Time was not merely a measurement; it was the first creation. The universe did not give birth to Time; rather, the universe was conceived within it. When Aionyx first moved, reality followed. It provided the sequence crucial for existence: the preceding and succeeding. Without Aionyx, the cosmos would collapse into a singular, unending moment—a scream trapped in a silence. It was through Aionyx that cause and effect commenced their eternal, rhythmic interplay.
"The universe was conceived within it"? Please. If Time was the first creation, it was the first mistake. It didn't give us "existence"; it gave us expiration dates. It turned the majesty of the cosmos into a frantic, ticking countdown. Without this "Aionyx," you say the world would be a "scream trapped in silence"—well, at least that scream wouldn't have to worry about being late for work or watching everything it loves rot in slow motion.
But what's this? Where Aionyx introduced order, Verdantia introduced chaos. She didn't just construct the world of Elexers—she sculpted it from living clay. Mountains rose like jagged teeth. Rivers carved their own paths with purpose. Oceans swirled with consciousness. Forests breathed. Deserts shifted with sentient sands. The atmosphere itself thrummed with potential. From this chaos, life emerged. To Verdantia, disorder wasn't reckless—it was the engine of creation.
So the world is alive. Fantastic. Apparently even the dirt here had opinions.
The System forced a new file into my consciousness: The Saint Guardians. I watched—or rather, I remembered for the first time—how they were carved from the Primordial Light. They weren't just heroes; they were the universe's immune system.
With the advent of fear and the inception of predation and cruelty, the Saint Guardians emerged to protect the tapestry of life. Diverse in their beginnings but united in their purpose, they stand as the ultimate bulwark against the encroaching darkness.
If this world already has its Saint Guardians—its predestined Heroes and divine defenders—then what the hell am I even doing here?
Back in my office, during those long stretches of hollow free time, I saw things differently. While everyone else viewed the end of the world as the ultimate catastrophe, I saw it as something else: an opportunity.
The Undead: Let the dead walk. At least their hunger is genuine.
The War: Let borders dissolve. Survival over monotony.
The Machine: Let artificial intelligence rise or fall. I want machine intelligence that owes us nothing.
The Invasion: Let the skies tear open. Proof we're not the center of this bleak, grey universe.
I never intended to cause harm. I just craved a world that forced me to be something more than ordinary. I wanted to become the version of myself who acts decisively, who navigates chaos with confidence. In that world, amidst the ruins, I would be the one standing strong. My worth would be measured by my vitality and presence, not by performance evaluations. I would be more than a ghost haunting a life he hasn't finished living.
But reality is a thief. It didn't just stop me—it kicked my teeth in when I tried to play hero on the streets. I realized too late that I wasn't praying for the end of the world; I was praying for an escape from myself. Now I'm a hostage in a life I never chose.
That was all fantasy, of course. I wanted the anime dream—to be reborn, to start over in a world that actually had a place for me. But the universe doesn't "start over." It only does "processing."
The landscape before me looked exactly like the fantasy worlds I'd spent years studying. The kind found in the anime I used to binge. Back in university, I lived for those stories. Eventually I turned that passion into a career in animation and scriptwriting. I spent my days building worlds for a paycheck.
Dreaming of the day I'd finally helm my own series. I never actually believed in isekai—to me, it was just a trope, a narrative trick, a literal impossibility. But it seems the universe has a twisted sense of irony, and it just decided to prove me wrong.
Usually, the "snatched" kid is the missing piece, the savior everyone was waiting for. But this felt different. Looking at the vast, terrifying perfection of the System's hierarchy, I didn't feel like a hero. I felt like a glitch. Street-trash accidentally caught in the gears of a divine machine, and now the machine was grinding me down until I fit.
I was left in a forest that bled malice. If this is the price I have to pay for my ambitions, it's a cruel one.
There is so much to uncover about this world, but the details will have to wait. For now, the information will reveal itself piece by piece while I search for my purpose in this realm.
But for real…. I was supposed to be cooking supper by now. I can still smell the rain on the plastic bags I'd lugged from the supermarket. I can still feel the phantom weight of the eggs I'd been so careful not to crack. I was a man who had finally promised his mother he'd call her tomorrow. But tomorrow is a concept the System hasn't installed yet. And the eggs? They're rotting on a sidewalk in a world that no longer exists for me.