Chapter 2: Preparation
"We will grant you preparation."
The words settled into the space.
Heavy.
Final.
Preemo didn't move right away.
He just looked at them—
Really looked this time.
This wasn't a second chance.
This was setup.
Hera's voice followed.
"This will be the only time we intervene directly."
A brief pause.
"What you receive here… will shape everything that comes after."
Preemo nodded once.
"Then I need to choose right."
Zeus leaned slightly forward on his throne.
"Speak."
Preemo exhaled slowly.
Organizing his thoughts.
But before anything else—
He looked back up.
"Before I ask for anything…"
A short pause.
"I need to know something."
Hera's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Go on."
Preemo crossed his arms.
"If I'm choosing my path… then I need my class to match it."
Zeus responded.
"You will be assigned a class upon awakening."
Preemo shook his head.
"Not assigned."
A beat.
"Chosen."
Silence.
Hera studied him.
"What class do you intend to choose?"
Preemo didn't hesitate.
"Shadow Monarch."
A pause.
Then—
Zeus spoke.
"That class does not exist."
Preemo gave a small shrug.
"Then I'll explain it."
The space grew still again.
"It's like a necromancer," he said.
"But different."
He stepped forward slightly.
"When I defeat someone, I take their shadow."
A brief pause.
"Not their body. Not their soul."
His eyes stayed focused.
"Just what's left behind."
Hera didn't interrupt.
"They come back under me," Preemo continued.
"Same abilities. Same class. Same power."
Zeus's gaze narrowed slightly.
"And their will?"
"Gone."
Hera spoke next.
"And their past?"
Preemo shook his head.
"They don't remember anything."
A beat.
"They just follow orders."
Silence.
Then Hera leaned back slightly.
"Absolute control."
Preemo nodded once.
"Exactly."
Another pause.
Then—
Something shifted.
Not the space.
Not the power.
Their perception of him.
"Your imagination is… impressive," Hera said.
Preemo smirked faintly.
"I don't think small."
Zeus watched him for another moment.
Then—
"…Very well."
The air tightened.
"That class will be yours."
A faint pulse moved through the space.
Like something new had just been acknowledged.
Preemo exhaled slowly.
Now—
He was ready.
"Five things," he said.
Zeus nodded.
"You may request them."
No rush.
No pressure.
Just opportunity.
Preemo lifted a finger.
"First—I need regeneration."
A brief pause.
"Not slow healing. Real recovery. If I'm in a fight, I can't afford damage stacking."
Zeus answered immediately.
"Granted."
A sharp pulse ran through Preemo's body.
Gone just as fast.
He didn't react.
"Second—I need a talent."
Hera responded.
"You will receive one regardless."
Preemo nodded.
"SSS Rank."
Silence.
Zeus leaned back slightly.
"Explain."
"Attack multiplier," Preemo said.
"Double damage."
He raised two fingers.
"And every ten levels—it increases."
Hera studied him.
"You're asking for growth over time."
"Exactly."
A pause.
Then—
"Granted."
The air pulsed again.
Stronger.
Preemo rolled his shoulders once.
"Third—I need a weapon."
Zeus gestured slightly.
"A golden bow. Energy arrows."
A brief pause.
"But lock it."
Hera tilted her head.
"Explain."
"I shouldn't be able to use it at level one," Preemo said.
"If I start too strong, I won't grow right."
That landed.
Zeus's gaze sharpened slightly.
"You would restrict yourself."
Preemo shrugged.
"I'm pacing it."
A pause.
Then—
"Granted."
Something heavier settled into place.
Unseen.
But real.
Preemo nodded once.
"Fourth—you already gave me the class."
Zeus didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
"Fifth—subclass."
Hera waited.
"Battle Mage."
No hesitation.
"Granted."
Everything settled.
Five choices.
Done.
Preemo stood there for a moment.
Then Zeus spoke again.
"There is one final addition."
Hera extended her hand.
Light gathered between her fingers.
Structured.
Precise.
"A system."
The glow formed into lines.
Symbols.
"To track your progress."
It drifted toward him.
"To measure your growth."
It stopped just in front of him.
"To guide you."
Preemo looked at it for a second.
Then reached out.
The moment he touched it—
Everything pulsed.
[System Initializing…]
The light collapsed into him.
Silence.
Then—
A faint shift at the edge of his vision.
Something new.
Something waiting.