The moon was high in the sky already, softly illuminating the lands below. The grasslands stretched as far as the eye can see, only occasionally disturbed by a patch of trees. A gently flowing river cut through nature, providing water for all kinds of nocturnal animals. All was quiet, aside from the occasional animal call, and it was looking like another peaceful night.

But if you followed the river for long enough, you’ll eventually see the tower. Built hundreds of years ago, it was one of the foremost magic research facilities on the entire planet. Generation after generation spellcasters of all schools of thought gathered here to further their craft, before eventually making the information public. Many a great theory had been proven here, great spells invented, or alchemical methods discovered.

And today as well, even this late in the night, the tower was a bustling place, the researchers doing their job until late into the night. Through one of the lower windows, the master of the tower could be seen sitting at his desk, writing in his personal diary.

The man was old, even for a powerful wizard like him. For hundreds of years, he had been at the forefront of magical progress, pioneering the unknown for those that followed. Both his hair and long beard had turned white ages ago, the wrinkles on his face accumulating every day. He was wearing a nightgown, undisturbed by the host of activity in the tower, thanks to a silencing spell he cast earlier.

He took a brief pause from writing to take a sip of tea, and after a content sigh, continued to write.

Tomorrow is finally the day!

I have spent the last 120 years researching a single spell, and tomorrow I will finally see whether I have wasted my time or not. As I’m writing, everybody else is still making last-minute preparations, and while I wished to help as well, I’m old and tired now. I need my rest. Otherwise, I might fail tomorrow purely due to a lack of sleep, and I would never be able to forgive myself if I failed because of something stupid like that.

Even now, I can’t help but notice my shaking hands. They make writing this a lot harder than it needed to be. I can feel it. The symptoms were adding up, and after an incredibly long and fulfilling journey, my life is approaching its end. Most, if not all, would say I’d done enough in my life. I contributed to a great many legendary breakthroughs in the field of magic. I have fathered many children who were successful in their own right. I have lived, laughed, and loved as much as I could.

But not me!

I wanted to do more. Learn more. See and experience more. I’m not ready to kick the bucket just yet, and I’m not sure I ever will. But, whether I want to or not, tomorrow will finally give me the answer I’ve been searching for. Either, this will be my last ever entry in this diary, or I will live to fill many, many more. If I should not survive, I’ll at least die with the knowledge that I’d done everything I could.

It is time for me to sleep now. So, maybe, I’ll see you tomorrow.

The next morning Silas Silvan was checking himself over one last time in the mirror. He had slept well, thanks to a sleeping spell, and was looking refreshed. The suit and robe he was wearing were died in the colors of the tower, red and gold, usually only worn for important events. No wrinkles could be found, no dirt marring the beautiful designs, and Silas had to admit he looked quite dapper while wearing it. He took a comb to his head and beard to get rid of some errant strands of hair until he judged himself to look presentable.

He stepped over to the door and took one last, deep breath before stepping through and into the chaos beyond.

“Good morning Grand Sorcerer Silvan, we’ve been waiting for you,” as soon as he took one foot out the door, his overeager assistant, an elf named Lanir, was already accosting him, shoving a whole pile of neatly ordered documents into his hands. “This is your itinerary for today. You’ll have to double and triple-check every department's work, making sure that they completed your work to your satisfaction. They have all worked very hard to make your vision come alive, and are eagerly waiting for your go-ahead. I’ve scheduled a short lunch break, during which you’ll be able to go over the numbers one last time, after which you have a meeting with Sir Malach to discuss the mana levels of the storage crystals.”

Silas started walking while listening to Lanir drone on and on about his schedule. They had already gone over today's proceedings many times and there was really no need to regurgitate it again. Silvan prided himself in having an excellent memory, but he was certain Lanir was just as excited for today as he was, so he humored the smaller woman by pretending to listen anyway. He flipped through the documents Lanir had handed him, finding nothing they didn’t already discuss at length.

Lanir kept talking excitedly while they walked to their first destination, the lab on the fourth floor, responsible for gathering and processing all the magical ingredients that would be needed for today's proceedings. But, as with almost everything else that had been prepared for today, it had all been checked over extensively already, so all of this was just posturing and going through the motions.

Of course, Silas would still pay meticulous attention to everything since a mistake could cost him his life, but still, he’d much rather just jump forward to the part where they actually went through with it. Alas, spells that manipulated time were still a myth at this point, so he’d just have to wait patiently for this last day. So for the next six hours or so, Silas’s world was a whirlwind of meetings, discussions, quality assessments, spot checks, and even more meetings.

Until, finally, he stood on the top floor of the tower, staring at the contraption that he’d be strapped into in just a few minutes.

It could be mistaken for a torture device, but the flat surface with its many, many restraints would merely be helping him hold still. They were about to commence with casting the single most powerful spell in recorded history, be that within actual books, or the system. Now, of course, nobody had ever tried separating a soul from a body, but extracting something so… essential would surely not be a pleasant experience.

So to prevent Silas from thrashing around and potentially causing an unexpected error, he would be strapped in nice and tight.

“You know, the esteemed Magister Drogof has been outside the tower all day,” a voice said behind Silas. “Shouting his theories about how what we’re doing here could destroy the entire world, or at least fundamentally change everything.”

Silas didn’t have to turn around to recognize the speaker. Hanava Gordensaul, his partner in crime for the past 286 years. Even though Hanava was so much younger than Silas, he was a genius in his own right. They’d spent many a night discussing magical theory, and he had a part in many of Silas’s great achievements. The two of them were like sworn brothers, and Hanava pulled out all the stops in order to help Silas with this newest venture.

After all, he didn’t want to lose the only man he looked up to.

“Well, he’s been trying to convince us about the legitimacy of his theory for the past year, hasn’t he,” Silas answered, his eyes focused on the table he’d be on shortly. “Yet, even after we gave credibility to his claims, put hundreds of hours into checking whether they were valid, and ultimately disproving them, he just won’t admit that he is wrong.”

“Yes, the calculations are sound,” Hanava stepped up to stand next to Silas, the man's dark brown hair and short trimmed beard standing in stark contrast to Silas’s. “So there is no reason to lend an ear to his crazy ramblings this close to finally achieving our goal.”

“We’ve been working on this for so long… yet, it somehow doesn’t feel real, now that we’re about to go through with it,” Silas said, his eyes still glued to the table.

“Getting cold feet?” Hanava asked with a slight smirk.

“What? No.” Silas finally looked away from the table to properly look his partner in the eyes. “No, no. It’s just… knowing that in just about an hour I will be either dead or well, immortal, it’s a weird feeling.”

“I can’t pretend to know what that feels like, but there’s a very real possibility that I’m sending you to an early grave here, and that doesn’t exactly feel very good either, you know,” Hanava couldn’t help but wince a little bit at the statement.

They both knew that there was a very real possibility of death, and so far they had treated it with scholarly indifference, a quaint curiosity in their work. But both of them couldn’t deny it anymore. There was a real chance that this was their last conversation. The two men smiled at each other, dealing with their feelings in their own way when their little moment was disturbed.

“Grand Sorcerer Silas Silvan,” a young man, his eyes full of admiration, said. “We’re ready for you.”

And indeed, the previously bustling room had come to a standstill, all eyes directed at Silas. The man in question just gave a quick nod in acknowledgment before turning to his best friend one last time.

“Regardless of the outcome, it was an honor experiencing life at your side, Hanava,” a hand was offered, which Hanava took without hesitation. “And even if I should perish today, promise me that you won’t let this setback hold you back. You are the most intelligent person I have ever met, and it would be a shame to see your potential squandered because of this.”

“I promise,” Hanava said, conviction in his eyes.

They shook hands and separated. Silas turned to the table once again and let his eyes idly wander over the people in the room, each and every one of them looking at him with great respect and anticipation. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath to center himself. It was finally time.

“Alright, let’s get to work.”

His words sent the room into motion again as everybody settled into their workstations. Silas himself walked up to the table and ran his hand along the cold, hard edge. It wasn’t exactly a table per se, but it was close enough. A simple rectangular piece, forged out of mana-resistant metal, held up by a sturdy-looking contraption that made it easy to move. It was slowly being lowered so that he could get onto it more easily, and after another deep breath, he eventually did.

Assistants on both sides started strapping him in, tightening buckle after buckle, until the only things Silas could move were his eyes, the tips of his fingers, and his toes. It may have been a bit overkill, but everything that could raise their chances at success had been considered and implemented into their plans.

He looked to his left, where, on a small pedestal rested an unassuming pendant. It had belonged to his first wife, his first love. Inside the pendant, was a picture of them, with their kids. If everything went well, at the end of the spell, his soul would reside in the pendant, forever separated from his body. They had figured that the vessel for the soul needed to be something that was important to the person, that held high sentimental value.

Again, they weren’t sure but might as well do it to increase their chances.

He looked to his right, where Hanava was looking over the shoulder of somebody, going over the numbers one last time, even though he probably looked over them thousands of times by now. And then, an air of seriousness descended upon the room as all the preparations were finished.

Hanava established eye contact with Silas, determination and concern warring within both of them. “Go ahead,” Silas said with an air of finality.

Like a well-oiled machine, everybody room started on their assigned tasks. Some of them started casting spells. Some of them kept their eyes on magical tools that measured the ambient mana, the output of the mana storage crystals, Silas’s vital signs, and many other important variables. Others started channeling mana into artifacts that would support the main spell, while some of them simply gave orders to their assigned team members.

Many schools of magic were coming together to achieve a singular task, to extract the soul from a living being, while at the same time, making sure said being did not die.

In the early stages of the spellcasting, Silas didn’t feel anything since what was happening right now was just preparation for what was to come. Right now, a framework was being built to support the spell that Hanava would have the honor of casting. His friend had the most important task of all, and Silas couldn’t imagine a better person to trust with it.

But eventually, even this part came to an end, and it was time to finally start in earnest. Silas saw Hanava start his cast. A beautifully complex array of spell matrixes appeared around him, ever-growing in size and intricacy. He was drawing a lot of mana from the mana storage crystals they had prepared to supplement the insane amounts of mana that would be needed to cast a spell of this magnitude.

Silas once again reminded himself that never before, had a spell been cast that used such a huge amount of mana, just before the spell started affecting him. And the pain that came with the spell was excruciating. From one second to the next, his entire world was replaced by pure, unadulterated pain. Every inch of his body was screaming in protest and Silas was forced to be awake through it all, the secondary spells preventing his body from shutting down due to the pain.

But the worst part wasn’t the pain in his body, but the pain he felt from something else. He couldn’t form a coherent thought, but he instinctively knew that this pain came from his soul. Hanava’s spell was trying to rip out his soul by force, yet the very rules of nature did everything to prevent that from happening. A magical tug of war began, and if Silas could, he would scream.

Yet, the pain forced him into an isolated world. He could no longer comprehend what was happening around him, just that pain ruled his entire existence. In this world, it felt like hours, days, or even months had passed, but deep down Silas knew that it must have been mere seconds.

Through the pain, he felt like something was about to snap, and a sudden panic overcame him. He could not afford to lose whatever was to be ripped out of him. He tried everything in an attempt to protest, to stop it from happening, but Silas had long since lost control. And with a faint noise that sounded like a paper being ripped apart, his world turned black.

Silas awoke with a groan.

It took him a moment to shake off the disorientation that had a firm grip on his mind, but eventually, the world came back into focus. He looked up into a star-filled sky, appreciating the view for a moment before realizing that he should not be able to see the sky since the experiment took place inside.

“Hanava?” His voice came out coarse and ethereal, sounding substantially different from what he was used to. “Hanava? What happened, did we succeed?”

No answer came.

In fact, Silas could hear nothing that would indicate that anyone was around. With a monumental effort, he pushed himself into an upright position, finally being able to properly see his surroundings. The roof of the tower had completely disappeared, the walls had largely been demolished, and not a single person was with him. It took a few moments for him to realize that his restraints had all disappeared.

“Hello?” Silas called out concerned. “Anybody?”

Nobody replied.

Silas took a closer look at himself. His skin had turned to an odd gray and had an almost leathery quality to it. And now that he focused on the odd feeling he had since waking up, he felt empty, like something important was missing. He looked around to search for the pendant that was supposed to store his soul but could not find it. In fact, most of the artifacts, apparatuses, furniture, and mana storage had just disappeared from what used to be a room.

Did an explosion occur?

If he really focused on his feelings of emptiness, he could feel a sliver of a connection to… something. Was that his soul? Did that mean they had succeeded? But where was everybody? Had the explosion killed all of them? Or did they manage to get to safety?

Silas gingerly got off the table, intent to find somebody, anybody that could tell him what happened. While he stumbled to the stairs that lead downwards, dodging the occasional hole in the floor, he absentmindedly pulled up his status screen.

His eyes went wide when his race was listed as “???”.

While Silas Silvan tried to get his bearings, a magical shockwave traveled over the entire planet with the tower as ground zero. Every living thing, be it humans, elves, dwarves, or any other of the many races, animals, and sometimes even plants, that came into contact with the magical pulse started to change.

They started to change on a fundamental level. Mutated into something new, something wrong. And all the while, the system watched the change take place with great interest.