Upon leaving his apartment, Devon felt a chill run down his spine. The street, usually full of noise and life, was empty. No voices, not even the hum of electricity. Only an absolute, unnatural silence.
A cold wind blew between the buildings, but not a single leaf moved. Something was wrong.
Then, without warning, the space in front of him distorted as if reality itself was being torn apart. Out of nowhere, the tall and slender figure in the gray suit and sunglasses appeared before him, his expression indifferent. A suffocating aura of power emanated from him, as if gravity itself bent around him.
—Give my regards to the Watchers —he said in a calm voice, but with a barely concealed mocking tone—. You're late for the tutorial, so… goodbye.
Devon barely had time to react. The man moved with inhuman speed, his arm extending like a whip of steel. Before his brain could process it, a cold, firm hand grabbed his head.
And then, devastation.
A shattering impact. Devon's vision filled with light and debris as his skull was slammed against the apartment wall. A deafening boom echoed through the area as the concrete exploded as if it were cardboard. The entire building trembled and, in an instant, the structure gave way.
The ground disappeared beneath him. Fragments of metal and concrete rained around him as he fell through the ruins of what was once his home. Pain was a burning storm in his head, his consciousness teetering on the edge of the abyss.
As his body was swallowed by dust and darkness, one last image burned itself into his mind: the man in the gray suit, standing among the rubble as if nothing had happened, adjusting his sleeves with disturbing calm.
And then, everything faded.
The impact was absolute. Devon felt his skull fracture under the relentless pressure of that hand, felt his bones splinter as his body was crushed against the debris. There was no resistance, only the certainty that he was being reduced to nothing.
Pain.
Darkness.
And then… something worse.
His consciousness did not fully fade. Instead, it unraveled and dragged itself through a void that burned with colors that shouldn't exist. Something was devouring him, something beyond pain and death, something he did not understand but that claimed him as its own.
When he opened his eyes, the world was no longer the same.
The forest smelled of rust and burnt flesh. Devon gasped, feeling a stabbing pain in every fiber of his being. His trembling hands clutched the ground—a carpet of violet leaves that crunched like broken bones beneath his knees. His vision flickered between shadows and a sickly amber glow.
The sky was shattered, slashed by luminescent cracks. They weren’t mere fissures in the firmament; they were wounds in reality itself, gaping open like hungry mouths. They were the same ones he had seen in his visions, but now they were wider, more voracious. A spectral light seeped through them, tinting everything with a feverish radiance.
There was no sun. There was no moon.
Only the humming of something ancient breathing among the metallic-barked trees.
And Devon, broken, trapped in a place that should not exist.
This is real, he repeated to himself, digging his nails into the scar on his jaw. The pain was a whip of clarity. Salvatore, this is what you hid in your encrypted journals. This is the price.
Around him, the screams of the other initiates echoed like distorted reverberations. Hundreds of people ran in all directions—some towards the heart of the forest, others towards rock formations that looked like giant fangs. A man stumbled against Devon, his eyes bloodshot.
—The Saviors! The Saviors will get us out of here! —he screamed, pointing upward.
On a platform of intertwined roots, three reptilian figures observed the chaos with crossed arms. The tallest one carried a curved sword made of twisted wood, and his golden scales gleamed under the unnatural light. Devon suppressed a shiver. They are not gods. They are jailers. And jailers have routines.
—Silence, worms! —roared the reptilian, and an invisible pressure crushed the air. The crowd collapsed to their knees, Devon included. His teeth ground under the weight of that mental force. Telepathy? Telekinesis? No… it's something dirtier.
—Welcome to the Garden of the Three Twilights —the creature announced, scanning the crowd with a gaze of bored predator—. Survive for sixty days, and you will regain your miserable existence. Fail… —he smiled, revealing obsidian fangs—, and you will feed the roots.
The speech continued, but Devon was no longer listening. His attention was on the details:
1: Their weapons are staffs of living wood that writhe like snakes. 2: The leader has a scar running across his chest, too precise to be an accident. 3: The youngest one's bracelet blinks with a green light—is it a communicator? A sensor?
An explosion interrupted his thoughts. A man with a gun emptied his magazine at the reptilians. The bullets stopped in midair and fell like stones.
—Fools! —the reptilian leader spat. With a gesture, five wooden spears flew towards the crowd. Devon threw himself to the ground, but others weren’t so lucky. The projectiles pierced bodies with wet cracks. A splash of warm blood hit his face.
They are not invincible, he thought, noticing how the youngest reptilian panted after launching the spears. They use their own energy. They get tired.
The violet forest echoed with the screams of three thousand lost souls. These were not just cries of panic—they were roars of despair, broken pleas, and sobs from those who had yet to understand that their old world no longer existed.
Among the crowd, trembling bodies clung to each other. Some tried to run, but the ground beneath them rippled like a living thing, trapping them in its cruel embrace. Others screamed names that would never receive an answer.
In the midst of the chaos, the Watcher raised his claw.
He was an impossible entity—a reptilian with golden scales that shone like liquid fire under the amber light. His vertical eyes were mortally cold. When he spoke, his voice pierced bone.
—Pathetic initiates —he spat in a guttural Spanish, as if his tongue were not made to pronounce it—. Forget your weak laws. Here, the Rules of the System reign. If you want to survive, say "Status."
A brief silence. Then, a murmur. Some whispered the word with hesitation, others with the hope that it was all a dream. Devon, however, did not hesitate.
"Status."
It wasn’t a choice. It was instinct.
The word left his lips, and instantly, a holographic screen appeared before his eyes. It was invisible to others, but he saw it clearly:
---
[Devon Fiore - Level 1]
Race: Human (Grade G)
Health: 80/80
Mana: 70/70
Stamina: 70/70
--
Attributes:
Strength: 13
Agility: 14
Endurance: 11
Vitality: 11
Toughness: 8
Intelligence: 16
Wisdom: 12
Perception: 15
Free Points: 0
--
Titles: None
Class: Locked (Available at Level 10)
Profession: Locked
---
Numbers.
Without context, that’s all they were. But something didn’t add up.
Beside him, a woman gasped, hands trembling in front of her face.
—No… this can’t be… My numbers… my numbers are too low!
Another man murmured with vacant eyes:
—Vitality… only six…
Devon narrowed his eyes. Then, slowly, he understood what he was seeing.
He had no way of knowing what was "normal," but if some were reacting with panic, it meant the numbers mattered. And if their fear was because of low values, then…
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Why didn’t he feel that same desperation?
The Watcher continued his speech, his voice tearing through the atmosphere:
—Each level will grant you 1 point in all attributes and 5 free points. Increase Vitality so you don’t bleed to death, Wisdom to resist the Garden’s lies, or Toughness so your bones don’t snap like this idiot’s.
CRACK
The Watcher vanished and reappeared in front of a man in the blink of an eye. Before the victim could react, a golden claw pierced his face with a wet, nauseating sound. There was a moment of silence, a flicker of disbelief in the man's eyes… and then, his skull exploded in a rain of bone fragments and gray matter.
His body convulsed uncontrollably before collapsing onto the carpet of violet leaves, which absorbed his blood as if they were hungry.
Panic turned into sheer hysteria.
Some fell to their knees, others broke into tears. A young man tried to run, but the ground swallowed him up to his waist before spitting out his lifeless corpse.
Devon felt his heart pounding in his chest, but he didn’t let the adrenaline take over. He couldn't afford to lose his head.
—Survive 60 days —he sentenced, a cruel gleam in his vertical eyes—. And perhaps… we will allow you to choose a Class.
Grades... G to C, he mentioned. And after that? B, A, S? How many steps are there in this damn cosmic staircase?
Salvatore wrote about 'ascending in grade' in his journal, but he never said how. Accumulated levels? Specific trials? If these lizards are Grade E... how many grades above them are the Devourers?"
The watch burns in my pocket. 3:14. The hour Angelo died. The hour Salvatore stitched this scar onto me. Coincidence? In this place, nothing is. Ascending in grade won’t just mean leveling up... it will mean paying a different kind of price.
Sixty days.
Devon scanned the broken souls around him, the faces in shock.
There’s no point in trusting anyone. But there’s no point in trusting the System either.
Salvatore… what the hell did you know?
The Watcher spun his twisted wooden sword, cutting through the air with a supernatural whistle.
—You are not the first. Nor will you be the last —his voice echoed with a multidimensional resonance—. This Garden is but a grain of sand in the desert of the Multiverse. Survive, and perhaps you will be deemed worthy of setting foot in the in the confines of the multiverse. Fall… —his eyes gleamed with malice—, and not even your souls will be remembered.
Silence.
The impact was immediate. Most of the humans paled, their minds struggling to process what they had just heard. Multiverse. This was not just a survival game, not just a personal hell. There was something beyond. Something vast. Something watching them from an unimaginable distance.
Devon didn’t move. His mind worked fast, unraveling the hidden meaning behind the Watcher’s words. They were not the first. How many others had gone through this before them? How many had succeeded? How many had died before they even glimpsed this so-called Multiverse?
More importantly… what did it mean to deserve to set foot in it?
If this is a test, then it has rules. And if it has rules… I can break them.
He looked around. Some were terrified. Others seemed hopeful, as if those words had given them a purpose. But what Devon saw was something else.
A ladder.
If humans were at the very bottom, if they were nothing more than cattle for something greater, then there was only one option: climb, no matter the price.
The Watcher’s eyes swept over the crowd until they landed on him. Devon held his gaze, unwavering.
The reptilian tilted his head. As if he recognized him. As if he was expecting something from him.
Devon didn’t smile. Not yet.
But in his mind, a thought ignited like fire.
I will rise higher than you can imagine. And when I do… you will remember my name.
It wasn’t time for answers.
It was time to survive.
Panic erupted. People fled into the forest, but Devon crouched between the bushes with sharp leaves. He watched the watchers:
—Specimen 667-F is still alive —muttered one, checking his bracelet—. Orders?
—Let it run —the leader responded, wiping blood off his claws—. The Rippers will take care of it.
Rippers. The name echoed in his mind like a funeral bell.
---
The forest was a living organ. The trees oozed violet sap that burned upon contact with skin. Devon followed the trail of a group of initiates, keeping his distance. They were not allies. They were bait.
The first victims fell quickly. A creature resembling a puma with moss-covered fur appeared out of nowhere, tearing throats with crystal claws. Devon froze, recalling Salvatore's lessons: "Predators smell fear. Become stone."
The monster brushed past him, leaving a bleeding gash on his arm. He held the pain without flinching. When the beast moved away, he followed the human pack, now reduced to three.
—We need to find shelter! —a woman screamed.
—Look! Water! —a man pointed to a stream of silvery liquid.
Devon didn't warn them. He watched as the first one to drink convulsed, his skin covered in metallic scales. The others fled, but not fast enough. The roots from the ground coiled around their ankles, dragging them underground. Their screams lasted less than a second.
The forest itself is a predator, he realized, retreating. And the reptilians only watch.
He found refuge in a hollow log. The inside smelled of sweet rot, but it was dry. He took out Angelo's watch. The hands were still stuck at 3:14, but the ticking was louder, as if the mechanism was turning under his skin.
—What do you want from me? —he whispered to the device.
The answer was a fleeting vision: Salvatore kneeling in this very forest, signing a contract with a creature made of shadows and broken clocks. "I accept the Pact. Blood for power. Soul for time."
The sound of breaking branches pulled him back to reality. Someone was lurking nearby.
It was a man with a homemade knife, his eyes dilated with panic.
—Leave! This is my shelter! —he growled.
Devon calculated his options: he could kill him (it would be easy, the guy was trembling like a fawn), or use him. He chose the second one.
—There’s a supply terminal —he lied, pointing east—. I saw lights. Weapons. Food.
The man hesitated, but greed won over fear. He set off in that direction. Devon followed him from the shadows.
The trap was obvious to anyone who knew how to look: bioluminescent mushrooms formed a circle too perfect. The man ran toward them, and the ground opened. His screams attracted the Rippers.
There were three. Humanoid creatures with bark-like skin and flat faces with no eyes. Moving silently, they dismembered the man with surgical precision. Devon watched, memorizing every movement:
The first ripper used its nails like scalpels, the second preferred to strangle with vines, and the third collected fingers.
When they were done, Devon acted. He threw a stone at the mushrooms, triggering another trap. Poisonous vines wrapped around the Rippers. The third managed to escape, but was limping.
He followed the trail of black blood to a cave. Inside, he found what he was looking for: a nest with chewed bones, and among them, a diary from Salvatore.
"Day 43 in the Garden," one entry said. "The Watchers have a weak spot: the gland under the left armpit. Cut there and they deflate like balloons."
He smiled. The old bastard had really been here.
---
The night in the forest was a sound nightmare. Invisible creatures howled in fractal tongues, and the roots moved stealthily beneath the leaves. Devon took refuge in a cave of black crystals, using the diary as a pillow.
The visions came with sleep:
Salvatore, decades younger, fighting against a Watcher. His knife found the left armpit. The creature exploded in amber liquid.
"Grade F achieved," a metallic voice resonated. "Do you wish to ascend?"
Salvatore spat blood. "Not for me. For him."
The scene changed: an iron crib, a crying baby (was it him?) with the scar already marked on his jaw.
He woke up startled. Angelo's watch burned on his chest. Outside, something growled.
The Watcher moved with the grace of an ancient predator, its golden scales resonating like war bells. Devon clung to the cave ceiling, the acidic sap of the forest burning on his skin like a cold shroud. He couldn't see the numbers of the reptilian—the System hid the data of living targets—but he knew.
"The Watchers are Grade E. Level 30 at a minimum," Salvatore had written in his diary. "Killing one will give you more XP than a hundred humans."
"Specimen 667-F... irregular energy signature... possible mutation of the Lineage..." The reptilian's voice rumbled in his translator-bracelet as it scanned the area with eyes that glowed in the infrared spectrum. Devon knew it because Salvatore's diary had warned him:
"Day 22: The Watchers see the heat of blood, not shadows. Cover your skin with frozen mud or acidic sap. Their eyes are their weapon... and their curse."
That's why he had rubbed his torso with the violet sap from the carnivorous tree hours earlier. The liquid, now dry, emitted an unnatural cold that distorted his thermal signature. Even so, the Watcher advanced, its claws leaving grooves in the stone.
—I know you're here, Fiore —it whispered—. The Devourers whisper your name in my marrow.
The creature threw its living wooden staff. The weapon slithered through the air, piercing the crystal just inches from Devon's head.
—Your lineage ends here, rotten seed! —roared the reptilian, its voice an earthquake in his mind.
Devon jumped, landing silently. The pain of his bleeding palms was a mantra: "The Fiores do not retreat. They take advantage."
The Watcher attacked again, its claws etching scars in the stone. Devon rolled, feeling the air cut where his neck had been just seconds before.
—Will you run like your grandfather? —the creature mocked, throwing an amber energy sphere that vaporized a rock.
"Lie," thought Devon as a shard embedded itself in his thigh. "Salvatore beat you. And I'll do worse."
With a studied movement, he threw black crystal dust into the reptilian's face. The particles glowed under the three suns, blinding its infrared eyes for a second. Enough.
The black bone dagger—the same one Salvatore had hidden decades ago—found the left armpit. The blade vibrated as it hit the thermoregulating gland, and the Watcher's scream shook the forest.
The reptilian collapsed, its body convulsing in a storm of sparks and acidic smoke. Devon didn't wait. He climbed its scaly back and drove the dagger into the base of its skull, where the diary marked a worn-out blue spot.
---
[Kill Confirmed!]
[Name: Kraxil Vorn]
[Race: Garden Watcher (Subspecies: Draconis Custodis)]
[Level: 32 | Grade: E]
[XP Gained]
The body disintegrated into glowing ash, leaving only a bracelet of liquid gold and a fading cosmic wail.
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
[+4 to all stats]
[+20 free points]
Devon dropped to his knees, his breath ragged as he pulled up his status.
--
[Devon Fiore - Level 6]
[Race: Human (Grade G)]
Health: 68/80
Mana: 70/70
Stamina: 54/70
--
Attributes:
Strength: 13 → 17
Agility: 14 → 18
Endurance: 11 → 15
Vitality: 11 → 15
Toughness: 8 → 12
Intelligence: 16 → 20
Wisdom: 12 → 16
Perception: 15 → 19
Free Points: 20
--
"Grade E... and I killed it while still Grade G."
His fingers trembled as he distributed the points—10 into Agility, 10 into Perception. And then it happened.
A storm beneath his skin. His muscles didn't just grow—they shifted, reforming in real-time, tightening like coils ready to snap. His vision sharpened, the world exploding into detail—every flicker of movement, every pulse of heat, every ripple in the leaves from unseen creatures lurking just beyond sight.
He clenched his fists. Salvatore was right. The System rewards audacity... or stupidity.
The forest fell into a tense silence. Distant howls echoed—the other Watchers had noticed.
Devon reached for the bracelet, ignoring the burn of alien metal against his skin.
[Item Acquired: Fallen Watcher’s Bracelet (Grade E)]
[Effect: +5 Perception against Garden threats]
Grade E. The bracelet vibrates with foreign energy, but it doesn't burn me... not yet. Could it be that the System doesn't restrict the use of higher-grade items? Or maybe the Watchers are so insignificant in the Multiverse that even their items aren't protected.
Salvatore, if you were able to steal secrets from these lizards... what else is there in the higher grades? Weapons that cut through dimensions? Armor that defies physical laws?
It doesn't matter. This trophy is the first step. And I will climb until even the Devourers see the name Fiore in their nightmares.
A slow grin spread across his face. Angelo’s watch burned cold against his chest. 3:14 AM.
"Next."
---
As he stepped out of the cave, the forest had changed. The cracks in the sky bled more freely, the trees whispered his name—in Salvatore’s voice.
A group of initiates saw him emerge, his body streaked with reptilian ash.
“He’s one of them!” a woman shrieked.
“Kill him before he turns us in!”
Devon didn’t run.
He let them come closer. Let them see the Watcher’s bracelet wrapped around his wrist.
“I know how to survive,” he said.
And for the first time since arriving here, it was the truth.
The hunger in their eyes flickered into something else. Hope.
"They don't ask how I know. They don't question the bracelet. They only see the gleam of gold and think 'salvation.' Pathetic
Grades are cages. G for cattle, E for jailers... And what am I? The wolf that learned to bite between the bars.
If ascending in grade requires crossing thresholds even the Watchers won’t speak of… then I’ll break down the doors. I’ll use their fear as my ladder, their corpses as my steps.
After all, isn’t that what you wanted, Grandfather? For me to turn every lie into a weapon, every soul into a resource... until even the Devourers learn to fear the name Fiore."
Devon exhaled. This was the real Pact. Not one of blood, nor power, but hope—twisted, reshaped, and controlled.
Angelo’s watch still read 3:14 AM.
Always 3:14.
