It wasn't the first time Jax sat up there.
The rooftop wasn't special. Just an old, beat-up building near his school. Half the windows were broken. The stairs groaned like they were ready to collapse. But no one ever came up. That's why he liked it.
He came up there after classes sometimes—drop the bag, sit, think. No noise. No people. Just a spot where he didn't have to deal with anything for a while.
That day felt like any other.
Classes had dragged on. He barely remembered what the last teacher said. His earbuds had died halfway through the walk, so he just climbed the stairs in silence.
He sat near the edge, legs dangling, his arms resting on the rail. It was a little windy. Sky was clear. Late afternoon, with a bit of sun still left.
He didn't know what he was thinking about. Maybe nothing. Just zoning out. Watching people move around below. The usual. Same spot. Same routine.
Then it happened.
A sharp crack under him. Like something snapping.
He barely had time to shift his weight when the concrete beneath him gave way. The ledge crumbled. His balance was gone. Everything flipped.
He didn't scream. Just tried to grab something,anything. But there was nothing to hold on to.
'Fuck!'
The fall was fast. Too fast.
And then—
Nothing.
Jax opened his eyes to darkness. No—not darkness. Suffocation.Pressure.Cold.
His lips were sealed shut with muck. His lungs spasmed. Dirt. Damp. Clumped against his skin. Packed into his ears. Filling his throat.
He thrashed. Instinct took over. Arms twitching. Legs jerking. Soil poured into his mouth. Grit scraped against teeth that didn't feel like his own.
He was underground. Buried. Alive.
No—not alive.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Panic surged, thick and wild, but his thoughts dragged like sludge through his skull. Flashes of memory came and went like bad static. Rain. A ledge. His legs dangling off the rooftop. The city below. And then— The edge gave way.
He remembered falling.
The air rushing up to meet him. A blur of panic. And then, Nothing.
Until now.
His hands clawed upward. Weak. Rigid. His fingers scraped through wet soil, broken nails catching on roots and pebbles. The weight pressed against his chest like the earth itself was trying to keep him down.
But inch by inch, the dirt gave way. Clumps loosened. Air,foul, stale, but real-poured over his face.
And then—
He broke through.
A hand,pale and stiff,burst from the ground like something out of a nightmare. The skin was stretched and paper-thin. Veins blackened beneath the surface. Fingernails cracked and yellowed.
Jax gasped. The sound came out dry, broken. Like wind grinding through a rusted vent.
He dragged himself from the grave, coughing up dirt and a thick black bile that burned his throat. His elbows shook beneath him. His joints ached,not like soreness but like pieces of him were coming loose.
The night sky hung above, thin and sharp. The moon looked like a sliver of broken glass. Fog rolled across the overgrown graveyard. A few crooked tombstones leaned nearby. No sound but the distant wind and the wheezing in his own lungs.
He collapsed on his side and tried to breathe. Tried to think.
Then he saw his hand.
Gaunt. Fingers too long. Skin dry in some spots, peeling in others. Veins dark. There were bruises on his arm,black, not purple—and a long gash on his forearm where skin had flaked off entirely.
The scent hit him late: rot. Blood. Earth. Something worse beneath it all—death. Old, stagnant, wrong.
Jax shivered, and only then did he feel it— A faint thump in his chest. His heart was still beating.
"…What the hell?" he whispered.
He pressed a trembling hand to his chest. It was real. Sluggish. Wet. Beating.
Why?
His hand moved lower, brushing his thigh—then froze.
He flinched. Something jutted from the side of his leg. Bone. White. Jagged. Protruding through torn skin like a cracked pipe. There was barely any blood. Just dark fluid and exposed tissue.
"This… isn't my body," he muttered. His voice shook. "This can't be mine."
The words sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. Too deep. Hollow. Dry.
He stared at his hands again, then down at his chest. Parts of his ribs were visible through torn skin. His shirt had rotted away, and something was nesting in what was left of his stomach.
He fought back a wave of nausea.
He pushed himself up on shaky legs, joints creaking. His movements were off—like he didn't fully fit inside the limbs he was moving.
He stumbled through the headstones, heart pounding faster, ignoring the wet snapping sound of his own feet.
Eventually, he found it: a small pond choked with algae and weeds. But the water was still. A mirror.
He knelt beside it. Hesitated.
Then he looked.
The face staring back was… mostly intact. Skin pale, almost normal in the moonlight. Hair White. Lips cracked. His left eye was cloudy. There were veins—black ones—spidering along his cheek like mold beneath wallpaper.
He blinked. A worm crawled lazily from his ear and fell into the water.
Jax flinched back, fell onto the grass. His chest rose and fell.
"I was on a rooftop," he whispered. "I remember the ledge. I remember falling."
He looked at his arms again. The ribs. The bone. The cold.
"...I died."
That's when it appeared.
A cold pulse in the back of his eyes. His vision flickered like a machine turning on.
System Rebooting...WARNING: Host Degradation Detected. Vitality Falling.Initializing Status Window...
A glowing screen appeared in the corner of his vision. Floating. Flickering faintly.
Name: Jax (Unknown Surname) Age: 15 Status: [ERROR: Cellular Breakdown Detected]
Strength: F
Agility: F-
Endurance: F-
Intelligence: B+
Arcane Power: F
Unique Ability:Bone Dominion (F-)Description: The ability to manipulate, regrow, and weaponize one's own skeletal structure. The more the user's bones fracture, shatter, or splinter, the stronger the ability becomes. Evolution through pain.
Elemental Affinities: None
Skills: None
"…What the hell is this?" he muttered.
The screen didn't disappear. He reached out his hand passed through it.
"This isn't a dream. This isn't a game." He said it out loud, hoping to convince himself.
Another spike of pain rippled through his ribs. A crack. Then a pop. His chest jolted inward.
Jax gasped and dropped to one knee.
The pain wasn't sharp. It was… mechanical. Deep. Dull. Like someone had pulled something loose inside of him. His breathing turned ragged.
He pressed a hand to his ribs. Bone had shifted. Moved.
He swore he felt something—a flicker. A twitch in his chest that didn't come from nerves.
"…It moved," he whispered. "I didn't move it. But it moved."
He was quiet for a long time. Only the wind answered.
Then, finally:
"I don't know what's happening," he said. His voice trembled. "I don't know who did this. Or why I'm here. Or what this system thing is supposed to be."
He looked at the pond again. At the reflection. At the boy who wasn't really him.
"But I'm not staying in this grave."
He pulled himself upright again, slower this time.
No monologues. No big declarations. Just a simple, quiet truth forming in the back of his mind:
He was in a body that wasn't his. It was falling apart. And somehow, it was still alive.
He didn't know what to do next. But he knew one thing:
He has to get the fuck out of here first!.