Prism Calendar – 7th Cycle of the 7th Moon, Year 1350.
In a dark room, ancient scrolls and shimmering magical inscriptions hung from the ceiling, and magical books were scattered throughout the darkness. Yet, a trace of light from above illuminated the very center of the room. At the center lay a person.
A black-robed man hovered above the ground. The man drew intricate lines in the air with his fingers. Gradually, white particles swirled around him, coalescing into a brilliant light. With the man's one sweeping motion of his fingers, golden light flashed up and disappeared above the ceiling as if going through the very heavens.
"Not yet," he whispered, half-opening his eyes with intensity. He began to trace a complex magic circle in the air. His voice was steady, yet unyielding. "I am nearly there. Mortal restraints shall not bar me from attaining the divine. None shall shield thee from thy fate, when I, myself, have mastered beyond the Hundredth Crest of Magi– "
Knock, knock.
The sudden interruption stilled his hand. He ceased performing his incantations and straightened his posture. Rotating his head slowly, he vigilantly observed as the elder walked in. Wearing outdated robes and covered in talismans of bygone times, the elder wore the presence of one steeped in forbidden lore, a Curser.
"Thy Holiness," the old man bowed, "congratulations on thy progress. We have discovered the object thou hast been seeking. Yet it seemeth to be but a crystal bearing an unusual symbol."
"Bring it," the man commanded, his voice cool and absolute.
From a velvet-lined box, the elder took out a cyan crystal that glowed greatly in the dark. The elder held it out with great care and spoke, "We discovered it in Argon Cave. Local villagers say it is a relic of Argon himself yet the crystal showed no sign of reaction to mana."
With a flick of the man's hand, the crystal vanished from the elder's palm. It appeared in the air before the robed man. Hues of color shimmered on the surface like a rainbow while a strange symbol was carved at the center.
The man held it as he studied it closely, then smiled faintly. "Good."
"It is mine honor, thy Holiness."
The man stood up, revealing his towering height — over six feet tall. Silky black hair cascaded down his back, and his piercing crimson eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. His beauty was almost divine, but it carried an icy, deathly aura, as if no warmth had ever touched him.
"Burn the village. Destroy all evidence of the cave."
"Understood," the elder nodded, unfazed.
Stepping closer, the man continued, "Inform the believers: from this day forth, thou, Elder Hugen, shalt oversee the cult's daily affairs. None are to disturb me whilst I remain within the Hex Tower."
Elder Hugen's expression twitched with surprise. "Thy Holiness... may I inquire why?"
Before Elder Hugen stood a man feared across many nations — a man who was death itself. Even the bravest trembled at the mere mention of his name, the Heretical dark mage and Cult leader Uzziah.
Uzziah gazed at him with that same chilling stare. "I care not for mundane matters. My path lieth beyond mortal concern. And besides... thou, Elder Hugen, didst desire this role once, didst thou not?"
"I—" Elder Hugen faltered. In truth, he had once longed for Uzziah's seat of power and influence, but over the years, he had learned how small ambition looked beside Uzziah's overwhelming presence.
Uzziah turned his back without awaiting a response. "Go. Waste not my time further."
As Elder Hugen bowed and departed, Uzziah returned to his posture. The crystal now hovered before him, and with a subtle wave, its brilliant blue sheen faded to transparent, revealing a glowing insignia within.
"Northon's Rock," he whispered. "A relic crafted by the a once known mage centuries ago, hidden by his disciple Argon. None know its hidden purpose.. but I."
This artifact, once believed to exist only in legends, held the power to shatter the mortal limits of humans. Within the crystal lies a power that could elevate one's body to a realm no living being had ever reached, transforming their very body into a vessel capable of channeling divine power itself.
"The mage who forged it died before they complete the Hundredth Crest of Magic," Uzziah murmured, "a fate I will not share."
Sitting cross-legged midair, Uzziah began to channel his energy. Alongside him, the crystal floated as well. Soon a glow flared from the crystal. The insignia that was within the crystal moved slowly into his forehead, embedding itself. Golden veins lit his body, connecting the insignia to his Core.
Uzziah's Crest Core started to transform, merging his Core with the insignia.
Foreign energy flooded into Uzziah, filling his Core. It swirled into a fierce typhoon, clashing with the Mana inside. His Crest Core, barely managing the overwhelming power, began to crack, unable to withstand the pressure.
"Tsk!!!" Uzziah suddenly cried.
Was he failing? But who was he? He was Uzziah! The only mage that perfected the Hundredth Crest of Magic.
Uzziah seeing the unknown substance of energy flowed inside his Core, he dispelled the remaining Mana from his Core and welcomed the new energy as his. He unified his heart, mind, and soul. Slowly the new energy become his.
"MARVELOUS!" he cried.
Sensing the new energy swirling within Uzziah's body, it was clear this was no ordinary power. It was more than magic — it was vibrant, alive, pulsating with an intensity that felt both foreign yet powerful. Uzziah could feel it coursing through his veins, a force unlike anything he had ever encountered. It was as if his very essence had fused with something greater than himself, something divine.
Divinity!!!
Power surged within every cell of his body, something far beyond mortal limits. He was no longer just a mortal. He was becoming something far greater, something unstoppa—
"Pft—?!"
Uzziah spat blood, eyes wide in disbelief. Looking down, he saw a sharp object embedded in his chest. A crystalline black blade embedded into his chest. His power, which once surging, now evaporated like water from a broken dam.
"W-what… is this?" he gasped, stumbling.
The transparent crystal, once so, changed the instant he perfectly merged with the insignia, becoming a tainted blade that stabbed him through the heart. Deceived by his aUzziah merely stood by and watched as all that he had created turned to dust.
From that moment, Uzziah was shocked. How could his body, once at the level of a god, be affected by such a force? His newfound power, which should have made him invincible, was now vulnerable. Something was wrong.
"Mortal."
A voice rang out. Uzziah turned and froze. The figure that stood before him was unlike anything he'd sensed. No mana, no life force, just... presence.
"Should I say former mortal?" the figure chuckled.
"Who... are you?" Uzziah hissed, collapsing to one knee.
The figure smiled — calm, elegant, but completely menacing. His hair shone like molten gold, his eyes silver and unyielding. Wearing robes that appeared to radiate with an otherworldly glow, he spoke with a voice imbued with the weight of millennia.
"I'm Ezbeck. One of the Gods. From the Sanctuary."
Ezbeck slowy gestured toward the blade. "Once a mortal merges with the Insignia, that crystal activates. Clever little curse, isn't it? I made it myself."
"You—!"
"Oh, and it was labeled too. Cursed object. Do not touch. It was under the box, by the way." Ezbeck shrugged. "Not my fault your little servant can't read the bottom."
Uzziah: "..."
Somewhere far away, Elder Hugen sneezed unconsciously.
Ezbeck stepped closer, eyes gleaming. "I was sent to maintain balance. That Insignia is forbidden, it can turn mortals into god by harneshing the ability to have a vessel able to handle Divine power. With that, we contained the Insignia using a curse crystal. And now... it's done its job."
"You snake..." Uzziah hissed, blood filling his mouth.
Ezbeck smirked. "I've been called worse. But at least I get results."
Uzziah could no longer stand and collapse. His body failed him, blood soaking through his robes as the cursed blade pulsed with sinister light. His vision blurred. The mighty Cult Leader, the man who once defied mortality itself, was dying — because he didn't check the bottom of a box.
'Elder Hugen, you useless—!'
With the last of his strength, Uzziah coughed out a single word. "You…"
Ezbeck crouched beside him, a grin playing at his lips. He leaned in, voice soft and venomous.
"Ambitious fool."
Then, everything stopped. In that final moment, Uzziah fell into a trance. A weightless, formless space between his thought and nothingness.
Like an never-ending void, silence was postpone in time while the universe rested. Here, time appeared to fold into itself, combining layers of memories, desires, and regrets – if they even existed in this place.
He remembered something.
A child's voice. Soft, yet clear.
"Power is scary... but I hope you use yours to protect someone, Mister."