Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The White Room

In a white room with no doors, two laser-like beams met each other.

One was deep red, not unlike blood, but more dreadful and devious. The other was pale blue, like a colored mist, and more streamlined than its counterpart.

At the point of their contact, a figure began to take shape. The two beams kept tracing the insides and the outsides of this figure as if it was printing it in solid form. The figure wasn’t devoid of blemishes, and certain tendencies looked more humane than a machine. It was certain by then that these beams had a certain blueprint to follow.

Soon, the figure was about to be completed. It had cloudy white hair, and its eyes were closed. Its face was like that of a heaven’s maiden, but leaned towards the male side, giving it a charm more than any man ever needed. The figure brimmed with youthfulness, and the muscles seemed etched with chisels. The figure was naked as it stood straight on the floor. But the strange lifelessness of the figure gave it a unique look of a mannequin.

A horrifying beauty.

The work of art was almost completed. A last stroke of brilliance on the white background. Life stood with bated breath to fill those empty lungs. But it was bound to be disappointed.

Only a moment had passed after the two beams had completed “art”, that the figure exploded with a booming sound. Blood, flesh, and even bones splattered around the room, reaching to the furthest corners of the roof. It was almost as if heaven didn’t tolerate this figure.

An art destined to become ashes in the river of time.

The two beams died away as the white walls absorbed the filth. Soon the room with no doors was empty again. Four more beams came out of nowhere and made contact with each other. Two red and two blue; as if the creator of art had decided to resist heaven’s will using sheer numbers.

The process of creation had slowed down with the increase in the number of colored beams. But the figure was the same, and unfortunately, so was the result.

The explosion came out at the same time as the last. Almost waiting to ruin the art for the beams to see before they faded away. The white room devoured the bits and pieces of the explosion in no time, like a hungry beast.

More beams came, more blasts shook the room, more time passed with every turn…

100 years passed, but there was no one to appreciate the efforts of the creator. The numbers of the different colored beams had risen to over ten thousand combined.

And the white room was white no more.

Its walls had turned red, and its floor was covered in a puddle of mixed blood and flesh. As the figure took shape, the puddle reached to its waist, almost covering its manhood like a bloody piece of cloth. The wall behind the figure was the first to crack.

Soon, more cracks originated from the others as well. A black slimy liquid came out of the cracks as if the walls were bleeding. They seemed to scream this was the last figure; this was the last try; no more. But the creator was not the one to give up, not after the time had passed to reach this point.

The red room shook, chunks of walls fell into the blood puddle along with the slimy black liquid. Just as the time came for the figure to explode, the beams didn’t fade away but went inside the puddle. With an unseen ferocity, it condensed, forming a nail-sized object in no time.

More solid than a liquid, but not solid enough either.

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All the laser beams fumed with exhaustion and pushed the queer object into the figure’s chest. Cracks appeared on the boy’s figure, and the time of the explosion had come and gone. The Creator had been persistent, but so was Heaven.

Cracks appeared and disappeared, and the object embedded in the figure’s chest kept losing its size. The beams could take it no longer and disappeared, with no sign of coming again. The room had regained its whiteness, but the cracks in its walls stood out.

The price had been paid.

When the object had all but vanished, the widening cracks in the figure paused. Then they started to close up. The bones mended, the flesh sewed, and fresh skin formed. When the last crack over the chest was getting closed, a grain-sized thing could be seen churning by the figure’s heart. Whatever the object had meant to do, it did and still survived.

Only time would tell if it was intended or not, but the beams did not come back.

Finally, the figure was complete. A wave of freshness filled the room. It was like a sudden gust of wind, which comes and goes as it pleases. It engulfed the figure, filling its lungs, and all the organs, veins, and every other part of the body.

The chest rose and fell.

Once more.

Then the eyes snapped open and Kai’s pupils narrowed from the sudden whiteness. He had to close them for not to get overwhelmed by the blinding color. When he opened them again, it was much clearer.

What is this? Where am I? I… Didn’t I die? Questions bombarded Kai’s mind. The moment he realized he could think, his eyes went down to his body. He was shocked. There were no injuries, only a phantom pain squirmed in his chest.

Kai touched his chest, and the last scene of his death came back to him. Suddenly, his mind spun, and he snapped his head left, right, and back. But aside from the cracked walls, he could find nothing.

He isn’t here, Kai told himself. He is dead.

“Hello,” Kai could do nothing but say out his thoughts aloud. “Is anyone…”

The white room had no doors, and Kai found himself unable to decide whether to use “here” or “there”. But as if waiting for him to say anything, a reply came to him.

[[Welcome to the Primordial Tower, Kai Stormborn.]]

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