Prime System Champion [A Multi-System Apocalypse LitRPG]

The world ended not with a bang, nor a whimper, but with this gentle, almost serene chime that vibrated deep in my bones. It was a resonant hum that seemed to shake the very foundations of reality. It was followed by a disorienting wash of colorless, pearly light that just swallowed our tiny living room whole.

One moment, I was with Grandpa Arthur. His brow was furrowed as he watched the news. It was murmuring anxiously about "escalating global atmospheric disturbances." The very air outside our window had been shimmering unnaturally for days, distorting the familiar view despite the late autumn chill. Eren, my incredibly stubborn, quietly dedicated brother, had already left for his ridiculously early warehouse shift. He'd given up so much of his own future, his own quiet ambitions, to make sure Grandpa and I had what we needed, always putting us first.

Then, that all-encompassing light, that bone-deep chime, and an abrupt, nauseating feeling of being… somewhere else. Like the universe had hiccuped and I'd been caught in the lurch.

When reality resettled, Grandpa Arthur was gone. My hand, which had instinctively reached for his, closed on empty air. Panic, cold and sharp, tried to claw its way up my throat, but it was immediately overwhelmed by sheer, breathtaking awe. I stood on a surface like polished black obsidian, cool and smooth under my worn sneakers. It reflected a swirling tapestry of violet and emerald nebulae that blazed across a sky far too crowded with unfamiliar, fiercely burning stars. For a moment, that sheer, impossible beauty overshadowed the fear. This was real. Another galaxy, impossible views I'd only ever dreamed of or seen in doctored telescope images. A thrill, cold and sharp as starlight, shot through me. This wasn't a dream. This was something new, something vast. Around me, a sea of dazed, frightened faces mirrored my own internal mix of deep shock and an almost giddy, incredulous disbelief. We were somewhere else.

Then they appeared, descending from the star-dusted sky with an almost theatrical, effortless grace — the Kyorians. Tall, slender beings encased in shimmering white and gold outfits that seemed to be woven from solidified light. It captured and refracted the alien starlight in dazzling, hypnotic patterns. Their features were perfectly, almost unnervingly, symmetrical. Their skin was a pale, glowing silver. Their movements were fluid and precise, giving an impression of immense, controlled power. They gave off an aura of calm, of serene authority. Their words bloomed in our minds not as sound, but as pure, reassuring thought, bypassing language barriers with unnerving ease.

"Citizens of Terra-fragment 7, be at peace," a prominent Kyorian, whose presence hummed with a palpable yet calm authority, communicated directly into our collective minds. Its mental "voice" was like warm honey, impossibly soothing, designed to stop panic before it could even fully form. "Your world, Terra, has been chosen for a grand undertaking — full integration into the vibrant Kyorian Protectorate and the harmonious Galactic Confluence. This transition, we understand, is sudden and perhaps unsettling. Know that we are here as guides, as allies, to ensure your smooth passage and prosperous future within the benevolent embrace of the Empire."

Their mental "voice" was a masterpiece of psychological manipulation, I thought, even as a part of me wanted to give in to its comforting rhythm. An "embrace." It sounded idyllic, almost too good to be true, like something out of a utopian novel. I offered a small, grateful nod, mirroring the bewildered relief rippling through the crowd of displaced humans. Though a tiny, persistent bit of skepticism remained, unvoiced. This was still an abduction, a forced relocation on a planetary scale, however pretty and nicely it was packaged. My first instinct was always to question things that seemed too perfect.

We were then introduced to the "Imperial System Interface," a gift, they called it. It appeared as a sleek, golden see-through overlay in our vision, summoned with just a thought. It displayed my name — Anna Kai — and a basic status page, mostly zeroes or 'uninitiated.' It listed ten empty skill slots. Standard stuff, if my late-night dives into system-based fiction with Eren were anything to go by. It would help us acclimate, the Kyorians explained with patient benevolence, to understand the new universal laws governing this expanded reality, and to harness the 'Essence' now surging through everything. This Essence, they continued with gentle, almost fatherly enthusiasm, was not only empowering individuals but was also actively reshaping Terra over the next year. It was causing it to physically join with other planetary fragments from distant stars, creating a vast, interconnected new world. Our old Earth, broken apart and stitched together with alien landscapes. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Formal integration and interaction with other species from these conjoined worlds, they cheerfully informed us, would begin in approximately six months, once we were "prepared." It was all framed as a wondrous opportunity for growth and unity — and an absolutely mind-blowing, paradigm-shattering concept. Our little blue marble, now a piece in a galactic patchwork quilt!

"This initial Acclimation Phase," another Kyorian announced, their smile utterly flawless and just a little too wide, "is a personalized journey of discovery and growth. You will choose a path best suited to your temperament and aspirations, leading you to specialized Tutorial Zones designed to nurture your potential. Some may wish for a gentle introduction to these new energies, others a more rigorous challenge to unlock their latent abilities swiftly. For those who prefer creation and contribution through craftsmanship, specialized Artisan and Technologist Paths are also available, offering a vital and respected role in building our shared future under the Protectorate's guidance."

Grandpa Arthur, I thought with a sudden, sharp pang of loss mixed with a strange sort of pride, would have actually been thrilled by an Artisan Path. His clever, calloused hands were always eager to build and mend, to understand how things worked; a cosmic workshop would have been his new playground. I hoped, wherever he was, he'd found such a path.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The main Acclimation Paths were listed on the interface: Novice, Intermediate, Advanced, and then, at the very bottom, glowing with a subtle, almost hungry intensity: Extreme. The Kyorian spokesperson subtly gestured towards the less demanding options with their mental voice, emphasizing stability, safety, and gradual growth. A clear nudge towards compliance and ease.

I thought of Eren. My fiercely stubborn, intensely private brother. The one who always saw three steps ahead, who could turn any system, any game, to his advantage with quiet, meticulous dedication. He would have assessed this whole situation, this benevolent Empire with its honeyed words, with that penetrating, analytical gaze of his. He would have weighed the risks and rewards, and then, without a shadow of a doubt, he would have picked Extreme. He thrived on challenge, on pushing boundaries, on forging his own way. He wouldn't trust a path that was too easy, too curated.

My own finger, a construct of will in the mental interface, decisively selected "Extreme." A thrill coursed through me, a mixture of defiance and anticipation.

A barely perceptible ripple passed through the Kyorian nearest me. Its serene, silver mask didn't slip, but for a heartbeat, its gaze — large, dark, and unnervingly placid — seemed to sharpen, to linger on me with an unreadable intensity before it moved on to the next human. Interesting. They were watching, categorizing.

The sorting was seamless, efficient. Novice and Intermediate crowds were guided toward portals shimmering with soft blue and green light. Their energy signatures felt gentle, almost sleep-inducing. The Advanced candidates, a smaller, more determined-looking group, were directed to an opening that pulsed with a cool, silver gleam. The relatively few of us who chose Extreme — a tense, focused collection of individuals radiating a mixture of apprehension, excitement, and fierce resolve — were directed to an opening that pulsed with a deep, almost visceral crimson light. Its energy felt raw, almost predatory.

As I approached the crimson portal, the Imperial System Interface in my vision prompted:

[User Anna Kai, 'Extreme' Acclimation Path selected. Please choose your initial Basic Armament from the authorized starter list. Note: 'Firearm' class weaponry relying on chemical propellants is non-functional within highly Essence-saturated environments due to ambient field interference. Consider alternative energy-based or kinetic options.]

No guns. That was a blow. My immediate thought had been a rugged, reliable pistol, something for close-quarters defense. But if gunpowder was out… What then? My mind raced through the limited options. Grandpa Arthur had insisted I learn archery years ago, a strange, old-fashioned whim I'd indulged mostly to spend time with him on weekends. I'd actually gotten quite good, surprisingly so. I found a strange satisfaction in the quiet focus, the hiss of the arrow, the satisfying thud of a well-placed shot. Keeping my distance, striking from afar — that had always been my preferred approach in any competitive game or simulated scenario. It suited my cautious, analytical nature.

Mentally, I selected "Longbow & Quiver (Standard Issue Arrows, High-Tensile Polymer Composite)" from the list.

[Armament selection confirmed: Longbow & Quiver. Proceed through the portal to Nunamnir Extremis Acclimation Zone.]

Stepping through the crimson light was like plunging into an icy, electrified bath. The air itself seemed to crackle, thick with the scent of ozone and something wilder, more elemental, like thunderstorms and freshly turned, alien earth. The sensation was exhilarating, terrifying, every nerve ending singing. We emerged onto a broken landscape of jagged, obsidian-like spires that pierced a sky eternally caught in a bruised twilight. It was underlit by the eerie, pulsing glow of massive crystal formations that grew from the ground like cancerous teeth. Twisted, metallic plants, some bearing razor-sharp edges that gleamed wickedly, hummed with a contained, almost buzzing energy. This place was dangerous, beautiful in a savage, untamed way, and utterly alien. This was Nunamnir, our Extreme Acclimation Zone. It felt less like a tutorial and more like a proving ground.

A compact, unstrung bow and a quiver filled with sleek, dark-feathered arrows materialized silently in my hands as the crimson portal winked out behind me, cutting off our connection to the Kyorian staging area. The wood of the bow — or rather, the advanced polymer composite that looked like it — was smooth and surprisingly resilient, cool to the touch. The fletching on the arrows was perfect, aerodynamic. It felt good in my grasp, balanced and familiar, a comforting weight in an uncertain world.

The System in my vision flickered, displaying a single, short objective:

[Survive. Acclimate. Ascend. Initial Sub-Directive: Secure Designated Safe Haven Zone (Delta-7 Anchorage). Purge Indigenous Threats to establish perimeter. Estimated time to Haven: 3 standard cycles, variable based on User Celerity and Obstruction Levels.]

Then it fell silent again, simply displaying my basic stats and a glowing waypoint marker on a rudimentary internal map, pointing towards some distant, unseen objective.

No coddling here. No gentle guidance. This was the deep end, thrown in to sink or swim. The Kyorians might speak of benevolence and shared futures, but this place, this "tutorial," felt like a crucible, designed to burn away weakness and uncertainty. It wasn't about gentle learning; it was about forging. Forging what, though? Useful tools for their Empire? Obedient citizens? Or perhaps, inadvertently, something far more independent, something they might not anticipate.

I took stock of my new bow, the balanced arrows, and the simple survival pack they'd issued the rest of us — a few dense nutrient bars, a water purification tablet, a basic med-patch. Around me, the other Extreme candidates were already fanning out. Some quickly formed uneasy, temporary alliances based on perceived strength or shared hometowns. Others struck out with a lone-wolf intensity that spoke of either confidence or desperation.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips. If the Kyorian Empire thought their pretty words and a basic System interface would be enough to mold everyone into compliant cogs for their grand vision, they might be in for a rude awakening. Especially from those who chose a path like this, a path that screamed defiance and self-reliance. This Zone might be designed to create loyal subjects, but it could just as easily forge rebels, survivors, individuals who learned to think for themselves under extreme pressure.

And with a bow in my hand, the string thrumming softly as I experimentally flexed the limbs, ready to meet whatever this new, incredible, terrifying universe had to throw at me, I felt a spark of grim, almost predatory excitement. My old life was gone, shattered along with Earth. This was new. This was raw.

Let the games begin.