DISCLAIMER : I make no money from this. I don't own or have anything to do with the Original Story 'GOD AND DEVIL WORLD' it's just a fanfic. I won't say OG was bad or good, it's my own take on the story. In a way it could remain the same or I could change it. It could be just a copy with great changes we all don't like in most Chinese novels with all racism and nationalism and other shit and words. Much more clear and better and greater. Again It's Just A FanFiction.
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[Chapter : 001 Awakening in a Foreign Flesh And When the System Descended]
In the heart of the Shian Empire, nestled within the city of Jiang, stood Qinghua University—one of the region's prominent academic institutions. Within its sprawling campus, inside a rather ordinary hostel building, in a room that could only be described as painfully normal, a strange awakening was about to occur.
The dorm room was unremarkable. A small bed pressed up against the wall, a flimsy desk cluttered with textbooks and snack wrappers, a chair with a broken leg held up by stacked paperbacks, and a cracked ceiling fan that groaned with every spin. Yet in this mundane little space, a scene was quietly unraveling that would mark the beginning of something far from ordinary.
Lying in bed, tangled in his sheets, was a young man who looked to be around eighteen. His messy black hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his delicate, almost cute features were contorted into an expression of deep discomfort. He had a slender, well-proportioned build—athletic, but not overly muscular. A body that would have made girls look twice on campus, had it not been for the pained frown etching deeper into his face.
It might've been a peaceful picture—just another university student sleeping in—but the way he kept turning and groaning, clutching his head as if his skull was cracking open from the inside, turned harmony into horror.
"Argh… what the hell…?" he groaned, his voice hoarse, eyes still shut as his body twisted under invisible agony. "Why… why does my head feel like it's about to explode?"
His back arched off the bed, his arms flailed, and he gasped as waves of pain throbbed through his skull. "Ughh… dammit… it hurts—what's happening to me?!"
He thrashed for several minutes, caught in a torment that refused to let go. It was as if someone were forcefully pouring an ocean of thoughts, memories, and emotions into his mind. His body trembled violently. Ten minutes passed. Maybe more.
And then… silence.
Panting heavily, drenched in cold sweat, the young man slowly opened his eyes. He lay flat on the floor now, breathing raggedly. His head pounded less, but confusion took its place.
"Haa… did I drink too much last night?" he muttered aloud, voice still trembling. He blinked at the ceiling overhead—only to freeze.
"This isn't my ceiling…"
A deep frown appeared on his face. He forced himself to sit up, ignoring the aching in his muscles. His arms buckled, and he collapsed again.
"Damn it! Everything hurts. Did I get into a bar fight or something? No, wait, that's not the point... where the hell am I?!"
His mind raced, analytical instincts kicking in even amidst the pain. He took in his surroundings—walls he didn't recognize, a foreign layout, the lingering scent of someone else's shampoo. Nothing was familiar.
And then, a chilling realization dawned.
He raised his trembling hands, intending to rub his temples… but what he saw made his breath catch.
They were thin. Too thin. Slender. Pale. Smooth.
"W-what the hell… these aren't my hands…"
A creeping dread coiled in his gut. The shape of his limbs, the texture of his skin… everything felt wrong.
"No… it can't be…"
His eyes widened. Memories surged through him—not his own, but fragments of a life he didn't live. As if someone had pulled back the curtain of a movie screen in his mind, vivid images flashed behind his eyelids. A different name, a different past. New emotions, unfamiliar thoughts. He tried to fight it, tried to reject it…
But the memories kept coming.
And then—clarity.
Ten minutes passed. When he finally opened his eyes again, there was something different about him. His posture shifted. His breathing steadied. The way he moved… more fluid, more natural, more in tune with the new body.
He stood and walked—steadily this time—toward the mirror mounted above the room's battered sink. What stared back at him made his heart stop.
It was a stranger.
A young man with soft, handsome features, dark hair, and sharp black eyes filled with confusion and a hint of fear. But the expression on his face—that was unmistakably his.
And then it clicked.
"…I died."
His voice was hollow. Distant.
'I really did die… didn't I?'
He remembered now—flashes of his old life. A young man named Nate. Fresh out of college. An aerospace engineering graduate who had finished his degree in just three years. Always ahead of the curve, always calculated, always chasing the next goal. He had just been accepted into a graduate program. He and his friends had gone out to celebrate.
They drank. Laughed. Talked about the future.
And then…
A road. A screeching tire. A blinding pain. And then nothing.
"…so that's how I died…"
His breathing quickened as he stared at the unfamiliar face. A wave of conflicting emotions churned in his chest—shock, fear, anger, disbelief, and an inexplicable sadness.
The name came back to him from the memories that weren't his—Ethan Chen. A second-year university student at Qinghua University in the Jiang district. This was his body now.
'This… this can't be a coincidence,' Nate thought, his mind already connecting dots. 'A different body, strange memories, a name I don't know… this is just like one of those transmigration novels.'
He wasn't just reborn.
He was transferred.
To a new world. A new body. A new life.
But… why?
And more importantly—where exactly was he now?
From Ethan's memories, things didn't quite add up. There were odd gaps, strange inconsistencies. Something was off about this world.
Ethan blinked as he studied his reflection once more. Gently brushing his fingers across his cheek, he muttered with faint amusement, "Not bad… definitely an upgrade from my average face."
[Image Here]
His tone carried a hint of disbelief—part sarcasm, part awe. No matter how many times he looked in the mirror, it still felt surreal. The reflection looking back wasn't Nate Washington, but someone else entirely: Ethan Chen.
It was Sunday. The atmosphere in the dormitory was unusually still. Six steel-framed beds stood evenly spaced in the room, each with rumpled bedding, scattered clothes, or forgotten textbooks. But only Ethan was here. The others had taken advantage of the weekend to go out—hanging around malls, cyber cafes, restaurants on dates.
Ethan sat down on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking under him, and picked up the smartphone lying nearby. He tapped the screen, and to his relief, it lit up. Signal strength: full. Internet: working. Battery: 64%. A small comfort in this sea of unknowns.
"Still works. Good," he muttered, immediately opening the browser.
Driven by an intense urge to orient himself, Ethan began browsing news websites, forums, and local directories, trying to cross-reference everything he could with the fragmented memories in his head. There were no mentions of demons, gods, or world-altering phenomena. No strange weather. No celestial signs. Everything appeared… normal.
Too normal.
From everything Ethan had observed so far, this world bore an uncanny resemblance to his own. The language was identical. The technology—at least on the surface—matched what he was familiar with. The structure of governments, the political systems, even the design of cities and infrastructure all felt eerily familiar. It was almost as if someone had copied his world and pasted it into another dimension.
But the deeper he looked, the more things felt... off.
The names of continents, countries, and cities were different, yet their placements and roles in global dynamics mirrored reality too closely to be coincidence. Even the history books contained events strangely similar to those of his own world—only skewed, renamed, or slightly altered.
However, it was the timeline that unsettled him the most.
Despite the date being exactly the same as in his previous life, this world was clearly behind. Technological advancements that should've already been achieved—like mainstream renewable energy, widespread AI integration, and even simple medical procedures—were either theoretical or completely absent. Discoveries that were common knowledge in his old world were still being debated in academic circles here.
It was as if this world was stuck one or two decades in the past, still catching up to where he came from.
A shadow of the familiar, trapped in delay.
And the more Ethan dug into it, the more he felt it wasn't just a coincidence—it was intentional.
Was this some parallel world? Or a pocket universe designed to look like Earth? Had his soul traveled through time into the past? Or perhaps this was another realm altogether—one that just looked like home?
His brows furrowed. The uncertainty gnawed at him. Still, logic dictated that answers would come later. First, he had to survive whatever madness was coming.
As a former aerospace engineering graduate, Ethan had been trained to work through chaos and build order from it. His father—also an aerospace scientist—had instilled in him a deep curiosity about the universe. From childhood, they had bonded over anime, sci-fi novels, and strategic games. While he wouldn't call himself an otaku anymore—hell, he couldn't even remember the last anime he watched since grad school began—the concepts of alternate worlds, god systems, and sudden awakenings weren't completely foreign to him.
Still, knowing about something and living it were two entirely different things.
Just as he was piecing things together, a sharp jolt of pain exploded through his body.
"Gkhh—ahh!!"
Every nerve in his system screamed. His spine arched, fingers curled into claws, and a gasp tore from his throat as invisible fire burned through his veins. Then—a voice. A voice that didn't echo in the room, but in the marrow of his bones and in the very soul of his being.
"YOU MORTALS WHO CRAWL LIKE ANTS—I AM GOD!"
The voice was deafening, divine, and terrifying. It didn't simply speak—it commanded, and it shattered every fiber of comfort Ethan had left.
"YOUR QUIET, PATHETIC LIVES DISGUST ME. FROM THIS MOMENT ON, I SHALL IMPOSE UPON YOU THE GOD AND DEMON SYSTEM. STRUGGLE! STRIVE! GROW STRONGER… AND AMUSE ME. ONLY THROUGH GROWTH WILL YOU SURVIVE. OTHERWISE, YOU WILL PERISH."
Ethan's eyes widened as pressure built in his skull like a dam ready to burst. His body convulsed violently. Blood roared in his ears. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The voice continued to thunder:
"SO GROW.
EVOLVE.
LET CHAOS RISE—LET ORDER CRUMBLE.
THE CYCLE CANNOT BE STOPPED.
AND NOW… THE COUNTDOWN BEGINS.
5…"
His vision cracked like broken glass. The world distorted. Time slowed, like thick molasses. The very molecules around him seemed to shudder.
"4…"
It felt like he had snorted powdered lightning, injected his soul with pure madness, and swallowed liquid fire—all at once.
"3…"
Ethan clenched his jaw, eyes bloodshot, fingernails digging into bed sheets.
"2…"
He dropped to his knees. Pain beyond measure flayed him alive.
"1… THE GAME OFFICIALLY BEGINS. STRUGGLE, YOU PATHETIC ANTS—STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE!"
And just like that, the agony vanished.
It was as if none of it had ever happened.
Ethan gasped, clutching his chest. His heart hammered like a war drum. Cold sweat soaked his back. For a moment, he just sat there, stunned.
"…Well," he wheezed, "that's certainly one way to answer my questions."
Then, he noticed it—something strange in his grip. His fingers wrapped around a long, polished stick, just over a meter in length. A weapon. A weapon that had appeared out of nowhere.
A soft chime echoed in his ears, and text bloomed across his mind like a HUD interface in his mind.
[[New Equipment Acquired: Novice Staff]
Weapon: Staff
Attack: 0–5
Durability: 100/100
Please make good use of this weapon to survive.]
And that wasn't all.
Lines of data poured into his brain, organizing themselves like character stats in an RPG.
\\
Ethan Chen (Nate Washington)
Level – 1
Occupation – None
Race – Human
Alignment – True Neutral
Strength: 9 (10)
Agility: 10 (10)
Vitality: 9 (10)
Stamina: 8/8 (10)
Spirit: 12 (10)
Endurance: 10 (10)
Luck: 19 (Locked)
\\
"What the hell…?" Ethan whispered, mouth dry.
But despite the strangeness of it all, his mind—now focused—latched onto the data like a lifeline. His engineer's brain ran at full throttle.
Spirit and Luck seem to be my high points. That's probably tied to magic use… and critical events. Staff in hand? Most likely a mage class. No occupation yet, so maybe I can still choose?
But before he could analyze further, a chill crept up his spine.
His instincts kicked in—lock the door.
Without wasting a second, he dashed to the dorm room entrance and slid the bolt shut. Then, eyes scanning the room, he ran to a nearby closet.
Inside, just as he expected, he found it—a pair of binoculars.
"Some things really are the same across worlds…" he muttered. The boys on this floor often joked about spying on the girl's dorm across the street. The binoculars were proof enough.
Clutching the novice staff in one hand and the binoculars in the other, Ethan crept toward the window.
It was early afternoon. The sky outside was a brilliant blue, and sunlight bathed the courtyard. Most students were either out or napping. The campus felt... peaceful.
Until it didn't.
"Save me!!"
A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air like a razor. Ethan jerked the binoculars to his eyes, turning toward the source of the cry.
What he saw made his stomach drop.
Through the binoculars, Ethan's hands trembled slightly, but he steadied his breathing, forcing himself to remain calm.
Across the street, a nightmare was unfolding.
A girl in a white t-shirt—likely a student—was being devoured alive.
Eight other girls surrounded her, clawing, biting, and tearing at her flesh like rabid beasts. Blood soaked her clothes. Her screams echoed in the street, shrill and hopeless, a chilling contrast to the warm afternoon light. Her body writhed, convulsed, and thrashed, but there was no escape. No help. No mercy.
Ethan's throat tightened. His heart pounded like a war drum against his ribs.
"Why… why is this happening?"
He quickly lifted the binoculars for a closer look. The image that came into focus nearly made him drop them.
The attackers—eight girls—were utterly lifeless in the eyes. Blank. White. Their irises had faded into pale, ghostly voids. Their jaws moved erratically, tearing into skin and muscle, chewing, and swallowing with brutal, animalistic hunger. Blood ran down their faces, caking their teeth and dripping from their chins like they had been possessed by demons.
But there were no signs of rage or emotion. Just a single-minded instinct to consume.
Like wild animals… or worse.
His stomach churned at the sight. Ethan had seen gore in fiction. Games. Movies. But this? This was real. The girl's screams, her twitching limbs, the sheer brutality of it—it tore into him like ice-cold wire.
Still, he forced himself to watch. He had to understand.
Stay calm, Ethan forced himself to calm down. Analyze. Observe.
The eight continued gnawing at the now barely-living girl until her body went limp. Her flesh was torn in large chunks, clothing shredded. When there was nothing left to eat, they abruptly stopped.
Like broken dolls, the eight girls rose and staggered away, their blood-drenched mouths slack, their slow shuffling gait eerily synchronized. They wandered aimlessly, dragging their feet, leaving trails of blood in their wake. Compared to a normal person, their speed was sluggish—but it was clear: once they surrounded you, there would be no escape.
His heart sank.
"Zombies… This is some Resident Evil shit. No. This is worse. This is real."
He shifted his binoculars back to the girl who had been attacked. Or what was left of her.
Then she moved.
Her tattered body twitched. Her broken limbs cracked unnaturally. Slowly—jerkily—she stood. Her once-beautiful eyes had turned milky white, her mouth slightly ajar, blood still dripping from her chin. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply began to wander… just like the others.
A chill ran down Ethan's spine like a breath of death itself.
"Shit… It's not just zombies. It's infection-based."
That girl—just moments ago a victim—was now one of them.
"That means it spreads fast. Extremely fast."
He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, mind racing.
This changes everything. If one bite is all it takes, and they rise so quickly… the entire campus could fall in hours. Maybe minutes. I need to act—now.
Just as he dropped the binoculars and turned to plan his next move, a sudden, loud BANG slammed against the door behind him.
"What—?!"
His head whipped toward the sound.
Another bang. Then another.
Ethan's blood ran cold.
"Zombies."
His instincts screamed. Without hesitation, he shoved the wooden computer desk—barely sturdy—against the door to block it. His breath was shallow, and his hands moved on pure adrenaline.
But then—crack!
A horrible splitting sound echoed through the room as two rotting, clawed hands burst through the door like spears. The wood splintered apart, sharp shards flying through the air.
"Damn it! That strength—how is that even possible?!"
These weren't slow, shambling corpses from old films. No. These things had power. The kind that broke bones and doors without pause.
Ethan stumbled back, eyes wide, as the undead claws clawed and groped, slamming against the barricade with unnatural force. The thin wooden door wouldn't hold.
I need to disable it—now!
Steeling himself, Ethan gripped the novice staff tightly and surged forward.
BAM!
He slammed the staff down on the clawed fingers protruding through the splintered wood. It vibrated with the impact, and the fingers twitched—but held firm.
BAM!
This time, he put more strength behind it. The bones cracked—visibly splintering.
Third strike. BAM!
With a final swing, the fingers crunched and collapsed, breaking at the wrists. The clawed hands jerked back with a sickening squelch, temporarily retreating.
But there was no time to breathe.
A moment later, the entire top half of the door exploded inward—smashed through by a skull.
A bloodied, broken head forced its way through, jaw hanging crookedly, tendons and bits of flesh flapping with every movement. Its eyes glowed with soulless hunger—white, blank, and terrifying.
And Ethan recognized him.
"Xu Zheng…"
His voice was barely a whisper.
The zombie was once a classmate. A member of the school's soccer team. They had chatted just three hours ago—about an upcoming match, about summer internships.
Now? Now he was a corpse with no soul, reduced to gnashing jaws and rotting hunger.
Ethan stood frozen for a breath.
Then something in him snapped.
"I'm sorry… I want to live."
There was no room for mercy. No room for hesitation. Gripping the novice staff with both hands, Ethan raised it high above his head and brought it down with all the force he could muster.
CRACK!
Xu Zheng's head jerked violently to the side. Bone cracked, blood splattered.
But the zombie still moved.
Second strike—BAM!
Teeth flew. The jaw hung even looser.
Still not enough.
Third strike—CRUNCH!
Skull shattered. The light in its eyes dimmed.
Finally, it stopped moving.
Ethan stood over the body, chest heaving, arms trembling, blood dripping from the edge of the staff. His whole body shook—but he didn't collapse.
Instead, he clenched the staff tighter and whispered:
"Three strikes to kill. That's my current limit."
Even in the midst of horror, his mind was working—calculating survival.
Almost the moment Xu Zheng's lifeless body slumped to the floor in a heap of twisted limbs and shattered bone, a strange phenomenon occurred—one that shattered all scientific rationale Ethan had once held dear.
A thick big black book and a shimmering black coin suddenly materialized out of thin air, hovering for an instant above the corpse before dropping to the floor with a soft thud. At the same time, a faint beam of white light—invisible to the normal human eye—rose gently from Xu Zheng's corpse and streamed directly into his own body, vanishing into his chest like fog into a tomb.
Ethan's eyes widened. The air around him grew heavier, the unnatural energy making his skin tingle. Despite the chill in his spine, his sharp instincts kicked in.
Opportunity.
He immediately stepped forward, bent down, and snatched both the black book and the coin, then took several cautious steps back. His breathing was shallow, ears alert for any new sounds.
The moment his fingers touched the book, a flood of arcane information surged into his mind, like a dam breaking open. He saw runes, rituals, skeletal symbols—ancient, forbidden knowledge seared into the soul of the tome.
[[Level 3 Skill Book: 'Necromancer's Pact']
Description:
Summon a Special Skeleton. Consumes 10 MP per summon.
Allows the summoning of a Special Skeleton from the World of the Dead.
Each summoned skeleton begins at Level 1 with base attributes:
Strength: 10
Agility: 10
Vitality: 10
Spirit: 10
Endurance: 10
Health: 180/180
Cooldown: 10 days
Duration: Permanent (until destroyed)
Would you like to learn this skill?]
Ethan's eyes gleamed.
This… this is it. My first real weapon.
He didn't hesitate.
"Learn immediately."
[Warning: Before reaching Level 30, you may only learn 3 active skills. Are you sure you want to learn 'Necromancer's Pact'?]
"Yes!" he said aloud, without a flicker of doubt.
To hell with skill slots. Right now, he was weak. If it took three full-force strikes just to kill a turned soccer player, how could he afford to worry about long-term builds or optimization?
Strength means survival. And this skill? It's practically a goldmine.
In every game, movie, or story he'd consumed growing up, necromancer-type classes were always among the most dangerous—and the most versatile. And this wasn't just summoning some brittle bone puppet. No—these stats were formidable. It was a combat-ready summon.
A low hum filled the air as the black book dissolved into pure black light and streamed between his eyebrows, disappearing into his mental domain.
A second later, Ethan felt it—a cold heat blooming in the back of his mind, like ink spreading through water. The knowledge of the spell wasn't just memorized—it had fused with him. He could feel the command etched into his soul.
This is what real magic feels like…
Focusing, he entered his mental realm. His consciousness brushed against the newly embedded rune—dark, jagged, and pulsing faintly like a second heartbeat.
[Summon Special Skeleton – 10 MP required. Activate?]
"Yes. Do it."
Suddenly, words he didn't recognize began pouring from his mouth—incantations in a language ancient and raw. The room darkened unnaturally as the temperature dipped several degrees.
Then it happened.
The space before him shattered like glass—a hole torn through the very air, black mist spilling out of the rift as a pressure like that of a collapsing star descended. A massive spectral hand seemed to reach from beyond, pulling something into the world.
Ethan groaned, clutching his temples as searing energy passed through his skull like a lightning bolt made of bone and cold flame. The force wracked his body, leaving a pounding ache behind—but it was done.
From the gaping rift, a skeletal warrior stepped forward—tall, solid, draped in wisps of cursed smoke, every bone pristine yet unnaturally dense. Its eye sockets burned with flickering violet-blue flames, and an aura of ancient malice clung to it like a cloak.
Ethan stumbled back, gasping.
I summoned it… from the other side… from death itself.
And yet, he didn't feel fear. What he felt was connection—a strange, unspoken link tethering his soul to the undead creature before him.
A prompt flashed before his eyes:
\\
Special Skeleton
Level: 1
Strength: 10 (10).
Agility: 10 (10).
Vitality: 10 (10).
Spirit: 10(10).
Endurance: 10 (10).
Skills:
Bone Crafting: Can craft medieval weapons (swords, spears, axes, bows, knives) from bones of fallen corpses.
Minor Bone Regeneration: The special skeleton could regenerate his bones should he be harmed, or even grow a new bone altogether from bones of other dead creatures.
\\
[Image Here]
Ethan's mind lit up.
This thing can make its own weapons from corpses?! And regenerate? That means it's sustainable. Long-term survival potential just skyrocketed.
Just as he was admiring the stats, the skeleton moved on its own.
Wordlessly, it turned, walked to the mangled remains of Xu Zheng's zombie corpse, and plunged its skeletal arms deep into the torso.
The sound was wet and disgusting—like someone stirring a pot of thick stew mixed with broken porcelain.
Bones cracked. Ribs broke. And the skeleton began pulling chunks of Xu Zheng's remains toward itself.