CREATOR ZERO

Shun stood frozen, his eyes darting across the countless holographic screens flickering to life around him. They hovered in the air, encasing him in a glowing cocoon of data. His breath caught as he tried to process the surreal sight. Am I dreaming? No... this is something else. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low but laced with unease.

"Mask, is this... some kind of system? Like the ones from those stories?" His eyes narrowed as he scanned the information. "And what's with these depressing stats staring back at me?"

The Mask's voice resonated within his mind, calm and measured, like a tide that refused to be rushed. "This system is part of me," it explained. "It exists to help you channel your power, as well as mine, in a structured way. Without it, your strength would be unfocused—chaotic."

Shun raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That's it? Just a glorified interface?"

Mask continued without a pause. "The system will also assign you tasks. In exchange, it will offer rewards—some material, others intangible, but all necessary."

Hearing this, Shun's face shifted into a devilish grin. He leaned back slightly, letting out a low, sinister laugh. "Ah, finally! After dying, I might actually get a girlfriend thanks to this summoning system." His laughter grew darker, tinged with mischief.

"One girl, Two girls,Three girls..." he counted in his imagination. He was drooling and his noose started to bleed.

Then he straightened, his sharp gaze scanning the holographic screens. "But wait... where's the summoning screen?"

The Mask's voice cut through his thoughts, calm and unyielding. "It has that functionality," it admitted, "but it's locked for now."

Shun's grin faltered for a moment before he sighed dramatically. "Locked? Of course it is. Typical." He chuckled again, though quieter this time. "Still, if I play along, maybe I might get a girl" he prayed looking at the heavens.

The Mask interrupted his musings, its voice cutting through like a blade. "What about Mei and the priest? What will you do with them?"

Shun's grin faded slightly. He shrugged as if the matter were a trivial annoyance. "Honestly? I don't care. If it weren't for this task, I'd have left this dull village as soon as I arrived. I stayed because I thought it might amuse me for a while."

Before the Mask could respond, a shout broke through the air, startling them both. The village chief's voice rang out, urgent and commanding. Shun turned to see the old women striding toward him, his face pale and lined with worry. "Shun, come with me," the chief demanded, her tone leaving no room for refusal.

Curious but indifferent, Shun followed the chief to a dark cell hidden deep within the village. The air was damp and suffocating, and the faint smell of blood lingered. As they entered, Shun's gaze fell upon Mei and the priest. They were bound hand and foot with thick, fraying ropes, their bodies trembling with fear.

Mei's tear-streaked face looked up at him, her voice breaking as she cried out, "Forgive me, Zhong! Please, forgive me for my mistakes!" Her sobs shook her fragile frame as she fell to her knees. She began bowing her head so forcefully against the ground that blood trickled down her forehead, painting the dirt beneath her.

Shun tilted his head, studying her with cold detachment. "Forgive you?" His voice was calm, almost casual. "You've done nothing to harm me. Why should I waste forgiveness on a stranger?"

Shun's gaze flickered to the priest and then back to Mei. His expression remained impassive, though a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew Zhong had made a mistake too—trusting a stranger was a gamble no one could afford.

"Trust is the easiest gift to give," Shun mused coldly, "and the deadliest weapon to receive."

"I do not claim to be a judge, nor a jury, for in the end, we are all prisoners of our own actions and regrets. The truth is not in my hands, nor yours, but in the tangled web we weave with time." Shun with sense of detachment.

He chuckled softly, his tone laced with mockery. "How tragically predictable... but I suppose we all learn, sooner or later."

He shifted his gaze to the priest, then back to Mei. Her trembling form seemed so small, so fragile. But his smirk returned, his eyes glowing with malice. "It seems heaven itself has already decided your punishment," he said mockingly, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. His gaze flickered toward her belly, leaving the implication unspoken yet heavy.

The village chief's voice broke through the tension, his tone grave. "We cannot punish the priest, nor free him. He is protected by his religious sect. It will fall to them to decide his fate."

Mei raised her head, her tear-streaked face filled with desperate hope. Her trembling lips moved silently, praying that Shun might offer her justice. But as she met his gaze, she found no warmth, no compassion—only emptiness.

Shun's voice, soft as silk yet colder than ice, sliced through the stillness. "What are you staring at, woman?" His gaze met hers with cruel indifference. "Do not seek justice through me. Justice is nothing but a lie people tell themselves to sleep better at night. It has done nothing for me... and it will do nothing for you." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers like twin daggers. "Who are you to me?"

And

"I do not seek vengeance, for that too is a form of self-imprisonment. In this world, the true freedom lies in freeing oneself from the burdens of the past, and the foolish belief that it defines us."

Mei realized that her husband is not the same kind person that used to be.

Mei's head fell once more, her spirit crushed under the weight of his words. The sound of her sobbing was the only noise that dared disturb the suffocating silence. Shun's voice, however, continued to haunt her mind. She was nothing to him. Not a woman, not a human, not even a living being.

Mask noticed that Shun's s cruelty increased and his nature of his changing demeanor like a roulette wheel ever since he came to this world.

"It's not how a young child should act" he murmured to himself.

As this realization set in, the Mask ventured deeper into Shun's soul. It was there that the true horror of the situation began to unfold.

What it found shook it to its core.

Instead of the finite soul den it had expected—something bound by the limits of a mortal—there was an infinite void. An endless abyss that stretched beyond measure. At the very center, there was a light so blinding, so pure, it could burn even the gods themselves. But around it, in the inky blackness, countless silhouettes swirled—shifting between light and shadow, dancing in eternal conflict.

This isn't a soul, the Mask thought, its ancient mind reeling. This is chaos. Pure, unyielding chaos.

The Mask attempted to assume its true form—a boundless, infinite entity—but even that was not enough to dominate the vastness of the void. It found itself caught in a stalemate, unable to overcome the force of will that emanated from Shun's very essence.

Desperate, the Mask created a familiar space—an ornate hall with twelve thrones, each marked with symbols of forgotten power. Slowly, the other Masks began to materialize, their forms radiating authority, and a heavy silence settled among them.

Three spoke first, impatience thick in his voice. "Zero, why have you called us here? What's so urgent?"

Before Zero could answer, Eight smirked. "Don't tell me you've grown sentimental, big brother."

Ignoring her jibe, Zero spoke gravely. "There is a problem with my host. Something… unprecedented."

Seven scoffed, dismissing him. "All hosts are strange. It's what makes them mortals. What makes yours so special?"

Zero hesitated, his tone laced with unease. "When I entered his soul… I found nothing but an infinite void. At its center, there is a light so bright it could blind the gods. And around it… countless shifting silhouettes."

One, the eldest, leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Impossible. A soul den is finite. A average soul den is size of a room, largest one could be a size of a mansion. Its size represents the host's limitations. Whereas, those of silhouette represents a soul and their color represents their nature and personalities. This… this defies everything we know."

Before they could discuss further, five silhouettes emerged from the shadows, their presence thick with malice. The Masks tensed, their auras crackling, ready for battle. But one silhouette raised a hand.

"We are not here to fight," it said, its voice smooth, deliberate. "We propose a treaty."

The Masks exchanged wary glances before One spoke. "State your terms."

The silhouette continued, its words like a whispered promise. "We will seal ourselves—and the gate to Shun's soul. Only one of us will emerge at a time. In return, you must ensure that Shun's soul gains a new body every time he dies."

Five snarled, his voice sharp with rage. "And what do we gain from this?"

Another silhouette answered coldly, "If the soul den remains open, its contents will spill into the world. Chaos. Destruction. The unraveling of existence itself."

Another silhouette in humorous accent "And it was your kind who opened that sealed soul den when transferring Shun's soul to this world".

The Masks fell silent. The weight of the warning settled over them like a storm cloud. Finally, they nodded in unison, sealing the fragile pact.

A Silhouette to Zero "Now you may see what true Ya Shun is".

Another silhouette in humorous accent "He is complete idiot and naive but kind as well."

"I think it's better that way" Zero replies in relief.