----The Forsaken Voidlord----
Drip! Drip! Drip!
Rain slapped the city with sharp, angry smacks. The sound echoed between narrow brick walls, growing louder with each passing second. Water gushed from broken drainpipes and splashed over gutters clogged with garbage. Distant thunder cracked across the sky, and a harsh wind screamed down the alley, slicing through soaked cloth and bare skin alike.
John White stumbled forward with a stagger in his step, his vision blurring. A deep cut stretched across his abdomen, leaking warm blood that soaked into his shirt and spilled between his fingers. He pressed down on it, teeth clenched, but the pain still lanced through him. Every breath felt like inhaling glass.
His legs gave out.
Thud.
He collapsed to one knee, then fell against the wall. The bricks scraped his shoulder as he slid down, landing in a pool of rainwater mixed with his own blood. The storm kept hammering down. Cold droplets pelted his face, each one sharp as a needle. The scent of wet concrete and rot clung to the air.
He coughed once. Blood spattered the ground beside him. He looked down and saw the red smear fade into the puddle like ink.
So this is it, he thought. This is how I die.
He let his head roll back against the wall. His thoughts were slow now, drifting in and out of clarity. He barely registered the pain anymore. The girl he had saved was long gone, vanished into the dark. The man who stabbed him had run off. Probably afraid. Probably didn't want to stick around for police.
Didn't matter now.
John had been an orphan his whole life. Passed from one foster home to the next. No family. No one to care if he lived or died. This city never gave him anything but loneliness. It had taken more than it ever offered. Now, it would take his life.
He closed his eyes.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The rain kept falling. The wind howled through the narrow space, rattling an old metal sign at the alley's entrance. Somewhere above, lightning tore across the sky again.
Then something shifted.
Beneath his right hand, a pulse.
Faint at first. Then stronger.
He opened his eyes and glanced down.
His ring glowed.
The silver band, the only thing he had ever truly owned, was shining. Black light swirled around it, flickering like embers caught in shadow. Strange lines appeared across its surface. They looked like symbols or runes, each one shifting and moving like they were alive.
A low hum vibrated through his bones. The puddle beneath his hand began to ripple, though the wind had stopped. The air grew heavier. Thick. As if gravity itself were pulling inward.
He tried to move, but couldn't. His limbs were ice. Only his eyes could follow the strange glow.
Then the voice came.
It did not echo from the alley. It did not whisper in his ears.
It spoke directly into his mind.
"Awakening sequence triggered. Host's life force detected. Bloodline recognized."
John blinked slowly. His lips moved without sound at first. Then he forced a whisper past the blood in his throat.
"What… the hell?"
"Vital signs critical. Host approaching death. Emergency protocol initiated."
The voice was not human. It was cold and layered, deep and ancient. It carried a mechanical rhythm, like metal grinding against stone.
"What are you?" he managed to ask.
"Abyss-class magic artifact. Dormant state exceeded maximum duration. Awakening due to final descendant's imminent death."
Abyss-class? Magic? Artifact?
John blinked again. The pain in his stomach seemed to vanish. His skin no longer burned. The alley disappeared into a blur. He could barely feel the rain.
His consciousness was slipping.
"System installation pending," the voice said. "Last will required. Final command requested."
"System…?" he whispered.
His mind, barely hanging on, latched onto that word.
"Like… a game system?" he croaked.
"Affirmative. Host may define parameters."
He coughed hard. More blood poured from his mouth, mixing with the puddle below. His voice was barely more than breath.
"I… I want to live."
"Rebirth authorized."
He barely heard it. The world tilted. Everything around him turned to shadows. But the voice was still there, clear as ever.
"Specify your request. Choose your system."
John's mind slowed. The pain, the alley, the cold. All of it began to fade. Images danced behind his eyes. Not memories. Ideas.
He saw swords and spellbooks. Towers and castles. Strange creatures and glowing stones. A world not like Earth. A place of magic.
He didn't know why he saw it. But he understood. This wasn't resurrection on Earth. He wasn't getting a second chance in the same life.
Something had changed.
"You're sending me… somewhere else," he whispered.
"Correct. Host will be reborn in a magic-based world."
He swallowed hard. Or at least, he thought he did. He could no longer feel his body.
"And you… you can give me a system?"
"Yes. Input required. Choose your path."
John stared into the void. His body was already gone, dissolved into something less than dust. Only his mind floated now, suspended in the dark.
He thought of Earth.
Of machines and weapons. Tools and tech. The convenience of modern life. What if he could bring that with him? What if he didn't have to start from scratch?
He didn't want to crawl his way up with nothing but a sword and fireball.
"I want a modern trade system," he said. "Give me a way to recreate Earth's technology. Let me build. Let me combine Earth's science and magic."
Silence followed. Then the voice returned. "Request accepted. Construction difficulty: Abyss level. Program complexity: extreme."
"How long will it take?" he asked.
"System requires eighteen years to develop. Time will begin upon rebirth."
He hesitated. Eighteen years was a long time. But he had nothing else. No one to return to. No reason to refuse.
"I accept," he said quietly.
"Initiating transfer."
The voice faded. The darkness deepened.
And then it shattered.
Crack.
A single noise tore through the void, like glass breaking under pressure.
Then came sound. Sharp. Piercing. It was a baby's cry.