Chapter 6 — Limits
1518 Words
Leong did not wake up all at once.
His consciousness returned in fragments, as if it had been torn apart and was now slowly being pieced back together. The first thing to return was sound, a low and continuous vibration, steady and rhythmic, as though the space itself was breathing.
Then came the weight.
The air pressed against his chest, thick and heavy, making every breath difficult.
Before he opened his eyes, his memory surfaced.
It was night.
City lights stretched endlessly below, forming a network of perfect lines without chaos or deviation.
Perfect.
Just like his family.
Leong stood before the floor to ceiling window, hands in his pockets, watching the world in silence.
Behind him, voices rose.
“Are you serious?”
His brother stood by the table, his tone cold and controlled.
“You are going to a place like that?”
Leong did not turn.
“I am just going to teach.”
“Teach?” his sister said with a faint laugh. “In a prison?”
“It is not a prison,” Leong replied calmly.
“The name does not matter,” his brother said. “You know exactly what it is.”
The air grew heavy.
Not silence, but pressure.
“You do not need to do this,” his sister said quietly. “You already have everything.”
She was right.
Their family stood at the top. Resources, power, and security were all within reach. Even his future had already been decided.
Leong only needed to accept it.
But he shook his head.
“That is exactly why I have to leave.”
He turned around.
Their expressions changed, not to anger, but to confusion.
“You are running away,” his brother said.
“No,” Leong replied. “I am searching.”
“For what?”
He paused before answering.
“Limits.”
Something had always felt wrong.
Even in perfection.
Everything had answers. Everything was predictable. People made choices not because they wanted to, but because those choices were considered correct.
Perfect, yet empty.
He wanted to know what would remain when everything broke, when a person was pushed to the edge.
His sister spoke softly.
“You will not come back the same.”
Leong nodded.
“I know.”
The memory faded.
The vibration returned, closer now.
Leong opened his eyes.
A pale and cold light filled his vision. There was no warmth in it.
What he saw was not a room, but a level.
The space was divided into precise structures, every line exact and controlled. It did not feel like a place made for humans. It felt refined, as if it had been adjusted again and again.
He tried to move.
His body responded slowly, as if the space itself was suppressing him.
“You are awake.”
The voice came from no clear direction. Calm. Flat.
Leong looked down.
His arm was held in place, not by restraints, but by something more precise.
He turned his head.
Figures moved around him. Their movements were identical, perfectly timed, without hesitation or excess.
As if they were following rules.
Leong’s pupils tightened.
“This is not a safe zone,” he said.
No one answered.
A figure stepped forward.
Tall and stable, with an unnaturally long neck.
It lowered its head slightly and looked at him.
“Teacher,” it said. “We need you.”
The memory returned.
The fog, the soldiers, the deaths.
Leong’s fingers tightened.
“You are using us.”
The long neck paused.
“Use is irrelevant,” it said.
“We need a god.”
The air seemed to shift.
That was not an order.
It sounded like desire.
“Only a god can complete this level.”
Leong stared at it.
“You are not following rules,” he said.
“You are trying to become one.”
There was no denial.
“To become, we must create,” it said.
“To create, we need you.”
It stepped closer.
“You are necessary.”
Leong lifted his head.
His gaze turned cold.
“I will not create a god.”
The space fell into stillness.
“You must.”
Leong shook his head.
“Taking me will not help.”
“You do not understand what a god is.”
“Understanding is not required,” it replied.
“The result defines it.”
At that moment, the wall collapsed.
Not cracked, but shattered completely.
Debris scattered across the floor.
For the first time, the level fell into chaos.
All movement stopped.
Through the dust, someone walked in.
Slow.
Steady.
A mask covered his face, leaving only his eyes visible.
Cold.
Empty.
Leong’s breath caught.
“Who are you?”
There was no answer.
In the next second, the man moved.
A punch struck directly into the long neck’s throat.
The impact echoed through the entire level.
The long neck was thrown backward and slammed into the structure behind it.
For the first time, it reacted.
“That hurts,” it said.
“You bastard.”
It counterattacked immediately.
The ground fractured under the force.
The shock spread outward.
But the masked man did not move.
He raised one hand and blocked it effortlessly.
Leong’s eyes widened.
“That is impossible.”
The long neck stood again.
Its neck remained intact.
No fractures. No damage.
Hard like diamond.
“No break,” it said, though its voice was no longer perfectly stable.
The fight erupted.
Too fast to follow.
Fists collided. Air tore apart. The ground shattered.
Other figures rushed forward but were thrown aside instantly. Some crashed into the walls. Some never moved again.
The level began to collapse.
Leong’s vision blurred.
The impact was too strong.
His consciousness began to fade.
Through the chaos, he saw the masked man standing at the center of it all.
Unmoving.
Untouched.
Like something that did not belong in this place.
Darkness closed in.
⸻
When the wall finally gave way, the level trembled.
Not from instability, but from impact.
The masked man stepped forward again.
He did not hesitate.
He did not observe.
He acted.
The figures surrounding the long neck moved at once.
They never reached him.
The first was struck before it could react. A single blow sent it flying into the structure behind it.
The second followed.
Then the third.
Each movement was precise. Each strike final.
The level echoed with impact.
The long neck watched.
Then it spoke.
“96,” it said.
The masked man stopped.
For the first time, he did not attack.
“You again,” the long neck said.
There was recognition in its voice.
“Number 96.”
The masked man remained silent.
The long neck straightened.
“Changgu,” it said. “That is my name.”
Its gaze locked onto him.
“Number 96, are you trying to stop me from becoming a god?”
Dust drifted through the air.
The masked man turned slightly.
Not toward Changgu.
But toward Leong.
“Teacher said,” he spoke quietly.
He paused.
“He would teach me how to grow flowers.”
For a moment, Changgu did not move.
“That has no value,” it said.
The masked man lowered his stance.
“It has value.”
Then he moved.
The impact came instantly.
Faster and stronger than before.
His fist struck Changgu directly.
This time, the sound resisted.
Not clean.
Not broken.
Changgu was forced backward.
For the first time, it lost balance and fell.
The ground fractured beneath it.
Its subordinates rushed forward, lifting it back up.
“Damage increasing. Structure holding.”
But the difference was clear.
They were losing control.
The masked man advanced again.
The surrounding figures hesitated.
Just for a moment.
It was enough.
He broke through them.
Some were thrown aside.
Some did not rise again.
The level shook under the force.
Its balance was breaking.
Changgu was lifted again.
But it was no longer perfect.
Its movements slowed.
“Number 96,” it said, its voice lower now.
“You are interfering with necessary completion.”
No response.
The masked man had already turned away.
He walked toward Leong.
He stopped.
Then he bent down and lifted him carefully.
Not roughly.
As if he mattered.
Changgu watched.
Its subordinates formed up again.
But none of them moved.
For the first time, they hesitated.
“Number 96, this will not change the outcome.”
The masked man did not look back.
“Teacher comes with me,” he said.
No one stopped him.
Not because they could not.
But because they did not act.
He carried Leong toward the broken wall.
Beyond it was darkness.
Unknown.
Silent.
He stepped through without hesitation.
Behind him, the level slowly stabilized.
The remaining figures reorganized.
The damage was contained.
But something had already changed.
Something that could not be corrected.
Changgu stood motionless.
It watched the place where they had disappeared.
“Deviation recorded,” it said.
There was no answer.
For the first time,
no correction followed.
Chapter 6 End
- Writer
