Episode 1: A Mother Clenching, the World Breathing

  Chapter 002 - The Night the Systems Cried

  Lefaulta’s cry clung to the stone like a dying prayer, echoing long after the boots had vanished. The chains fell silent, but the storm did not. Clouds pulsed from distant lightning more and more, and the desperate call sailed across the nation.

  Across the valley of RrodKa, beyond the shackles and crumbling towers, her voice found Minsuer.

  He stood on a hilltop while the wind tugged at his cloak. His burdened eyes gazed at the sky where clouds gathered close, turning the day closer to dusk. The sky glared like an eye above him as the storm grew louder. He was shaking, unable to be still. “Lefaulta.”

  Just then, his system interrupted, popping up uncalled for. The screen’s edges flickered with static and instability. Then came the words… buzzing and unnatural, like something forced them through.

  ● System Interruption ●

  A mother clenching, the world breathing.

  He tilted his head, unsure what he was seeing. The system had never done this. System messages always appear with some purpose to them, whether it be stat changes, boosts, or some effect on the body. His eyes dwelled on the spot beneath the message way too long, and he was sure: this was not normal.

  Thunder cracked above… closer now.

  A few meters away, a shack creaked with the cries of a woman gritting through labor. The woman—the Lady—lay low, legs trembling, her body wracked with cold sweat. Servants moved quietly but frantically around her, holding cloth stained with blood. Their hands trembled with urgency, flinching at the rawness of her cries. Rodger, her husband, knelt at her side with fingers entwined with hers, hoping his presence anchored her through each wave of pain. Her screams struck the rafters and pierced beyond the walls to the storm, as if calling it closer. Each cry bent the air. The storm leaned in, listening. And far off in a cell, Lefaulta’s prayer clung to this moment, for she knew the danger would soon find both mother and child.

  But around them, the land had already begun to move.

  Slaves emerged from the shanties and broken huts, pouring into the Bareground like wounds left open too long. It was an open field, a vast expanse purposed for development. But it had been taken by the restless eyes. They flooded the alleyways and across the fractured roads that bled too often. They bordered their village and towns as the storm rumbled constantly.

  They carried nothing but scraps of cloth. Blankets, kerchiefs, and prayer wraps long worn thin. No swords or shovels except bare hands… and magic beaten into them by years of forced labor. Each scar on a man’s body carried the weight of a child beaten to death by exhaustion. They fought to save the little ones, but their scars told the tale of another failed attempt. Now, they all lined up, ready to face the worst punishment of all.

  They knew what was coming, a decree already whispered through the streets. Their eyes burned with rightful fury. Hands curled, ready to take lives, for they knew the decree was after one thing: their infants.

  Hundreds of men gathered. They looked far into the distant city where the rich lived. Children clung to their mothers, and they clutched their children to their chests. Fathers stood at the frontlines. Silence hovered over them. It was the silence of men who had buried too many children to cry out anymore.

  Not too long… their eyes saw soldiers and fleets spilling from the city’s streets and alleys, gathering like little ants. Their armors glistened like molten gold, fluid but steady, approaching with calm dread.

  Dozens. Then hundreds more.

  They knew it was coming, the second when the kings would send their decree. Perhaps it had already been sent.

  Either way, the Bareground would not stay bare for long.

  Inside the shed, the Matron of the Hearth screamed. She mourned. Fear, loss, anguish, and the desperate love for her endangered child wove into one raw, breaking sound.

  Her voice broke through the cracks in the wood, past the bloodied blankets and whispered prayers

  —those of many: slaves, rich, poor, prophets—

  and shattered against the cold air outside.

  The clouds spiraled right above the Lady. Then a flash of white tore across the heavens.

  Thunder answered louder now, howling like a beast newly awakened.

  It heard the Matron’s grief. The storm heard her reverent voice.

  After a long silence of rainless clouds, the storm finally answered.

  And it snapped!

  From the storm’s center, high above the heart of all nations, a lightning struck. It surged across the heavens, surging in five jagged arcs—one for each nation. Each crashed down with ruthless force.

  It struck the ruins of RathNah, cracking trees and splitting ancient stones.

  It tore through the towers of the nation of Charisma, bursting into rich homes.

  It slammed into the kingdom of Wisdom, collapsing buildings and shaking their trembling masses.

  It hammered the fortress walls of the nation of Dexterity, rattling ramparts and shaking the hearts of men.

  It struck the fields of RrodKa with a thunderclap so loud it deafened the open plain.

  Every kingdom, every nation, every soul with ears heard the storm’s cry.

  And then, in a shack beneath the storm’s eye, far from the frontlines, hidden in the folds of battered land, the Matron’s breath stilled.

  The storm fell silent. Lightning stopped flashing. Thunder collapsed into quiet. The world was quiet. And in every person living, systems were still. Slowly, their screens appeared, emerging in completely erratic rhythms and static. They trembled, like they were about to break. Amid the static, one name emerged, over and over again, across the world for all systems.

  Parsabelle Nahlan

  On the other side of the world, Parsabelle was still. She saw her system appear in all caps. She froze, her breath still.

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

  Levan Al

  Levan stopped walking. He couldn’t move. His breath stilled.

  Xollor Tora

  He was marching behind the main frontline troops. But then… All armor-clad bodies stilled. Voices cut off mid-sentence. Magic fizzled out mid-cast. All the soldiers wrapped in iron and magic stopped walking. Their breaths halted. Even Xollor, the elite among them, froze.

  And then—

  A cry.

  Sharp. Weak. New. A child’s cry.

  The baby opened his mouth wide, the widest he could make. He gasped, then howled—his first sound in a broken world. The voice echoed, and it reverberated beyond the human senses… And the storm sensed it.

  The world felt the cry. The clouds darkened instantly, causing the world to grow absolutely dark.

  Then came the pulse.

  A rupture crossed borders, logic, and the unseen. Systems across the world shuddered.

  They glitched. Flickered. Trembled.

  Then… suddenly, all at once, every system jolted. By force. Those who were asleep awoke upon the sudden revelation. And they felt a soul-deep cry from their systems:

  ● SYSTEM ALERT ●

  —LORD—

  –100% STR –100% DEX

  –50% INT –20% WIS

  –100% CHA –100% CON

  Universal Overlay: All Descendents of the Singularity

  One word. No context. No level. No command. All stats folded inward. Numbers collapsed. Nothing remained but a single word. But it didn’t just appear. Upon its cry, the world broke.

  [Parsabelle Nahlan]

  ● SYSTEM ALERT ●

  —LORD—

  Parsabelle’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

  [Levan Al]

  ● SYSTEM ALERT ●

  —LORD—

  Levan collapsed to both knees, clutching his ribs as if something had split open inside him.

  [Lefaulta Lan]

  ●SYSTEM ALERT ●

  —LORD—

  Lefaulta choked on the air, chains rattling as her body arched. Her eyes rolled back. The shift tore through her system, and she could feel it. With it, she cried, “My lord.”

  [Minsuer Lan]

  ● SYSTEM ALERT ●

  —LORD—

  Minsuer, who had not bowed to anyone else besides the Matron, fell to the dirt like a dying beast. All around him, the slaves dropped as if undone. Like the soil could no longer hold them.

  [Xollor Tora]

  ● SYSTEM ALERT ●

  —LORD—

  And far away, atop a scorched hill where he and the shadowy figure walked, Xollor’s eyes went wide. He dropped his weapon. His mouth trembled. The soldiers ahead of him collapsed. Armors and weapons clanged and piled on the ground. The cloaked man was no different, falling like everyone else.

  On every open screen, in every broken kingdom, the glowed:

  —LORD—

  For minutes, the world went blind, wrapped in a blanket of black clouds. Absolutely silent. Lightning flashed with thunder rumbling the ground. Wind stilled, and beneath the flickering light lay Xollor.

  He coughed violently, as if trying to vomit his empty stomach. He cleared his throat hoarsely, feeling like his HP bar was in the negatives. The “—LORD—” flickered across his screen, overriding his name and every known stat. Its overpowering presence made him furrow his brows. He bit his lips hard to the point that blood seeped down.

  “What’s happening?” he heard his soldiers ask. He faced them, seeing the multitude of his noble soldiers on the ground in humiliation. They crawled and gasped for air. His eyes locked onto their struggles and lowliness. His palms crushed the grass in fury. The shadow beside him was no better—slumped, choking, stripped of all dignity. The last thing he expected was to see a creature like him brought low like a common slave.

  Reaching with his hand, he grabbed the man’s neck and brought him close.

  “Was this your masters’ plan?” Xollor rasped. “Are they groveling too? Just like pigs? Explain, because all I see is a mistake.”

  “Wait…” the man gasped in desperation, his hands tightening around Xollor’s. But his strength was unmatched. The man winced, speaking with minimal air running through him, “This was expected from our masters… They knew this would come. I’ll receive intel soon— Enough about this. The decree’s been set. Once the child is gone… I’ll explain everything…”

  Xollor watched in silence. Slowly, the system began to stabilize.

  He inhaled deeply, feeling like he could stabilize and calm himself. He let go of the man who started coughing on the ground. Focusing on the display, the “LORD” disappeared, and his stats reappeared:

  He wiped his mouth and pushed his hands against the dirt. And like a man switching from agitation to unbothered, he rose. He reached down for his sword. The blade lay half-buried in dirt and gravel, its edge clean despite what had happened. He grabbed and pulled it free, the black razor edge leaving no scrape or nick behind.

  The sword was thin and precise for battle. Xollor looked at the weapon, watching it glisten in a dark crimson. Spinning it around to get a good grip, the gloss aimed at the city ahead. Those rundown shanties and huts were nothing but rubble and trash. Standing in the front were hundreds of slaves with poised stances. A dozen more got to their feet after the bizarre event.

  As the clouds thinned and the world drew breath again, rulers and slaves stood face to face. One under the decree, the other under slavery. As the fathers and men of the poor stood to their feet for battle, so did the soldiers and the elite with their readied swords and staff.

  “Get away,” Xollor said to the shadowy man, “I chose to kill the child myself.”

  The man lowered his head, and his body shifted into an ominous shade of black. Smoke emitted from his cloak. Then a distant sizzle and static swarmed him. In a calm voice, he replied, “I will take my leave then. You know where to find me.”

  Xollor watched the man sink to the ground, leaving no trace of him behind. Smoke scattered until there was no more. He huffed, facing the line of slaves waiting for his advancement.

  “Your child is not meant to live.” His voice was low, final. “To protect the world, I will find you, Matron, and so will your child.”

  End of Episode 1