The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the comforting kind. Not the silence of a paused game or a muted chat. This was the silence of indifference.
The kind of silence that told me: no one cares if you live or die here.
Every breath hurt. My ribs ached like they'd been cracked open and glued back together wrong. My arms trembled when I tried to push myself up. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else—someone malnourished, someone beaten down by years of failure.
This wasn't my body. This was the body of the Weak Hero.
The one his team had abandoned. The one they left bleeding in the dirt because he was "dead weight."
And now… I was him.
I coughed, spitting blood into the dust. It tasted like iron and regret. My vision blurred, but I forced myself to stay awake. If I closed my eyes now, I wasn't sure I'd ever open them again.
Voices lingered in my head. Not mine. His. The fragments of the life I'd inherited.
"You're useless.""We can't carry you anymore.""Stay behind. If you die, it's your fault."
I clenched my fists. My nails dug into my palms, but even that hurt. So this was the legacy I'd been given? Not a chosen hero. Not a destined savior. Just a discarded pawn.
I tilted my head back. The sky here was different. No neon lights. No skyscrapers. No satellites blinking in orbit. Just a vast, endless expanse of gray clouds swirling like smoke.
It felt heavy. Oppressive. Like even the heavens were mocking me.
I whispered to myself, voice hoarse: "SpectreZero never dies."
But here, in this body, in this world… I wasn't SpectreZero. I was no one.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time was slippery when you were half-conscious. I tried to crawl. My arms gave out. I tried to stand. My legs buckled. Every attempt ended with me face-first in the dirt.
The ground was cold. The stones dug into my skin. I thought about just… staying there. Letting the darkness take me.
But then I remembered the trophy. The weight of it in my hands. The chat screaming my name. The feeling of victory.
I wasn't ready to lose that. Not here. Not like this.
When I finally managed to lift my head, I saw it. The world.
Ancient forests stretched in the distance, their trees taller than skyscrapers. Mountains loomed on the horizon, jagged and sharp like broken teeth. And scattered ruins dotted the landscape—crumbling temples, shattered statues, remnants of a forgotten age.
This wasn't a game map. This was real. And it was unforgiving.
My stomach growled. Loud. I laughed bitterly. "Great. Dying of hunger before I even get a tutorial."
I searched the ground. Nothing but dirt and weeds. I pulled myself toward a bush, tore off a handful of leaves, and shoved them into my mouth. They were bitter. Dry. Probably poisonous. But I chewed anyway.
The Weak Hero's body gagged. I vomited. Collapsed again.
"Pathetic," I muttered. "Absolutely pathetic."
But even as I lay there, broken and humiliated, something burned inside me. A flicker. A spark.
I'd been here before. Not in this world, but in spirit. The underdog. The nobody. The one everyone laughed at.
And every time, I'd clawed my way back. Every time, I'd proved them wrong.
This world thought I was weak? Fine. I'd start weak. But I wouldn't stay weak.
The sun—or whatever passed for it here—began to set. The sky turned darker, the clouds glowing faintly red. Shadows stretched across the ruins.
And with the shadows came sounds. Growls. Snarls. The shuffle of claws on stone.
I froze. Eyes wide.
Something was out there. Watching me. Hunting me.
From the treeline, a pair of glowing eyes appeared. Then another. And another.
Wolves. But not normal wolves. These were bigger. Leaner. Their fur shimmered like smoke, their teeth glinting unnaturally sharp.
I tried to stand. Failed. I tried to lift the broken sword beside me. My arms shook.
The wolves circled. Snarling. Waiting.
I was prey.
But prey could still fight back. I wasn't strong. I wasn't fast. But I was clever.
I grabbed a rock. Not a weapon. Just a rock. I hurled it at the nearest wolf.
It yelped. The others growled. They lunged.
I rolled—barely. Pain shot through my ribs. I swung the broken sword wildly. It scraped one wolf's leg.
They backed off. Not scared. Just cautious.
I was bleeding. Exhausted. But alive.
I collapsed against the wall of the ruins, panting. The wolves circled, eyes glowing in the dark. I knew I wouldn't last long. Not like this.
But I also knew one thing: I wasn't going to die lying down.
Not again. Not here.
"SpectreZero never dies," I whispered, clutching the broken sword. "Even if the world wants me to."