There was a time of nothingness once. When all that pervaded our universe had been darkness and even further darkness. Then one day the Good Lord said, "Let there be light," and thus all of creation began… and with it, the book of life. The book which when written upon turns whatever has been written within its pages into truth and reality. The manner of text written within the book never mattered except for the intent behind every writing. This is what allowed other creator deities to come into existence and the deities expanding upon their power given by the book of life.
It was according to the Christian pantheon that the Lord was responsible for the making of the universe, of humanity, and all that came before it. The post-Vedic texts of Hinduism speak and praise primary and secondary creators for the existence of all; the Greeks had their own gods responsible for the same matters, the Aztecs and Mayans carrying flames with their own gods of old. With time, the truth thinned and the creator of humanity was mere motes of speculation made by the modern man.
The book of life has fallen into the hands of few out of the many, and this tale's focus is upon one such individual of the modern times.
"Mom! I'm going out to catch the bus!" A young man called out, rushing from the front door of his home. He crossed the distance between his home's driveway and the sidewalk. An additional four running steps saw him in the middle of the road kissing the infamous truck-kun.
Everything had gone into slow motion. From the instant the young man had seen the truck, to the moment that he had become intimately familiar with his body getting Randy Orton'd and folded like a poorly made omelette.
His only thought and words before being struck were, "Well fu—"
I opened my eyes, or at least what felt like eyes. I could feel yet not at the same time. It was weird. An attempt at looking down at myself left me in disbelief. There wasn't anything of me here! It was as if I existed and didn't at the same time. Like a specter, I suppose.
"Uhh, wut?" Came the confused and eloquent words.
[Congratulations! You've died in the tutorial!]
"Wait! What the fuck?! Died?! How did I d—oh. The truck. Right, yes. NO, BITCH! WHY?!" My voice, or if it could be called that since there technically wasn't any sound, shifted from loudly incredulous, to calm acceptance, then back to even further what-de-fuq-why-me.
[Because you didn't look both ways! Simple. Tsk, tsk. Should have been a good boy. Naughty!]
"Okay," I then groaned, feeling the situation unbelievable, "fine. I died. Now where am I and who or what are you?"
[Good question! I could mess with you and call myself God before telling you that you're about to live the wet dream of the majority of fan-fiction, comic, and manga-slash-manhwa-slash-webtoon readers.]
"What was that about being God?" Speculation lacing my voice while raising an invisible digit.
[Nothing at all. Regardless of all that, welcome to the System! Well, a strange version of one. That comes with a single-ish purpose-ish.]
"What's with all the ish-es? Do you need a back-scratch?" I joked, amusement dripping from my 'voice.'
[Do that again and I swear to the creator that you will be debuffed and nerfed to all hell when you reincarnate.]
I blanched and raised my hands in surrender.
"I'll be good, I'll be good! Ma—uh—whatever-my-name-is-why-can't-I-remember is a good boy!" I shot off rapidly, emulating my favorite character's persona.
[You can't remember your old name because you'll be given a new one upon rebirth. Antics aside, once you reincarnate, you'll find yourself in the possession of a special book. A book in which the system uses for calculations to quantify your stats later.]
"The fuck am I going to do with a book? Especially since you said this system's purpose revolves around it." I had no idea how a gamer system only had one purpose. Most gamer systems had level-ups, dungeons and even gacha rolls to empower the gamer of said system. So what's different about mine?
[As stated: you will come to possess a special book in the universe you will be reborn into. It is called the Book of Life. Anything, and I mean anything you write within its pages will be treated as true and undeniable by reality. However, there is a caveat. You may write one statement at a time within its pages every five hours. No more than one. Any attempts to break this rule and your body will fall apart; additionally, you cannot just simply make yourself all-powerful and omnipotent.]
I nodded, understanding the system's warning and ruleset from the book I would receive upon appearing in the next world. I just wonder where and to what I would be reborn. Hopefully something cool. Though preferably away from universes like DxD or the Riordan books. Simply put? According to the system, I have to make myself more powerful through increments every five hours. I won't be ready to take on gods or Devils so powerful that everything becomes instantly vaporized around them at their full strength.
[Your body would explode with all of the power crammed in there right off the bat, so yeah.]
"Yeah, no thanks to that, please. How much more powerful can I make myself at at time, anyhow?" If this is how things are going to be, then I needed every advantage. Knowledge could only help.
[This is where the system comes in. The single purpose of it with said book is to give a numerical value to three stats so that you don't make a mistake and immediately uber-power yourself to death. Three stats are thus: mental, physical, and spiritual fortitude. The third one is easily more increased than then others, however, make the soul too powerful and your physical body will burn away should it not be capable of withstanding your soul's strength.]
Hm. Didn't answer my question, though. But it's better than nothing. Even then I'm not too worried. The increments would just keep increasing with every written statement in the book. This means I need to keep myself in the best shape possible to even consider the bigger gains. Plus not kill myself with too much power.
"Alright. I'm ready, I guess." I utter with a shrug of my sort-of-there-but-not there shoulders. Man I need new words. I know I'm not the most vocabulary oriented, but damn.
[Fantastic. Before you're sent off, be aware that attempting to remove any one person from the fabric of reality or history could end up with devastating consequences, so save doing that as an absolute last resort. Even further? Don't dare attempt it with deities or figures that have left incredibly important marks in the history of wherever you go.]
"Aight. I GOTCHU, SYSTEM! UNGA BUNGA, I DO GOOD!" The poorest gangster caveman act came out of my mouth for some reason. Kill me.
[That can be arranged.]
Alarm immediately sets through me like fire in a dry forest.
"No! No! No dying, please! Even though I already did. But no dying!" My arms snapped together to create an x-shape with my vehemence.
[Understood. By the way, your rebirth is happening now. Congratulations on going to the [Prototype] franchise first. However short-lived it'll be, this one's a freebie for your physical and mental fortitude. You have two things to acquire before you're allowed out of that universe, both are things related to the abilities you'll wake up with. You're going to DxD after that one, by the way.]
Lurching forwards with a gasp, I find myself sitting up within an opened bag of sorts on top of a cold and rigid surface. I gander at my surroundings taking in my location and find that I'm within a morgue. To my side I see another man sitting up, just as confused as I am. Then memories of my life rush in, both of my home universe and of this one. It's then that I'm hit with my name in this world and the name of the man next to me. Though the memories from this life are severely limited. As in I only know my name, birthday and possibly my place of birth.
"My name is… Solaire… Astora? Solaire Astora? Really? Dark Souls hasn't even been released here yet, dude." I grumble and mutter beneath my breath, my expression a faint grimace as I sort through my memories. At my side was the Book of Life, just sitting there in the body-bag with me. I reached for it, my hand just barely grazing its spine before rustling nearby catches my attention.
My eyes shift to the man upon the other table, if I was correct, then this meant that the stranger here was no stranger to me at all. This was Alex Mercer, protagonist of Proto-1. What also sucked was that I got turned into a thirteen-year-old. I was back at the cusp of entering puberty. Again. Whoopee. Fuck you, system.
[I beg your pardon?]
I stiffened. Uh. Nothing! Nothing bad at all came to my head about the system. It was great! It gave me a bomb-ass book of infinite power!
[That's what I thought. Anyways, the protag is calling out to you. Write in the book later, find a place to hide out in first.]
Considering I'm here with Mercer, is it correct to assume I've got the broken evolution and power of Blacklight now? I hope so—
[To cut your thoughts short: yes, you do. Now git!]
"Hey, kid! Are you hearing me?" Alex Mercer had gotten off his table and stood at my table-side, his hand on my shoulder. He had a mixed countenance of concern and irritation. His confusion at our situation wasn't any less palpable, though.
I moisten my lips, tongue dragged over them as I pondered a response. I didn't let his calling me 'kid' irritate me, I basically am one at this age. Even though I've lived a whole twenty-odd years in my last life. Sucks that those memories aren't particularly whole now.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think—I dunno, man. All I remember is waking up here. Uh, lemme see—my name is Solaire Astora, born… 1995, I'm thirteen. That's all I really remember." I muttered all of this aloud as if it'd help me recall more. My brow furrows and I rub my forehead.
"Why can't I remember anything else?" I grit my teeth in faux frustration, already knowing the cause of my current amnesia and fractured memories of my original world. To be honest, I'm already aware that I might not even be myself, 'cause ya see, what I recall of Blacklight tells me that the virus infects the host while consuming and assimilating everything.
Mercer patted my shoulder, attempting to be reassuring in what should be a bleak situation. Mercer nudged his head towards the door and spoke.
"Let's get out of here, I don't think it's a good idea to stick around." Mercer removed himself from me and began to approach the door as I slid of the table and fell to my feet.
I'm fucking short again and I hate it. I used to be five-eleven! Now I'm what? Five-one? Five exact? This sucked donkey balls.
The sound of snapping and crunching aluminum sounded off and my attention went to Mercer. The man hadn't exactly figured out his strength just yet after waking up, if recall. This is going to be both a nightmare and badass.
Love it? Hate it? Comment, pls. Aside from that? I have, or had, another story. Unfortunately the juices for that one died. I have a prompt for its next chapter, but it's unlikely to be put out. Either or, I hope ya'll enjoy it.
By the way? Criticize the fuck out of this. I want improvement. Also? Lemme know in the comments if you spot any mistakes in the grammar and structuring. Aside from that? Point out any holes you see in the story for me to patch up later? Thanks! Toodles!