Nexus, Twisted Iron District

  847 years after the Great Awakening

  Time Indeterminate (time doesn't work right here)

  Kaelen Voss was drunk.

  Not lightly buzzed. Not just tipsy. Drunk. The kind of intoxication that required three bottles of Elemental Fire Wine — a beverage distilled in the Plane of Fire by demons who found it hilarious to watch mortals try to drink fermented lava — and suicidal determination.

  Considering Kaelen had both in abundance, there he was.

  "Another," he muttered, pushing the empty bottle across the charred wooden counter. His voice came out slurred, tongue numb. Good. Numbing the tongue was the first step. Numbing the mind came after. Numbing the memories...

  Well, that never worked. But a man could dream.

  The bartender — a creature that was half-orc, half-troll, and entirely ugly — looked at him with an expression mixing pity and exasperation. "Voss, that's your fifth bottle. You know this shit melts human stomachs, right?"

  "Good," Kaelen replied, a bitter smile curving his cracked lips. "Maybe this time I'll stay dead."

  The bartender sighed heavily, grabbing another bottle from the shelf that literally caught fire when not in a stasis field. "You say that every week. And every week you come back."

  "Story of my life."

  "Lives," the bartender corrected, uncapping the bottle. Immediate heat radiated from it, making the air shimmer. "Plural. You've told me. Multiple times. When you get like this." He pushed the bottle forward. "Sixty Aetherium coins."

  Kaelen fished in the pocket of his battered leather coat and tossed a handful of multicolored coins onto the counter. Some glowed blue (pure magic), others red (blood essence), one solitary gold (minor divine fragment). More than enough.

  The bartender swept up the coins, making them disappear into some dimensional pocket. "You know," he said, voice low enough not to be heard by the other patrons of the Shattered Chalice — a tavern with a reputation for being where you went when you wanted to disappear. "There are rumors."

  "There always are."

  "Rumors about the Portals. They're closing. Randomly. Entire worlds getting isolated." The bartender wiped a glass with a dirty rag. "And when the Portals close before everyone gets through..."

  Kaelen had already grabbed the bottle, bringing it to his lips. The liquid went down like molten magma, burning everything in its path. He closed his eyes, savoring the pain. Pain was good. Pain meant being alive. "Half the people get trapped on one side. Half on the other. I know how it works."

  "No, you don't understand." The bartender leaned in. "The Portals aren't just closing. They're collapsing. Imploding. Taking chunks of dimensions with them. Yesterday, Gate 4,782 — the one linking Valendor with Sector Mechara — just... ate three blocks from each side before disappearing."

  That made Kaelen pause, bottle still at his lips. Brown eyes — they'd returned to brown this week, at least — focused on the bartender. "How many dead?"

  "Twelve thousand. That we could count."

  Silence.

  Kaelen took another long swig. "And the Council?"

  "Says it's a natural phenomenon. Normal Nexus cycle. Nothing to worry about." The bartender laughed without humor. "Natural. Portals eating realities is natural now."

  "Welcome to the multiverse," Kaelen murmured. "Where 'natural' is whatever shit we don't understand yet." He swirled the bottle, watching the flaming liquid eddy. "It's not a natural phenomenon."

  "No?"

  "No." Kaelen drank again. "It's preparation."

  "For?"

  "Something waking up. Something big. Something that needs concentrated dimensional energy." He stared at the bottle, seeing not the glass but memories. Life 247: he'd seen something similar. Life 389: he'd caused something similar. "Someone's stealing power from the Nexus. Draining the Gates."

  The bartender paled. Well, paler. Pale-green. "That's..."

  "Impossible? Suicidal? An act of war against literally every civilization in the multiverse?" Kaelen smiled, expression sharp as broken glass. "Yeah. All of the above." He finished the bottle in one last long gulp, slamming it down on the counter with force. "Not my problem."

  "Voss—"

  "Not. My. Problem." Each word came out like a shard of ice. "I've already saved worlds. I've saved civilizations. I've faced gods, demons, and things that make gods and demons look like ants. And you know what I got?"

  The bartender didn't answer.

  "More trauma. More scars. More deaths." Kaelen stood, swaying slightly. The intoxication was finally hitting. Great. "So no. Whatever. Let the Portals collapse. Let the Nexus burn. Let the multiverse implode. I. Don't. Care. Anymore."

  He threw more coins on the counter — far more than necessary — and turned.

  The tavern was packed as always. Creatures of a hundred different races drinking, gambling, fighting. A group of Drakkari were throwing bone dice in the corner, scales glinting under dim magical lights. Two Sylphs of pure electrical energy danced on a table, semi-corporeal bodies leaving trails of light. A Voidborn — body of solidified shadow, eyes like galaxies — was literally eating the fear of a losing gambler, who screamed as he withered.

  Normal scene at the Shattered Chalice.

  Kaelen pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring curious glances. Some recognized him. After 847 years, it was hard not to be recognized somewhere. But most knew to keep their distance. There was something in the way he moved — fluid, dangerous, predatory — that screamed danger.

  That, and the runic tattoos covering his exposed arms. They moved. Changed. Patterns slowly transforming as he walked, telling stories of past lives in a language only he understood.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The tavern door — wood reinforced with enchanted steel because fights were common — creaked as he pushed it open.

  And stepped out into the organized chaos that was the Nexus.

  ---

  If pre-Awakening Tokyo was a big city, the Nexus was... was...

  There were no words.

  Imagine taking fragments of a thousand different cities, from a thousand different worlds, and throwing them into a dimensional blender. Then turning on the blender, adding raw magic, impossible technology, and physics that had given up making sense. The result was the Nexus.

  Buildings grew in directions that didn't exist. A tower of glass and steel rose... and then turned sideways, continuing horizontally before looping completely and plunging into the ground. But people walked on all surfaces as if "down" was a suggestion, not a law.

  Portals floated in the air like iridescent soap bubbles. Some the size of doors. Others large enough to fly a spaceship through. They led to... anywhere. Everywhere. Everywhere. The Nexus was literally the center of the multiverse — where all Gates eventually led.

  The sky wasn't sky. It was a swirl of impossible colors, fragments of other dimensions visible as if through broken glass. Kaelen could see five different worlds just by looking up: Valendor with its three moons, Mechara and its orbital metal rings, something that looked like a liquid ocean floating in the void, and two he didn't recognize.

  And the people.

  By the gods, the people.

  Stellar Elves with literally glowing skin, hair made of starlight, walking alongside Synthari — conscious androids with living metal bodies. A flock of Fae crossed the street flying, insect wings creating rainbow patterns in the air. Drakkari roared in some alley, probably fighting over territory or honor or some shit like that.

  And humans. There were still humans. Transformed, enhanced, evolved, but recognizable. The race that had started weak and compensated with suicidal stubbornness.

  Kaelen began to walk.

  He had no destination in mind. Never did. For the last 200 years, he just... wandered. Through the Nexus. Through the Portals. Through worlds. Looking for... what? He didn't even know anymore. Purpose? Redemption? True death?

  Just the next distraction, a cynical voice in his mind answered. The next thing that makes you feel something besides emptiness.

  He turned into an alley. No, not an alley — the streets of the Nexus rarely followed Euclidean logic. He turned onto a path that technically existed in five dimensions simultaneously, where gravity pulled sideways and shops sold things that had no names in any language.

  And stopped.

  There was... something.

  Not visible. Not audible. But felt. Like a tingling at the base of his skull. Like déjà vu that insisted on not going away. Familiar, but not. Known, but impossible.

  Kaelen had felt this before. Life 389. Life 512. Life 680.

  It always heralded shit happening.

  His hand went instinctively to his wrist, where a battered leather bracelet hid a specific tattoo. He murmured a word in a language dead for millennia, and felt the familiar pull on his soul.

  Golden light exploded from his right hand, solidifying into a familiar shape: Tear of the Last Dragon.

  The sword had a 1.2-meter straight blade, forged in metal that no longer existed on any plane of existence. Silver with veins of star-flecked black running the length. The guard was simple, cross-shaped, but the wings engraved on it seemed to move when observed from the corner of the eye. The handle was dragon bone — from the last true dragon, killed by Kaelen in life 347.

  The sword sang softly as it materialized, sound like glass scraping against glass.

  Hello, old friend, Kaelen thought. You feel it too?

  The Tear pulsed once. Agreement.

  He advanced cautiously, intoxication burned away by adrenaline and survival instinct forged in 800 years of not-dying. The dimensional path twisted ahead, leading to a plaza that shouldn't exist in this part of the Nexus.

  And in the center of the plaza...

  "Ah, shit," Kaelen muttered.

  It was a Portal. But not like the others. This one was... wrong. The edges weren't clean and defined, but torn, bloody, like an open wound in reality. The surface didn't show another world, but a swirl of colors that hurt the eyes. And around it...

  Corpses.

  About twenty. Various races. Some still twitching, alive but not for much longer. All had the same mark: black veins like ink spreading from wherever they'd touched the Portal, necrotizing flesh, rotting bone.

  "Abyssal Corruption," Kaelen identified, voice low. "Someone opened a Portal straight to the Abyssal Plane. Here. In the middle of the fucking Nexus." He laughed without humor. "Because of course. Because of course they did."

  He should leave. Should just turn and walk away. Let the Nexus authorities handle it. Let the Council worry. Let anyone except him deal with this shit.

  But then he saw it.

  Movement. Behind one of the corpses.

  Small. Scared.

  A child.

  ---

  "FUCK," Kaelen hissed.

  Because of course there was a child. Of course. The universe never let him just ignore things. Always had to shove something in his path. Something that poked at the small, stupid part of him that still cared.

  The child was a girl, maybe eight years old. Forest Elf by the greenish color of her skin and pointed ears. She was huddled behind the body of a Drakkari warrior, huge green eyes fixed on the pulsing Portal. Trembling.

  And the black veins were already beginning to crawl up her arm.

  Kaelen closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Tried to convince himself it wasn't his problem. Tried to remember all the times trying to save someone had gone wrong. Life 156: died protecting an orphanage. Life 389: everyone he tried to save died anyway. Life 521: saved an entire city, was betrayed and executed by them two years later.

  He tried. Tried hard.

  "I'm going to regret this," he muttered, opening his eyes.

  And moved forward.

  The girl saw him approach and shrank back further, terror evident. "N-no! Stay away! Please!"

  "Relax, kid," Kaelen said, voice rough but trying to sound gentle. He wasn't good at gentle. Hadn't been gentle in about 300 years. "I'm not going to hurt you."

  "You have a sword!"

  "Yeah, well." He looked at the Tear, still drawn. "Occupational. Listen, your arm—"

  "IT HURTS!" She sobbed, finally looking at the affected limb. The black veins had spread from wrist to elbow, skin rotting in real time. "What's happening to me?!"

  Kaelen knelt two meters from her, maintaining a non-threatening distance. He examined the wound with eyes that had seen a thousand types of death. "You touched the Portal?"

  She nodded, tears streaming down.

  "Stupid," he murmured, but without venom. "Abyssal Portal isn't for touching. It's for running away from. Far away." He sighed. "But you already did it, so... no judgment."

  "Are you... going to kill me?" Small voice. Broken.

  "What? No! Why does everyone always assume—" Kaelen stopped, realizing he was having a conversation with a terrified and dying eight-year-old. He composed himself. "I'm not going to kill you, kid. I'm going to try to save you. Which is infinitely stupider on my part, but here we are."

  He raised his free hand, the left, and began to murmur. Not a spell — he'd never been a traditional mage. But 800 years accumulating knowledge meant he knew a little of everything. Basic Arcanum included.

  Blue light emanated from his palm, forming a complex runic circle in the air. The runes spun, locked together, and then shot toward the girl's arm.

  She screamed as the magic collided with the corruption. Blue light versus abject black, fighting for dominance. Kaelen concentrated, channeling more power, sweat forming on his forehead.

  For a moment, it seemed to work. The black veins receded, light pushing them back.

  And then the Portal pulsed.

  A wave of Abyssal energy exploded outward, knocking Kaelen backward. His concentration broke. The spell dissipated. And the corruption surged forward with vengeance, now spreading to the girl's shoulder.

  "SHIT!" Kaelen got up, wiping blood from his nose where he'd hit the ground. "Okay. Okay, plan B."

  He didn't have a plan B.

  Well, he had one plan B. But it was stupid. Dangerous. Would probably kill him.

  Again, the cynical voice whispered. Would probably kill you again.

  "Kid," he said, voice urgent. "Listen. I'm going to do something. It's going to hurt. A lot. But it'll save you. Do you trust me?"

  She looked at him. Looked at the rotting arm. Looked back. And, in a voice so small he almost didn't hear it:

  "...Yes."

  "Good girl." Kaelen approached, the Tear glowing more intensely. "Close your eyes. And no matter what happens, don't open them. Understood?"

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight.

  Kaelen positioned the sword. Aimed. Breathed.

  And in a single, fluid, perfectly executed motion, cut off the girl's arm just below the shoulder.

  ---

  [TO BE CONTINUED...]

  NEXT CHAPTER: "Fragments and Shadows"

  Chapter 1 establishes Kaelen 847 years after the Prologue — cynical, self-destructive, but still unable to ignore someone in danger. The corrupted Abyssal Portal introduces the larger threat and forces Kaelen back into action. The child serves as a catalyst for remembering his humanity. And that cut? Well... you'll see that saving the girl has consequences Kaelen didn't anticipate.