The smell of ozone and burnt earth was the last thing Ji-hoon would ever forget, or so he thought. He lay pinned beneath the rubble of what used to be a city monument, his left leg throbbing uselessly. Above him, the sky of the Apocalypse Age wasn't a sky at all; it was a swirling vortex of poisonous purple energy that spat out creatures made of obsidian and hate.
"It's over," someone choked, the sound barely audible over the roar of the Arch-Demon's final assault.
Ji-hoon didn't need to look. He already knew. The party, the five of them who had clawed their way to this supposedly 'safe' checkpoint, were nothing but scattered meat and broken armor. They had all played the game, but when the system prompt dragged them into this dark fantasy reality, they became painfully, mortally human. They were supposed to stop the Arch-Demon from breaching the core barrier. They failed.
A shimmering blue light flickered, dying with the last of his comrades. Ji-hoon recognized the flash: a Status Window dissolving. Every player's window was blue, a clean, digital interface marking their levels, their skills, and now, their death.
He was next.
The Arch-Demon, a towering figure of ancient malice, lumbered toward him, its footfalls shaking the ground like an earthquake. Ji-hoon squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for a quick end, wishing he hadn't been such a burden, wishing he had contributed something before their entire world dissolved.
Then, the agonizing pain hit, not from the demon's attack, but from within his own eyes. He gasped and forced them open.
His personal Status Window, the one that was supposed to be a simple, holographic blue square, was burning. It didn't crack or shatter; instead, it pulsed with a furious, deep crimson.
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[STATUS: FATALY WONDED]
[GIFT GRANTING: REGRESSION]
[-RESTARTING WINDOWS CYCLE-]
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The words were not white on blue; they were black on a searing red that blinded him to the demon, the wreckage, and the apocalypse itself. It wasn't a choice or a skill. It was a violent, involuntary command.
The last thing Ji-hoon felt was a dizzying, sickening lurch, the feeling of his entire being being pulled backward through a funnel of time and pain. He wasn't just dying. He was un-dying.
When he gasped again, the smell of ozone was gone, replaced by the stale, familiar air of his cramped bedroom. He was sitting in his gaming chair, his hands resting on his keyboard, staring at the flashing notification on his monitor:
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[The Age of Apocalypse has begun. Do you agree to participate? Y/N]
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Ji-hoon's heart hammered a frantic, terrified rhythm against his ribs. He looked down at his hands, which were whole, strong, and useless. The date flashing on his screen was the exact day and time he had clicked 'Y' the first time.
He had returned. And he was alone.