For centuries, nay millennia the universe has been at a stand still of sorts. Everyday is just an endless loop of the day before, constant, never-ending, and almost like the battle between light and darkness. This proves a problem, as no world among the many has had a change to expand, move forward, nor advance in any field whatsoever.
This story begins at the end of time, yet the start of a different time.
An ominous feeling slowly creeps over Roel's subconscious, leaving a terrible feeling along his spine. Suddenly he is jerked out of his subconscious and into a windy battlefield from many a year past. He finds himself gasping for even the slightest bit of air as he's buffeted by a large cloud of dust and debris.
"W-W-Where am I?" He speaks to himself, not aware of the dangers that lurk. At first glance, he saw but rocks and dust, but at second glance, he realized something horrifying. Not only were they not rocks, but bones and weapons of bodies left to decay into the wasteland. Something still seemed off though. His eyes widened, sickened at the display he has seen. Bodies lay frozen in time, blood ever flowing from their wounds and drying up upon the heat of the cracked soil. Pieces of bodies lie scattered across the field, but one thing stands amongst them. An armor-clad warrior with a strange blade adorned with a key like head at the end.
The warrior turns in Roel's direction. An overwhelming sense of dread and fear overcome him, and he turns to run. He picks up his left foot, followed soon by his right, but he falls onto the ground, turned to the warrior's direction. A small, gentle wind picks up, and as fast as Roel blinks, the warrior has gotten close to him. He finds himself gasping for air once again, but not from the dust, but from the hand now enclosed around his neck. The warrior lifts Roel up by his neck, leaving a foot of air between Roel and the ground.
"Where did thou come from? Are you a Wielder? It doesn't matter, I'll eradicate ye just as I hath done to the swine that dared to fight me."
Roel gasps for air as a concussive blast suddenly seperates him and the armor clad fellow. He looks around, and pulls one of the weapons from the ground.
'Rusted, ancient, and flimsy. Great.' Roel says to himself as he readies himself for a fight. The weapon drops to his side, and he starts running forward, dragging the rusted blade through the ground. The armored warrior prepares for an impact, and Roel whips his right arm forward with the blade. The blade breaks through the warrior's guard and severely dents the helmet.
"So you are a Wielder! Fine, then thou shalt fight me with thy best skilled techniques!"
The warrior retaliates with a flurry of slashes and stabs with his weapon, but Roel blocks them, and parries the final one. This knocks it into the air, and he whips another slash into the helmet of the warrior, shattering it into tiny chunks of metal. A dark cloud pours out of the armor and ascends into the sky, but before it could do much, it was split in parts by it's falling weapon.
"Not so tough when your helmet breaks?" Roel taunts and stabs the weapon back into the ground. "You deserve a rest." He says to it, patting it and heading off into the dust filled wastes of blades and corpses.
After what seemed like day without much progress in the wasteland, he finally seemed to have made some sort of progress. Roel appears before a large keyhole, surrounds with a light of blue.
'What is this?' He asks himself after attempting to go through it. 'A... keyhole?'
Roel picks up one of the blades and holds it up. The keyhole's light flickers stronger and brighter. "Is this what you want?" The keyhole pulses strongly, and Roel points the blade at it. A beam of the same light flies out of the tip of the blade. He turns the key like blade counter clockwise, and the beam of light quickly extinguishes itself.
In a burst of light, the keyhole disappears and leaves a door in it's wake.
Roel looks at the door, and it slowly begins to open.
Enter the door if you wish to continue.
Those that never continue, never return.
Roel finds himself at a school with the school bell just now ringing.
"Who is that boy?"
"Does he go to school here?"
"Not with those clothes, he'd be too poor."
The students all sneer as they pass by him, and just past the gate is something quite interesting. A young man, not older than 22 is running around in a dog suit with a banner behind him with three letters on it. This is occurs much to the dismay of what seems to be the vice principal whom of which keeps yelling about some sort of 'Cresta.'
"Onizuka! I will have you fired for this!"