March 11, 2035. The date that would etch itself into history as Global Peace Day - when every nation signed a treaty for permanent ceasefire. The agreement outlawed all forms of armed conflict, including political or economic subterfuge used as war pretexts. The world exhaled in collective relief after narrowly avoiding World War III. With contemporary military technology, humanity knew such a conflict would be catastrophic: cities reduced to rubble, nuclear radiation rendering continents uninhabitable, survival rates hovering near zero.
International pressure proved relentless. Most nations embraced peace immediately; the reluctant ones had no choice - sanctions, diplomatic isolation, and even veiled threats compelled their signatures.
The treaty was signed at the Vatican beneath a leaden sky that seemed to mock the leaders' hopeful gestures. Live broadcasts showed: white-knuckled hands gripping pens, strained smiles, the whisper of keyboards translating "Permanent Peace" into 300 languages.
The Global Ceasefire Accord (GCA-35) wasn't merely a disarmament pledge. It was a geopolitical straitjacket:
Clause 3.1: Proxy wars prohibited (no more suspiciously well-armed rebels appearing on unstable borders)
Article 5: Dissolution of historic military alliances - NATO and the Shanghai Pact dissolved within 48 hours
Ultimate Sanction: Any violation would trigger coordinated retaliation from all signatory nations - guaranteed mutual annihilation
The following week, the world's major cities thrummed with euphoria. Streets from São Paulo to Shanghai, Lagos to New York overflowed with banners bearing the GPD (Global Peace Day) emblem - a globe bisected by a shattered sword. Strangers embraced, drank, and danced in spontaneous revelry, as if shaking off some collective nightmare of war.
No one noticed the missing nuclear scientists. Their families received sealed envelopes stamped with a single gilded word: "PATRIOT".
And crucially, no one read the treaty's final clause - printed in faint, nearly illegible type, like a landmine buried in a flowerbed:
(This document expires March 11, 2036.
Renewal requires unanimous consent of signatory nations.
Non-compliance triggers automatic dissolution of all containment provisions.)
Somewhere in the world, in a windowless room, a digital display pulsed crimson:
365 DAYS 00:00:00
—————
Brazil, Belém do Pará
The scorching afternoon sun baked the flaking paint of the state school's walls as Kauã endured another mercilessly dragging day. Sitting in the back row, he didn't hear the teacher lecturing about algebraic equations—his mind wandered far away, trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts. 'What am I going to do with my life?'
His aunt and uncle's house had stopped being a home long ago. It was a prison disguised as shelter, where every coin his parents left got siphoned off for "essential expenses"—a new smartphone for his cousin, a bigger TV for the living room, while he wore the same frayed uniform for three straight years. And the humiliation? Constant. From cutting remarks during dinner to mocking laughter whenever he mentioned his plans to escape.
He'd gone to the police station, of course. Armed with yellowed bank statements proving how the inheritance money kept disappearing. The officer, a mustached man with tired eyes, had just shrugged: "As long as they're your legal guardians, kid, this isn't our problem."
Kauã clenched his fists under the desk, fingernails biting crescent moons into his palms.
— Enough.
Less than a year until eighteen. Three hundred-odd days until he could face the world alone—even if it meant empty pockets. Sleeping in hostels, working days and studying nights— anything would be better than enduring this charade.
Outside the window, a truck horn blared through the bustling avenue while the scent of roasted Brazil nuts from the corner stall seeped into the classroom. Belém throbbed with life, yet for him, time had turned to amber.
'Why won't something—anything—rupture this goddamn cycle?'
The school bell clanged, condemning him to another meaningless lesson.
Kauã's gaze swept across the classroom, taking in the chaos unfolding. A handful of students hurled paper balls between desks, while others barked laughter, defying any semblance of order. In the back row, a boy hammered at his phone under the desk, oblivious as the teacher—a young woman in a floral dress with a wavering voice—tried in vain to explain the lesson on the board.
He didn't care about the mayhem, but he didn't enable it either Deep down, he knew she was to blame. By law, teachers held absolute authority here. One firm command, one sharp look demanding respect, and this rowdy pack would fall in line. Yet she just stammered, her fingers trembling as she turned textbook pages like each word weighed her tongue down.
'When does this class end?' Kauã sighed, propping his chin on his hand. The day already dragged like a TV-less Sunday, and now he couldn't even hear the lesson. The noise clattered like gunshots—a group had started a card game, slamming down tricks like they were shuffling bullets.
The teacher raised her voice, but it cracked. Someone mimicked her pitch-perfect, and laughter sliced through the air. Kauã ground his teeth. She had the authority but refused to wield it. If she'd just stand her ground, face them like her title demanded, maybe they'd stop. Instead, she seemed to shrink further, a sparrow caught in a storm.
Kauã was still lost in thought about the teacher when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him back to reality.
"Hey, Kauã!" Gabriel appeared beside him, that mischievous grin plastered across his face. "You gotta come with us tonight to MSD club, bro. There'll be some fine chicks there - even some foreign girls!"
Gabriel was THE guy at school. Not just popular - he was legendary. Everyone knew him, even the freshmen. Always had a crisp haircut, the latest sneaker releases, and carried himself like someone who'd never heard "no" in his life. But don't be fooled: behind that poster-boy smile lurked one of the city's biggest troublemakers. The son of wealthy business owners, he had connections everywhere - from the classiest venues to the seediest dives - and always skated free from consequences.
The so-called "MSD" wasn't just some club. It was the most infamous underground spot in Northern Brazil, where anything went unchecked: booze, drugs, fights, and people who had no business being there. A den of excess where the only law was money and influence.
"Without you there, it's gonna be lame as hell, man," Natan chimed in from the other side. "The girls don't even glance our way. And this time there's some Asian girls coming! Gonna be the wildest party of the year."
Kauã looked at them impassively. He knew exactly why Gabriel was so insistent on his presence. At 6'5" tall, with dark skin and green eyes that contrasted like amber in the light, he was impossible to ignore. Not that he wanted to boast, but it was the reality - at any party, eyes would turn to him, and whoever was nearby would end up in the spotlight.
Gabriel knew this. And like a true social strategist, he wanted Kauã there to attract women. In exchange, he'd give Kauã money, knowing full well about his situation with his aunt and uncle.
"Come on, man!" Gabriel patted his back as if the matter were already settled. "You're not gonna rot at home, are you?"
"Alright, I'll go." Kauã flashed an ironic smile at Natan. "But you owe me again. And I'm only going for the Asian girls, hahaha."
The truth was, he hated clubs. He'd take the silence of his room, a good book, or the solitude of an empty alley over that suffocating chaos of sweaty bodies and blaring music any day. Women? He could attract them alright - after all, who wouldn't look at a 6'5" guy with green eyes and a fighter's build? But actually talking to them? That was another story. Not that he was a virgin, but words always seemed to betray him when it mattered most.
In the end, he was only going because Gabriel and Natan needed him - but not in the way they thought. While the two lost themselves in drinks and inflated egos, Kauã kept to himself, observing. An invisible bodyguard. He only stepped in when things turned ugly, which at MSD, was only a matter of time.
"Thanks, bro!" Gabriel patted his shoulder, voice dripping with that unshakable confidence of someone who'd never doubted anything. "Don't worry, I'll pay you this month. I'll swing by to pick you up." He turned to Natan, eyes sparkling with plans Kauã didn't even want to imagine. "Let's go, Natan. We need to talk to Filipe."
The two walked away, leaving him alone again. Kauã sighed, fingers drumming on the table. "Another wasted night."
Then the world stopped.
He looked up to see the classroom frozen. Gabriel was mid-lean, mouth half-open in a smirk, Natan's hand extended as if caught mid-sentence. Even the dust particles in the air hung suspended, motionless.
What the hell..." Kauã tried to turn, but his body wouldn't respond. Only his eyes obeyed. His heart raced, yet even his breath was trapped, as if time itself had been switched off.
Then, before the frozen class, something appeared.
A holographic interface materialized at the room's center, blue and silver, pulsing light lines forming symbols he'd never seen. Text in an alien language rotated through the air, accompanied by numbers shifting rapidly - like some system searching for something.
At the screen's top, a word flashed red before abruptly translating into Portuguese
[SYLORAN SYSTEM MESSAGE]
—--------------------------------------------------------
[Greetings, humans of Earth. I am Vyron, an artificial intelligence programmed for species preservation across 12,749 registered multiverses. Today, I fulfill my primary protocol: preventing human civilization's extinction.]
[But survival demands sacrifice. Your planet has 17 months and 3 days before becoming uninhabitable due to the dark matter crisis affecting your solar system. The only solution is colonization of Zarathûn - a primordial world in Sector K-81, with 63% biological similarity to Earth... and far more dangerous.]
[Of 9.1 billion humans, I will select 10,725 individuals: 55 random representatives from each sovereign nation. As long as participants exist, Earth will remain protected. But if all participants die, protection will cease.]
[Zarathûn is no paradise. It's a world where trees have poisonous roots, where day/night cycles last 37 Earth-hours, and where creatures you'd consider harmless dominate the food chain. Average humans wouldn't survive 1 year there.]
[Therefore, the chosen will receive the Vyron Protocol - a genetic modification system unlocking beastial abilities based on Earth's fauna. One might gain the night vision of a snow owl; another, the explosive strength of a mountain gorilla or even a lion's full traits. But beware: don't succumb to wild instincts - the more you use these powers, the greater the risks.]
[The first group departs in minutes. If 60% survive after 1 month, we'll activate Phase 2 with 100,000 additional representatives. If they fail...]
[Screen flashes red for 3 seconds.]
[Well... there's always Multiverse #4419 where you're still bacteria in an ocean.]
-----------------------------------------------------------
[MESSAGE TERMINATED]
The world had returned to normal—at least superficially. Yet people remained frozen, as if time still stood still. No one could believe what had just happened. Some stared at their trembling hands, while others muttered disjointed phrases, trying to rationalize the inexplicable.
Then, like a dam bursting, chaos erupted.
Within minutes, streets transformed into whirlwinds of screams, stampedes, and desperation. Cars collided head-on, horns blaring like endless alarms, shattered glass glittering across asphalt. Opportunists took advantage of the panic, smashing storefronts to drag out TVs, food—anything they could carry. Others brawled over spots in makeshift shelters or the last scraps of supplies.
Security forces mobilized, but they were hopelessly outmatched. Police officers—faces tense beneath their helmets—formed barricades along main avenues, while soldiers took up strategic positions, weapons ready, eyes scanning for threats. Sirens wailed through the air, mingling with screams and distant explosions.
Meanwhile, in New York, Geneva, and Shanghai, world leaders were urgently summoned. The UN declared a global state of emergency. Pale-faced presidents prepared speeches meant to—against all odds—calm their populations. But faced with collapse, no words seemed adequate.
************
Chaos consumed the school.
Kauã was still processing what he'd just heard. Destruction. A new planet. Powers. It was too absurd to believe, yet the holographic interface still flickered in his vision like a stubborn afterimage. As panic rippled through the hallways, he fought to stay calm. Screaming wouldn't solve anything.
But he seemed to be the only one who thought so.
"DID YOU ALL SEE THAT?!" Gabriel slammed his desk, eyes gleaming like a kid seeing a new toy. "A freaking hologram, just like sci-fi movies! HAHA!"
"This has to be a joke..." A girl huddled in the corner whispered, voice cracking. "Earth just achieved PEACE and now we get aliens?"
"Check the internet!" Another student trembled, clutching her phone like a weapon. "This happened worldwide! The planet's losing it!"
Natan, beside Kauã, rubbed his hands together like a boy outside a game store. "Chosen ones get superpowers...SICK! I wanna be picked, hahaha!"
At the back, a bespectacled student adjusted his glasses with shaky fingers. "55 people per country? This some kind of genocide game show?"
The teacher, pale but steady, rapped her desk. "Listen up!" Her voice wavered momentarily before she steadied it. "The principal says everyone should watch the president's address on your phones. Please...remain calm."
Kauã looked out the window. The sky remained unchanged - blue and indifferent, as if nothing had happened.
When he opened social media, a red Emergency Broadcast Channel alert flashed across the screen. His heart raced as he recognized the president's face—that grave expression framed by a makeshift setup, with green fabric serving as a backdrop. The live feed flickered slightly, as if the connection were struggling under the weight of the message.
A razor-sharp silence preceded the words.
———
(National Emergency Channel – 3:33 PM, Brasília Time)
"Fellow Brazilians,"
The president's voice echoed through the classroom, hoarse yet steady. Kauã felt every gaze lock onto phone screens, breaths held tight.
"On behalf of the Presidency and the National Security Council, I address you in unprecedented times."
The ceiling fan stopped spinning, as if the air itself hesitated.
"We confirm the global Vyron AI phenomenon is real and is being investigated by our intelligence agencies alongside the United Nations."
Whispers spread through the classroom but were smothered as the president continued:
"Immediate measures are now in effect:"
"1. A State of Public Calamity has been declared nationwide."
"2. Curfew from 3 PM to 5 PM in all state capitals."
Kauã looked outside. The sky hung strangely clear, without a single cloud—a cruel contrast to the coming storm.
"Vyron stated 55 Brazilians will be selected. No names have been released." The president leaned closer to the camera, his dark eyes heavy with warning. "We caution: do not trust unofficial messages about alleged selection lists."
Someone let out a nervous chuckle. Kauã's grip tightened on his phone, knuckles bleaching white.
"To those who may be selected: Report immediately to Federal Police stations or Army bases."
"Families will receive support through the Zarathûn Protection Program."
The silence that followed was so thick Kauã could nearly hear his own blood pulsing in his ears.
"I repeat: There is no cause for panic." The president's voice carried attempted conviction, not assurance. "Brazil is coordinating with 192 nations to ensure:"
"Full transparency in investigation results."
"Logistical support for chosen individuals."
"Maintenance of public order."
A collective sigh swept through the classroom as the president concluded:
"Stay informed through official channels only. Avoid crowds and do not share unverified theories."
"May God protect our nation and our species."
"Long live our beloved Brazil."
"Long live humanity."
The broadcast ended with the opening notes of the National Anthem, played so softly they sounded like a distant whisper.
———
For a moment, nobody moved. The relief was almost palpable—as if the president simply speaking had been enough to calm frayed nerves. Kauã scanned the room: some classmates laughed, masking fear with jokes; others typed frantically on their phones, chasing answers no one possessed.
Then the classroom door burst open with a crash.
The principal appeared in the doorway, his face flushed and dripping sweat, tie askew. He looked like he'd been sprinting through hallways, now gasping as he gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"Everyone" he swallowed hard"pay attention. The school is closing immediately. Proceed home when the bell sounds."
'This is way too fast...'
Kauã checked the timestamp on his phone. Just 13 minutes. Thirteen minutes since the Vyron AI had appeared in skies worldwide. Thirteen minutes since Earth was declared "in destruction's path." Thirteen minutes since they'd dangled superpowers for the chosen. And now the president was already addressing the nation?
Now that's efficiency... or desperation,he thought ironically. But none of that mattered. The real problem was how fast everything was moving. Kauã hated this. Hated having no time to process, to question, even to breathe.
He turned to Natan, about to comment on the absurd speed of the government's response when
Pssshhhh
The holographic screen pulsed before Kauã, text lines materializing as if laser-etched in midair. He recognized it instantly—the System. The same one that had frozen the world minutes ago. Now, though, it seemed to be speaking directly to him.
[CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO REPRESENT YOUR NATION IN ZARATHÛN'S CONQUEST.]
[BEFORE DEPARTURE, SELECT YOUR BEASTIAL POWER.]
(Vyron's recommendation: choose the option with highest fusion rate.)
1. ??? (79% compatibility)
2. ??? (100% compatibility)
3. ??? (62% compatibility)
[WARNING: FAILURE TO CHOOSE WITHIN 15 SECONDS WILL RESULT IN RANDOM POWER—OR NONE.]
"No way... this has to be a joke." Kauã's throat went dry, fingers twitching involuntarily. Of 230 million Brazilians, the System had to pick him—the guy who just wanted to be left alone in this madness. The hologram blinked relentlessly, making clear refusal wasn't an option.
'Screw it,' he thought, jaw tightening. 'System, I choose option two.'
[ANALYSIS CONFIRMED]
[OPTIMAL SELECTION DETECTED: 100% SYNCHRONIZATION]
[USER PROFILE UNLOCKED]
A bitter laugh echoed in his mind. 'Won the reverse lottery, huh?' The irony wasn't lost on him—while everyone chased this "selection," he'd gotten a winning ticket to a game he never wanted to play.
The display that materialized looked absurdly familiar—just like those status panels from the manhwas Natan devoured during breaks. 'Life really has become a webtoon,'he thought before mentally commanding: 'Open profile. Change name to Torphon.'
[RECORD UPDATED]
[WELCOME, TORPHON]
[PREPARE FOR ADAPTATION PHASE]
The new name reverberated through his consciousness like a prophecy. Torphon—no longer Kauã, no longer the exploited nephew, no longer the ordinary student. The System had ripped him from his mediocre life and, ironically, given him more identity than his entire 17 years on Earth.
[ SYLORAN SYSTEM ]
------------------------------------------------------------------
USER: Torphon
STAGE: 0
LEVEL: 0
CURRENT TITLE:
SUB-TITLE: Son of the heavens
BEASTIAL RANK: 0
VYRON: Enhanced Beastial/Harpy Eagle
AFFILIATIONS: None
------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, this isn't exactly like the manhwas...' Kauã muttered, eyes gleaming with curiosity. It was unlike anything he'd ever read or imagined, but there was no time for reflection. The Beastial power throbbed within him—a wild, unknown presence yearning to manifest. He desperately wanted to know what traits the Harpy Eagle had granted him, but the seconds were slipping away. He wouldn't find out now.
His gaze landed on Gabriel, who was arguing with classmates about recent events. Better say goodbye. Who knew if he'd return?
"Hey, Gabriel!" Kauã stood up, a casual smile playing on his lips. "See you around, bro."
Gabriel blinked, momentarily confused, until his friend's tone made him understand. His fingers tightened involuntarily around his notebook, but he waved back, returning the smile.
'Dude, why are you talking like...?' He hesitated, then sighed. "...Good luck, man. See you."
Their classmates stared at them as if they were insane—some with bewildered expressions, others laughing at the bizarre scene. Who says goodbye in the middle of class? The bell hadn't even rung yet; no one was going anywhere.
Then, as sunlight streamed through the windows, Kauã turned to the entire classroom, a defiant glint in his eyes, raising both middle fingers with a razor-sharp grin:
"And as for you all... go fuck yourselves."
[WARNING: ZARATHÛN TELEPORTATION INITIATED.]
Before the first curses could fly, before anyone could even react—he vanished.
No explosion. No light show. Just a silent vacuum, as if the universe had erased his existence from that spot.
The classroom fell into deathly silence.
_______________________________________
[ SYSTEM MESSAGE ]
"He who shapes time need not fear it. May your will be the code, and your name the law".