Nnael floated in nothingness as he died instantly, erased from the page without a single line of warning, like a total sudden of heart attack, but smooth and fast.
He opened his eyes.
Blinding white light assaulted his vision. He blinked rapidly, forcing his eyes to adjust. The darkness had transformed into a sterile endless white space.
He stood in front of a massive throne made entirely of rusted pens and bent typewriter keys. A hooded figure sat upon the throne, wearing a cloak woven from shredded manuscripts and forgotten drafts. The face beneath the hood remained hidden in absolute shadow.
This was The God of Death. Or so called The Reaper of The Story.
Nnael stood tall. He kept his arrogant, roguish posture, showing no fear. He looked directly at the embodiment of the void.
"Nice chair," he drawled, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "You must be the janitor. Can I loot that cloak? It looks like it has decent defensive stats."
The Reaper laughed a sound resembled dry leaves scraping across a gravestone. It echoed infinitely in the white space.
"You broke the first script, little wolf," The Reaper spoke. His voice carried the heavy cold finality of the void. "You bored the Creator. So I decided to reset the board, and here to facilitate your transition."
Nnael frowned. He tried to summon his power, reaching for the Solar Breath.
Nothing.
He reached for the Void-Flame.
Emptiness.
He tried to summon the Axiom Sever to his hand.
Ignored.
His entire inventory stood completely empty.
"What have you done?" Nnael demanded, stepping toward the throne of rusted pens. "I earned the Solar Breath. I looted the Void-Flame. I broke the Arch-Angel with the Axiom Sever. Repair my sword and send me back to my Queens."
"Denied," The Reaper stated flatly. "You possess nothing here, little one. But let's grant you a second act. An Isekai transition into a new realm. The Realms of Aeterna might fit you well. A dystopian, medieval world of mud, plate armor, and brutal caste systems. You will start as a footnote. A nobody."
Nnael clenched his fists. His mind raced as he processed the information instantly. "My harem. Kirana, Serra, Elena, Jara, Lyra, Vivi. What happens to them?"
"Oh, so you care?" The Reaper laughed. "They'll scatter across the new world. I'm not cruel to sending you alone. But... You're just a nobody to them."
Nnael smiled. A slow grin spread across his face. He knew exactly how to break every single one of those women. He knew their soft spots, every touch, every moan, every secret he had looted from them. He looked forward to seducing them all over again while they looked down on him from their high-tier pedestals. Doing it again while they hated him sounded like the ultimate long game.
"Send me down," Nnael challenged. "I'll loot Aeterna and reclaim my women. And not just them, I'll rebuild my harem with every single goddesses you have in Aeterna."
"Arrogance remains your defining trait, huh." The Reaper mocked.
"Just so you wait, doomy, l'll build a ladder back up to this white room and loot that hood right off your skull." Nnael added, smiling like a demon.
"Can't wait then. For that, I shall give you one parting gift. A single skill to entertain the Heavens. Use it well, footnote."
A small grey system interface flickered into existence before Nnael's eyes. It looked dirty and degraded.
[Skill Name: PORE-BREATHING]
[Rank: Z (Sub-F)]
[Cost: 1 MN/hour]
[Chant: <
[Description: Allows the user to draw microscopic amounts of oxygen and ambient moisture through the skin instead of the lungs.]
[Function: Prevents suffocation in shallow dirt or thin air.]
Nnael stared at the pathetic floating text. A Rank Z skill, that's just a dying man's gasp. To any normal person, this skill represented a complete joke, offered no combat utility, provided no defensive capability, and functioned solely for a worm buried in the mud.
Nnael's brain engaged. His innate Axiom Logic kicked into overdrive.
"I accept the gift," Nnael stated. He locked eyes with the dark void beneath the hood with a cynical smile.
"Enjoy the mud," The Reaper finalized.
A massive invisible hand slammed to Nnael's chest. The shove carried the force of a speeding carriage. The white space shattered into a million pieces, plummenting Nnael downward through a tunnel of pure static and grey noise. He felt his flesh tearing and reforming, his bones grinding together. He lost all sense of direction, all sense of self.
The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs.
And the first thing Nnael felt was the cold.
...
...