1 1: The Beginning of the End

They say the world was supposed to have ended in 2012, but it didn't come to be despite the prophecies.

There were no meteors. No rise of monsters from the depth of the seas, no descent of angels or what-have-yous from the heavens. Some people might have kept their conspiracy theories, but the world, as people knew it, was deemed safe in all its human-infested glory.

The world did not end in 2012.

That was what people thought, at least.

And yet, the rest of the world took a turn for the worst regardless of the lack of tsunamis taking over entire archipelagos, despite the world not freezing over or melting in a snap of a finger as expected, despite the lack of meteors splitting the Earth into two.

Earth didn't need to destroy itself for the world to end. Humanity was enough to start the job—be it with pollution, corruption, plain old murder, and every other crime known to mankind. Humans, from the beginning of time and until the present, were always more than enough to jumpstart the apocalypse.

"But that will take too long," said an imaginary being far outside of human understanding. Maybe one could call them a spectator, a god, a mere outsider to the world, an alien. The being complained, "While it's certain that humanity will lead themselves to ruin, I don't want such a slow-paced story."

Another being of a similar nature said, "You're too young and impatient. Why can't you just let nature take its course?"

"But that's no fun, is it? It's not as entertaining as what I want to happen."

They were not demons, nor were they angels. Not quite god, and yet, powerful enough to be called so. Beings that could weave fate as they liked, with an existence older than mortals could possibly comprehend.

One could call them Chaos split in body, perhaps.

The elder of the two, for as much as age could matter to immortal beings, said, "Then you'd rather give them the apocalypse they desire?"

"No, not that boring..."

"Then what?"

"There's a story I read, that one time I descended."

For all that they were otherwordly beings, they too had their moments of boredom in the void. And so they took to travel, to mingling with humanity in all their glory and perverseness, consuming the sights and sounds of a world enriched by their scent and stench.

"A story?"

"Well..."

The younger of the two did not explain as they did just weave. In the way that they, too, were created, the being wove, and wove, creating existence out of nothing, and lo—

In the year 20XX, the world began with the end.

So-called Chaos portals sprung to existence in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, in the Atlantic, and even on the highest mountains. Any attempts to investigate bore no fruit as any machines thrown into the void never returned, and broke immediately upon entry.

When the monsters started pouring out after a year of hibernation, it seemed there would be no hope for the world left. That the end was nigh, and the prophecies had only been delayed by a few years.

But humanity was hardier than that.

Where some died upon first contact, other people thrived. Because corruption and pollution might be difficult to resolve alone for the smartest human being, but fighting monsters?

Humans, it seemed, were built for survival. Far more resilient than the most deadly virus, and certainly more stubborn in clinging to life than the most desperate animal.

When the System-Host program was born into existence with the onslaught of monsters, humanity only batted an eye once, then never again.

Murder was no longer a thing one could ignore as mere flash news, as a bitter pill on one's social media feed. Some countries descended into ruins at the beginning of such chaos, used as they were to the old system that served only those at the top. And then there were the others—those nations that collected fury in decades and millennia past—who managed to overthrow those in power with all the justice of a people betrayed.

And the protagonist of such a world?

He was just as clueless as the rest, at least at the start. Initially ignorant to the meaning of the System-Host program, he'd felt his way around it like a child given a new toy. He took to daily quests like it was only a given, read the rulebook as others wouldn't, and he became the strongest in due time because he had something the others could not compete with.

The protagonist cheat.

Natural intelligence, immense proficiency with weapons, prowess in fighting, the kind of leadership you'd only see on the field where war was commonplace and people needed a bright beacon to follow.

He was, of course, undeniably handsome too. With features seemingly sculpted with inspiration from Adonis, a mixture of sharp edges and soft lines to his face, with hair as dark as a moonless sky and eyes as deep as the Marianas Trench—he was a vision of irrefutable beauty.

Such a person, he could almost be perfect.

Except for one thing.

"Malic, sir, could I ask for your autogr—"

"No."

The man's attitude certainly left a lot to be desired.

Malic himself couldn't care less, however.

"You could at least try to be nice," hissed the redhead accompanying Malic, her cat-like eyes narrowed into angry slits as she jabbed a finger into his side. She was smaller than him, and younger than him, but that didn't matter as much when she ranked right after him in the group when it came to dealing the most damage to monsters.

Rhiannon Sayer, his redheaded ally, was a useful person to have at his side despite how much of a pest she could be. She was certainly better at playing the nice act than him, though he'd never bothered for such a thing in the first place.

Many things might have changed, but he wasn't one to be so easily swayed—even if the world was ending.

"It's a waste of time," he grumbled in return, scowling when she made a gesture as if to jab at him again. They'd only finished a sub-mission, and now she was hounding him for refusing such a trivial thing? To the child who'd asked for his autograph, he said, "There's no point in asking for a signature. Use your time to train instead."

Rhiannon stared at him. "You're talking to a literal child."

He stared back at her, undaunted. "Kira."

Hirano Kira was one of the few children that had gravitated to their group regardless of Malic's wishes. Equipped with natural genius, he had no choice but to take her in when the only other option was for her to be used and abused by other people, or be left for dead.

Rhiannon sighed in exasperation. "Kira is an outlier, you punk."

"A child is a child."

"You stubborn b—" She cut herself off, gaze going to the child who still stood in the same spot, unmoving. "...tch."

Despite the arguments she'd just witnessed, the child remained exactly where she was on the street, her notebook and pen tucked close to her chest. Malic wondered what kind of irresponsible guardian would leave her alone, then quickly realized that no, he didn't care.

He had enough on his plate to give a damn about something irrelevant to himself.

"Go back," he told the child. He was unshaken, even as she started tearing up. "It's dangerous out here, you foolish child."

"...oh!"

He closed his eyes at the sight of her starry-eyed gaze. Shit. It was meant to be a reprimand, yet it somehow came out as something appealing to this child. What was wrong with these people?

"Then I'll go," she said. The way she smiled a toothy smile at him made it feel like he'd never even rejected her in the first place. "I'll come back to ask for your autograph once I'm stronger!"

"Hah."

He might not like kids all that much, burdensome and annoying as they were, but he could admire a bit of boundless confidence. "Sure."

"Bye!"

He didn't bother to wave when the child waved her goodbye at him, though Rhiannon did so happily. He didn't know if the child would even survive for long, if they'd ever meet again and she'd keep her promise, but it wasn't bad to let a kid dream.

The streets, when the child left, were still as ruined as ever. Lamp post lights flickering dangerously, cracked gravel, the deserted quality of the place itself where there used to be more people—be they civilians, police, or thieves.

It was no wonder people called it the end of the world.

"Malic!"

The voice of a young woman resounded through the streets, and Malic, as he'd been called, looked up.

Coming closer was a group of three people, led by a woman with black hair tied up in a neat bun. Though distant, Malic could make out her sharp gaze, her pleased smile. Another one in their group who was built more for offense than defense, with kicks that could kill if not controlled properly.

Kim Ji-yeong, as he saw her, was followed by Kira, and a large, bear-like man with short black hair, wearing a tacky flower-decorated shirt and shorts. Renato Alonzo, their healer and shield, with a heart so annoyingly soft that he ought to not exist given the current state of the world.

Yet he existed, as did the rest of them. They'd survived until now, and they would continue to regardless of whatever fate handed to them.

"The rewards we got this time are better than usual, considering it's only a sub-mission," said Ji-yeong, immediately presenting to him the items when she was near enough. In her inventory was a quick-recovery potion, 500 more coins to her finances, and a butterfly knife. "The butterfly knife is equipped with a speed buff, but since I don't really need it, I was thinking of giving it to Kira. What do you think?"

Malic nodded. That was reasonable. Though Kira's intelligence and stamina stats were already high, it wouldn't hurt to have something she could defend herself with.

Then he noticed the strange man at the back of their group, lingering far too close than should be necessary. He was a small, thin, seemingly tired-looking man, with dark hair and wide eyes that made him look oddly innocent, forcing Malic to feel even more suspicious of his presence.

Who was this man?

"Ah, I was going to introduce you, Malic-ssi!" Ji-yeong said, seeming to have sensed his animosity. "This guy is the one who got us the quick-recovery potion. His name is—"

Sniffle.

...what?

Malic could only stare, wide-eyed, as the strange man suddenly burst into tears, his entire face crumpling with the force of his emotions as he covered his face with both hands. His body shook with the force of it, and he almost looked like he'd keel over, if not for Renato immediately coming over to support him.

Just what the hell was going on with this crazy bastard?