Marc felt as if he were floating, enveloped in a celestial light. A strange peace washed over him—a sense of weightlessness that stood in stark contrast to his usual, erratic dreams.
I feel light. This dream is peaceful, not chaotic like the ones I usually have. They say dreams have meaning, but yesterday's was absurd: a devil doll the size of my palm trying to murder me while I escaped on a polar bear in the middle of the jungle. What the hell could that even mean?
"Ahem," a voice rang out.
But this dream... it only brings peace.
"Excuse me," the voice insisted.
His worries had vanished; he was in a trance-like state.
I wish all my dreams were like this. Though it's strange how real everything feels.
"Would you mind paying attention?! We don't have much time," the voice said, now louder.
Huh?
Marc lifted his head.
Standing a few meters away was a man in his fifties. He had long, white hair and a matching beard, dressed in immaculate robes. Though lean, his musculature was evident. His face reflected compassion and authority all at once.
Marc's face, on the other hand, reflected pure incredulity.
"Alright, why not?" Marc said, standing up without giving it much thought.
"My son," the man began.
"I'm fairly certain you aren't my father," Marc interrupted, a subtle, mocking smile playing on his lips.
"I have summoned you to a new world," the man continued, ignoring the interruption.
Marc looked around: there was nothing, only an endless celestial blue. A new world? What is this old man talking about?
"In this world, you must undertake a vital mission—one that will save the living beings inhabiting it," the stranger declared. Marc noticed how the man placed a fist over his chest with an exaggerated gesture, loaded with a theatricality that bordered on the ridiculous.
Well, compared to a killer doll, I guess this isn't too bad for a dream. Still weird, though.
"This is not a dream," the stranger stated, responding with icy precision, as if he had read the thoughts directly from Marc's mind. His expression shifted abruptly; he narrowed his eyes in a flash of annoyance, as if Marc's skepticism were a personal offense that truly irked him.
"Did you read my mind?" Marc let out a dry laugh, undaunted by the stranger's gaze. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, you're just a product of my subconscious, aren't you?"
The stranger's face held that grimace of irritation for a few tense seconds, but with almost supernatural speed, his features softened back into an unshakeable serenity.
"Forgive my manners. Perhaps I should have started by introducing myself," he said, his voice regaining a velvety tone. "I summoned you while you slept, so it is understandable that your mind seeks refuge in confusion. My name is Amir, and I am the God of this world."
A God? Yeah, sure you are, pal. Marc accompanied the thought with a look that swept Amir from head to toe, like someone observing a patient in a psychiatric ward. The idea was so absurd he didn't even bother hiding his disbelief.
"I wear these clothes and take this physical form because this is how some gods are represented in the religious figures of your world. It was better to present myself to you with a familiar appearance that reflected my divinity."
An appearance to reflect his divinity? He has to be joking. Marc felt a pang of irony in his chest. Is my subconscious not aware that I'm an atheist?
He had never given credence to the existence of a God, much less one that fit the rigid, anthropomorphic molds of traditional religions. He had always held the firm conviction that if anything remotely resembling a creative force existed, it would be a purely abstract entity: a being devoid of human morality, alien to concepts of good and evil. A silent architect, not a stage actor with a self-importance complex.
"I suppose you have a grain of truth in your way of thinking," Amir conceded, tilting his head with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "but at the same time, you are profoundly mistaken."
His voice resonated with a vibration that seemed to come from everywhere at once, reminding Marc that, although he looked like a man, the rules of human logic did not apply here.
He's listening to my thoughts again.
"As I said, I appeared before you in this physical form only to facilitate our talk, but in reality, we gods lack a defined shape," Amir continued, dismissing the matter with an elegant gesture. "Furthermore, while I intend to charge you with the salvation of that world, I do not do so out of a simple impulse of kindness. You see, you are partly right: we gods are not necessarily good or evil, nor merciful or ruthless. The concepts of justice and injustice are... human limitations."
Amir paused, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to hold the vastness of the void.
"We are not impartial, but we do not take anyone's side in particular either. What truly moves us is the Balance of our creation, and that Balance is about to fracture in the world to which I have brought you. Hence the urgency of my request." The god's voice lost all its lightness, becoming dense and vibrant, laden with a weight that Marc felt in the pit of his stomach.
Marc remained silent, processing Amir's words with caution. Gods? As in, more than one? The idea that he wasn't dealing with a single entity, but an entire divine hierarchy, was hard to swallow. But a much darker conclusion began to form in his mind...
"Am I dead?" Marc asked. His voice, previously charged with biting skepticism, cracked slightly. The tone of defiance vanished, replaced by a cold dread that gripped his chest as he awaited the answer.
"Not yet," Amir replied, letting out a short answer that, while intended to be reassuring, left a haunting echo in the air. "But do not worry, I haven't brought you here because you've passed away."
The god made a vague gesture with his hand, as if brushing away a speck of non-existent dust.
"Summoning is simply part of a God's 'powers,' if you need a label to understand it. Let's say that for me, bringing you to this space is as simple as breathing is for you. Death is not necessary to cross this threshold... at least, not at this moment."
Marc kept his eyes fixed on his own hands, floating weightlessly in that celestial void. Despite Amir's words, a trace of unease still crept down his spine, but he quickly stifled it. Almost mechanically, he regained his composure, forcing his mind to process the situation with the analytical coldness that characterized him. His eyes, previously clouded by fear, regained a surgical clarity.
"I'm sorry, but I still can't believe you," Marc stated, his voice regaining the firmness of a mallet. "I went to bed just a few minutes ago, exhausted after a full day's work. Most likely, my brain is trapped in a state of deep sleep. Some kind of hypnagogic limbo, like those sleep paralysis episodes where the mind wakes up before the body and projects hallucinations to fill the void."
Marc crossed his arms, radiating a renewed confidence. To him, it was far more logical to be suffering a neurological anomaly than to be talking to the architect of the universe.
"So you think..." An imperceptible smile, almost a mock, appeared on the god's lips. "But tell me, Marc, have you ever felt this way in any dream? Have you ever experienced this absolute clarity in one of your paralyses?"
Amir's voice turned defiant, charged with a vibration that seemed to shake the very foundations of Marc's logic. He took a step closer, though he didn't walk, but rather glided through the celestial space.
"Tell me, in your dreams, can you feel the weight of your own existence with such clarity? Can you feel the pulse of magic brushing against your skin?" His eyes shone with an intensity that made Marc's "hypnagogic limbo" theory start to feel like a fragile, desperate excuse.
Marc felt the unease seep under his skin again as he heard Amir's words, which thundered in the void with a physical depth, as if space itself were speaking.
"I must admit the clarity of all this... is unsettling. It feels too real compared to my usual dreams," Marc confessed, though his words came out through gritted teeth, as if it pained him to admit it. "But even so, what you're suggesting is absolute madness. It makes much more sense that my brain is suffering a massive hallucination than that a god has summoned me. I simply cannot accept it; I don't believe in deities, the paranormal, or fairy tales."
His voice, though firm, reflected a violent internal struggle. His eyes scanned the celestial environment desperately, looking for a crack, an error in the simulation, any logical flaw that would allow him to return to the safety of his skepticism. He was entrenched in his disbelief, defending it as if it were his last line of defense before the abyss.
"I see," the god replied, maintaining an unshakeable calm in his voice. "In that case, why don't I prove it to you with something more tangible than mere words?"
As soon as Amir finished speaking, he made a gesture charged with that same solemnity and exaggerated theatricality. In a blink, the celestial void contracted violently. There was no movement, only a brutal and silent transition that tore them from nothingness to materialize them in the center of Marc's room.
Marc landed on his feet, staggering from disorientation. His lungs filled with the stale, familiar air of his room. With a frantic gaze, he began to inspect every corner: the clothes thrown over the chair, the slight mess on his desk, and the echo of the night silence. Everything was exactly as he had left it before surrendering to sleep. It wasn't a recreation; it was his own reality, but he was there, observing it from outside his bed.
In that instant, Marc's unease transformed into a piercing fear. His theories about sleep paralysis and hallucinations crumbled like a house of cards before the physical evidence of his surroundings.
"Is this enough, Marc?" Amir asked, his figure now looking out of place among the mundane walls of the room. "Or do you need more demonstrations? There are an infinity of wonders I can perform to convince you... until your human mind manages to process what your eyes already know."
"Alright..." Marc managed to articulate. His voice was barely a thread, a whisper broken by the weight of the physical evidence. "I'm starting to believe you."
He couldn't say more. His eyes remained fixed on the familiar corners of his room, which now felt like a strange and threatening territory. The fear, dense and cold, prevented him from processing any other theory.
"Excellent. In that case, let's return to our refuge; there I can explain everything to you without the distractions of your world," Amir declared. His tone was openly victorious, a melody of divine satisfaction. He knew he had just won his first battle against Marc's "immutable" logic, tearing down his rational walls with a simple snap of reality.
Displaying his eternal theatricality, Amir repeated the gesture. In a blink, the room walls dissolved, and the stale air was replaced by the infinite purity of the celestial void. They were back in the nothingness.
Marc, however, remained petrified, his gaze lost in the non-existent horizon. The fear was no longer an unease, but an absolute certainty that ran through his bones. Finally, the realization had hit him with the force of a sledgehammer: this was not a dream, nor a hallucination, nor a neurological failure. He was standing before a God, and his life had just stopped belonging to him.
"But what the hell is all this!" Marc exploded, his voice bouncing in the infinite void. The fear had transformed into an electric desperation. "Look, I don't know what the hell you want from me, but I assure you that you have the wrong man. Save the world? That's not something I can do. I'm just an ordinary guy, another gear in the machinery of my reality, with no special skills, no training... nothing that can serve you, let alone an entire world."
Marc gestured frantically, trying to cling to his "ordinary man" identity like a shield.
"You were an ordinary guy in your world," Amir sentenced. His voice regained a vibrant solemnity, while an enigmatic smile spread across his face. "But the rules have changed, Marc. In this new world, you will have MAGIC and a power that will completely eclipse the average!" he exclaimed, raising his voice with that exaggerated theatricality that seemed to inflate the space around him.
Marc stood frozen, Amir's words echoing in his ears like thunder. The panic, for a moment, was swept away by a tide of absolute bewilderment. Out of the entire divine speech, a single word had stuck in his mind, shining with a light of its own that made him forget, if only for a few seconds, the absurdity of his situation.
Magic? The word floated in his thoughts, laden with a promise as old as humanity itself.
"Exactly, Marc. The place I have brought you to is a world vibrant with magic. A Fantasy world, just as they are known in the legends of your land," Amir confirmed, watching as Marc's armor of disbelief finally fell apart.
"Fantasy?" Marc repeated, his voice rising an octave. The fear that previously gripped his chest evaporated instantly, replaced by an electrifying wonder. "You mean mythological creatures exist? Dragons? Legendary beasts?"
"You are correct. Although in this realm they are not considered 'mythological'; they are as tangible and common as any animal in your world. Besides humans, you will coexist with elves, dwarves, and demons, among many other beings that will challenge everything you think you know," Amir replied with a smirk. He knew he had cast the perfect bait: the mystery of the unknown was the only force capable of bending Marc's logic.
Marc felt overwhelmed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a child who had just been promised entry to the largest amusement park in the universe. His questions crowded his mind, but they all converged on a single point: the source of this new order.
"And magic... is it common there?" he asked, not really knowing where to start his improvised interrogation. Intrigue shone in his eyes. "What kind of power is it? How does it manifest?"
"In your world, magic is a physical impossibility, so by definition, it is infinitely more common here," Amir explained, once again adopting the tone of an ancestral master. "However, not everyone is born with the gift; only one person in a thousand possesses the necessary spark. That power consists of bending the fundamental elements: fire, water, earth, and air, along with other darker and more complex branches."
Amir made a solemn gesture to stem the flood of questions he saw coming.
"But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I know the concept of magic fascinates you, but first I must explain the true reason why I plucked you from your bed and brought you here."
It really exists!, Marc thought, feeling a shiver of anticipation. Real magic... in a fantasy world. The fear had died; in its place, an insatiable hunger for knowledge was born.
"In this world, races do not coexist in harmony; they are fragmented. Humans, demons, elves, and dwarves claim their own territories, separated by borders of blood and distrust," Amir explained, his voice acquiring a historical nuance. "Something similar happens to your land: humans have marked demons as their natural enemy, fueled by religious dogmas and scars of ancestral conflicts. Currently, the world breathes under a fragile and deceptive peace... but the clock keeps ticking. A new Holy War will break out in a few years, and the balance will shatter."
Marc nodded to himself, seeking a logical anchor in the clichés he knew. I can imagine. If they're called "demons," it's because their nature is malignant. Beings of darkness sowing chaos... it's logical that war is inevitable.
"I see. So, from what you're saying, I suppose your mission for me is to become the champion of humanity, defeat the demons, and save this world, right?" Marc ventured, squaring his shoulders with a mix of resignation and purpose.
"Not exactly," Amir replied. An enigmatic, almost predatory smile drew across his face. "My assignment for you is much more specific, Marc: in this world, you will be a demon. And to be precise, I need you to ascend to become their King."
The silence that followed was absolute, dense as lead, stretching through the celestial void for what seemed like centuries.
A demon? Marc felt Amir's words were static in his brain. That I become... the Demon King?
"But what the fuck are you talking about!" Marc exploded, his voice breaking the stillness with a cry of pure disbelief. "A demon? How the hell do you expect me to be a monster? This has to be a joke!"
This supposed God is pulling my leg. There's no other explanation.
"Not just any demon, Marc. The Demon King," Amir repeated, savoring every syllable with a satisfaction that bordered on the mocking. "The sovereign of the race you so despise."
He's definitely screwing with me, Marc thought, clenching his fists as his scientific mind desperately searched for a way out of this madness. He's screwing with me big time.
"You said you wanted me to save the world. You're contradicting yourself!" Marc exploded, his fury boiling under his skin. "Aren't demons the villains of this story?"
"I know perfectly well what I said, Marc. And I stand by my word: I want you to save this world," Amir replied, holding that mocking smile that was starting to grate on Marc's nerves.
"Is this supposed to be some kind of divine joke? Because it's not damn funny to me," Marc snapped, indignant at the lightness with which that being handled his fate.
"It is no joke," Amir's smile faded, replaced by an icy seriousness. "In your world, demons are myths, spiritual entities of pure evil. Here, they are a race. Flesh and blood. They have horns, yes, and a physical strength that ridicules the human. It is true that many see men as inferior insects, but within their species there are both heroes and scoundrels... exactly the same as among humans."
It's true, Marc thought, trying to cool his head. My concept of "demon" is contaminated by centuries of folklore I never believed. As an atheist, to me there is no heaven or hell, only biology. If they are a race, then good and evil are subjective labels.
"However," Amir continued, looking away toward the infinite horizon, "humans have decided that the very existence of demons is a heresy. A stain on creation... a direct insult to God."
Marc stood petrified, processing the irony of the matter.
"An insult to God?" Marc asked, with a spark of incredulity. "Are you not the God of this world?"
"Yes," Amir replied curtly. The word sounded heavy, laden with an almost human discomfort.
"Let me see if I get this straight," Marc felt an involuntary smile appear on his lips. The absurdity of the situation was so great that it was starting to be funny to him. It was his turn to press. "Humans believe demons are an insult to you... and you, the God they worship, summon me to become their King. Their worst nightmare."
"Well..." Amir shifted, trying to regain his posture, "it's just that, although they believe in me, religion is their invention, not mine. They wrote the rules, they invented the dogmas."
Wow, what a permissive God with his subjects, Marc thought with a sting of contempt. Can you really call someone God who lets his fan club decide who lives and who dies in his name?
"And couldn't you just appear to them?" Marc asked, resorting to his pragmatism. "Tell them their religion is a mistake, that they're misinterpreting your 'silences'."
"It is not that simple," Amir replied, his voice acquiring an ancestral gravity.
"Everything seems suspiciously easy for you," Marc countered, pointing to the celestial void with an exasperated gesture.
"It seems so, but it isn't. It is infinitely easier for me to summon a being from another plane like you than to manifest myself before the masses of this world; such an act would unleash unprecedented chaos. Besides, I already told you: my priority is the Balance. What humans decide to believe or pray is irrelevant to me... as long as they don't fracture existence itself."
"But they are using your name!" Marc erupted. "They want to exterminate an entire race in your name!"
"And why do you think I brought you here?" Amir took a step toward him, his shadow lengthening impossibly. "I will turn you into the Demon King and grant you a power that will eclipse any mortal. Why do you think I ask such a burden of you?"
"You want me to be their shield..." Marc murmured with disbelief. "You want me to save the demons from the humans?"
"Partly. But there is something darker on the horizon. In a hundred years, a human will be born with a terrifying magical potential. The Church will call him 'The Hero' and charge him with the mission of eradicating your new lineage. But that man, intoxicated by his own legend and a blind faith, will lose his mind. After killing the demon king and extinguishing the demons, he will turn against the elves, the dwarves, and any being that doesn't fit into his vision of a purely human world. He will proclaim himself the sole King... the chosen one of a God who never gave him permission."
A hundred years... Marc processed the figures. If he wants me to be the Demon King, it means that "Hero" will come for my head. But there's a flaw in this plan.
"Why summon me now if the problem arises in a century?" Marc asked. "And more importantly: if that guy is so dangerous, why don't you give me a power superior to his right away and send me to the future to finish him off?"
"Because power without effort is a disease," Amir sentenced. "That is the Hero's mistake: he will receive a divine gift without having sweated for it, which will feed his arrogance and immaturity. You, on the other hand, must forge your own path. You need the years, the sweat, and the experience to understand the responsibility of what you carry in your hands."
"That guarantees nothing," Marc countered, regaining his analytical tone. "There are many people who struggle to reach the top and, once there, are just as arrogant and tyrannical. Effort also feeds the ego."
"True. That's why I ask you this: if I gave you absolute power over life and death today... can you assure me that you wouldn't get drunk on it? Can you swear that you wouldn't try to conquer the world under your own logic?"
Amir fixed his gaze on Marc—a gaze that seemed to dissect every neuron in his brain. Marc opened his mouth to reply with a resounding "no," but the words stuck in his throat.
Me? Conquer the world? It's absurd... or is it?
"Of course I wouldn't..." he finally replied, though his voice lacked its previous firmness. "Or so I'd like to think."
"But you're not sure," Amir concluded with terrifying calm. "No one knows who they really are until they have the capacity to crush others without consequences."
Marc remained silent this time. For the first time in his life, his logic didn't have a quick answer. He was looking into the abyss of his own nature.
What does he mean? Of course I wouldn't! Marc tried to sustain his own lie, but a stinging doubt ran down his spine. Why am I hesitating?
"I've never been an ambitious person," Marc managed to say, though his words sounded like an apology. "Just imagining myself as a King is... too much for me. It's not what I seek."
"Marc!" Amir's voice cracked like a whip, forcing the young man to lock eyes with the god. "The reason I tore you from your reality is because you possess exactly the ambition needed to wear a crown. Because, in the depths of your soul, you have always desperately desired an adventure like this."
Marc lowered his head, letting silence surround him. In the gloom of his own self-reflection, a spark ignited in his gaze, and slowly, a cynical and vibrant smile drew across his face.
Damn it... this God is absolutely right.
It didn't matter his atheism, his devotion to logic, or his facade of a rational man. The truth, raw and bright, was that he had always longed for the veil of the mundane to be torn; he had always dreamed of something like this happening to him, however absurd or unreal it was. Human or demon, he didn't care about the container. He wanted his adventure. And if to claim it he had to crush that "two-bit Hero" and his extremist church, he would do it with almost terrifying pleasure.
Amir, reading every fiber of ambition in Marc's thoughts, smiled with genuine satisfaction. It was no longer a mockery; it was the recognition of an architect seeing his masterpiece come to life. He hadn't been wrong: he had summoned the perfect man.
"Excellent, Marc. Your physiology will adapt to your new lineage: you will wear two horns as a natural crown and your eyes will adopt the deep hue of indigo blue. Furthermore, I will give you a more imposing stature," Amir announced.
Well, that doesn't sound too bad, Marc thought, relieved not to become a shapeless mass of fangs and claws.
"And I'll make you a bit more attractive... not that you were hard to look at before." Amir sketched a mocking smile.
Son of a bitch. He just mocked my face to my face.
"You should know that your eyes will burn with their own light when you channel your magic or when anger claims you," the god continued, returning to technical precision. "I won't send you north, to the heart of the demon territory; it's a barren wasteland where you'd die in days. I've prepared a refuge for you in the extreme south. A cabin with grimoires for you to study the fabric of the world, maps, and supplies for a year. There is a garden and enough game. You will learn to be a god before claiming your throne."
"Far south? Why so far?" Marc protested. "Couldn't you leave me in a decent place that isn't a continent away?"
I'm already looking for the easy way and I haven't even landed yet, Marc scolded himself internally.
"I have my reasons," Amir stated with a seriousness that admitted no reply. "Your journey is your training. Only then will you guarantee your victory against the current Demon King."
Wait. What?
"The current Demon King?!" Marc's cry tore through the celestial silence. "You're telling me there's already someone sitting on the throne and I have to remove them?!"
"It's a small detail, right?" Amir laughed, enjoying Marc's panic. "Unlike humans and their bloodlines, demons only respect brute force. The current sovereign is... formidable."
"I think I'm starting to regret every one of my decisions," Marc blurted out with a nervous laugh that bordered on hysteria.
"Your potential is practically infinite, Marc. By the time your steps lead you before him, you will have eclipsed him." Amir paused, letting his words sink in. "By then, your doubts will be ash."
Marc fell silent, dissecting the information. A thought, cold and logical, emerged from the chaos.
"Wait... you said a hundred years. I'm thirty. Are you telling me I'll live a century? Am I immortal?"
"Your longevity will be far superior to the human. But listen well: what I will send is your soul to a new body, a perfect vessel designed by me. When those hundred years are over, I can return your essence to this exact moment, to your original body in your old world, as if you had only blinked."
Marc nodded slowly, but his mind was already elsewhere. He looked at his hands, imagining them already with claws or charged with elemental fire.
Return?, he wondered. To an office, to loneliness and the boring logic of a soul-less world? He looked at Amir and, for the first time, felt no fear, but a fierce anticipation. There wasn't much to miss from the place he came from.
"Time is running out, so listen carefully," Amir urged, his voice acquiring a divine urgency. "I will grant you absolute immunity to poisons and diseases. I will not allow an unknown fruit or a banal virus to end my investment before it begins. You will be in a new body, but your biology must be impenetrable."
That will come in handy, Marc thought, imagining the invisible dangers of a wild world.
"And, since you will inhabit this realm for a century, I grant you the gift of Immortality."
The word resonated in Marc's mind like thunder.
"By this, I mean that time will not mark you; you will not age or die from natural causes," Amir clarified. "However, do not be confused: you are still mortal before steel, magic, or the maw of a monster. Do not be overconfident, Demon King."
Not age!, Marc felt his heart skip a beat. The dream of every man of science... made real by a God I didn't want to believe in.
"As for the return," Amir continued, pointing to the horizon, "near your cabin you will find a small temple with an altar. To return to your old world, you simply have to go back there and manifest your firm will to leave. The words do not matter, only the pure desire of your soul. The temple will remain intact, even if a thousand years pass."
Marc looked down, processing the weight of the eternity he had just received.
"Oh, and one last detail that will please you: once you fulfill your mission and defeat the Hero, you are free to return. But it doesn't have to be immediate. With your immortality, you could reign two hundred, five hundred, or a thousand years before deciding you've had enough. The only condition is that the Balance is maintained; do not try to devour the world under your boot."
Magic and immortality?
A smile drew across his face, wider and darker than any gesture he had made in his previous life. For the first time, Marc didn't feel like a gear in an office; he felt important.
He looked up and the glow in his eyes no longer reflected doubt. It was a mixture of electric nervousness and a euphoria he thought buried in his childhood. His monotonous existence and lack of purpose evaporated like mist before the sun.
"When do we start?" Marc asked, with a voice that no longer trembled.
"Right now!" Amir exclaimed, extending a hand wrapped in a blinding light. "Welcome to your new kingdom... Demon King."
The celestial light exploded, enveloping Marc in an embrace both warm and violent at once. As his human body disintegrated to make way for the legend, Marc knew he wasn't just changing worlds—he was being born again.