Drenched in blood, gasping for air, Daemon staggered forward, the weight of exhaustion pressing against his limbs. His sword, chipped and dull from endless battles, felt like lead in his grip. The floating battlefield beneath him trembled as another competitor fell screaming into the abyss, claimed by the storm raging below.
[One Competitor Remaining from Planet Earth.]
The notification flashed in front of his eyes, he was the only one remaining from the human race. 100,000 people entered this competition and there were all gone, and it was just him the was left.
He turned to face the other competitors left, he wiped sweat from his brow, his vision blurred.
A monstrous humanoid covered in obsidian armor stalked toward him, its golden eyes filled with divine contempt. There was no fairness in this trial. No mercy.
Daemon inhaled deeply, forcing his battered body to move. He lunged forward, putting everything he had left into a final strike. His blade met resistance, biting into the beast's armored chest—but it wasn't enough. A crushing fist slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling toward the edge of the battlefield. His breath left him in a strangled gasp as he tumbled, barely grasping the ledge with bloodied fingers.His muscles screamed in defiance as he fought to hold on. Then, he saw the obsidian-plated feet step toward him. He knew it was over.
He looked up at the face of the creature about to kill him as he felt the sting of its foot meeting his hand and he lets go falling into the abyss.
[Final Elimination Confirmed.] [Planet Earth – 20th Consecutive Failure.]
His grip faltered. The storm swallowed him whole.
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In the celestial halls of Dominion, where divine beings gathered to oversee the trials. The gods watched in silence as Earth's final contestant disappeared into the void."Damn it, stupid human!" a man with white glowing hair shouted, his voice filled with frustration. "He was so close, yet he fell like the rest."
"You expected anything different, Zephyros?" A lady with green hair scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the edge of her throne. "The weak perish. That is the nature of this competition. Earth is just a footnote in history at this point."
"A footnote that had potential," muttered a seated deity cloaked in golden mist. "Daemon fought well. He was stronger than most who came before him."
"And yet, he fell," The same lady said dismissively. "Potential means nothing if it cannot produce results."
"Perhaps if one of you had sponsored him, things might have turned out differently," Zephyros mused annoyed "No god claimed him. No guidance was given."
"Dont be a hypocrite Zeph, you didnt sponsore him either" a man with deep brown hair said.
"I wasnt aware of his potentail Durnir, i had already used my sponsorship chances by the time he started to make waves" Zephyr replied obviously sad "That why I begged Slyphine to sponsor him and she shut me down"
"And rightfully so, why waste divinity on a doomed cause?" the green haired lady chuckled. "Even with support, Earth's mortals lack the instinct to seize power."
"Not all of them." A hooded figure's voice carried a note of amusement. "The next Selection will be different.""That is what you always say Chronos and yet nothing has changed yet." Slyphine retorted"Their champions are too weak, or simply unworthy and without strength, survival is an illusion.""They have come close before," another deity mused. "Twice now, one of their kind nearly reached the threshold. That cannot be mere coincidence."
"An anomaly," dismissed a voice from the shadows. "It does not matter."
A ripple of agreement passed through the chamber, though a few gods remained silent, deep in thought. Patterns were predictable, but every so often, an outlier emerged. Whether Earth could produce such a contender in time remained to be seen.As the conversation continued, In the highest tier of the divine realm, the Overseer's massive, multi-layered eye flickered open, scanning the results with ancient, mechanical precision. Its voice, devoid of emotion, reverberated through the chamber.[Planet Earth has failed to place in the top 10,000. Per Standardized Divine Selection Regulations, planetary erasure is authorized after 21 consecutive failures.][One Cycle Left]A figure cloaked in darkness stepped forward, their voice smooth yet unreadable. "I agree with Chronos, the next Selection will be different."Slyphine turned to him, her gauntleted fingers flexing. "How so? Will you finally choose a champion?"
The cloaked figure chuckled softly but offered no response.
The gods soon turned back to the massive screen, which displayed Trial 9 in progress. Competitors clashed on a floating battlefield suspended high in the sky. This year's Trial 9 was a ruthless skirmish—one hundred combatants, with only twenty allowed to advance. Below them, storm clouds churned, and every fall was a direct elimination. Those who survived were granted divine favor, their strength solidified in the blood-soaked battle.
After the conclusion of Trial 11, with no contenders left for Trial 12, the E.D.E.N. Trials came to an end. The top 10,000 players were transported back to their respective worlds, while those who had qualified for Demi-God Ascension moved on to the Demi-God Trials.
The Overseer's eye flickered once more, addressing the assembled gods. "The Selection will proceed as dictated. The cycle begins anew in one planetary year."
A hush fell over the chamber as the deities turned their attention to the countdown. In the mortal realm, time was already ticking away.
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In the human world, unaware of the divine discussions above, the people of Earth braced for what was to come. High above them, the countdown appeared in glowing, celestial text:
5 months : 29 days
The Selection had become an inescapable part of human history. It was the event that turned ordinary civilians into warriors, forced scholars into strategists, and drove the fearful into desperation. Families trained their children from birth, hoping to improve their chances of survival. Some saw it as a duty. Others viewed it as a curse. The weight of an entire planet's survival rested upon the shoulders of 100000 unlucky individuals, a burden no one could truly prepare for.
Across the globe, training centers held intense simulations, preparing potential candidates for the trials ahead. In wealthy cities, grand ceremonies were held, honoring those who might bring glory back to Earth. In less fortunate regions, families simply prayed, knowing that only the strongest—or the luckiest—would return. In the streets, merchants sold charms, prayer scrolls, and fraudulent artifacts, promising divine protection to the desperate.
Oren Kael belonged to neither group.
Sitting alone in his dimly lit apartment, he listened to the hum of the city, the distant wail of sirens, the muffled chatter of pedestrians, the occasional honk of an impatient driver. A tension lingered in the air, thick and heavy, like an approaching storm. The Selection was mere months away, and yet, Oren had done nothing to prepare. What was the point? The gods played their games, and mortals like him were just pawns.
His father had once been among the chosen. He had never come back.
Oren's fingers tapped restlessly against the wooden table as he glanced at the digital clock beside him. Five months left. Five months until his name might appear on the list.
And for the first time in a while he prayed to a god he was sure didnt care about him, that he wasn't selected.