In a world much like our own, life flowed in its usual rhythm. People around the globe settled into their evening routines, flicking on their televisions to unwind. Lily Chen, too, sat in her cramped apartment in the heart of Shanghai, staring at the blank canvas on her easel.
The room was dim, lit only by the flickering streetlights outside. Unfinished paintings leaned against the peeling walls, each one a testament to her talent—and her struggle. Lily was an artist, but not the kind who lived in galleries or sipped champagne at exhibitions. She worked long hours as a barista, pouring lattes for impatient customers who barely glanced at her, saving every spare yuan to buy paints and canvases.
Her dream was once grand: to create art that would inspire the world. But the world had other plans. Each rejection letter from art competitions chipped away at her confidence. Her parents had stopped calling, their voices laced with disappointment the last time they spoke. "When will you get a real job, Lily?" her mother had asked, her tone cutting deeper than any criticism.
Now, at twenty-six, Lily felt trapped in a life that seemed determined to squeeze the color out of her soul. But she refused to give up entirely. Tonight, she stared at the canvas, her brush hovering over it as if waiting for inspiration to strike. Instead, the world struck first.
The lights in her apartment flickered, and her television screen—left on for background noise—abruptly went dark. Frowning, Lily set her brush down and turned to the TV. She wasn’t alone in her confusion. Across the globe, from Tokyo to New York, from Nairobi to London, the same strange phenomenon unfolded.
Suddenly, every screen burst into golden light, and a figure materialized—a tall, ethereal being clad in shimmering robes, radiating an otherworldly charisma.
“Greetings, mortals!” His voice boomed, resonating with a depth that sent chills through every viewer. “I am Zepharion, the God of this realm. Though you may not have known of my existence, I am the architect of the world you inhabit and the overseer of your fates.”
Gasps filled living rooms, cafés, and train stations. Lily stared at the screen, her heart pounding. Was this some kind of elaborate prank? A marketing stunt?
Zepharion continued, his tone shifting from authoritative to almost playful. “I have grown weary of your mundane existence, and so I’ve devised a grand experiment. One hundred of you will be chosen from all corners of the Earth and transported to different worlds, each ruled by a different deity. You will face challenges that will test your survival, skill, and cunning. Your journeys will be broadcasted for all to witness—an entertainment like no other.”
The words hung in the air, absurd and terrifying. Lily’s fingers tightened around the edge of her stool. She didn’t want to believe it, but the power radiating from the screen felt too real, too overwhelming to be anything but true.
With a flourish, Zepharion gestured, and the screen split, showcasing the faces of one hundred individuals. “Let the games begin!”
The camera zoomed in on the first few faces, and the names were announced. A schoolteacher from Tokyo. A mechanic from S?o Paulo. A retired soldier from Johannesburg.
Lily felt a strange mix of fascination and dread. Then her heart stopped.
“Lily Chen!”
Her name rang out, clear and undeniable. She froze, her mind racing. This couldn’t be happening. She was nobody. Why her?
As if in answer, a tugging sensation gripped her chest, and a golden light began to swirl around her. Panic surged. “Wait—”
But the light engulfed her, and her surroundings dissolved into nothingness.
---
POV: Ethan Rivera
Ethan sat in his living room, a half-empty beer on the coffee table and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He wasn’t the type to believe in anything he couldn’t see, touch, or explain. Aliens? Hoaxes. Ghosts? Cheap parlor tricks. Gods? Don’t even get him started.
The walls of his modest apartment in Chicago were bare, save for a few peeling paint patches and a single calendar hanging crookedly. The days weren’t marked; there was nothing worth remembering. At thirty-four, Ethan was the quintessential skeptic, a man who preferred cold hard facts over fairy tales. Life hadn’t given him much reason to believe in miracles, either.
He worked a dead-end job at a hardware store, where he spent most of his shifts dodging customers and fantasizing about quitting. His landlord was a bloodhound, and his fridge contained little more than expired mustard and a box of leftover pizza. Once upon a time, he’d had dreams—dreams of becoming a writer, of creating stories that mattered. But the world had a funny way of grinding dreams into dust.
It wasn’t that Ethan was bitter. Well, maybe a little. But mostly, he’d learned to cope with life’s disappointments through sarcasm. If you couldn’t laugh at the absurdity of it all, what was the point?
So when every screen in his apartment flickered and died, he raised an eyebrow, more annoyed than concerned. “Great. Just when I was about to find out who the killer was,” he muttered, tossing a popcorn kernel into his mouth.
Then the television burst into golden light, and Ethan nearly dropped his beer. A tall, shimmering figure appeared on the screen, looking like he’d stepped out of a fantasy novel. The man—or whatever he was—radiated an aura of authority, his voice booming through the tiny apartment.
“Greetings, mortals! I am Zepharion, the God of this realm...”
Ethan snorted, leaning back on his couch. “Of course you are. And I’m Santa Claus.”
But as the figure continued, Ethan’s skepticism wavered. The god—or charlatan, as Ethan decided to call him—spoke of selecting one hundred individuals for a divine experiment. Different worlds, gods, trials... It sounded like the plot of a bad TV show.
“You will face challenges that will test your survival, skill, and cunning,” Zepharion declared.
“Oh, fantastic,” Ethan drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t wait to see what the ratings are for this one.”
Still, a nagging unease crept into his chest. The power radiating from the screen didn’t feel fake. And when the faces of the chosen contestants began to appear, Ethan’s stomach churned.
“Ethan Rivera!”
The sound of his name froze him. His beer slipped from his hand, splashing onto the carpet, but he didn’t notice.
“Me?” he said aloud, blinking at the screen. “You’ve got to be kidding. Out of seven billion people, you pick the guy who can barely survive his landlord?”
But the god wasn’t listening. The tugging sensation began, pulling him forward even as he scrambled to his feet.
“Wait, wait, wait—hold on!” Ethan shouted, holding his arms out as if that would stop whatever cosmic force was at work. “Can’t we talk about this? I’m not exactly hero material here!”
The golden light surrounded him, and for the first time in years, genuine fear flickered in his chest.
“Oh, this is just perfect,” he muttered as the world dissolved around him. “Somebody better be recording this. I want royalties.”
---
POV: Alia Kahn
Alia slumped on her worn-out gaming chair, the hum of her computer her only companion in the dimly lit apartment. The glow of multiple screens illuminated her cluttered desk—an amalgamation of empty energy drink cans, snack wrappers, and the occasional notepad scribbled with strategies and game ideas. This was her sanctuary, her domain, though lately, even it felt stifling.
She had been a champion once, a legend in the competitive gaming world. At twenty-five, Alia Kahn had reached heights most gamers could only dream of. Her reflexes were unmatched, her strategies revolutionary. Her handle, “PhantomBlade,” had struck fear into opponents worldwide. But fame had a way of burning out, and her reign ended as abruptly as it began. Sponsors pulled out, the audience moved on to the next rising star, and Alia found herself stranded in the shadow of her former glory.
Now she worked a dull desk job to pay the bills, her days a monotonous grind of spreadsheets and polite nods to coworkers she barely tolerated. Her nights, though, belonged to her dreams—dreams of adventure, of magic, of worlds where she could be more than a forgotten name.
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the cracks in her ceiling. “Is this it?” she muttered to herself, a question she had repeated so many times it had lost all meaning. She was an atheist, a skeptic by nature, but lately, she’d caught herself wishing—wishing for something, anything, to break the dull routine of her existence.
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When the television went dark, Alia sat up, her heart racing. Then came the golden light, the radiant figure, and the voice that seemed to echo directly into her soul.
“Greetings, mortals!”
Alia’s jaw dropped as the shimmering figure introduced himself as Zepharion, the God of this realm. She blinked at the screen, trying to process the absurdity of what she was seeing. A god? On live TV? She almost laughed, but the power radiating from the figure silenced her skepticism.
As Zepharion explained his grand experiment, Alia leaned forward, her pulse quickening. Different worlds? Epic challenges? Magic and gods? It sounded like the fantasy novels she devoured as a teenager, the very worlds she had spent years simulating in games.
“This can’t be real,” she whispered, though a part of her wanted it to be.
When the screen split to reveal the faces of the chosen, Alia clutched the edge of her desk. Her heart pounded as each name was called, each face flashed. She didn’t dare hope, but she couldn’t help it.
“Please,” she whispered, clasping her hands together in a mockery of prayer. “Come on, Zepharion, if you’re really a god, give me this. Get me out of this boring life. I’ll fight your battles, face your challenges—just pick me.”
For a moment, she thought she’d been ignored. But then, it happened.
“Alia Kahn!”
Her breath caught. Her name reverberated through the room, and she felt a surge of emotions—disbelief, exhilaration, fear. But mostly, it was excitement. Pure, unfiltered excitement.
“Finally,” she whispered, a smile breaking across her face.
Before she could fully process it, the golden light engulfed her. Her apartment blurred, dissolving into an endless glow. For a brief moment, she thought of her family, her coworkers, the life she was leaving behind. But instead of regret, all she felt was relief.
“This is it,” she murmured, closing her eyes as visions of epic battles and sprawling kingdoms filled her mind. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
When the light faded, Alia opened her eyes to a world she had only ever dreamed of.
---
POV: Theo Blackwood
Theo Blackwood sat at the kitchen table of his small suburban home, a tattered notebook open before him, filled with scribbles of equations, philosophical musings, and sketches of fantastical machines. The house was quiet—his younger siblings were asleep upstairs, and his mother was working the late shift at the hospital again. At sixteen, Theo had already grown accustomed to taking care of himself and his family.
He glanced at the stack of textbooks next to him, all borrowed from the local library. He had read through most of them weeks ago, but they were his only refuge from the monotony of his high school classes. Theo was brilliant, far beyond his years, but his intelligence had set him apart in ways that made life... complicated.
Teachers either adored or resented him, and his peers avoided him altogether. No one wanted to be around the “know-it-all” who corrected the science teacher mid-lecture or solved calculus problems before the rest of the class had even opened their books. His classmates mocked him for being a loner, a nerd, someone who didn’t “get it.”
But it wasn’t just school where Theo felt like an outcast. Even at home, his intellect created a divide. His mother loved him but was often too busy or too tired to understand the intricate ideas he tried to share. His siblings were too young to grasp the thoughts racing through his mind. It wasn’t their fault, but it left Theo feeling isolated, like he didn’t belong anywhere.
Most nights, he stayed up late, immersing himself in books and building small inventions from scraps he found around the neighborhood. He dreamed of a world where he could be more than the odd genius kid, where his mind was an asset, not a liability.
When the television went dark, Theo barely noticed. He was too engrossed in sketching a new design for a wind-powered generator. But when the golden light filled the room, he looked up, startled. The figure on the screen was unlike anything he had ever seen.
“Greetings, mortals!” the being boomed, its voice resonating in every corner of the room.
Theo leaned forward, his analytical mind racing. Who—or what—was this? The logical part of him argued that this was some kind of elaborate hoax, but the sheer presence of the figure on the screen made him doubt that explanation.
As Zepharion spoke, laying out the details of his grand experiment, Theo’s skepticism gave way to something he hadn’t felt in a long time: wonder. A hundred individuals, chosen to face challenges in other worlds? It sounded like something out of the science fiction novels he devoured.
Then came the names. Each one was accompanied by a flash of light, and Theo realized this was real—tangible, extraordinary, and terrifying.
“Theo Blackwood!”
His heart stopped. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it, but then the tug came, an almost magnetic pull at his very core. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor.
“This... this is it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of energy filling the room.
He thought of his siblings upstairs, sleeping peacefully. Of his mother, working tirelessly to make ends meet. Would they be okay without him? The guilt gnawed at him, but he couldn’t stop the flicker of hope growing inside him.
Maybe this was his chance—not just to prove himself, but to find a place where he belonged.
As the light enveloped him, Theo closed his eyes. He felt the world around him dissolve, replaced by the sensation of infinite possibility. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like an outcast. He felt like someone who mattered.
---
POV: Maya Patel
Maya Patel sat cross-legged on the worn-out carpet of the small flat she shared with her nine-year-old brother, Luv. The dim light of their single table lamp cast soft shadows on the faded walls, which were adorned with photographs of their parents. Maya stared at one of the pictures—a family photo taken at a park years ago. Her mother’s warm smile, her father’s protective arm around them both, and the carefree laughter frozen in time felt like a distant memory.
It had been two years since the accident. Two years since Maya had gone from being a carefree college student to becoming both mother and father to Luv. Their parents’ sudden death had left them with little more than the flat they now called home and the crushing weight of survival in a bustling city like Delhi.
At twenty years old, Maya had traded her dreams of finishing college and pursuing a career in social work for long hours as a receptionist at a local clinic. The pay was meager, but it was enough to keep the electricity on, food on the table, and Luv in school.
“Didi, what are you looking at?” Luv’s small voice pulled her from her thoughts.
She turned to see him sitting beside her, his big, innocent eyes fixed on her face. He was her world now, the reason she pushed through each exhausting day. Maya smiled and ruffled his hair. “Just memories, Luv. Now go finish your homework before bed.”
Luv groaned but complied, heading to the corner of the room where their shared study desk stood. Maya watched him fondly, her heart heavy with the weight of responsibility. She had promised herself that no matter what, she would give Luv a good life—a life filled with love and stability, even if it meant sacrificing her own dreams.
---
The television in the background suddenly went dark, interrupting the nightly news. Maya frowned, reaching for the remote, but before she could press any buttons, the screen flared to life with a burst of golden light.
“Greetings, mortals!” a booming voice declared, echoing through the flat.
Maya froze, her heart racing. On the screen stood a figure unlike anything she had ever seen—a tall, ethereal being clad in shimmering robes, radiating power and authority.
“I am Zepharion, the God of this realm,” the figure announced, his voice commanding yet strangely captivating. “I have grown weary of your mundane existence and have devised a grand experiment. One hundred of you will be chosen from all corners of the Earth to face challenges in other worlds. Your struggles and triumphs will be broadcasted for all to witness.”
Maya’s grip on the remote tightened. This had to be some elaborate prank, right? But the God’s presence felt all too real, and the air in the room seemed charged with an unexplainable energy.
Then, he began calling names. One by one, individuals were chosen, their faces flashing briefly on the screen before they disappeared in bursts of golden light.
---
Maya didn’t pay much attention until she heard it.
“Maya Patel!”
Her breath caught in her throat. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. She instinctively reached for Luv, pulling him close as if her touch could shield them from whatever was coming.
“Didi?” Luv’s voice trembled, his small hands clutching her arm.
“It’s going to be okay,” Maya said, though her voice wavered.
Before she could say another word, the golden light began to envelop her, its warmth and pull unlike anything she had ever experienced. Panic set in as she realized she was being taken—away from her home, from Luv.
“No! I can’t leave!” she cried, struggling against the invisible force. She knelt down, cupping Luv’s tear-streaked face in her hands. “Listen to me, Luv. I’ll be back. I promise. Please, take care of yourself until I return.”
Tears welled in her eyes as the light grew brighter.
“Please take care of yourself, Luv,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I love you so much.”
Luv’s sobs grew louder as he clung to her desperately. “Didi, no! Don’t leave me! Please, Didi! Don’t go!”
Maya opened her mouth to respond, but the light intensified, pulling her away before she could say anything more.
---
The last thing Maya saw was Luv’s tearful face, his small frame trembling as he reached out for her. And then she was gone, the flat silent except for Luv’s cries echoing through the empty room.
For the first time in two years, Luv was truly alone.
---
POV: Third Person
As the golden light engulfed the chosen, pulling them from their homes and scattering them across unknown worlds, the Earth seemed to pause. Streets that were once bustling with traffic grew eerily silent. Television screens across continents flickered with the image of Zepharion, his imposing figure radiating power and mystery. Families sat huddled together, their whispers laced with anxiety and fear.
“Is this real?” someone murmured in a cramped apartment in Mumbai.
“Can a god truly exist?” a journalist wondered aloud in her newsroom in New York.
“Who decides who lives or dies in such a game?” a professor mused in the quiet of his study in Cairo.
But no matter the language or the question, the sentiment was the same: disbelief laced with an undercurrent of dread.
Zepharion stood tall, his shimmering robes shifting with an ethereal energy that defied earthly logic. His eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and calculation, as if he could see into the hearts of every viewer glued to their screens. His sly smile curled into something sharper, a predator’s grin, as he observed the chaos he had unleashed.
“Ah, mortals,” he mused, his voice a silky baritone that carried a dangerous allure. “So fragile. So predictable.” He gestured grandly, and the image on the screens shifted to show glimpses of the chosen ones being whisked away. A young woman weeping as she reached for her brother, a teenager staring in shock at his glowing surroundings, a man in his living room muttering curses under his breath. Each scene was a fragment of raw, unfiltered humanity.
Zepharion chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers through those who heard it. “You always crave something more, don’t you? Adventure, purpose, excitement. Yet when it’s handed to you, you tremble in fear.” He tilted his head, his expression somewhere between mockery and fascination. “But fear not. You won’t be alone in this. The world will watch your every move. They’ll cheer your triumphs and mourn your failures. Such is the beauty of shared suffering.”
---
The god turned his attention to the worlds where his chosen had been sent. Each one was a masterpiece of its own—a realm shaped by the will and personality of its ruling deity. One world brimmed with towering forests where shadows writhed with unseen threats. Another was a city of endless metal spires, where technology and magic intertwined. A desolate wasteland, a celestial paradise, a labyrinth of perpetual night—each was a stage set for survival and spectacle.
Zepharion’s eyes lingered on a scene where one of the chosen had just arrived: a young woman, her fiery determination tempered by the weight of responsibility.
“Ah, Maya Patel,” he murmured, his tone almost fond. “A noble soul, burdened by love. Let us see how far you’ll go for that promise you made.”
He shifted his gaze to another screen, where a teenage boy with sharp, intelligent eyes was already scanning his surroundings.
“Theo Blackwood,” Zepharion said, his lips curling into a smirk. “The outcast who knows too much. Intelligence is a fine weapon, boy, but will it protect you when the blades come for your throat?”
And then to another—a young woman clutching a gaming headset like a talisman, her eyes alight with excitement.
“Alia Kahn,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “An atheist praying to a god. How deliciously ironic.”
Zepharion watched as the chosen landed in their respective worlds, their initial reactions ranging from awe to terror to disbelief. Some stumbled to their feet, while others froze, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what had just happened.
---
Zepharion turned back to face the countless mortals still watching him from Earth, their collective anticipation almost tangible.
“You are all witnesses to history,” he announced, spreading his arms wide. “These chosen ones represent the best and worst of humanity. Their struggles will define your entertainment, their choices your lessons. Some will rise as heroes, others will fall as cautionary tales. But all will serve a purpose in this grand experiment.”
He paused, letting his words sink in. Then, his smile widened, revealing teeth that gleamed like polished ivory. “And you, my dear audience, will play your part as well. For what is a spectacle without spectators? Cheer for your favorites, weep for their failures, and above all, enjoy the show.”
Zepharion leaned closer to the screen, his piercing gaze seeming to meet every viewer’s eyes at once. “But remember this: I am not your savior. I am not your judge. I am merely… curious.”
---
As the broadcasts continued, Zepharion retreated to his celestial domain—a sprawling palace of light and shadow, where walls shifted like liquid gold and the air thrummed with divine energy. He walked slowly through the grand halls, his expression contemplative.
He was no benevolent creator. He had never cared for worship or prayer, nor did he meddle in mortal affairs for their benefit. His interest in humanity was far more self-serving. Mortals were unpredictable, chaotic, and endlessly entertaining. Their desires, their fears, their triumphs and tragedies—all were a rich tapestry for him to unravel.
Zepharion paused before a massive, floating orb that displayed a kaleidoscope of images: the chosen ones navigating their new worlds. He touched the orb lightly, and the images shifted to show a young man pacing in a desert, his face etched with frustration.
“Ethan Rivera,” Zepharion murmured, his tone tinged with amusement. “The skeptic, dragged into the very thing he denies. Will your wit save you, or will it betray you in the end?”
The god’s sly smile returned. This was more than a game to him; it was an experiment, an art form, a means of staving off the endless monotony of existence.
“Let the games begin,” he whispered to himself, his voice carrying an undercurrent of excitement.
