## BYOG 4

  Chronos.

  You’ve heard of the primordial god thanks to books and video games. But, as far as you know, Chronos is not part of the Celestial Circuit. The rules forbid fighters from acquiring gods that pre-date the cosmos because they are simply too powerful to contain.

  But it dawns on you what Nyx said doesn’t necessarily mean Chronos is part of the Circuit, that some combatant out there managed to contain the god that can control time. No, it actually means something much worse.

  Astraia’s voice reverberates through your mind. “Chronos is loose?” You want to be mad she stole your thunder, snatched the question out of your mouth, but you realize in your current state, caught within Nyx’s grasp, you don’t know if your thoughts are even your own.

  Besides, it’s a painfully obvious question considering the situation.

  Still, Nyx doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  Even if you knew the answer, Nyx’s cold, detached response sends a shiver of discontent through your entire body.

  “You must leave here, immediately,” Nyx says. “And you must do exactly as I say. If you do not, or if you fail, Chronos will dismantle the very existence of your universe. You will no longer exist.”

  If there are words that need to be said right now, you can’t find them. Behind you, Astraia comes up empty, too.

  In a burst of clouded movement, the form of the Shinigami dissipates as quickly as it appeared.

  “Hold out your arms,” Nyx says.

  Your arms lift away from your sides, held out in front of your body towards Nyx. You would have done what she said if you could, but, just like your mind, your body isn’t yours any longer. You’re a puppet and the shadows that slip around your body are the strings.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  A sudden burning sensation wraps around your arms as a blue light slices across your skin. You can feel your flesh opening and then singing closed. Tears burst to life in the corners of your eyes, and you want to scream, but nothing comes out.

  The light dies and the pain subsides.

  “There,” Nyx says, keeping your arms out in front of you. “This is what you must do. Follow my instructions to the letter. Do not waver. Do not shy away from the tasks I have given you. You *must* do these things if you want to survive. If you want to save existence.”

  Written language is scrawled across your flesh. You don’t recognize any of it, and you want to ask how you’re supposed to follow Nyx’s instructions if you can’t read them, when you blink and when you look again, every mark is clear as day. Whatever language has been embedded in your arms, dead or dying, is now your second language.

  You are fluent, able to read it, and, as you whisper out a few words, speak it, too.

  Despite the pain required to make it happen, this is much easier than any app you’ve downloaded to try to learn a new language.

  When you look up, the lights in the front of the room are on and Nyx is gone. Your arms drop back to your side, and you have to force yourself to start breathing again. Nyx had put you and Astraia in a form of suspended animation, forcing your body to shut down —except for your pain receptors— as she spoke to you.

  “What the actual hell was that,” Astraia says from behind you. You turn to look just in time to watch her collapse onto the couch. Your legs are weak. *All of you* is weak, but you force yourself to stay upright. You make your way across the room and stop in front of her.

  You try to see if Astraia received the same directions as you, but the hooded sweater she’s wearing makes it impossible to see her arms. And, without your connection to her, you can’t know what she knows unless she tells you.

  You feel suddenly very, very alone.

  You speak, your voice hoarse: “Can I see your arms?”

  She looks at you like she’s about to tell you to get the hell away from her, but instead she sits up and drags the sleeves of her sweater up, revealing the same dead language carved into both arms.

  “It’s different from mine,” you say, immediately unhappy with this revelation.

  “She was talking to both of us,” Astraia says matter-of-factly, like it’s the most obvious thing that’s ever happened. You figure she’s probably upset with everything that just happened, like you are, but the tone upset you anyway.

  “So, what does that mean?”

  Astraia shakes her head and drags her hands through her hair. “It means we’re stuck together until we get this figured out.”

  You blink and try to make sense of it, to wrap your head around the chaos that has just fallen onto your lap. But it’s beyond you. Bigger and wider and more vast than you. You’re just a person, and now you’re tasked with saving not just yourself, or Astraia, but all mankind — all the *universe*.

  “Or die trying,” you say because you’re nothing if not practical.