"Finally, I died."
The words slipped from my lips, a bitter whisper lost in the wind howling through the shattered battlefield. My body, broken and bloodied, sprawled across jagged rocks, the acrid stench of smoke and gunpowder clinging to my torn uniform. To an outsider, the faint joy in my voice might've seemed madness, but for me, death was freedom—a release from a life forged in fire, betrayal, and blood. Yet even as my vision faded, a part of me wondered if I'd ever truly escape the killer I'd become.
Suffering was my oldest companion. My childhood was a crucible—hunger gnawing at my belly, cold nights spent shivering in alleys, a scrawny boy with dark, matted hair and eyes too old for his years, always watching, always clawing to survive. The military offered a lifeline, or so I thought. At sixteen, I traded one hell for another, signing my soul to a machine that reshaped me into something less than human, a weapon honed to kill without question.
Our squad—four shadows moving as one—was born in a clandestine program's furnace. For four years, they broke us and rebuilt us. Physically, we were perfect: muscles like steel, reflexes sharpened to their limit . Mentally, we were razors, trained to analyze, deceive, endure. Psychologically, they stripped us bare, severing family, friends, morality, until only the mission remained. Seduction, forgery, espionage, even posing as a loving family to infiltrate—we wielded every tool with lethal precision. Over ten years, we carved a bloody swath across continents, leaving only bodies and no trace of who we'd been.
But shadows cast too long draw eyes. Our final mission was a death sentence cloaked as an order. We saw it coming—the higher-ups wanted us erased, our names scrubbed, our sins buried. We weren't the first. I'd killed others myself, squadmates who questioned too much, who cared about the collateral damage—the children caught in crossfires, the innocents deemed "acceptable losses." Their faces lingered, ghosts I buried deep where guilt couldn't touch. I hated myself for it, but hate was just another weight to carry.
We didn't go quietly. With nothing left, we turned our blades on the machine that made us, exposing secrets, sabotaging operations, burning every bridge we'd built. It was chaos, and I reveled in it, a killer playing the only game I knew. Friend or foe, it didn't matter—they were all selfish, all clawing for power in a world fed by blood. They caught us, of course. Torture came next, days bleeding into nights as they tried to break what was already shattered. Pain was familiar, almost comforting. My squad fell, their screams fading. I held out longest, dark eyes glaring defiance until my body gave out. Then, darkness.
System Initiated.
You have absorbed the most life force and are awarded with a system to continue in a random world.
Random World Selected: Pokémon.
System Rewarded: Gotta Kill 'Em All.
A human or Pokémon dying near you or killed by you will award KP (Killing Points) and AP (Attribute Points). For Pokémon, you also gain Skill Tokens to spin the Wheel of Skills. Rewards scale based on the victim's power and the power differential between you and the host.
The words seared into my mind, cold and mechanical, like a signal from some uncaring god. Before I could grasp them, my consciousness unraveled, pulled into a void where I felt… tethered. Another mind brushed mine—a boy's, young, unscarred, brimming with potential yet shadowed by a hunger I recognized. His innocence clashed with my bloodstained past, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd taint him, or if he'd temper me.
I opened my eyes to a new world. Gone were the ash-choked skies and reek of death. A canopy of emerald leaves arched above, sunlight weaving golden threads through the forest floor. The air hummed with pine and damp earth, laced with strange, melodic cries—Pokémon, not animals, their power a symphony of flame, wind, and stranger forces. I flexed my hands, small and unblemished, a child's hands, alien yet mine. My fingers raked through jet-black hair, messy and caught in the breeze, so different from the matted strands of my past.
The stream's reflection showed a boy of ten, Magnus Nakamura, his sharp, dark eyes holding a soul too old for his face. This world was a paradox—Pokémon wielded powers that could melt steel or shatter stone, some even bending time itself. Rare humans shared such gifts, but power was the true currency, granting status, wealth, influence. It was a brutal game, one I'd played before, and a flicker of grim excitement stirred. Could I seize control here, while I'd been betrayed before?
Status
Name: Magnus Nakamura
Titles: The Sole Heir of the Nakamura Family
Stats:
Strength: E (Max:SSS)
Agility: E (Max:SSS)
Pokémon Owned: None
Balance:
KP: 200, AP: 100, Skill Token: 1
The system's interface flickered, a glowing panel sharp as a combat HUD from my old life. Balance: 200 KP, 100 AP, 1 Skill Token. The words anchored me to this world's rules, cold and unyielding. What did the Skill Token do? I focused, and the interface shifted, summoning a wheel split into 25 vibrant wedges, each marked with a cryptic "???". One spin cost one token. A spark of curiosity cut through my detachment, and I pressed Spin.
The wheel whirred, a kaleidoscope of crimson, emerald, and gold, each color a bet on power. It slowed, teetering on a silver wedge before locking with a crisp chime. The "???" dissolved, revealing: Explorer.
Congratulations! New Skill Gained: Explorer (Low Level)
Route Efficiency: +20% speed in wild terrains, -20% travel time/strain.
Path Detection: Detects paths up to 100m, perfectly stored in memory.
Exploration Stamina: -25% stamina drain during exploration.
Resource Clues: Detailed info on environment and resources within 50m radius.
A rush of awareness flooded me, the forest snapping into focus as if it were my own pulse. Leaves rustled, the stream murmured, evening air shifted—they wove a vivid map in my mind, alien in its vibrancy yet treacherous, like a battlefield dressed in beauty. I felt the terrain's rhythm, its paths clear as a sniper's sightline. The system was rewiring me, making the wild a gameboard I could master.
I sifted through Magnus's memories, fused with mine, as real as my own scars. His family held high rank—his father a senior official in the Pokémon Tower, commanding an Elite Pokémon Trainer's might; his mother an Elite Pokémon Researcher, her intellect carving through Pokémon secrets. The Pokémon Tower loomed as this society's spine, a fortress of strength where trainers proved their dominance. Their status cloaked Magnus in privilege, yet his memories burned with a restless ambition—to surpass their legacy, to never be powerless again. I felt it too, a hunger sharpened by my own past.
The world's hierarchy roughly crystallized, drawn from his father's lessons:
Beginner < Intermediate < Advanced < Elite < Master < Champion < ???
Rank hinged on Pokémon strength, requiring three Pokémon of the matching tier.
Higher ranks brought resources, influence, but shadows lurked—unranked trainers, hidden organizations beyond the Pokémon Mega Database, their power a silent threat. Anticipation flickered; But was there more to this power structure , i would have confirm myself ones i was out of the wildness.
The fusion of consciousness was unnervingly seamless. Magnus's memories—sparring in the dojo, watching his father's Salamence ignite the sky, studying his mother's notes—felt like mine, a life I'd lived. Yet I was more than these echoes, more than the killer or the boy. Memories were mirrors, tools to shape my path, but I was now, forging what came next.
A faint pang hit me—Magnus's innocence, his family's warmth—could I preserve it, or was I doomed to stain it with blood?
I crouched by the stream, my 150 cm frame casting a lean shadow. Tall for a 10-year-old, my body was strong but maddeningly frail compared to the weapon I'd been. The system's command echoed: Gotta Kill 'Em All. A cold smile tugged my lips. This power-hungry world was built for me, but for now, I was a boy, hands empty, E-rank stats . Patience.
A rustle cut through the evening air, followed by a guttural growl, raw and close. Twigs snapped, the air warming with a burnt scent. My hand twitched, muscle memory seeking a blade that wasn't there. I stood, heart steady despite the frail body, senses honed by years of blood. This wasn't human. The forest pulsed with danger.
Skill Explorer equipped automatically in Slot 1: Skill activated.
Resource Clues: Detailed info on environment and resources within 50m radius.
The forest sharpened, its rhythms—water's flow, branches' sway, earth's shift—merging with my own. I sensed a knife in my backpack, 5 meters back by a twisted oak. I moved, Route Efficiency boosting my speed by 20%, the ground blurring beneath me. My fingers found the backpack's strap, then the knife—a simple hunting blade, worn but sharp. I gripped it, the weight familiar, grounding.
A shape burst from the underbrush, orange fur streaked with black, limping on a bloodied hind leg. Its eyes burned with rage, wounds—scratches, burns, a deep gash on its flank—marring its body. The system's voice sliced through:
Pokémon: Growlithe, Fire-type.
Status: Severely injured, enraged. Extreme aggression.
The Growlithe's fur bristled, fangs gleaming in the evening light. Its injured leg dragged, forcing it to lean forward, but pain made it savage, every snarl a vow of violence. Blood dripped, fresh from a fight it barely survived. This was no animal—a living inferno, volatile, deadly. My 10-year-old body couldn't match it, and today was for living, not dying. Its injury fueled its ferocity, a cornered beast with nothing to lose.
Quest Initiated: SURVIVE!
Reward: [Pending]
Heat pulsed from Growlithe's jaws, my Explorer skill detecting energy swelling—an Ember attack charging. My mind raced, tactical instincts flaring. I couldn't overpower it, but I could outmaneuver it. The forest was my ally, its weakness my opening. I held the knife and backpack, stepping back, eyes locked on its glowing gaze. It advanced, limping but steady, its growl vibrating the air. I edged toward a broad tree, its trunk a shield, Path Detection mapping escape routes—a trail 20 meters north, a clearing 50 meters east.
Growlithe's jaws split, and a roaring jet of Ember blasted forth, flames scorching the air like a furnace. I dove behind the tree, my small frame pressed against rough bark. The fire split around the trunk, heat searing my skin, singeing my clothes. Sweat stung my eyes, but Exploration Stamina kept my breath even, fatigue at bay. The attack faded, Growlithe's injured leg buckling as it gasped, drained.
I seized the moment. Springing from cover, I charged, knife in one hand, backpack swinging in the other. I hurled the backpack at Growlithe's injured flank, the impact landing with a thud, fabric tearing. The beast yelped, stumbling, its leg collapsing. I slashed with the knife, grazing its shoulder, drawing blood. The backpack hit the ground, contents jostled.
Growlithe snarled, lunging, but its weakened state slowed it, the Ember fizzling. I dodged, Route Efficiency carrying me toward the northern trail, paths vivid in my mind. I sprinted, leaving the backpack behind, Growlithe's roars fading as its limping pursuit faltered. The trail stretched ahead, evening light casting long shadows, the forest's pulse guiding me.
Route Efficiency, Exploration Stamina, Path Detection Activated
I didn't stop until I reached a clearing, lungs burning but steady, the Explorer skill boosting my speed and keeping fatigue at bay. The stream glinted nearby, evening's cool air sharp. Safe, for now. I gripped the knife, my only weapon, and caught my breath. Then a memory surfaced, sharp—my parents' words: "If you're in danger, use the Pokédex to send an emergency signal. It'll reach us, no matter where you are."
My heart thudded, heavy as stone. The Pokédex—my lifeline—lay in the backpack I'd abandoned by the oak, where Growlithe's flames had nearly consumed me. Without it, no signal, no rescue. The beast was still there, its wounded fury a stain on the forest, its territory a trap. The system's quest pulsed: SURVIVE. My fingers tightened on the knife, its grip grounding me. I'd have to go back, retrieve the bag, and face the Growlithe again. If it came to it, I'd end it.
I crouched in the clearing, evening light filtering through the canopy, casting dappled shadows. The air was cool, tinged with pine and earth, but my pulse was steady, years of training overriding this body's frailty. I formed a plan, my mind a steel trap. If Growlithe blocked my path, I'd use the forest—its injured leg, its rage, the terrain. A nearby tree, its branch weakened by storms, could be my weapon. This world's power was tangible, a currency I could seize, never to be powerless again. But a flicker of doubt stirred—was killing all I'd ever know? Half an hour later, the plan was set: retrieve the bag, avoid a fight, but be ready to kill.
Forty-five minutes passed, evening deepening, the sky a bruised purple. I retraced my steps, Route Efficiency boosting my speed by 20%, forest paths unfolding in my mind. Path Detection guided me flawlessly, the oak's location locked in perfect recall. The forest was quiet—too quiet. No birdsong, no rustle of Pokémon. The hairs on my neck prickled, a soldier's instinct screaming danger.
I reached the oak, its gnarled roots clutching the earth. The backpack lay crumpled nearby, fabric torn, straps frayed from Growlithe's strike. I crept forward, knife in hand, eyes scanning shadows. My fingers brushed the bag, heart pounding. Inside, I found a red, phone-like device—the Pokédex—its screen dark, casing cracked, fractures glinting in the fading light. I pressed its buttons, but it stayed dead. My parents' words echoed: "Use the Pokédex to send an emergency signal." No signal. No help. A childish fear flickered, quickly smothered by my soldier's resolve.
A chill hit me, not from the air.
Resource Clues flared, detecting a shift—a faint heat, a ripple in the underbrush 10 meters away. My sixth sense screamed, honed by ambushes. I reached for the knife, but I was too late. Growlithe exploded from the shadows, a streak of orange and black, its injured leg barely slowing its leap. Its claws gleamed, slashing to tear me apart.
I twisted, Agility E-rank pushed to its limit, the Explorer skill's warning giving a split-second edge. The claws raked my left shoulder, pain erupting as blood welled, soaking my sleeve. I stumbled, knife nearly slipping, but dodged a fatal blow. Growlithe landed, snarling, its wounded leg trembling, eyes burning with hate. I ran.
The forest blurred, Route Efficiency carrying me faster than my legs should allow. Growlithe's growls echoed, its limping pursuit relentless, its nose countering my twists. Blood dripped from my shoulder, each step a jolt, but Exploration Stamina kept my lungs steady. I wove through trees, looking for a particular tree, then i saw a tree with "X" mark edged on its bark , who marked this ? Of course me , it was all part of my Master Plan .
I reached it, pain searing as I scrambled up, fingers digging into bark. The climb was agony, blood slicking my grip, but I bore it, perching on the pre-cut branch. I waited, breath shallow, evening's hush broken by Growlithe's snarls. It burst into view, limping, furious, its injured leg dragging as it scented me.
I hurled a stone at its wounded flank. It struck, and Growlithe roared, rage blinding it. It charged, claws scrabbling at the bark, speed surging despite the injury. As it neared, I gripped the knife, heart pounding but steady. When its weight shifted the branch, I slashed the pre-cut section, the blade biting through. With a deafening crack, the branch plummeted, crashing onto Growlithe with a bone-jarring thud.
I leapt down, landing hard, pain lancing through my shoulder like a white-hot blade. Growlithe lay pinned, its injured leg twisted grotesquely, blood pooling. It thrashed weakly, whimpering, but its eyes blazed with defiance, a spark of fury refusing to fade. I approached, knife in hand, my face a mask of cold focus, evening's dim light casting jagged shadows.
"It was nice knowing you, buddy," I said, a wry smile curling my lips, my voice light with a mocking edge. "Time to say goodbye." The words danced out, a jest to mask the grim task,
Then I felt it—a faint heat from its jaws, Resource Clues catching the surge of a secret Ember. My smile vanished, face hardening to stone. My eyes locked onto Growlithe's, unblinking, emotion draining away. "Not Even Close ,Severe Skill issue " I said, my voice low, cold as the evening air, each syllable a blade.
Before the flames could erupt, I lunged, driving the knife into its neck with a precise thrust. Blood sprayed, hot and coppery, splattering my hand as I twisted, severing its head with a sickening crunch. Growlithe's body went limp, its fire snuffed, the forest silent. The head rolled, eyes dim, defiance gone.
I staggered back, blood dripping from my shoulder, the knife slick with crimson in my trembling hand. My chest heaved, each breath a raw scrape, but Exploration Stamina held me upright, dulling the bite of exhaustion. I sank to the ground, the evening's cool air soothing my burning skin, the acrid tang of charred leaves and coppery blood thick in the air. A faint tremor shook my hand—not just pain, but the weight of killing, a familiar burden from a life of blood. No other way, I thought, the soldier's cold logic locking into place.
For a fleeting second, a pang of doubt flickered—a memory of the boy, Magnus, young and gentle, tending to a scraped-up Eevee with careful hands, his eyes bright with a dream of Pokémon as friends. Could there have been another path? The thought vanished as quickly as it came, smothered by the reality of survival in this brutal world. The Growlithe had to die, and I was the one to do it.
The forest's hush settled around me, the evening sky a bruised purple, its shadows stretching long across the bloodied ground. I gripped the knife, its weight grounding me, a reminder of the killer I'd always been. This world, with its Pokémon and power, was no different from my last—strength ruled, and I'd carve my place in it. The system's interface flared, its metallic voice cutting through the haze:
Quest Overachieved: SURVIVE!
Rewards: 150 KP, 60 AP, Fire Affinity Shard (Minor), Ember Essence (Consumable).
Pokémon Eliminated: Growlithe (Fire-type, Injured). Total Kills: 1.
Kill Rewards: 100 KP, 40 AP, 1 Skill Token, Fire-Type Loot (Growlithe Fang).
I stared at the notification, the kill's weight settling like a stone—a grim satisfaction, untainted by doubt. Quest Overachieved pulsed, a nod to my outmaneuvering the Growlithe's ferocity: surviving its ambush, luring it to the trap, ending it before its flames could burn me. The Fire Affinity Shard, a crystal glowing with ember-like heat, offered a subtle boost to fire-based skills or Pokémon, a tool to sharpen my edge.
The Ember Essence, a vial of swirling orange light, held a one-time burst of fire energy—raw, volatile, a weapon for the battles ahead. The Growlithe Fang, scorched and sharp, was a trophy, proof of my kill, perhaps for crafting or trade in this world's ruthless hierarchy. The Skill Token was the real prize—a spin on the wheel. Today's fight proved Explorer's worth, its Route Efficiency speeding my escape, Path Detection guiding my trap, Resource Clues warning of the Ember. This skill turned the forest into my battlefield, and the next spin could make me deadlier still.