The Dream Code: Yume no Kodo [Light Novel] Vol. 3 – Page 7

Page 7

The silence that enveloped the world outside the mountain sanctuary was about to be shattered. Across the planet, billions of people went about their lives, unaware that their reality was about to be irrevocably rewritten. Then, it happened. Not with a warning, but with an instantaneous, overwhelming presence. Every communication device – phones, tablets, televisions, every screen connected to the global network – flickered, then simultaneously displayed a single, commanding image. Aanza. His form, radiating an unholy charisma, filled every display, his voice resonating not just through speakers, but seemingly through the very air, the very bones of every living being.

“Peoples of Earth,” his voice boomed, a symphony of seductive power and absolute authority, “I am Aanza. I am the supreme authority of all things, the God-King you have long awaited. Bow before me, and know salvation. Refuse, and embrace oblivion.”

As he spoke, a visible wave of power, shimmering with an unsettling, dark luminescence, pulsed outwards from his image. In countless homes, on bustling streets, in once-pristine rivers and lakes, the very essence of sustenance began to transform. Water, from a half-finished glass on a nightstand to vast reservoirs, was suddenly encased in an invisible, impenetrable barrier, turning into a solid, unyielding block of frozen liquid that defied all attempts to break, touch, or drink. Food, from the ripest fruit on a vine to a feast prepared for a king, suffered the same fate, encased in identical, unbreachable crystalline prisons. Supermarkets became mausoleums of food, their contents trapped behind Aanza’s insidious magic. Rivers ceased to flow, their waters entombed. The global supply chain, the intricate network that sustained civilization, was choked to a standstill in an instant.

Panic erupted. The sheer, instantaneous totality of Aanza’s display and the chilling reality of his power sent shockwaves of terror across the globe. Many, paralyzed by fear or seduced by the promise of survival, immediately sent their confirmation via their devices, their souls irrevocably pledged to Aanza. In response, the frozen supplies thawed, becoming accessible once more, but now, these recipients were bound, their very essence twisted to serve their new God-King. Palaces of impossible architecture, shimmering with an otherworldly glow, began to manifest from thin air in designated areas for these loyal followers. Women found themselves returned to an ageless beauty, men discovered a newfound, terrifying strength coursing through their veins. A vast number of humanity, swayed by hunger, fear, or the intoxicating allure of Aanza’s gifts, embraced their new deity within mere days.

Master Genryu, watching this unfold from the secure confines of his mountain sanctuary, felt a profound despair. His greatest fear realized. Yet, his foresight had prepared for this. His ring pulsed, a low thrum of arcane energy that maintained the impenetrable shield around their hidden base. The frequency of Aanza’s black magic, the very force that choked the world, could not penetrate this sanctuary. It remained hidden, its supplies untouched, its inhabitants safe from Aanza’s immediate, devastating control. Mitsuru, by Genryu’s decree, remained within the sanctuary, tasked with the crucial oversight of its systems, security, and the well-being of the chosen three thousand. Genryu himself, however, could not stand by idly while his life’s work, and indeed humanity’s last hope, was systematically dismantled. He had to confront Aanza.

“Mitsuru,” Genryu’s voice, though broadcast only within the sanctuary’s comms, carried the weight of immense sorrow and grim resolve. “I cannot allow you to face this. Your purpose is not to fall on the battlefield with my soldiers. You are the light that must guide them, even in this darkness. You will remain here, with Kamen, ensuring the safety of these souls. They are my trust, and now, they are yours.” Mitsuru could only nod, the words of his mentor a bitter balm on his own desire to fight alongside the legions being mobilized. He understood the logic, but the helplessness gnawed at him. He was to be the keeper of the flame, not the sword that wielded it.

The world was rapidly dividing into two irreconcilable factions. On one side, Aanza’s burgeoning empire, populated by those who had surrendered their souls for comfort and power, their numbers swelling by the hour. On the other, a desperate resistance, clinging to freedom, now facing a foe who wielded the very sustenance of life as a weapon. The fate of the world, once so fragile, now hung by a thread as thin as Aanza’s proclaimed divine decree.