"I don't know how much more of this I can take," the young man whispered, his voice trembling as he hugged his knees tightly against his chest. His forehead rested on his arms, but his ears caught every muffled sound from the door behind him, leading to his house—his wife with her boyfriend. Each laugh, each moan, cut into him like a blade twisting deeper.
His hair was as strange as it was striking, starting as a pale blonde at the roots before fading into a dark, burned red at the tips, as if even his hair carried the weight of something scorched into him.
From the moment he was born, it was made painfully clear he was nothing more than a talentless, good-for-nothing. His birth had taken his mother's life, and for that, his father and the rest of his family hated him. With no gift, no skill, and no one who saw any worth in him, he was treated like a slave in his own home.
When they finally decided to make use of him, it was not for his benefit—it was to get rid of him. They married him off to a woman who never once pretended to care for him, who paraded her affairs openly, almost daring him to say something. Despite her wealth, he owned nothing. Many nights, his stomach twisted with hunger while she dined without a thought for him. Her cruelty was relentless—words, fists, whatever she felt like using—and he couldn't fight back. She was stronger, and defiance only meant more pain.
His body bore the proof of his life—thin as a stick, ribs jutting out, every inch of skin marked with scars. He had never gone to school; letters and numbers meant nothing to him. The illnesses stacked over the years, uncountable, born from a lifetime of neglect. More than once, he tried to take his own life, desperate for an end, but every attempt was caught. And instead of help, they gave him beatings so savage he thought he'd die on the floor.
Pain was his only constant. His teeth throbbed endlessly from untreated cavities, sending sharp, pounding headaches through his skull day after day.
Every breath burned like steel piercing his lungs. A brutal beating over thirty years ago had left his lower body permanently damaged. The pain never faded—it was always there, pulsing in the background, sometimes sharp enough to steal the air from his chest. He never spoke of it. Speaking would bring more fists.
His body was a battlefield of infections, each one gnawing at his strength. He wasn't just unhealthy—he was the opposite of life itself. The fact that he still breathed was an insult to reason; by all rights, he should have died years ago. Yet here he was, forced to exist. And the cost of that existence?
Every second, every breath, every blink, every thought was a prayer for it all to end.
He slowly pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the unbearable pain that came with even that small movement. Decades of living in agony had taught him how to move through it, but never how to escape it. His steps were slow and lifeless, each one carrying the hollow look of a man who had long since run out of reasons to keep going. He questioned, with every breath, why he was still alive at all.
Then, as if the universe itself took pity on him, his body gave out. His legs tripped, and he collapsed, tumbling down the long staircase of the mansion that belonged to his wife. He didn't reach out to stop himself, didn't even try to soften the fall. He simply stared at the floor, rushing up to meet him with a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years—hope. Hope that maybe this could be the end.
The world spun before he struck the ground, his head slamming into the concrete with a sickening, hollow crack. But death did not come.
He lay there, unmoving, his eyes blank and unfocused. Why was he still alive? Why had he been forced to endure this life for so long? Was it out of some delusion that something better would come? That illusion had crumbled long ago. Now he wanted only to close his eyes, to rest forever.
But even that small act was denied to him. His eyelids refused to obey, frozen open, forcing him to stare without relief, trapped in a body that would not let him go.
'It's like time has paused,' he thought, his vision locked on a world that, for some reason, seemed to freeze within the edges of his sight. Nothing moved, be it sound or light; everything seemed to become an unnatural stillness, of black and white.
From the moment he was born, there had been something about him, a faint but persistent stench that clung to his skin, his breath, his very presence. It repelled anyone who came near, pushing them away before they could ever get close. Love had been impossible for him—not for lack of desire, but because his very existence seemed built to drive it away. In a twisted way, it was the only "talent" he had been born with.
"Thirty-nine years… I'm sorry." The words were soft, almost tender, yet they echoed inside his skull as if spoken directly into his mind. Then, without warning, the agony that had been his companion for decades was gone. All of it—every ache, every stab, every throb that had ruled his life—vanished in an instant. The absence was so shocking, so alien, that his brain had to shut down to begin comprehending the concept of no pain. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his body felt light… It was like stepping into heaven, at least to him; it was heaven.
"What?" The word slipped from his lips. Confusion gripped him, as he couldn't understand what was going on, but that confusion only deepened when he pushed himself up—only to find his own thin, frail body lying motionless on the ground below.
The world around him had lost its color. Black and white stretched over everything like an old, faded photograph. Shock held him still until movement above caught his eye. There, floating gently over his lifeless body, was an angel, which was the only form of color in this world of black and white..
"Who…" he began, his voice unsteady, but the question died in his throat as a sudden, piercing pain exploded in his head. His hands shot up instinctively, clutching his skull, but even then, the pain was strangely bearable—laughably so—compared to the agony that had been his constant companion for decades.
What truly stunned him wasn't the pain itself… but what came with it. Images, feelings, and moments from another life—memories that used to be his—began flooding into his mind, drowning him in a past he didn't know he had.
Memories surged into his mind—memories of standing before this very woman, his voice steady as he made the request: for his life to be set to hell mode so he could gain whatever he desired. It had been presented as a challenge—one unlike any other. He would be reincarnated into this life with the entire world set against him from the moment of birth. The terms were simple, yet cruel: he had to survive eighteen years without ending his own life.
The world itself would not kill him; fate would twist and turn to ensure he survived—unless he chose to take his own life. No disease, no injury, no accident would ever finish him unless he willed it. But everything else? Everything in his life would drive him toward that final choice.
It was a challenge designed to be impossible. From birth, the world would hate him. He would enter it reeking with a stench that pushed all people away. His very first act would be to kill his mother in childbirth, ensuring his family's hatred. From there, each year would sink deeper into misery, with nothing good to cling to, only pain upon pain, forcing him toward the edge.
The trial was meant to last eighteen years. But somehow… he had endured for more than double that. Thirty-nine years of relentless suffering.
"Where the fuck have you been?!" he roared, his voice sharp enough to cut through the frozen air. The sudden outburst made the woman flinch, her eyes flickering with something close to guilt. And why wouldn't he yell? He had endured hell—not just for the eighteen years required, but for more than twice that time. Thirty-nine years of suffering, and she had been nowhere.
"I… I'm sorry," she said softly, her tone almost trembling. "Since you have endured more than twice the requirement of the challenge, the gods have decided to grant you a bonus."
His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as a wave of bitter anger rose in him. But after a long, slow breath, he exhaled, his shoulders dropping. Without a word, he gave a small nod, accepting—because after everything, it would be a shame for his actions to end up destroying something he had worked so hard for.
"What can I pick… after living on impossible mode for so long?" he asked quietly, his tone stripped of all fire, replaced by something deeper—exhaustion.
This entire ordeal had begun because a god had killed him. Even now, the details weren't entirely clear, but he understood enough to know there was a reason the gods no longer set foot on Earth. The cost of taking a mortal's life was steep, and when it happened, the gods were bound to make amends.
For him, that meant a chance to make a wish. But gods, for all their power, were not limitless. There were rules, restrictions, and limits to their own capability. A simple wish could only go so far—but through challenges, the rewards could grow beyond anything a mortal could normally dream of. The harder the challenge, the greater the prize. And among them, there was one that stood above all: impossible mode.
A challenge so brutal it was never meant to be completed. Yet he had taken it on… and finished it more than eighteen years ago.
{A/N:Impossible Mode means that anyone taking on the challenge will go through absolute hell. The MC endured all of it, this includes sexual assaulted. His balls, dick, and everything down below were not ignored during his up bringing.
He should have died from his illness, but there's a reason he survived, and I don't want to forget to clarify that here. To give the challenger a fair chance, a part of their original self is carried into their new life. Although the MC attempted suicide, he never truly wanted to die, because his past-life self had fought desperately to stay alive. This deep-rooted willpower is why no illness ever managed to kill him, since so long as he doesn't truly want to die, he wouldn't die.
As for why his past-life self possessed such resilience, that will be explained later when we explore his history. For now, I'll give a small spoiler: he knows how to endure torture.
Regarding his suicide attempts, they were never truly meant to succeed—he always made them when he knew, deep down, that he would fail.
If you have questions please speak,}
"The reason we didn't come for you in the past few years," she began, her voice tinged with something between awe and disbelief, "was because no one expected you to actually complete this. You're the first—ever to do such a thing, and not only that, you went beyond the eighteen-year requirement." Her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Go ahead… pick your cheats. The gods are watching, curious to see what you choose."
As her words faded, the air before him shimmered. A translucent screen blinked into existence, the letters bright and glowing against the frozen world around him.
[Congratulations on completing the Challenge ranked as (Impossible)]
[You're the first person to complete the Challenge, ranked as (Impossible)}
[You're the first person to complete the challenge by an extra year]
[You're the first person to complete the challenge by an extra year]
[You're the first person to complete the challenge by an extra two years]
[You're the first person to complete the challenge by an extra 7 years]
[You're the first person to complete the challenge by an extra 12 years]
[You're the first person to complete the challenge by double the requirement]
[You're the first person to complete the challenge by more than double]
[You have completed the challenge, plus 8 bonuses.]
[You have gained 2 additional bonuses from the gods for your trouble.]
[Begin: Build Your Character.]
[Note: You originally selected an anime character. You may switch to a comic character or another category if you wish.]
[Important: Choosing a character will grant you everything that belongs to that character as reflected in the tab you select. For example, if the current tab is Race and you select (Goku), you will receive the Saiyan bloodline and everything that comes with(Goku)'s Race. You would have the same bloodline as Goku, down to the purity, rank, and so on. The only difference would be that your DNA wouldn't be a perfect copy of his. ]
[Race]- [Goku], [Whis], [Broly], [Anos], [Kiado], [Itachi], [Saitama], etc.
[Talent]- [Anos], [Naruto], [Gojo], [Gohon], [Broly], [Freiza], [Nami], [Mob], [Shanks], [Yuujiro Hanma], Etc
[Potential]- [Broly], [Gohon], [Saitama], [Anos], etc
[Skills]- [Anos], [Gojo], [Shanks], [Juujiro Hanma], [Goku], [Whis], [Itachi]
[Abilities]: [Anos], [Gojo], [Whis], [Ainz Ooal Gown], [Aizen], etc
[Eyes]: [Madara], [Itachi], [Obito], [Kaguya], [Sasuke], [Gojo], [Neji], [Lelouch], etc
[Treasures]: [Ainz Ooal Gown], [Gilgamash],
[Fire Affinity]: [Madara], [Yamamoto], [Ace], etc
[Ice/water Affinity]:...
[Earth Affinity]:...
[Lightning Affinity]:...
[Air Affinity]:...
[Light Affinity]:..
[Darkness Affinity]:..
[Life]:...
[Death]:...
[Space]:...
[Time]:...
[Creation Affinity]...
[Destruction Affinity]...
He scrolled through the interface, his eyes darting across the endless possibilities laid out before him. The sheer number of choices left him stunned. Before taking the challenge, he had been told there would only be five slots to select from. Yet now, the screen showed not just those five, but thirteen additional tabs—each one overflowing with options that could change everything.
"Before you pick," the angel spoke, her tone calm but careful, "you may select three tabs from which you can take an extra pick."
He gave a slow nod, his expression tightening in concentration as he carefully began examining the list, his gaze moving from one glowing tab to the next, weighing each possibility with care.