Consciousness was a cage of glass and static.
The rhythmic, clinical beep... beep... beep... of the life-support system was the only tether Ethan Sorel had to the waking world. He lay encased in his own skin, a vegetable trapped within a billion-dollar inheritance, his lungs drawing shallow, mechanical breaths through a plastic mask.
"Don’t come haunting me once you’re gone, Ethan," a woman’s voice drifted over him, silk-smooth and utterly cold. "I’m doing this for your own good. You’re practically a corpse anyway."
Willow. His girlfriend. His college sweetheart.
Ethan’s mind screamed, a silent roar echoing in the void of his paralysis. He felt the shift in the air as she leaned over him, her fingers grazing the life-support console. His survival instinct flared, a white-hot spark in the darkness. Through sheer, agonizing will, his index finger gave a microscopic twitch.
No one noticed.
The bedroom door clicked open, the heavy tread of a man breaking the silence. "Willow? What the hell is the holdup?"
Ethan’s heart—what was left of it—sank. Marcus Chen. His "best friend."
"I'm getting to it, Marcus," Willow sighed.
"The guy has no living family," Marcus said, his voice thick with a greed Ethan could practically smell. He heard the rustle of fabric, the wet sound of a kiss. "As soon as he flats, you’re the sole heir to every cent. I’ve waited five years for this, Willow. Do you have any idea what I’ve had to endure to play the part of the loyal dog?"
Ethan felt a surge of nauseating fury. They weren't just killing him; they were gloating over the corpse. Willow hadn't just been his girlfriend—she had been a plant, a long-con orchestrated by Marcus from the very first day of university. Marcus had literally shoved his own girlfriend into Ethan’s bed, playing the long game for a payout that was finally within reach.
"Oh, stop whining," Willow teased, her voice muffled as if she were leaning into him. "You liked watching us together on those videos well enough."
"A man’s got to have hobbies," Marcus chuckled. He turned his attention back to the bed, his tone sharpening. "What’s the matter? You haven't actually caught feelings for this loser, have you?"
"Please," she scoffed. "If you hadn't botched the 'accident,' we wouldn't be standing here. If the car crash had just finished him, it would’ve been much cleaner."
"Who knew he’d be this stubborn? Most people would've had the decency to die on impact." Marcus stepped closer. Ethan felt the sudden, terrifying absence of the mask on his face. "But today, not even God is coming to save him."
The flow of oxygen ceased.
Ethan’s world began to gray at the edges. Suffocation was a slow, heavy weight pressing down on his chest. In the distance, he heard them laughing, talking about moving to another room because the "stench of death" was a mood-killer.
Then, the world screamed.
An alarm didn't go off in the room—it went off in the sky. Every defensive siren on Azure Prime wailed in unison. High above the atmosphere, a colossal, shimmering gateway tore through the fabric of reality, visible from every corner of the globe.
A voice, ancient and echoing with the weight of stars, reverberated directly into the minds of every living soul.
[Congratulations, Azure Prime. You have been selected for Myriad Realms Online.]
[The Mass Convergence will commence in thirty seconds.]
[Data packs have been integrated into your neural pathways. Prepare for descent.]
Chaos erupted. In the hallway, Ethan heard Marcus lose his mind.
"What? A game? Are you shtting me?!" Marcus roared. "Five years of planning, and the world ends now? I was supposed to be a billionaire!"
"Marcus, look at the info!" Willow’s voice was high with panic. "MRO... we’re being transported. Everyone starts from zero. No money, no status. It’s a total reset."
Ethan, clinging to his final spark of life, felt the information flooding his mind. A digital exodus. Physical bodies scanned and reconstructed. If you had a breath left in you, you were eligible.
"Wait," Willow gasped. "If he’s still breathing... Ethan is going in too, isn't he?"
Marcus snorted. "Look at him. The system scans your physical state to determine your starting attributes. Even if he survives the transition, he’ll be a cripple in the game. A waste of space. Let him come. I'll kill him again on the other side."
A pillar of golden light smashed through the ceiling, devouring the room.
Ethan opened his eyes and immediately choked on a lungful of air.
He wasn't in the villa. He was lying on the cold, shimmering floor of the Stellarion Sanctum—a cathedral of starlight and infinite silence.
[Body scan complete. Initializing player attributes...]
Ethan scrambled to his feet, his hands trembling. He was alive. Truly alive. The crushing weight of the paralysis was gone, replaced by a jittery, hollow energy.
"Willow. Marcus." He spat the names like venom. They thought he’d be a cripple? Fine. Let them think that.
[Attributes generated. Commencing Talent Awakening...]
In Myriad Realms Online, talents ranged from F-Tier junk to SSS-Tier godhood. For most, it was a lottery of birth. For Ethan, it was a lifeline.
[Awakening Complete. Congratulations, Player Whitenox.]
[You have awakened an S-Tier Exclusive Talent: Ascension.]
"S-Tier?" Ethan’s pulse hammered.
[Ascension (S-Tier Exclusive)]: Spend a portion of your Lifespan to permanently upgrade any skill by one rank. Max rank: S. (First three uses are free.)
An exclusive talent. Only one person in the world could hold it.
[Identity: The Descended. Please choose your Class.]
A dozen shimmering projections of Ethan appeared before him, each representing a path: Warrior, Mage, Rogue, Cleric. But as he reached out, the projections began to flicker and vanish one by one.
[Warning: Initial physical attributes do not meet requirements for selected classes.]
[Filtering viable options...]
Ethan’s face went pale as the choices evaporated until only one remained: a hooded figure wreathed in pale, green mist.
[Based on your physical state, your only viable Class is: Necromancer.]
[Class accepted.]
The projection merged into him. His hospital gown dissolved, replaced by tattered linen robes that smelled of damp earth and old bones. A gnarled staff of bleached wood appeared in his hand.
"Character Sheet," Ethan whispered, his voice rasping. "Show me the damage."
[Player: Whitenox]
[Level: 0]
[HP Regen: 2.4/sec]
[Stamina: 283/193]
[Class: Necromancer]
[Strength: 1]
[Constitution: 2]
[Agility: 2]
[Spirit: 9]
[Mana Regen: 2.0/sec]
[Health (HP): 1/1] (Fixed. Due to unknown trauma, HP cap can never be increased.)
[Mana (MP): 200/200]
[Resistance: Physical 6% / Magic 17%]
[Talent: Ascension (S-Tier)]
[Skills: Summon Bone Minion (Lvl 1), Soulfire Burn (Lvl 1)]
[Lifespan: Less than 1 year]
Ethan felt a cold sweat break out. One hit point.
Not one hundred. Not ten. One.
Because his physical body had been a wrecked shell at the moment of the scan, the system had hard-coded his fragility. He was the ultimate glass cannon—except the glass was already cracked. Anything, from a stray arrow to a stiff breeze, would end him permanently. And his lifespan... less than a year. The "Mass Convergence" had saved his soul, but his clock was still ticking.
He looked at his S-Tier talent. It was his only edge, his only hope for vengeance. The description said it could upgrade any skill.
"Does a Talent count as a skill?" he wondered aloud, his eyes burning with a desperate light.
He had three free uses. He was a dead man walking anyway. There was no point in playing it safe.
"System," Ethan growled, clutching his staff. "Use all three free charges. Ascend the 'Ascension' talent itself. Triple stack it. Do it now!"