World of Isolation: Atlas Untold

Knowledge is power, and action shapes destiny.

A flood of revelations tears through the world’s fading truths,

casting all into an abyss, a realm uncharted by any soul.

Endless paths unfold,their stories yet unwritten.

Will the cycle repeat... or finally break?

— ✦ —

CHAPTER ZERO

Suddenly, silence devoured the train.

I looked around people were still talking, lips moving, laughter echoing
yet not a single sound reached me.

Then a voice hissed against my ear, too fast, too sharp.

“Wanna be summoned? Say the word.”

My throat moved before my mind caught up.

“What?”

The moment the word left me, the world twisted.
Light fractured, reality bent, and the train dissolved into shadow.

When the haze cleared, I stood somewhere... familiar.
Yet not.

A cavernous arena rose around me.
The Mall of Asia Arena in Pasay
but not the one I knew.
This place pulsed with a different rhythm, ancient and dreadful.

A figure stepped forward, his voice the same eerie whisper that had stolen me away.

“I am your summoner.”

The words sank into me like cold steel.

I turned and saw them.
Hundreds of warriors filled the arena floor.
Armor etched with runes.
Robes stitched with living threads of magic.
Shields that breathed, weapons that bled.
Worthy of Legendary status standing side by side.

And me?

I wore only a black barong.
No sword. No shield.
Just fabricordinary and fragile.
An outfit unfit for war...
Yet somehow, I felt it had been chosen for me.

I already knew what was coming.

The summoner tilted his head, eyes glinting like fractured glass.

“Are you ready?”

Anger burned in me.

“Why wasn’t I told about the venue? I could’ve prepared traps and vlogged about this event!”

He laughed.
Not with humor, but with cruelty
the sound of a predator toying with prey.

“It’s simple,” he whispered.
“I take pleasure in suffering.
To see people confused.
Afraid.
Broken.
That is my joy.”

The hairs on my arms rose.
I knew he was twisted
but not how deep the rot went.

“But do you know what excites me more?”

His grin widened until it threatened to split his skull.

I forced a smirk.

“My victory?”

“No.”

His voice quivered with hunger.

“Your mystery.”

He stepped closer, saliva glistening on his lips.

“A man in his thirties. No ambition. No aspirations.
Yet chosen by the Orb.
Why you? Why now?”

His smile stretched further grotesque, trembling with delight.

“I dug into your past. On the surface a happy family.
But deeper? Nothing.
A false registry.
No birthplace for your father.
No childhood for your mother.
You are a blank page wrapped in flesh.
A riddle even I cannot read.”

His voice fell to a whisper, trembling as if savoring my fear.

“And uncovering you excites me more than anything else.”

I couldn’t breathe.
My thoughts scattered, every nerve alight.
He knew too much yet not enough.

Then, without warning, he dissolved.
One by one, the other summoners followed, their forms breaking into shards of light.

And the battle began.

The representative of China struck first.

By my flame unbound and ember’s cry,
Rise, O tide of crimson rage,
Drown this arena in sea of fire!

A magic circle flared before his wand
and fire erupted.
A tidal wave of flame surged, drowning the stadium in blistering heat.

But it didn’t last.

The delegate from Sweden raised his staff and chanted:

O sea, converge,
Drag all beneath,
Devour all let none return.

A whirlpool of water thundered into being,
consuming the fire in a violent hiss of steam.
Heat and mist rolled across the arena, the ground trembling beneath their clash.

I’m Awestruck.

For one fleeting moment, I wished my affinity was elemental.
Fire. Water. Lightning. Earth.
Anything but what I was.

But the law of magic is unyielding:
affinity reflects the soul.

Elemental mages were creatures of passion, driven by burning hearts.

And me?
I was quiet.
Shy.
Withdrawn.

I began to gather my mana
but agony cut me short.

The representative of North Korea drove his fist into my gut.
The ground fractured, the arena splitting apart as my body hurtled backward.
The stone shattered.
Air tore from my lungs.
And then, the floor crumbled beneath me.

I fell.
Into the pit.
Into darkness.

I, James Dawn Lopez, was the first to fall in the Battle for the World Scepter.

Above, the crowd erupted.
The ranked fighters of Luzon and Visayas laughed openly
their mockery sharp and merciless, echoing like blades scraping bone.

But one man remained silent.

Alfred Silang Lanaya, champion of Mindanao, leaned forward in his seat.
His lips curled into the faintest smile, eyes glinting with a predator’s calm.

“So this,” Alfred murmured,
his voice a blade in the noise,
“is the one they spoke so highly of?”

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I saw a black cat in the next chapter, hurry!