Two hundred years ago, the Gods bored of peace and hurled a meteor at us. The impact killed ninety percent of humanity, and supernatural islands crawling with abominations sprouted from the sea.
Wretches, all of them.
In Baldia, under the Gods' orders, to officially become a Scion—a child of a God who raids the Islands—awakened mark bearers or aspirants are forced to compete in a trial. The trial is truly magnificent…
My head jolted and clashed against the shaking, metal interior of the air carrier, but thanks to my newly mana-reinforced body, I felt little pain. My attention snapped to the continued groans from the lesser aspirants. These wretches undoubtedly dreamed of moving up their clan's ranks, and maybe even climbing as high as clan leader.
It was pitiful, really.
The Gods granted them unimaginable power, yet their imagination was so feeble. They'd become Scions, raid Islands for cores like good little harvesters, maybe ascend to B-rank if they were lucky. They'd serve their clans, worship the Gods, and die without ever questioning the system.
Islands weren't just monster habitats—they were resources. Monster cores powered our cities, enhanced our weapons, and fueled ascension. Without constant raids, humanity would regress. We were harvesters in a cosmic farm, and the Gods were waiting to see which crops survived.
Most aspirants accepted this. S rank or Clan leader was the height of their ambition.
However, I don't dream about protecting humanity or something as frivolous and sad as that. No, what I want is far greater.
To become a God.
***
I slept for hours unbothered in a shitty chair and was woken by the impact of the air carrier landing on the ground. Murmurs rose around me as Scion aspirants grew more anxious, talking to those from their clans, while the unclaimed sat alone with their eyes wide and bodies visibly shaking.
Easy cores. I licked my lips and made eye contact with a skinny boy who bore only one mark—the Sun. The Sun God, Apollo, was the most common mark bestowed upon humans. Therefore, the Great Clans did not consistently recruit these Mark bearers.
The boy nearly shit himself as he averted eye contact.
The door to the air carrier slid open, and one by one, the trial administrators had us exit. I stepped foot on solid ground for the first time in a few hours. Tall grass reached up to my waist, while a forest loomed in front of me, full of humongous oak trees that towered to the sky—their tips breaching the clouds.
A forest might provide complications. Weaker aspirants will effortlessly seek shelter, while the strong will hunt the weak, only to find each other instead. You see, the trial was a death match between one hundred newly awakened. Thirty would survive the brutal slaughter and earn the right to raid Islands as Scions.
I laughed faintly, knowing I would pass the trial no matter what. However, at that moment, the Island shook, and my legs wobbled. One might have mistaken it for an earthquake, but everyone here knew the truth. The Island was waking up.
Then I felt a darkness well up inside of me. It grabbed something—maybe part of my soul—before vanishing completely. My hand shot to my accelerating heart under my black combat suit, and I doubled over, along with every other aspirant. Uncertainty swallowed me whole, but unbothered by the cold aching sensation, the head administrator placed his hand on my shoulder.
"Are you ready, my beloved junior? The trial holds no promise for fools."
His voice was playful. I glanced upwards at his face, though I already knew who he was—Julius, the most powerful Scion of the Nyx Clan. He bore seven marks that granted him seven abilities at D rank. At his current rank— A—he probably had closer to twenty. Each ascension offered new abilities or ability evolutions.
I nodded, "Good."
And in an instant, I was traveling through the air, faster than I could perceive. Maybe it was the air moving around me like a tunnel, carrying me forward, but I wasn't sure.
I was placed gently on the ground, my hair frizzled and wild from the current's wrath. I looked around, noticing I was only moved to another area along the outer ring of the Island—still in tall grass, away from the forest.
Planted firmly in the ground was a weapon rack—swords, bows and arrows, spears, shields, scythes.
To my left and right, about one hundred meters away, stood two aspirants. I recognized one as the daughter of the Nyx priest. Summer was a deadly beauty; long blonde hair swirled down past her breasts, covering three marks. Her spear thrusts stirred the wind, louder than the ocean's waves crashing against the rigid cliffside behind me.
But to my right… I got excited, and a dangerous smile came over me.
It was the frightened boy from the air carrier. He looked like a lost puppy, sorting through the weapons, and I couldn't help but think about the free core I'd be feeding myself shortly.
Suddenly, a faint echo played over the Island as if someone was tapping on a microphone.
"Uh..Is this thing on? Oh, it is! Hello, aspirants. This is Luka speaking…
He continued, his voice loud and annoying.
"I am the brave captain of the Loki clan's squad zero. It's my job to inform you of one important little detail." The man paused, then coughed theatrically to build suspense. "You know that pang of pain you felt earlier. Like something was ripped from your soul? Well, something was! The Island's will clearly states: For the first hour of the trial, any Scions who plant their feet in my soil will have their abilities removed."
Islands are made of the same supernatural energy coursing through our veins. Alive and sentient, they impose laws that Scions must follow to raid them.
My eyes went wide. For a moment, panic clawed at my chest, but with deep breaths, I calmed myself. No one will have their ability, and my sword skills are second to none…I will be fine.
Then the microphone rattled again.
"Okay, okay, I'll get on with it, geeze. Let the trial begin!"
Without thinking, I lunged for the first sword on the weapon rack, a katana, and tore through the tall grass towards the fragile boy, not caring that death was now a possibility.
For an easy core, risks are necessary.