Ethan gasped as he hit solid ground.
The world around him was blinding—an endless white void that stretched in every direction, perfectly silent, perfectly empty. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, but there was no light source… yet the space glowed. It felt surreal. Cold. Weightless.
Then suddenly, with a soft chime, a glowing window materialized in front of him. Neon-blue borders hovered mid-air, and within it, pixel-like letters formed with machine precision.
> "Welcome, Traveler. I am SGPT100, your personal AI companion. How may I assist you today?"
Ethan staggered to his feet. His legs worked—intact, functional—despite the last thing he remembered being the horrifying sight of his lower body torn apart.
His breath came in shaky bursts. Panic and confusion twisted in his chest like a storm. Dianna… Sid… the truck… the blood—
Flashes of the crash played on repeat in his mind. The screeching tires. The blinding lights. Their laughter, gone in an instant.
"Where am I?" he choked out. "What… happened to me? Where are my friends?"
The interface didn't respond right away.
Instead, it pulsed silently, as if processing.
After a long moment, it finally replied in a calm, robotic tone:
>"Host: Ethan Castille. Confirmed deceased on July 18, 2078, alongside companions Sid McLean and Dianna Penelope. Current location: Transitional Plane – Waiting Room, World No.34. Preparing for reincarnation."
The words hit harder than he expected. A strange numbness crawled into his chest—grief, shock, disbelief, all coiling together.
"Reincarnation…?" he whispered. "You're saying I died… and now I'm… starting over?"
> "Affirmative."
He didn't know what to say.
His eyes scanned the empty space, half-hoping it would shift into something familiar. Anything to ground him. But the white room remained unchanged, still and infinite.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze and brought trembling hands down to his thighs, feeling the muscle and bone beneath them—whole, unharmed. Not a trace of blood. Not a scratch.
"How… how is this possible?" he muttered. "What do I do now?"
The interface pulsed again. A small loading bar blinked before delivering the next line:
> "Scanning complete. Character setup not detected.
To proceed with reincarnation, please create your new character for World No.34."
Ethan stared at the screen, his heart still trying to catch up.
A character? A new world?
This was no afterlife he'd ever imagined.
"…What kind of world am I being sent to?" he asked, voice still hoarse.
> "World No.34 is a post-apocalyptic world," SGPT100 began, its voice calm and mechanical, yet somehow echoing with eerie reverence.
"It is a version of Earth that has undergone complete environmental reset, returning to a state nearly identical to its primordial age—untouched, wild, and unforgiving. Lush greenery stretches endlessly across the land, swallowing the bones of old civilizations. Mutated beasts roam freely, and remnants of ancient technologies lay buried beneath vine-choked ruins. Survival is not guaranteed."
As the words sank in, Ethan felt a sudden tingling deep within his chest—like a whisper of static weaving through his nerves.
He gulped.
His thoughts scattered in all directions. From the sterile white emptiness around him, to the vivid image of a green earth reclaimed by nature, to the haunting memory of his friends' final moments.
A new world? A dangerous one?
No cities. No phones. No cars. No modern safety nets.
Just raw wilderness… and monsters.
He clenched his fists, steadying his breathing. Whatever this place was, there was no turning back now.
SGPT100 hovered silently for a few seconds, then the prompt appeared again:
> "Would you like to begin character creation now?"
Ethan raised his eyes, his expression steady.
"…Yeah," he said softly. Then with more certainty, "Let's do this."
The interface chimed.
The space around him shimmered. Suddenly, translucent panels appeared in a circle, rotating slowly. Each screen displayed stats, class choices, background traits, and skill trees—some familiar, others strange and glowing with foreign symbols.
> "Initializing Character Creation…
Please select a starting Class."
A list unfolded before him:
Bladebound (Sword) - A classic and reliable warrior. wield swords with balanced grace and power, able to face any threat head-on with skill and determination.
Brutecarver (Axe) - Using weapons forged from collapsed skyscrapers and mutated beast parts, Brutecarvers are destruction incarnate, able to crush bone, stone, or steel.
Farsight Ranger (Bow) - Precise and silent, strike from afar. They blend with the wild, hitting vital points before their enemies ever get close.
Phantom Dancer (Daggers) - Born in the shadows of fallen cities, Phantom Dancers strike before you're aware of them. Agile, deadly, and always a step ahead.
Gearborn – use ancient mechanical exo-tools or mounted arms for heavy lifting, crushing, and multitasking in combat. Built like walking war machines, they rely on raw tech force.
Graveseeker (Scythes) - Graveseekers wield large, sweeping scythes that reap groups of enemies with wide, deadly arcs. They fight like shadows of death, their presence both elegant and terrifying.
Throwblade (Throwing Weapons / Chakrams) - Experts at controlling space, Throwblades hurl deadly circular blades or daggers with incredible accuracy. They strike from all angles, even as their weapons return to them like loyal pets.
Fangcaller (Claw Weapons) - Wielding sharp claws forged from beast bones or metal, Fangcallers fight with primal fury. Agile and fierce, they tear through enemies in a blur of slashes and instinct-driven combat.
Chainweaver (Whips / Chains) - Chainweavers control the flow of battle with fluid strikes from mid-range. Their whips bind, lash, and disorient foes with unpredictable, dance-like movements.
Drifter – A wild card class with unstable stats but unknown potential.
Ethan's eyes scanned the options, heart pounding.
This wasn't just character creation.
This was his second life.
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