Under the cold moonlight piercing through a thin veil of mist, the scene unfolded like a torn canvas of hell, painted in blood and flesh. Human bodies were ripped apart and scattered in grotesquely twisted postures, as if their very souls had been broken before leaving their corpses.
Blood smeared the ground, staining every stone red, seeping into cracks like a river of death.
Some corpses remained intact amidst the carnage, but their wide-open, clouded eyes spoke of a death too sudden to register pain. No survivors. Not a single groan. Only silence remained—a silence soaked in death.
The air was heavy with an unusual presence—not quite magic, not quite malice—but a lingering chill that even moonlight could not dispel.
In the distance, a clicking sound echoed—not rain, but the sharp taps of raven claws striking shattered skulls. Large black ravens with ruby-like eyes tore at the corpses with the indifferent nature of scavengers. Some perched atop blood-stained swords planted in the soil, as if playing a requiem for a tragedy already sealed.
The air reeked of blood, damp earth, and lingering smoke—a stench that could make even the most seasoned soldier vomit.
Suddenly—BOOM!
A quake from an impact shook the earth as though the forest itself gasped. A massive wave of dust rose, cloaking the moonlight and drowning the battlefield in a sullen gray.
The feasting ravens scattered in alarm, flapping their wings and cawing wildly as they fled toward the trees, as though fleeing an invisible predator.
Amidst the smoke and debris lay the wreckage of a plane—its metallic frame charred, engine shattered, fuselage smoldering, and lights flickering like a dying machine soul, emitting a stench of burnt oil that did not belong in this world.
The banquet of blood and meat ended in chaos.
Looking at the debris and the trail of black smoke smoldering into the sky, no one would believe anyone had survived this horror. But fate does not always follow logic.
One survivor remained—the last of over two hundred souls—an elderly Western man whose face bore the deep marks of time.
"Urgh... huff, huff..." The old man struggled for breath, each inhale scraping painfully through his chest. Blood trickled from a wound on his head, painting his wrinkled face with helplessness.
Death was near.
His clouded eyes scanned his surroundings and rested on a once-dapper middle-aged man now lying motionless beside him. Drops of crimson blood fell from the man's disheveled, slicked-back hair. He, too, was reduced to the equalizing shape of death, just like the elderly, women, and children scattered around.
With a final sigh, the old man's eyes closed. His breath faded, and silence fell once more. The sole survivor seemed to have surrendered to death.
And then, the impossible happened.
His body began to change, as if shedding reality. Skin dried and cracked, flaking off like dusty parchment. From within him, an invisible fire ignited, slowly consuming his body from the inside out.
Cracks deepened and spread across his face and body like fractures on ceramic. Suddenly, a brilliant golden flame erupted, devouring everything—bones, blood, flesh—until all that remained were millions of tiny glowing dust particles rising into the golden blaze.
In an instant, the old man was no more. Not even a trace of life remained.
But from the ashes, a new form emerged.
In the exact spot where the old man had died, another being took his place. Towering, imposing, and inhuman, he sat—a massive figure exuding a deadly aura. His muscular body looked forged from molten rock. His head was no flesh but a gleaming metallic skull, cold and terrifying.
The hollow face of the skull was expressionless, yet anyone who saw it would think only of death.
Under the dim moonlight, he slowly looked up. His empty eye sockets glinted with a metallic gaze. Words were unnecessary—his mere presence was enough to instill fear. He was the embodiment of night, of decay.
A being from the primordial era, from the time of dinosaurs.
He rose, each movement brimming with weight, power, and death. Stepping onto the battlefield strewn with corpses, he halted in the middle of an open space. His skull-head scanned the scene.
At his feet lay soldiers in ancient armor, swords and spears scattered around, now reduced to hollow symbols of failure.
Surrounding them were their monstrous foes—giants with charred gray skin, now lifeless, entangled with the dead warriors, as if forever bound to their final battle.
He looked down. No fear, no sorrow. Only a faint sense of regret.
If only I had been here... if only I had seen this...
He left that regret behind and walked through the graveyard of battle. His footsteps thudded heavily, breaking the silence only disturbed by the shrill cries of ravens. They fled as he approached, sensing the presence of death incarnate.
Then, a glint of black hair among the dead made him stop.
Asian?
It was a young man, around 22 to 25, his face a blend of Eastern and Western features. His eyes were shut, lost in eternal slumber.
He stared at the young man for a long time, as if contemplating. Then, a decision was made.
From the crack in his chest, a golden flame ignited. It stretched out like a glowing thread, touching the corpse.
In an instant, the body burned away—skin, muscle, every cell reduced to ash, absorbed by the flame.
The golden flame then retracted, vanishing into his chest as though nothing had happened.
He stood still, empty eyes staring into nothingness.
Suddenly, a strange phenomenon occurred. Fine ash particles spilled from his body, swirling and wrapping around him. They shaped his form like an artist sculpting marble, layer by layer, until a new body—flesh and skin—was formed.
Before the night's lone witness, he had become the young man. From black hair to youthful frame, he now wore the boy's body. Yet he was naked.
He picked up the boy's preserved clothes and dressed himself.
As he walked in the new body, he tried accessing memories. But he froze.
His mind was blank. No memories. Only darkness.
Did I miss something?
He stood in thought, but something among the corpses caught his eye.
Above each corpse, strange floating letters appeared—names, numbers, glowing like 3D data.
"What the hell is this?"
He muttered, stunned. Even the ravens nearby had labels—[Black Raven Level 1].
The world had changed. This was no longer the reality he knew.
A game?
He froze. Red texts floated above the corpses, showing levels from 15 to 20. Humans and monsters alike. It looked like a death game where all players had already been eliminated.
Suddenly remembering something, his eyes lit up. He returned to the broken plane fuselage and searched through the wreckage.
He found an old lady's handbag, rummaged through it, and pulled out a compact mirror.
Holding it up, he stared into the reflection. Just as he suspected, floating above his head was the text: Gen Level 9.
He frowned. His level was too low compared to those who had died here.
---
The next morning, sunlight barely pierced the ruined land.
"Done."
He dusted off his hands. His new body ached with fatigue from working all night. He had spent the entire night burying all the corpses in one place. At his feet was a freshly dug mass grave.
He glanced at it, a strange feeling stirring.
Why did I do this?
He didn't know. Maybe it was the last act of respect a being who stole a human body could offer. Or perhaps it was his way of adapting.
He stood up straight, scanning the horizon. Where to now?
"Sigh..." He exhaled, then began walking with no destination in mind.
As his heavy steps passed the mounds of graves, he thought about this strange game-like world. He imagined Earthlings—especially Japanese Otaku—would go crazy over a place like this.
He chuckled. "Ha! They'd grind levels, play heroes, villains, and of course, build harems."
But the laughter faded, replaced by a solemn thought: If this world is like a game... then are there Bosses? Demon Lords?
The idea lingered, but his instincts warned him—this world was nothing like any game he knew.
He walked on, then stopped. Before him stood a towering cliff. Deep below, an endless green forest stretched. Birds soared freely in the morning light. Far in the distance, a hazy outline of an ancient city or kingdom appeared on the horizon.
"That is..."
He squinted, eyes shifting to resolve.
Suddenly, his human form faded. He returned to his terrifying original body—gleaming metal skull, muscle-bound monstrous frame.
His sturdy feet slammed onto stone.
BOOM!
With a single leap, he launched off the cliff. A jump of over 3,000 meters.
WHOOOOSH!
The wind screamed past his metal body, fierce and wild. When he landed, the ground shook with a booming impact. Cracks spread in all directions. Trees bent under the shockwave.
When the dust settled, the monster was gone. In its place stood a human form once more. Calmly, as if nothing had happened, he dusted off his clothes.
A mundane gesture, oddly at odds with the chaos he had caused.
He continued walking, leaving destruction behind without a second thought. He could leap again and reach his destination in moments.
But instead, he chose to walk—his steps leisurely, as if taking a stroll.