Chương 50: Tim

The rules of Shroud Domain were absolute. Landing a physical strike severed his Wraith form, forcing him back into flesh and bone. As the world solidified around him, Gray ripped the Soul Blade free from Nabi's torso with a wet tear, then vaulted backward to put distance between them. He kept his weapon leveled on her sprawled form, muscles tense as he anticipated a sudden counterattack. But she lay motionless in the trampled grass. She wasn't dead. The System hadn't issued a kill notification.

He circled around, searching her face for signs of life. Without warning, her arm snapped up—her palm locked dead-center onto his chest. Sanguine Rain A barrage of blood needles erupted from her hand with a rhythmic whir. Half a dozen crystallized spikes punched into Gray's chest, staggering him off balance. Before he could recover, Nabi vaulted to her feet. She cupped her firing wrist to steady her aim and tracked his right arm, and a precise projectile punched through Gray's hand.

Muscle and bone gave way, and the Soul Blade clattered onto the ground. Nabi closed the gap in a blur, driving her shoulder into him and slamming him flat onto his back. Before he could respond, she leveled her palm again. More crystallized spikes fired, spiking through his wrists and ankles, and they buried themselves deep into the earth—nailing him onto the ground. Overhead, the Shroud Domain's duration finally expired. The dense fog dissolved, leaving them exposed under the open sky.

"How…" Gray rasped, choking on the thick, coppery taste of his own blood.

"How did you see me inside my smoke?"

"Smoke is your domain. Blood is mine." Nabi nudged one of his pinned limbs with her shoe.

"I sense every drop around me, including what's pumping through your veins. You went invisible on me for a while, but the second you landed that cheap shot? I had your exact coordinates." The bloody flow oozing from her stomach wound halted. Around them, the puddles of blood on the battlefield began to hum with a low, vibrating resonance. Blood droplets peeled off the grass blades, floating upward to spiral into a tight vortex, and the liquid tendrils condensed—forming a dense red orb.

With a flick of two fingers, Nabi beckoned the sphere. It slammed directly into her core, and the gaping puncture in her abdomen knit together, sealing shut and leaving only ruined clothing behind. A bitter laugh shook Gray's chest, spilling a fresh trail of blood from the corner of his lips.

"I never stood a chance, did I? Were you even hurt when I impaled you, or was playing dead just an act?" Nabi traced a finger across her freshly mended skin.

"You stabbed me with a sword, Gray. Of course it hurt. But it wasn't lethal." She rolled her shoulders, shaking off the phantom stiffness.

"I stayed down to gauge your next move. Figured I'd borrow your signature tactic—blindsiding an enemy with a cheap shot."

"At least I got a clean hit in before I go. I'm satisfied with that." A faint, exhausted smile cracked his battered face.

"This is honestly for the best. Go ahead. Finish it." Nabi gave a solemn nod.

"Got anything else to say before I… you know?"

"Actually, yeah." A devious smirk pushed through his pain.

"You should've seen the way you keeled over after I stabbed you. It was the most pathetic state I've seen you in!" Gray let out a ragged bark of laughter that quickly deteriorated into a wet gurgle.

"You little shit!" Nabi hoisted the heavy scythe overhead and brought the blade plunging straight down toward his face. Snap. The world went still. The chill breeze brushing Gray's cheek vanished, and the low hum of the stadium floodlights died out completely. Gray peeled one eye open. The serrated tip of the scythe hung suspended in midair, a mere inch from the bridge of his nose.

He thrashed against his restraints, desperate to break free, until the blood-needles pinning his limbs dissolved into a fine red mist, and his open wounds knitted together in a heartbeat. He scrambled to the side, clearing the path of the crescent blade, and pushed himself up. Nabi remained frozen mid-swing with a faint frown on her face. At the edge of his vision, an even more bizzare sight than time being frozen caught him off-guard. The level-master sat at a round table draped in white linen.

A steaming teapot and two porcelain cups rested on its surface.

"Over here!" the man called, waving enthusiastically. Gray went rigid. With a mental tug, he willed Tobari off the grass. The Soul Blade snapped firmly into his grip.

"Who… what are you?" Gray leveled the sword at the man, who was now casually sipping his tea. Setting the cup down, the level-master waved a hand over his own face. His shaggy mop of hair smoothed into a neat bowl cut. He pinched the fabric of his striped referee shirt at the shoulders, gave it a sharp tug, and let go. The uniform seamlessly reshaped into a pristine, tailored tuxedo.

"You can call me Tim," the man announced cheerfully.

"Short for The Great System!"

"The Sys—System?" Gray faltered, nudging the blade a fraction closer.

"Why the hell are you a person?" Tim pressed a hand to his chest in offense.

"Well, that stings. I know we're usually depicted as floating boxes of blue text in your world, but that's a harmful stereotype. The rest of the Tims and I find it highly offensive."

"Tims? Plural?" Gray raised a brow.

"Come, sit." Tim beckoned.

"We have much to discuss." Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Gray's grip tightened, sending a faint tremor down the length of his sword. This was the end of the line. The System had made its judgment. It had manifested a physical body just to personally strip him of his class—and probably his life.

"Why should I trust you?" Gray muttered. Tim's patience evaporated. A wooden chair materialized directly beneath Gray. Before he could twitch, it rocketed forward. The seat dragged him across the grass and slammed to a halt right at the edge of the round table.

"I can freeze everyone in my domain, but not forever." Tim's cheerful facade dropped, replaced by a flat authority.

"We have a lot to cover. I highly recommend you don't waste our time." Gray's chest was jammed flush against the table edge, pinned tight by an unseen force. He thrashed against the invisible bonds. Tim simply watched him, expression deadpan, taking another slow sip of tea. After thirty seconds of futile struggling, Gray went limp, slumping his shoulders in defeat. Tim set his cup down with a soft clink.

"Are you quite done?"

"What do you want from me?" Gray muttered, eyeing the entity warily.

"A loaded question, really." Tim adjusted his cuff links.

"First, I suspect you are incredibly famished." With a casual wave of his hand over the white linen, a large pineapple pizza and ice cream materialized. Steam rose from the crust, carrying the scent of roasted pineapple and melted cheese. Beside it sat a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon, condensation beading on the cardboard carton. Gray squinted at the feast, then back up at his host.

"I'm not falling for this again." To ease his suspicions, Tim pulled a steaming slice from the pie and took an aggressive bite.

"No tricks here," he said, chewing happily.

"I've temporarily bypassed the restrictions on food consumption." Hesitant, Gray slid Tobari back into its sheath. He grabbed a slice, and took a cautious nibble of the edge. It didn't turn to ash or sand in his mouth. Even better, it was the most delicious slice of his life. A groan of pure satisfaction escaped him as he took a second, massive bite.

"How did you know this was my favorite kind of pizza?" he asked around a mouthful.

"And my go-to ice cream?" Tim clasped his hands and rested them on the table.

"I know everything about you, Gray. And I think it's only fair you learn a little more about me."

"Yeah, that's great and all," Gray said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the frozen battlefield.

"But what happened back there? Why intervene right before Nabi cracked my skull open?" Tim gave a dismissive grunt.

"That ties directly into the purpose of this meeting. But first, you must understand my origins. Eons ago, a Creator forged all the planets in the galaxy. Earth and Astoria—""You were summoned alongside the Primordials to advance civilization. Yeah, I've heard the lore," Gray interrupted, his patience already wearing thin. Tim gripped the edge of the table and began bouncing up and down in his chair, throwing a literal tantrum. It was only then Gray realized the System was sitting in a toddler's booster seat.

"Just hear me out!" Tim wailed.

"Why doesn't anybody ever want my point of view?"

"Because you told me we're on a time crunch," Gray shot back.

"What happens if another participant stumbles in here and attacks Nabi while she's stuck like a statue?" Composing himself, Tim smoothed his tuxedo lapels and wagged a finger.

"Do not fret. I have paused the entirety of the Natural Selection for this occasion." Gray froze, a spoonful of the mint-flavored ice cream hovering in front of his mouth.

"You can just do that? Don't you have some kind of protocol forcing you to maintain the balance of the world or something?"

"Essentially, yes. However, there is far more leniency while we are within the race, as this is my personal domain. That doesn't mean I can just hand out overpowered gear to my preferred participants. But pausing everyone in time simultaneously neither gives nor takes anything away from them." Tim leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"If you were to go assault the Blood Reaper in her frozen state, my hold over time would shatter, and I would face severe punishment for bestowing an unfair advantage upon you." He sat back.

"May I continue?" Gray sighed, waving a free hand in defeat.

"Sure. Go ahead. Just keep it brief." Tim cleared his throat into his fist.

"I will be concise. I am only providing the details Gozen left out." He tapped his chest.

"A fact unknown even to him is that the Creator didn't just summon a Great System and an abundance of Primordials to Astoria. It did so for every single planet it forged." He puffed out his chest with evident pride.

"I am the 10, 232, 354th iteration of The Great System. System number 10, 232, 353 was the one in charge of Earth." Gray rubbed his jaw, chewing on that revelation.

"Then why didn't Earth have all these classes and superpowers?"

"Mana," Tim replied simply.

"Your planet was entirely barren of mana. A defect in the Creator's collection, really."

"The Primordials stationed on Earth—along with their offspring—couldn't utilize or cultivate their cores. That stagnation eventually caused their Great System to slowly wither away."

"The System died because the Primordials couldn't level up?" Gray frowned.

"How was that the other Tim's fault?"

"No one was at fault, save for the environment itself," Tim explained, wiping a speck of grease from his pristine tuxedo lapel.

"A System's lifespan and vitality are directly tied to the cultivation of an Awakened. We Tims passively siphon a minute fraction of vitality every time a user levels up. Naturally, a massive population of System users ensures a long, prosperous life for us." He took a sip of his tea, the fine china looking comically small in his grip.

"As you heard from Gozen, the Primordials I was stuck with refused to procreate. So, I had to source Awakened from Earth, since it was the closest planet in proximity. Courtesy of the Primordial Machina, Astoria avoided Earth's tragic end and evolved into one of the most flourishing worlds in the Creator's collection." He pressed a proud hand to his chest.

"Tragic end?" Gray asked.

"What actually happened to the Primordials on Earth?" Tim aimed an index finger straight up at the sky.

"The meteor. The same extinction-level event that wiped out the dinosaurs caught the Primordials in its blast radius. Although, to be completely honest, most of them had already been mauled to death by the giant reptiles by that point." Gray winced, a vivid image of the brutal slaughter flashing through his mind.

"So… is that why you've kept up the tradition of kidnapping humans and stripping them of their lives? You force people into a fucked-up survival game just to increase your serving size and gorge on their life force?" Tim tilted his head.

"It sounds quite morbid when you frame it like that. But yes, I'd say that is entirely accurate. Everyone operates on an ulterior motive, Gray. I had to do what I could to survive—to ensure I didn't end up a decaying husk like System 10, 232, 353. When I pitched the idea of migrating Earth's vessels over to save Astoria, the Creator gladly loosened my restrictions, granting me the power to transfer the Primordial classes onto humanity."

Tim leaned back, the plastic of his booster seat squeaking under the shift in weight.

"This project led to Earth's natives producing far more formidable Awakened than Astoria ever could. You know the old saying: give a man a fish, and he grows up incompetent and reliant. But teach a man to fish, and he grows up to be the best goddamn fisherman of the sea. Given its overwhelming success, the Creator permanently authorized the tradition. They even implemented it on other planets."

"I know for a fact you didn't get that motto from Earth, because that's definitely not how it goes," Gray muttered.

"But I get the point. So, what do you want with me specifically? And what exactly are you going to do to me?" He locked eyes with the man, bracing himself for the judgment. A devious, razor-thin smile spread across Tim's face.

"Like I said before… everyone operates on an ulterior motive. I have granted you many favors, Gray. I am hoping you will do the same for me."

"Favors?" Gray scoffed, his skepticism spiking.

"Like what?" Tim gazed off, tapping his chin in thought.

"Well, for starters, you were supposed to die a gruesome death back in level one. Zorack, the goblin commander, was marching a horde of eighty soldiers straight down the path you were about to cross. To keep you from stumbling into them out in the open, I triggered the music at the nightclub to steer the horde off course."