Land Of The Beginning

…!

Jolt!

Arpheus shot upright, his chest heaving as though he'd just surfaced from drowning. His breath came in short gasps, panic clinging to his every movement. For a long, agonizing second, he sat frozen, unable to make sense of what had just happened.

Then he blinked, his senses catching up to him.

What is this place?

Everything around him was blindingly white, an endless void stretching out in every direction. No walls, no sky, no ground—just an infinite, empty expanse that seemed to stretch beyond the edges of reality itself.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "W-where the heck am I?"

His words echoed back at him, the sound twisting and distorting in the vast emptiness. It was like speaking into a void that wanted to swallow him whole.

Arpheus scrambled to his feet, his body tense. There was no wind, no noise, no sign of life—nothing to ground him in reality.

And then…

A voice.

"You are in my throne room."

Arpheus's heart nearly stopped.

The voice was deep, resonant, and filled with an authority that made the very air hum with power. It felt as though it had been carved from the fabric of existence itself, firm and absolute.

…!

Arpheus spun around, his movements jerky, his instincts screaming at him to run.

His eyes widened as they locked onto the source of the voice—a colossal figure that towered above him. The being was impossibly huge, so large that Arpheus was barely the size of its shoe. Looking up at it made him feel like an ant staring at a mountain.

The figure sat upon an immense throne that seemed to be carved from black stone, its edges jagged and raw, as if it had been ripped straight from the earth itself. The figure's body shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its features obscured by shadows that shifted and writhed like living smoke.

But the most striking—and horrifying—detail was the crown.

It wasn't an ordinary crown, no. This crown was nailed directly into the figure's head, the sharp spikes piercing deep into its skull. Blood seeped from the wounds in slow, endless streams, dripping down its face and pooling at its feet.

Arpheus's stomach churned at the sight, a wave of nausea crashing over him.

"What… What are you?" he managed to croak, his voice trembling with anxiety.

The figure tilted its head slightly, its movements slow and deliberate, like a predator studying its prey.

"I am X-X-X-X," it said, its voice reverberating through the void. "Your father. Your creator."

The weight of those words hit Arpheus like a hammer. He staggered back a step, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.

"My… father?" His tone was flat, almost disbelieving.

The figure leaned forward slightly, its massive frame casting an oppressive shadow over him.

"What is troubling you, my child?" it asked, its voice softer now, almost gentle.

Arpheus bit his lip, his mind racing. "A-am I… dead?"

For a moment, there was silence. And then, the figure laughed.

It wasn't the kind of laugh that brought comfort or warmth. No, this laugh was deep and booming, shaking the very air around them. It was a laugh that carried the weight of countless eons, echoing with a power that felt too vast for any mortal to comprehend.

Arpheus flinched, his hands clenching into fists. "D-did I say something wrong?" he asked, his voice shaky, unsure if he'd offended the towering being.

The laughter faded, and the figure shook its head slowly.

"Oh no, my child," it said, its tone calming. "You did nothing wrong."

Arpheus exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"You are not dead," the figure continued, its voice as steady as the earth.

…

Arpheus blinked. "Wait… What?"

He stared up at the figure, his confusion written all over his face. "What do you mean I'm not dead? I'm pretty sure I fell off that cliff! I remember it!"

The figure let out a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling through the void. "Ah, yes. You did fall. But I intervened. I saved you from death."

Arpheus's eyes widened. "You… saved me?"

The figure nodded. "Indeed."

For a moment, Arpheus just stood there, his mind struggling to process everything. Then, with a long, exhausted sigh, he sank to his knees.

"So… I'm alive?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," the figure replied simply.

Sigh…

Relief washed over Arpheus like a tidal wave. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders sagging as the tension drained from his body. "Thank God…"

But his relief was short-lived.

The figure's next words made his blood run cold.

"But in return," it said, its tone shifting, "you will take my place as X-X-X-X."

Arpheus froze.

"…What?" His voice cracked as he looked up at the figure, his face pale.

"You will inherit my throne," the figure said, its gaze unwavering. "You will become what I am."

Arpheus's jaw dropped. He scrambled to his feet, shaking his head violently. "N-no! I can't do that! I'm just a human! I'm not… whatever you are!"

The figure's gaze didn't waver. "Yes, you can," it said firmly. "You are my child. My successor. My power is yours to inherit."

Arpheus staggered back a step, his mind racing. Me? Take his place? How does that even make sense?

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. The figure's presence was suffocating, its authority absolute.

"…"

He clenched his fists, his thoughts spinning in a chaotic spiral.

But… if I take his power… If I become him… I'll be stronger.

Stronger than anyone.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't know if it was fear or excitement.

"A-are you sure you want me to do this?" he asked hesitantly, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," the figure said without hesitation.

Arpheus swallowed hard. His mind was a whirlwind of doubt and uncertainty, but deep down, he knew there was only one answer he could give.

"…Then I'll do it," he said finally, his voice trembling but resolute.

The figure's gaze softened, its immense presence radiating approval.

"Alright," the figure rumbled, its voice echoing through the endless white void.

It was a single word, but it carried a weight so heavy it pressed down on Arpheus like a mountain. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing.

But then the figure continued.

"But…" Its voice dropped, low and deliberate, each syllable like a stone sinking into deep waters. "You will have to learn how to use my powers first."

Arpheus stiffened, his fists clenching instinctively. "Learn? How?"

The figure leaned forward slightly, the shadows around its form shifting like restless smoke. Its glowing eyes bore down on him, unblinking.

"You will be teleported into a dungeon," it said. The words were simple, but the way it said them sent a shiver crawling up Arpheus's spine. "Your only goal will be to clear it."

Arpheus froze.

What?

"A dungeon?" he repeated, his voice faltering.

"Yes," the figure replied, its tone calm yet unyielding. "There, you will face trials designed to push you to your limits. Only by overcoming them will you awaken the full extent of your power."

The air seemed to grow colder, the weight of the figure's words sinking into Arpheus like icy needles. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow.

Clear a dungeon? I barely survived falling off a cliff!

He forced himself to speak. "A-are you sure I can even do that?" His voice cracked, and he winced at how small he sounded.

The figure didn't move.

"You doubt yourself, my child," it said, its tone carrying no judgment, only certainty. "But you must understand. You are no longer weak."

Arpheus's eyes widened slightly.

"You are me," the figure continued, its presence growing heavier with each word. "My blood runs through your veins. My power resides within you. You carry the essence of the Creator."

The Creator.

The words hit him like a hammer, the sheer enormity of what they meant making his head spin.

Me? The essence of the Creator? That's insane.

"But…" He hesitated, looking down at his trembling hands. "I don't feel strong. I don't feel like I can… like I can do this."

The figure's gaze softened, just barely.

"Strength is not about how you feel, Arpheus," it said. "It is about what you choose to do."

For a moment, there was silence. The kind of silence that wasn't empty but brimming with unspoken truths.

Arpheus clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

He's right. I can't just stand here doubting myself forever.

He exhaled shakily and nodded. "Alright… Father." The word felt strange on his tongue, but he forced himself to say it. "I'll do it."

The figure straightened, its towering form radiating authority once again.

"Good," it said simply.

The void around them began to shift. The endless whiteness flickered, as though it were struggling to maintain its form.

But the figure wasn't done.

"From this moment on," it said, its voice resonating with a power that made the very air hum, "you will cast aside the name you once carried."

Arpheus blinked. "What do you mean?"

The figure's glowing eyes locked onto his, unyielding and absolute.

"You are no longer Arpheus," it said. "That name belongs to a mortal—a man who fell from a cliff, broken and weak."

Arpheus's breath hitched.

"But you," the figure continued, "are no longer that man. You have been reborn. You are something greater now."

The air around them crackled, charged with an energy that felt ancient and boundless.

The figure's next words echoed through the void like a thunderclap.

"From now on, you will be known as…"

Arpheus's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing.

The figure paused, its presence growing even more overwhelming.

"…Luceon Astrivanteos," it declared, each syllable carrying the weight of a thousand lifetimes. "The Forsaken Deity."

…

The void erupted in a blaze of light, swallowing everything.