In a place filled with darkness where time was meaningless stood a man—6 feet tall, wearing a gray tank top, black shorts, white Crocs, and short socks. He waited, staring off into space, talking to himself.
"My dad always says that God has a plan for everyone. I find that really hard to believe. Like… is there someone in the sky who already planned my fate? What's the point of working hard to achieve your goals then? How the fuck would I even know if I followed what God had planned for me? What if I'm supposed to become something evil? What if I fail His plan? What if my choices aren't what God intended? I keep having these thoughts every time I go about my daily life…"
He paused, thinking.
"My daily life mostly consists of eating junk food and watching anime, cartoons, and movies. The only literature I read is fanfics and manga I get from the library. And the final thing that ends my day? Playing video games of different genres.
Don't look at me like that. I know what you're thinking—'He's just a regular otaku who has no job, no life, no girlfriend, and lives in his parents' basement.'
Well, for your fucking record, I do not live in their basement. I live in a house, second floor, my own damn room. I do have a job—mostly just delivering groceries and food to people. But hey, it's a job, and I still get paid. Even though some of my pay goes toward my college debt—twenty-fucking-thousand dollars for a bachelor's degree. And yeah, I know what your look says, so shut it, okay? It's not my fault the economy has shit-paying jobs for animators.
That was my dream job, you know? I always loved the shows that bring kids smiles, teach valuable life lessons, and sometimes explore darker themes—like anime that show the harsh truth of reality but still help the protagonist rise up from the darkness.
I especially like the sidekicks or background characters no one ever notices. Or the ones who die too early without reaching their full potential—like Rebecca from Cyberpunk. She was such a great character, and she died too easily to Smasher. Sure, she died like a badass… but I feel like she didn't get what she wanted, you know? If you're gonna kill a character off, at least let them die happy. Let them fulfill their goals. Let them accept their fate.
But enough about that.
You're probably wondering—'Who the hell are you?'
Well, I'll tell you the short version.
My name is Havoc Vale, and I'm a 20-year-old Mexican guy who's overweight. But hey, I have a stressful life, all right? I've got college debt, I manage my own budget just to survive, buy my own food, pay for my own phone and other necessities.
You try living like that.
…Sorry. Got off track again. We're not here to talk about my life choices. We're here to talk about a situation I'm in—a seriously fucked-up situation. One that leaves me with no choice but to obey. A situation where someone—
He was cut off when another voice shouted:
"Who the fuck are you talkin' to, dog?"
Havoc turned around to see where the voice came from—trembling, and a little irritated when he saw who it was.
Behind him stood a man—7 feet tall, wearing a sleek black trench coat with shifting cosmic patterns, like stars trapped in fabric. His obsidian turtleneck and tailored slacks were etched with faint golden runes. His polished boots made no sound when he walked. His slick silver-black hair and void-black eyes, rimmed with golden flame, betrayed his inhuman nature.
Cracks of glowing light ran along his skin, and strange symbols orbited his wrists like living tattoos. Even in silence, his presence lingered—unnerving, magnetic, unforgettable.
Havoc was terrified. But he still hadn't forgiven this bastard for making him wait so long in a dark, empty void with nothing but his thoughts.
"Oh, nothing, your godliness," Havoc said sarcastically. "Just biding my time, talkin' to myself. Trying to figure out if I'm in Hell or the fuckin' DMV, waiting in line to go to heaven. Or maybe I'm in fuckin' purgatory. Probably my punishment for living a useless-ass life. And now I gotta deal with an asshole like you, who made me wait in this fuckin' void for God knows how long. So excuse me if I'm a little talkative while I'm losing my damn mind."
He took a deep breath and relaxed before continuing in a mocking tone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to this douchebag who left me in this empty, dark-as-shit space for a thousand fuckin' years with no food or water! Which—thank God—I didn't starve to death. Or… I don't even fuckin' know. There's no goddamn clock in here. It's the one and only demigod… Lord Dickhead, Devourer of Dicks."
The demigod was not amused. He grabbed Havoc by the throat and lifted him into the air, staring at him with a calm, controlled rage.
"It's Vael'thrix, you mutt," he said coldly. "Remember your place—and be honored I chose you as my champion. You should be grateful I kept you alive."
Havoc, choking and struggling to breathe, still managed to cough out more mockery.
"Oh, I'm so honored. Sorry for being rude, you divine asshole who dumped me in a black void for God knows how long with nothing but my thoughts. So go on—tell me what the fuck you want with me. What's this champion bullshit? Or are you just jerking off to my suffering?"
He got a solid punch in the gut from Vael'thrix.
The demigod pulled him in closer and whispered, "You're testing my patience, you insolent mutt. If you weren't so important right now, I'd break you in ways that would make you beg for death. But… I did keep you waiting too long. That's on me. I had to take care of preparations—rules, arrangements, meetings with my colleagues."
He let go of Havoc's throat. The man collapsed to the ground, coughing violently, shooting daggers from his eyes at Vael'thrix.
The demigod didn't seem phased.
"Keep acting disobedient, mutt," Vael'thrix warned, "and strangling you will be the least of your worries."
Havoc, realizing just how powerful this guy was, decided to be a little obedient… for now.
"You still haven't told me why me," Havoc said, tone slightly calmer. "Why the fuck did you choose me as your champion? What is this 'preparation' for?"
He'd read fanfics like this before—where the protagonist gets forced by some god or divine being to do a bunch of fucked-up things just to survive. And he was seriously hoping this wasn't one of those situations.
Vael'thrix stared at him with annoyance, deciding whether or not to reveal the truth. Then he sighed.
"All right. Since you've waited so long like a good little mutt, I'll tell you. You've been chosen as my champion… to fight in my tournament—along with the champions of my colleagues."
Havoc blinked, surprised.
"Wait, a tournament?"
But before he could ask more, Vael'thrix raised a finger and wagged it.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such an impatient, filthy mutt. I can't tell you everything yet. That would ruin the surprise. And believe me—you're going to love what this tournament is really about. And the rewards… if you stay obedient."
Havoc sighed, knowing he wasn't gonna get any more answers. So he kept his mouth shut, annoyed as hell, but still obedient.
Vael'thrix smirked, pleased with the small act of submission.
"Come along, mutt. It's time to go to the Coliseum. The tournament begins."
As Havoc stood beside Vael'thrix, only one thought was on his mind:
Was this how his fate was supposed to be? To serve under this douchebag for all eternity?
He chuckled softly.
"Then faith can suck it."
With a snap of his fingers, both of them vanished in a flash of light.
Let me know when you're ready to drop the next part. I'm locked in.