Lone Cultivator In Another World

Alleyamorr was dying. Most of its inhabitants were already resigned to their fate. Only a misguided few still harbored hopes of escaping the world taking its last breath.

There is nothing more horrid and dire than watching your own world turn into nothing. First, everything loses color. The grass, the trees, the sky – they all go grey. Then, the infofield begins to fail, like a radio broadcasting white noise. Its functions gone, the world's inhabitants lose their ability to feel and learn.

People often fall down after their sense of balance leaves them, their sense of touch follows suit. Lying on the ground, without feeling pain, fear and dismay take hold. But none can speak or call for help. The ones who could help are lying nearby anyway. Sight and hearing stay longer, just enough for everyone to realize all hope is gone, just enough for despair to seep in their bones.

All mechanisms and systems failed, in this grey world there is no movement left. Only people gasping for breaths like fish out of the water. In the world's last moments, black and white blend into one, and everything and nothing is suddenly the same.

"Double-colonel, the command was to take off!"

"No, sir! I refuse! There are still people here, people we can help!"

"Fool! Your hesitation will cost us an already slim chance to continue our line!"

A plump middle-aged man in brown and red military uniform clenched his fists and shouted, "I will not repeat myself again! Launch the spaceship!"

A younger man sitting behind what looked like a futuristic control panel returned a heated gaze at his superior. The young double-colonel's hands stayed on his knees.

"Rebelling at this time, boy?" bellowed the plump man. He retrieved his laser gun from its holster and pointed at the defiant pilot, "You aren't the only one who can push the buttons. If you don't obey my orders, I will do it myself."

Double-colonel stood up and covered the control panel with his own body, "We can take more people. More women, more children!"

"Shroo, shroo," the laser spewed its deadly charge and the young man fell. His executioner stepped forward and pressed a few buttons, murmuring, "Close the doors, prepare for liftoff." He glanced back at the body of his subordinate and teared up. That double-colonel had been a man of the people, a war hero. His loss weighed on the heart of his killer.

"Stubborn youth. You can never understand. Our people are already doomed. Only our bloodline can be preserved, our genetic material is the future of Alleyamorr now."

The spaceship carried many sealed containers with genetic samples of their world's best and brightest. Alleyamorr's people were more evolved than the Universe's humans. They were born with energy fields which allowed them to exhibit powerful abilities such as control over elements, enhanced physical traits or psionic powers.

The samples on the ship could be used for genetic splicing later to restore Alleyamorr's people to their glory. However, with their world dying it was impossible for the people to escape the tragedy alive. The only thing they could do now was to send these genetic samples somewhere they might be found. That way, perhaps their people could live on in some form.

Young double-colonel didn't realize that the spaceship wasn't heading to a safe place. Instead, it was set to break the confines of Alleyamorr and travel the World Tree.

The plump man decisively controlled the ship to leave the planet. Powered by several powerful artifacts, it speeded up until time and space stopped being of matter. There, the plump military man was in the process of checking up on the samples when a burst of power intervened with the spaceship's functions. The man was incinerated instantly. The spaceship span in a torrent of energy like a small fishing boat in a great tsunami.

…

On an enormous tree with countless branches and leaves a raven sat, its eyes closed. It was witness to everything happening in Alleyamorr and everywhere else. Normally, it wouldn't move for centuries at a time, yet at this moment the raven flew.

On one branch in the middle, a small leaf of Alleyamorr suddenly caught fire. It burned out without disturbing its neighbors, its existence ending quietly. A single spark fell from it, missing several branches and leaves on its way to the ground. The raven caught this spark with its wing and made its way lower along the mighty tree trunk.

Hours later the bird approached one of the lower branches, aimed carefully with one eye closed and waved the wing with precision. The spark followed the air current and hit one of the leaves. However, instead of causing fire, it got s.u.c.k.e.d inside, entering the large space hidden in the leaf called Universe.

The raven cawed as it landed on the same branch. It stared intently as if capable of seeing the spark traverse light years in the Universe world. After making sure that everything went according to its plan, the raven smiled.

Its bird-like features never changed, but anyone who saw the bird's face could tell its emotions clearly. The raven sighed and muttered, "This is all I can do, little Misha. You are the only one left. I hope we can see each other soon. Soon! Caw!" The raven took flight and went back to the treetop.

…

Michael was so distressed he couldn't force himself to fall asleep. Following Glory's suggestion, he cultivated through the night. Even though he didn't believe a month's worth of cultivation could increase his chance of survival, he soldiered on. That was the effect of hope given to a drowning man: even exhausted half to death, he will find strength to fight.

With eyes red from lack of sleep, Michael took in rivulets of freezing ice water again and again, disregarding the pain and discomfort. Finally, when the sun rose, he was rewarded with a familiar "Congratulations on reaching cultivation 1-stage, 4-star. Remember to check new abilities in the shop."

After he reached this goal, Michael felt a sharp d.e.s.i.r.e to sleep. His head touched the pillow and his eyes closed shut. Sympathetic Glory picked this exact moment to announce in full volume, "Host, please move on to the next relaxation technique from the set."

That did the job of waking Michael up.

"Glory, why now?"

"Every cultivator's process is unique and depends on one's hidden talents. For some, reaching early stars is easy and approaching next stage is hard. For others, it is the opposite. Host's cultivation was difficult in its early stages. Glory can now predict a drop in cultivation difficulty followed by a corresponding rise within stage-1."

"I mean, why did you have to tell me this now?! I was trying to sleep, you know?"

Glory predictably abstained from responding.

"Let me get this straight, stars 5 and 6 or so will be easier to cultivate? Is this caused by the otherworldly energy? Are you trying to speed up my cultivation, so I can be prepared?"

"Host is mistaken," was Glory's cold reply, "Glory is incapable of reacting to external events. Host exhibits talent for middle stars of stage-1. Host does not exhibit talent for early and late stars of stage-1."

"Fine," grumbled Michael, "Be like that."

As he attempted to cultivate again relying on the next relaxation technique, Michael was shocked. The ring of water appeared again, and it looked the same. However, the water's temperature was significantly warmer, Michael's body accepted it with ease. For the first time, young cultivator wasn't knocked out of meditative state by pain, but continued to receive more and more water, until he was too full to continue.

Exiting the state by himself, Michael felt a cool breeze flow through his veins and could tell his cultivation increased slightly from that single session. After waiting for a minute for the newly adopted energy to assimilate, he tried to cultivate using the previous relaxation technique.

The water was cold again, even colder than before. The pain was so great Michael fell on the floor from the bed and curled up into a ball.

"Host is advised to change to another relaxation technique. The technique host uses is incompatible with host's advanced cultivation."

Michael's retort died in his throat as only pathetic mewling came out.

'I will have my revenge one day, Glory!' he thought.

"Host, please do not be playful."