Adam woke up with a gasp, like he’d been drowning.
His eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. Everything felt... small.
He sat up, and his legs dangled off the edge of the cot, his feet not even touching the floor. He stared at them. They were tiny. So were his hands. He held them up in front of his face, turning them over. A child’s hands.
"What the hell?" he whispered. His voice was high. Soft. A kid’s voice.
He scrambled off the cot, his body feeling light and uncoordinated. He stumbled, catching himself on a rough wooden crate. He looked down at his clothes—a simple, rough-spun tunic that was too big, but not by much. He was small. He was a child.
"No," he muttered, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "This isn’t happening. The missile... Lionhead... Rebecca..."
The memory hit him like a physical blow. The white light. The roar. The feeling of being torn apart.
And then... nothing. Until now.
A sharp pain lanced through his skull. He hissed, clutching his head as a flood of images that weren’t his own crashed into his mind.
A woman with a kind face, singing softly. Then, men in dark clothes dragging her away.
Himself—no, the boy—being shoved into a line with other crying children.
The word "slave" being spat at him.
A cold, stone room. Hunger. Fear.
A large hall, a glowing crystal. A man pressing it to his forehead. Nothing happens. Nothing at all.
Laughter. Sneers. "Worthless." "Trash." "Can’t even get an F-rank."
The memories settled, a heavy, foreign weight in his mind. This body’s memories. The boy had no name anyone cared to use. He was just another orphan, sold into servitude after his parents were taken. And on his Awakening Day, the day every five-year-old is tested for their Talent, he had awakened nothing. Not even the lowest F-rank.
He was considered less than nothing.
Adam let out a slow breath, lowering his hands. He looked around the small, barren room. A slave’s quarters.
He started to laugh. It was a dry, humorless sound in the small room.
"You have got to be kidding me," he said to the empty air. "I get blown to bits and end up as a talentless slave kid? What kind of sick joke is this?"
He was Adam. He was the leader of the Red Bandits. He didn’t bow. He didn’t beg. He didn’t lose.
And now he was this? A piece of property? A nobody?
The sheer absurdity of it was almost enough to make him laugh again. Almost.
His thoughts snapped to Rebecca. Where was she? Did she make it? Was she here too, trapped in some other kid’s body? Or was she just... gone?
The thought sent a cold spike of something unfamiliar through him. It wasn’t fear. It was... agitation. He didn’t like not knowing. He didn’t like this helplessness.
He clenched his small hands into fists. They were weak. Useless.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Okay. Think. I’m here. I’m alive. That’s a start. But I’m a slave. And I’m ’talentless’." He smirked. "We’ll see about that."
As if in response to his thought, a cold sensation bloomed in the center of his mind. It was like a sliver of ice sliding into place.
Ding.
The sound was clean and clear, and it came from inside his head.
Adam froze.
Ding.
Another one.
Then, a black screen materialized in his vision. It wasn’t in the room; it was just... there, floating in front of him. It was utterly plain, devoid of any color or decoration.
Words began to form, the letters appearing one by one, stark white against the void.
[YOU ARE NOT A TRASH]
Adam stared, his breath catching in his throat. A system? Of all the cliché, ridiculous...
The words faded away, dissolving into the black. For a moment, the screen was empty. Then, new letters began to form, slower this time, each one carrying a weight that felt final.
[YOU ARE NOTHING]
"The fuck..."
Adam stared at the pitch-black screen floating in front of him.
He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe for a second.
"This thing is broken," he muttered. "This has to be broken."
First he was trash.
Trash he could handle.
Trash was still something.
But this?
This system had just told him—calmly, confidently—that he was nothing.
Not weak.
Not talentless.
Not hopeless.
Nothing.
A void.
A mistake.
A ghost inside reality.
He dragged his hand across his face and groaned. "I swear if this is some cosmic prank—"
The screen flickered.
Letters appeared again.
Not rushed.
Not loud.
Just there.
[You misquote me.]
Adam’s eyebrow twitched. "Excuse me?"
The words continued.
[Master of Nonexistence.]
Adam blinked.
"Who?"
[You.]
The letters rippled slightly.
[You are nothing because you are nothing.]
He frowned. "That doesn’t explain shit."
[You are not here and everywhere at the same time.]
Adam leaned forward. "What is that even supposed to mean?"
[You do not exist because you stood before existence.]
He paused.
"What?"
[Before worlds. Before laws. Before concept. Before thought.]
Adam rubbed his forehead. "Why do I feel like you’re calling me old?"
[You are the Absolute Being of Nonexistence.]
"Show me my stats then," Adam said, rubbing his small face with both hands. "Let’s see what bullshit you cooked up for me."
The black screen didn’t answer immediately.
It just stayed there, empty and silent, like it was judging him.
Then—
The darkness shifted.
A new panel unfolded, but it wasn’t bright. It wasn’t decorated. It didn’t glow.
It was pure void shaped into a rectangle.
Letters began to etch themselves into it, as if carved by something that wasn’t a hand.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Coldly.
[ENTITY STATS — N’VARIEL]
Adam blinked.
"...Who the hell is that?"
More text formed under it.
[Alias: Adam]
He froze.
"What?"
The screen ignored him.
[True Name: N’variel]
Adam stared. "Why does that sound like something I didn’t ask for?"
More text followed.
[Title: The Silent Paradox]
[Rank: Conceptual Absolute (Nonexistence)]
[Authority: ∞]
Adam frowned. "Infinity? Really?"
The screen pulsed once.
[Existence-Level: Undefined]
He squinted. "...What does that even mean? Am I a ghost or something?"
Another line appeared without hesitation.
[You do not qualify as ’something.’]
Adam raised both hands. "I didn’t ask for insults."
More writing appeared.
[Threat Level: Beyond Omni]
He stared at it. "Beyond omni? You’re just making shit up now."
The system ignored him again.
[True Tier: 0]
Adam’s eyebrow twitched. "Zero? Why zero?"
[Below 1. You cannot rank what does not exist.]
Adam groaned. "You’re really committed to this ’you don’t exist’ nonsense."
The next panel opened.
It was a list.
Except every stat had the same answer.
ATTRIBUTE — VALUE
Strength — N/A
Speed — N/A
Durability — N/A
Intelligence — N/A
Mana — N/A
Soul — None
Timeline Profiles — ∞
Reality Density — Zero
Adam leaned closer. "...I don’t have a soul?"
[Correct.]
"That’s rude."
[Souls require existence.]
"So I don’t exist, but I talk, think, breathe, and complain?"
[Those are consequences, not proof.]
Adam threw his small hands in the air. "What does that even mean?!"
The system didn’t care.
A new section appeared.
Concept Abilities:
✔ Absolute Nonexistence
✔ Paradox Immunity
✔ Void Singularity
✔ Null Domain Authority
✔ Anti-Soul Corruption
✔ Anti-Existence Aura
✔ Memory Purge
✔ Absolute Erasure
✔ Universal Shutdown
✔ Unmaking Touch
Adam read it slowly.
"...Okay. I don’t know what half of that means, but it sounds violent."
The system didn’t disagree.
Another set of lines formed.
Passive Traits:
Cannot be killed
Cannot be copied
Cannot be sealed
Cannot be understood
Cannot be perceived fully
Cannot be interacted with unless allowed
Cannot be remembered without permission
Adam stared for a long moment.
"...What the fuck am I?"
The screen didn’t hesitate this time.
[You are N’variel.]