A World Without Magic

RR

Prologue The Fall of Magic

Long ago, before time itself took form, there was only space and darkness—a vast emptiness stretching endlessly. Yet within that void, something stirred. A spark. A force beyond comprehension. A dream. And from that dream, existence began.

At the center of creation was Aisa, the Goddess of Magic. It was she who wove the fabric of the cosmos, shaping stars, worlds, and the life that would call them home. Her greatest gift to humanity was magic, a power so vast and untamed that mortal bodies could not wield it alone. To protect them, she created mana cores—intricate vessels within the body that refined raw mana, making it safe to use. Every human was born with a core, though their placement varied—some in the brain, others in the chest or stomach.

Yet, not all were equal.

Those with two cores were seen as gifted. Three, prodigies. Four, destined for greatness. But in all of history, only one being—man or beast—was ever born with five cores. He was the Great Hero, a warrior so powerful that some called him the Avatar of Aisa herself. And though his might was unparalleled, even he was but a flicker compared to the goddess who had made all things.

But power breeds ambition.

One man, brilliant yet insatiable, sought more. He was born with four cores, a talent envied by many. Yet he knew it was not enough. Not enough to match the Hero. Not enough to stand before Aisa. And so, he searched—obsessed, relentless—seeking forbidden knowledge. His pursuit led him to a book of nightmares. He called it The Tome of the Dark King.

It whispered secrets to him. Showed him the path to ultimate power. Taught him how to extract mana cores, to infuse objects with magic, to twist the very laws of the world to his will. He surrendered to the abyss, and in doing so, became it.

The Dark King was born.

A being of nothingness, a living void. He devoured all in his path, growing, expanding—larger than the cosmos itself. Even Aisa could not stand against him. The gods watched in horror as he consumed her essence, shattering her into countless fragments.

The world trembled. Magic itself faltered.

Yet in the face of oblivion, the Hero stood.

He gathered the last remnants of Aisa’s shattered essence, knowing the cost. His mana cores, overwhelmed by the sheer power, began to unravel. The refined energy within them turned volatile—poisonous to his body. But he did not stop. He could not stop.

With his final breath, he became pure mana.

Raising his sword, he focused every ounce of his being into a single, final strike. He swung—not at the Dark King, not at the world, but at existence itself.

The cosmos split.

The Dark King, an entity of endless hunger, was cut in half, his form unraveling into the abyss from which he was born. The Hero, his task complete, faded into nothingness, his very soul consumed by the cost of victory.

The gods and mortals watched in silence. The cosmos itself bore the scar of that moment—a vast, gaping rift in the heavens. They called itthe Great Divide.

And so began the Fall of Magic.

Aisa was gone. The Hero was gone. And without them, magic began to wither. Children were no longer born with mana cores. Where once every soul had wielded magic, now only one in ten thousand bore its gift. The shattered strands of Aisa’s power still drifted through the world, but they were fading.

Hope withered. Belief faded.

And so, humanity adapted.

Electricity and steam rose to take magic’s place. Machines whirred where spells once crackled. The world did not die—it changed. And after 189 years, the Age of Magic was nothing but a legend.

Now, the world belongs to iron and steam.

The City of Iron Grove

At the heart of this new era stands Iron Grove, a sprawling metropolis of steel, smoke, and invention. The city was built around the crater where the Hero had fallen, a monument to the past that most had long since forgotten. The wealthy live in the outer rings, surrounded by towering spires and mechanical wonders. The poor? They scrape by in the shadows of progress, deep in the slums where survival is its own kind of magic.

And it is there—down a narrow alley, past rusted pipes and flickering gas lamps—that a crowd gathers.

A makeshift ring. Two fighters. Blood on the dirt.

The era of magic has ended.

But this is where our story begins.

Chapter 1 The First Step

In the slums of Iron Grove City, a narrow alleyway buzzed with anticipation as a crowd gathered for an underground fight. People of all races—elves, orcs, fairies, and humans—pushed forward to place their bets at a makeshift booth. The currency of the continent of Aetheris, known as chits, clinked against the wooden counter as gamblers wagered on the upcoming bloodbath.

The fighting ring, built from rusted copper pipes and bricks, hissed with steam as moisture dripped from its joints. The scent of oil, sweat, and damp stone filled the air. In the center stood two fighters: a young man named Jason and an orc nearly twice his size. The crowd roared for the orc, their voices echoing off the surrounding walls, eager for violence.

Jason moved like a predator, circling his opponent, his sharp eyes analyzing every muscle twitch. His opponent, however, was no ordinary brawler. The orc’s body was reinforced with cybernetic enhancements, gleaming metal plates fused to his green skin. This fight was anything but fair—but fairness had no place in the slums.

Jason lunged in, throwing a sharp jab, but his fist met solid muscle. The orc barely flinched before retaliating with a devastating punch. The blow sent Jason crashing into the ring’s copper pipes, the impact splitting the skin on his back. He spat blood onto the grimy floor, the metallic taste making his stomach churn.

The crowd howled in delight.

Gritting his teeth, Jason pushed forward, ignoring the pain. He just needed to stall for a few more seconds. He feigned an overhand punch, then abruptly dropped his weight and sent a vicious kick between the orc’s legs. A choked groan escaped his opponent as he doubled over in pain.

Now.

Jason focused, and his right hand began to thrum like an engine revving up. A soft blue glow pulsed from his knuckles, illuminating the steam-filled ring. The crowd fell silent, eyes locked onto him in awe. Then, with all his strength, Jason drove his fist into the orc’s stomach. The impact rippled through the orc’s massive body, sending him flying into the ring’s wall. His once-green skin turned black and purple from internal bruising, blood dripping from his nose as he slumped over, defeated.

The alley erupted in cheers.

Jason barely had time to catch his breath as the adrenaline faded, his body now screaming in protest. Stepping out of the ring, he made his way to the betting booth, his left hand trembling as he extended it.

“I want my money,” he said, voice laced with exhaustion.

The bookie hesitated before handing over a small pouch. Jason peeked inside—250 chits. His jaw clenched. Barely worth it.

Before he could leave, a tall woman blocked his path. Tight jeans, a white undershirt, grease-stained hands—Lisa. A skilled mechanic and one of the few people Jason trusted. She smirked down at him.

“You couldn’t dodge a single punch? Jeez, you’re hopeless.” Her thick southern accent made her teasing sound even more condescending. “Ain’t you supposed to be in school? Or at least have a job?”

Jason grunted, too sore to argue as she dragged him toward her workshop.

Lisa’s shop was a chaotic mess—scrap metal and spare parts littered the entrance like the aftermath of a storm. Jason slumped into a chair as she rummaged for her sewing kit. With the garage door open, the cool night air drifted in, offering some relief from the city’s grime and heat.

Lisa pulled off his shirt, clicking her tongue at the fresh wounds. “Damn idiot,” she muttered as she began stitching him up. The needle stung as it pierced his skin, but Jason barely reacted.

Once finished, he stood and pulled his shirt back on. Without a word, he dug into his pocket and tossed 50 chits onto her workbench.

“For the patch-up,” he said. “And for watching Emily.”

Lisa smacked him upside the head. “Boy, don’t worry ’bout it.”

Jason rubbed his head, giving her a rare, tired smile. “Thanks, Lisa. You and Emily are the closest thing I got to family.”

She sighed, arms crossed. “Just be careful, alright? Word is some gangs ’round here have been kidnapping folks with mana cores.”

Jason’s expression darkened. “Why?”

“They’re extractin’ ‘em. Usin’ the cores to make some new kinda hardcore drug.” Her voice wavered slightly, genuine concern flickering in her eyes. “Keep an eye on Emily. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Jason scoffed, pulling his arm from her grip. “You taught me how to fight for a reason. I’ll be fine. I will Tell Emily you said hi.”

With that, he walked off, but Lisa’s warning gnawed at his mind.

As he strolled through the slums, he took a detour to the crater’s edge—a deep abyss at the heart of the city. The void stretched into endless blackness, swallowing all light. Jason glanced back at the city, at the only home he had ever known, and let out a small, bittersweet chuckle before continuing his path home.

Then he heard it—a scream.

His body tensed. A woman’s desperate cry, a child’s terrified voice. Jason’s gaze snapped to a nearby alleyway. A group of thugs cornered a mother and her child. The woman’s stomach glowed faintly blue. A mana core.

Jason’s fists clenched.

Lisa’s voice echoed in his mind:Mind your own business if you want to survive.

But as the gang leader grabbed the woman’s arm, Jason was already moving.

His foot collided with the woman’s face, sending her crashing into the ground. Blood splattered across the pavement as Jason landed, one boot now stained crimson. The gang stared at him, startled, before their eyes flicked to the cracked wall behind him.

Jason cracked his knuckles, his right hand already humming with mana.

“Let her go,” he said, his voice like steel. “Or I start breaking bones.”

The wall behind him splintered under the force of his vibrating mana. Fear took hold of the gang, and one by one, they bolted into the night.

Jason exhaled, turning back to the mother, who clutched her child tightly. She shakily held out 50 chits in gratitude.

He shook his head. “Keep it.”

As he walked away, the mother’s voice rang behind him. “Thank you!”

A small, tired smile crossed his face.

Jason picked up his pace, finally reaching his rundown home. Vines and moss crept along its walls, evidence of neglect. Pushing the door open, he spotted his little sister, Emily, curled up on the tattered couch. Her golden hair was a tangled mess as she read a book, her tiny fingers flipping through the worn pages.

Jason ruffled her hair. “You eat?”

Emily nodded with a bright smile.

Jason sighed, guilt gnawing at him. “You’re only seven. I shouldn’t leave you alone like this.”

Before he could say more, pain flared through his shoulder, and he winced. Grumbling, he trudged toward his room.

A loud knock at the door stopped him.

Jason cursed under his breath, opening it to reveal his landlord. The man’s arms were crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Rent’s due,” he said flatly. “You haven’t paid in two months.”

Jason rubbed his temples. “Give me a second.”

He ran inside, grabbing the money he’d saved from fights—1,250 chits. When he handed it over, he expected relief. Instead, his landlord shook his head.

“This barely covers what you owe. You still need another 1,100, or you’re out.”

Jason’s heart sank.

The door shut with a final thud, and Jason forced a smile for Emily. But when he finally collapsed onto his bed, tears burned at the edges of his eyes.

He needed money.

Fast.