void scholar

Chapter three; He Was Never Meant to Exist

The freezing rain hit his skin like a volley of iron needles.

Cold. Sharp. Horrifically real.

Jesse collapsed violently onto one knee, his chest heaving as he coughed hard, spitting out a mixture of bile and rainwater. The world—with all its ambient noise, agonizing weight, and physical laws—snapped fully, aggressively back into place around his senses. The temporary vacuum was gone.

“H—ha…!”

His lungs burned as if he had just inhaled liquid sulfur. His vision swam hysterically, the edges of his sight blurring into fractured streaks of grey and black. Whatever that profound, reality-erasing phenomenon had just been… it was completely gone. The narrow alleyway looked exactly the same as it always did—decrepit, rotting, and stained with grease. The storm sounded exactly the same, thunder booming overhead like an executioner's drum.

And the man—was still there.

He was standing perfectly erect. Breathing. Radiating an aggressive, physical heat.

Alive.

Jesse’s green eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing confusion as he stared up through his dripping, purple fringe. “…You…?”

The man didn’t look afraid anymore. The transient terror that had gripped his features when the rain vanished had completely dissolved, replaced entirely by a deep, pulsing irritation. It was as if whatever cosmic anomaly had just transpired simply hadn’t mattered to him. It was a glitch in the dark, nothing more.

“You honestly think freezing up and playing parlor tricks is going to save you ” the man growled, his voice heavy with contempt.

Jesse’s fingernails dug frantically into the mud of the cracked stone flooring, his knuckles turning white.

«Then what the hell was that…?». his mind screamed in silent agony. «The absolute silence. The endless space. That weird voice echoing in my skull. It felt so real. Too real to be a hallucination.»

“Stand up!”

Jesse's traumatized body reacted to the authoritative command before his conscious mind could even process the sequence. He forced his weight upward once again, his thin legs shaking so violently they looked like brittle twigs bearing a crushing weight. He wasn't strong. He wasn't steady. He was barely maintaining his vertical posture against the wind.

The next heavy strike came through the dark—and this time, reality offered no shield. It landed squarely against his ribs.

*CRACK.*

Jesse hit the ground hard, his face slamming into the wet stone as a white-hot explosion of agonizing pain tore through his chest. The force of the blow rolled him onto his side, his breath entirely stolen by the impact.

“Useless trash,” the man muttered, casually shaking the moisture off the wooden rod. “A waste through and through.”

Jesse clenched his teeth together so tightly a copper taste flooded his mouth. Hot tears mixed immediately with the freezing rainwater as his vision tunneled into darkness. «So it truly wasn’t real…? The universe didn't actually choose me?»

No. That couldn’t be the conclusion. He had felt the vacuum. Something primitive had explicitly answered his call when he hit the floor.

His bruised right hand twitched slightly against the cold mud. He focused every single scrap of his remaining cognitive focus into his palm.

“…Remove…” Jesse whispered the command under his breath. It was barely audible, a desperate prayer disguised as an incantation. “…Remove it.”

Nothing happened.

The heavy downpour didn’t cease. The physical world didn’t bend to his whim. Reality didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a millisecond. There was no systemic interface, no blue panel, no manifestation of power. There was only the baseline reality of his existence: intense pain, bitter cold, and the rhythmic, heavy sound of his father's footsteps approaching his position once more.

“…I can’t…” Jesse’s voice trembled, a profound despair fracturing his throat. “…I don’t understand what really happened then…”

Suddenly, a secondary memory forcefully surfaced from the locked vaults of his childhood. It was that same gentle, maternal voice. It wasn't a loud shout. It wasn't a commanding decree from a high-ranking Pathfinder. It was just… perfectly steady. Safe.

“Jesse… even if you don’t understand the road ahead… even if the circumstances makes no sense… you must always take one step forward.”

Jesse’s chaotic, shallow breathing slowed down. Just a microscopic fraction. The panic receded, leaving behind a cold, primitive instinct for pure survival.

The man raised his heavy hand to deliver another devastating strike—but this time, Jesse moved.

It wasn't an execution of high-tier agility skill. It wasn't characterized by unnatural speed. It was pure, unadulterated human instinct. Jesse threw his weight to the left, rolling his fragile body across the wet stones—barely avoiding the trajectory of the descending rod by a matter off inches. The weapon shattered against the granite where his head had been a second prior.

Jesse scrambled backward on his hands and knees, his boots slipping on the slick moss. It was a clumsy escape. Messy. Desperate. Completely devoid of dignity.

“Are you running away now, boy?” the man sneered, his heavy boots easily tracking the movement.

Jesse didn’t bother to answer. He couldn’t afford to waste the oxygen. His heart was pounding so violently it felt like it was attempting to rip its way out of his ribcage. His entire muscular system screamed at him to collapse and surrender to the dark. But he kept moving.

Step.

Slip.

Step.

Fall.

He looked pathetic. Weak. Entirely powerless against the world. But despite the structural failure of his body, he was still undeniably moving toward the exit.

Behind his retreating form, the man clicked his tongue in profound disappointment and followed his trail. He walked unhurriedly. Certain of the outcome. There was no escape from the lower rings for an error.

Jesse finally reached the mouth of the narrow alleyway. The dim, flickering amber light from the main residential street barely cut through the dense curtain of rain. Freedom was less than ten paces away.

But his legs completely gave out. The last reserves of his adrenaline evaporated, and he hit the muddy ground hard, his chin scraping the stone.

“…No…” he whimpered, his fingers clawing at the boundary line of the street.

The heavy footsteps stopped directly behind his head. A massive, rough hand reached down, aggressively grabbing the collar of his thin jacket and lifting his upper torso slightly off the ground.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going, Jesse?” the man asked, his breath hot against the back of the boy's neck.

Jesse’s vision began to dim, dark spots dancing across his eyes as his physical strength completely hit absolute zero. He had nothing left to fight with.

But deep, deep within him—that endless, quiet space suddenly flickered.

It was faint. Immensely distant. Like an ancient, vast entity watching his suffering from a light-years away. It wasn't offering assistance. It wasn't actively interfering to preserve his life. It was simply… observing his structural collapse with absolute, mathematical indifference.

Jesse’s blue lips moved, his voice a pathetic breath into the storm. “…Help me…”

There was no answer from that thing was.

And for the very first time since his mother died, that absolute internal silence scared Jesse significantly more than the violent man holding his collar. Because that cold indifference meant one terrifying thing: whatever that unknown power was… it wasn’t his. He hadn't mastered it. He hadn't attained it.

He was so close to the street. So close to a sliver of hope. But if he wanted to claim that power, if he wanted to make the endless nothingness obey his command, he had to survive this night. He had to become someone more .

Hope.