Welcome User.
Timothy Reach
News, the good kind and the bad kind. I'll start with the bad news first. I don't exactly know how, but I folded that giant, towering, masculine coded Lu Bu, like a goddamn pretzel. That was a gloat, just honest truth.
I knocked him through five walls and watched him disappear into tiny red particles. His Caller, Marcus, started bawling his eyes out after I folded his Beyonder. It was pitiful, watching all his arrogance was away into tears.
I was currently sitting in a chair that cost more than my uncle's entire apartment, and I couldn't even enjoy the leather because my ears were ringing like a cathedral bell on Sunday morning.
The office was a vacuum of silence, save for the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Instructor Heather's high heels against the marble floor. She was pacing. No, pacing is too calm—she was stalking. Every time she turned, her velvet hair caught the light, and I swear I could see sparks flying off her.
"Do you have any idea," she began, her voice dangerously low, the kind of quiet that precedes a hurricane, "what you just did to my budget? Forget the walls. Forget the property damage. Forget the fact that Marcus's father is currently screaming into a phone at the Board of Directors. I want to know how you used the power of a Class D Beyonder. You're human right? Right!?"
I didn't answer. Mostly because I was busy being distracted by a ghost.
Hovering just inches from my face—invisible to Heather, apparently—was a translucent green screen. It looked like the UI of a high-end RPG, flickering with data that made my brain itch. It had been pinging me ever since I turned Lu Bu into a red mist, and the messages were getting… weird.
[System Log: Digestion Confirmed]
[Artifact: NMR-Grade Myth Tamer (Swallowed) – 100% Processed]
[Nutrients Extracted: High-Density Ether, Origin Data, Fragment of the Above]
Digestion confirmed? I thought, my stomach doing a nervous somersault.
"Timothy Strife! Are you even listening to me?" Heather slammed her hands onto the mahogany desk, leaning in so close I could smell the expensive espresso on her breath.
"I'm… processing," I managed to squeak out. It wasn't a lie.
"Processing? You just used a sword to erase a historical powerhouse! That wasn't just a sword swing, that was a spatial displacement! Where did you get that Tamer? Who authorized your contract? And why is your internal signature fluctuating like a dying star?"
She reached out, grabbing my wrist to force a manual scan. Her eyes were fixed on my face, but my eyes were fixed on the new prompt that just shoved the others aside in a flash of crimson light.
[Warning: Identity Conflict Detected]
[User: Timothy Strife → Entity: Timothy Reach]
[Condition Met: Threshold of the First Echo]
[Query: Initialize Aeon's Summoning?]
My heart hammered. Aeon's Summoning? The name of the world, the story, the "Echo" I kept hearing about. If Artoria—the King of Knights, the woman who just cracked the Academy's foundations—was a "Legendary" pull, what in the hell was an Aeon?
"Heather, I really don't think you should touch me if I were you," I whispered.
"Oh? And why is that, Mr. Strife? Are you going to 'fold' me too?"
"No," I said, my voice shaking as the green screen turned into a blinding white. "It's just… the design is about to become very… inhuman."
The room began to vibrate. Not the floor, not the walls, but the very molecules of the air. Heather pulled back, her predatory smirk vanishing as her own Beyonder—a shadowy figure I hadn't seen yet—partially manifested behind her in a defensive stance.
Inside my mind, the metallic voice of the system didn't just speak; it roared. It was the sound of a thousand gears turning at once, the sound of the Rapture itself being played in reverse.
[Override Initiated]
[Class: Rapture Type T – Activating]
[Aeon's Summoning: Phase One – The First Echo of the End]
"Master?" Artoria's voice came from the corner of the room, sharp and alert. She could feel it. She could feel the thing that was currently trying to crawl out of my shadow.
The screen in front of me shifted one last time, displaying a name that made my brain go completely numb.
[Summoning… The Thundering Spear]
The office light bulbs shattered simultaneously, plunging us into a darkness that felt heavy, like we were suddenly underwater. And in that darkness, two eyes—colder than the Underside and older than the Above—opened up right beneath my feet.
"Timothy," Heather gasped, her bravado finally failing as she stumbled back. "What… what are you?"
I looked at her, my vision flickering between the mundane office and a wasteland of white ash. "Honestly madam I'm not really sure but I'm hungry and my bed sounds very enticing right now. So if you'll excuse me."
I didn't wait for an answer. I didn't wait for a detention slip, and I certainly didn't wait for whatever shadowy thing was lurking behind Heather to decide if I was a snack or a threat. My legs moved on autopilot, fueled by the kind of adrenaline you only get when you've successfully broken physics and your landlord's favorite rock-band hoodie in the same day.
"Artoria! Tactical retreat! Now!" I barked.
She didn't hesitate. We cut through the office door like a pair of greased lightning bolts, leaving Heather standing in a dark room full of shattered glass and unanswered questions. We sprinted down the hallway, my sneakers slapping against the marble in a frantic rhythm that shouted 'guilty' to anyone listening. I didn't stop until I found a door with a stick-figure sign.
I burst into the academy restroom, dived into the furthest stall, and slammed the lock home. Artoria stood guard by the sinks, her golden hair practically glowing against the dingy tiles.
"Master, your internal energy is… chaotic," she said, her voice tight with concern. "It feels as though you are harboring a storm."
"I'm trying to pass breakfast so just gimme a second!"
I leaned against the stall wall, breathing hard, and swiped my hand through the air. The green light responded instantly, expanding from a tiny flickering dot into a full-blown panoramic display. It was glorious. It was terrifying. It was a lot of text for someone who just wanted a nap.
"Okay, let's see what this thing is actually about," I muttered.
I scrolled past the "Digestion Logs" and "Etheric Calories" until I hit the motherlode. The Status Page. Game logic dictates that the Status panel was where a player would find all the information pertaining to their statistics.
Name; Timothy Reach
Title; Devourer
Class; Rapture Class T
[Current Statistics]
Strength: 45 (+15 Internalized)
Stamina: 35
Flexibility: 60
Intelligence: 82
Endurance: 95
[Passive Traits]
Inhuman Design: Your body is no longer a biological constant. You can process Mythical Artifacts to permanently increase stats or unlock "Aeons."
[Active Summons /Aeons]
Artoria Pendragon (Legendary - Modified): Currently bound. Memory Status: Sealed.
The Thundering Spear (Legendary - Dormant): Status: Summoning Incomplete. Requires Confirmation From User.
Like I guessed it pretty much had my name, stats I reviewed the night before and what I guessed was my title. Devourer sounded ominous and downright badass but it left me feeling more than uneasy. Worse yet, the was the whole 'Aeons' thing with Artoria and the 'Thundering Spear' whatever that was.
My last name was a problem too. The panel named me Timothy Reach, not Strife. Strife was the name my father left me, in honor of the struggle. To remember that the struggle is real. Reach might've been my mother's maiden name but I barely remembered her face, let her lone her maiden name.
Maybe it was the system's mistake. I concluded.
Look at me calling it a system. I was adapting quicker than expected. Still though, to get a clear idea of what it was I needed to find a place that didn't smell like shit and broken dreams.
I looked up at the ceiling. I had a week before the trimester started. I had a King of Knights in my uncle's laundry, a landlord who thought I was a prodigy, and a system that was telling me I was a "Devourer" of sorts.
"Artoria?" I called out through the door.
"Yes, Master?"
"How do you feel about eating more than just expired bread? Because I think we're going to need a lot more food if we're going to survive this school."
"I shall follow your lead," she replied firmly. "Though I would prefer the next meal be less... plastic-flavored."
I checked my pocket. Twelve dimes and a few coins that were probably just metal scraps at this point.
"Right. Step one: Get home. Step two: Don't die of a heart attack before I can figure out why my name is 'Reach' now."
We moved like ghosts through the academy's side exits, avoiding the main gates where I was sure the "National Myth Recruit" gestapo was already setting up a perimeter. Artoria was a pro at the whole "tactical movement" thing, keeping her hood low and her pace matched to mine. Even in the oversized hoodie, she moved with a silent, predatory grace that made me realize just how much she had been holding back against Lu Bu.
The bus ride back was a blur of neon signs and my own reflection in the window. I looked the same—scrawny, tired, and definitely not like a "Rapture Class" anything. But every time I blinked, I saw those two cold eyes from the office floor staring back at me.
"We're here," I whispered as we stepped off the bus.
The apartment building looked even more pathetic than usual. The "Miss Jean's Apartment Complex" sign was hanging by a single rusted bolt, swaying in the wind like a warning. I led the way up the creaking wooden stairs, my heart finally starting to slow down. The familiar smell of wet wood and floor wax was actually comforting for once.
"Home sweet home," I muttered, reaching into my pocket for the spare key. "Artoria, once we're inside, we need to talk about that 'Thundering Spear' thing. If I'm going to be summoning more legends, I need a bigger apartment. Or at least a sofa bed."
"I shall await your instructions, Master," she said, standing just a step behind me as I slotted the key into the lock.
The lock turned with its usual stubborn click. I pushed the door open, already thinking about the half-bag of chips I had stashed in the cupboard. I took one step over the threshold, my mind halfway to the kitchen.
"Wait—" Artoria's voice hissed, sharp as a blade.
But she was a millisecond too late.
I didn't even see the shadow. I didn't feel the air move. All I felt was a sudden, explosive pressure at the base of my skull. It wasn't a hit; it was like the entire world suddenly decided to collapse onto the back of my head.
My vision didn't just go dark—it shattered. The last thing I heard was the heavy thud of my own body hitting the floor and the sound of Artoria's sword beginning to materialize, a sound that was abruptly cut short by a low, distorted hum.
Then, there was only the cold, quiet dark.