Arthur Gray didn't open his eyes because the light summoned him—but because the explosion inside his skull refused to fade.
The echo of that blast reverberated through his skull like a cursed cathedral bell ringing in absolute void. Each toll was a blade driven into his temples, a piercing reminder of the betrayal that had been the last thing he tasted in his previous life. For a moment, he thought this was hell: no fire, no demons—only eternal pain without a body, and a sound echoing without a source.
He inhaled sharply; his chest trembled.
The air was "wrong." It carried neither the scent of gunpowder he knew so well, nor the stench of death he'd expected. Instead, it was frighteningly pure—saturated with metallic chill and the sharp tang of ozone, as if the world itself had been distilled in a laboratory, stripped of every trace of humanity.
Arthur pushed himself upright. His muscles screamed as though petrified wood were splintering apart, and his palms scraped against damp, sticky concrete. The stench of mold from wet cardboard and lingering urine in the alleyway was the only proof he still possessed senses.
He lay wedged in a narrow crevice between colossal skyscrapers—towers black as ebony, driving their nails deep into the heavens. Above him, tattered fabric scraps formed a pathetic ceiling—not shelter, but a coffin stitched together from civilization's refuse.
Staggering to his feet, hunger gnawed at his insides like a rabid beast. He was a candle burning at both ends—a hollow shell on the verge of collapse.
Then… the echo ceased.
Suddenly, the alley wasn't silent anymore. The city began to speak.
Arthur stepped out of the alley's darkness—and the light struck him like a slap.
Before his eyes sprawled a metropolis no human mind could weave even in dreams. Towers unlike any other—obelisks of crystal and steel—pulsed with bioluminescent veins. Some twisted like strands of DNA; others floated midair, defying gravity, rotating slowly like silent deities.
Above, levitating trains sliced through the horizon, trailing threads of gold and sapphire. No engine roared—only seamless silence, smooth as silk.
And the people… they weren't human in any sense he recognized.
He saw mechanical wings folding behind backs like origami art, and real feathered wings fluttering with impossible grace. Children leapt from rooftops, their shoes flashing blue upon landing, absorbing impact before dissolving into laughter drifting through the air.
It was night—but the city shone brighter than high noon.
Holographic koi fish swam through the air, transforming into luminous butterflies at the slightest touch. In the streets, he saw a diplomat with fox ears speaking courteously to a stone giant whose skin bore etched electronic circuits.
No wars. No shouting. No tension.
As if the language of destruction Arthur had mastered his entire life had been erased from this world's dictionary.
"This place…" he whispered, voice cracked like dry earth. "I know it."
Déjà vu coiled around his neck like a hangman's noose. Before he could process the horror of the scene, a voice exploded inside his mind—not from the air, but erupting from within: cheerful, taunting, and unnervingly alive.
[Whoaaa! Rise and shine, sleepyhead! Looks like your tiny brain finally figured out where we are.]
Arthur stiffened. His pupils narrowed, his spine snapped straight into an instinctive combat stance. Despite his exhaustion, his face hardened into an icy mask. "Who are you?" he asked, voice dripping venom.
[I'm your dear mother, sweetheart! Didn't you miss me?]
Arthur fell silent for a heartbeat—then his lips curled into a cold half-smile.
"That's impossible," he said flatly, sharp as a blade. "I never had a mother. So it doesn't matter who you claim to be."
An abrupt silence filled his mind—as if the other side hadn't anticipated this reply.
[Oh… that's awkward. I didn't know… sorry.]
Arthur's gaze remained unsoftened. "Apologize later. Answer now: who are you?"
The voice inside his head sighed dramatically, then cleared its throat as if it truly had vocal cords.
[Fine, no more jokes this time. Allow me to introduce myself properly.]
At that moment, the city's lights dimmed slightly, and the wind's howl quieted—as if the entire world leaned in to listen.
[I am the Abyss System—your personal assistant, your guide, and your only lifeline in this world.]
"The Abyss?"
The moment he uttered the word, memory detonated.
Not mere recollections—but a flood of data: maps, kingdom emblems, character trees, tragic endings. Faces of heroes wielding swords of light, villains cloaked in ash.
Arthur staggered, leaning against a rusted pipe. "This… this is the game world."
He laughed—a dry, broken sound utterly devoid of joy.
He knew this world intimately. He'd spent thousands of hours dissecting its codes, memorizing its secrets, predicting its betrayals before they happened. Yet in all those hours, he was never "the Chosen Hero" or "the Fallen Emperor."
He'd been a nobody.
In the game files, he was just discarded code: "Extra Character #7, Sector G – Undefined."
A silent extra in the crowd. A face without a name, without a quest, without fate.
The System chimed in cheerfully:
[You've finally got it! Good job! Took you longer than I expected.]
Arthur's eyes regained their edge. "If you don't shut up for one single minute, I'll consider you my first enemy in this world."
The System burst into childish laughter:
[Ooh! I love that look! Sharp… very refreshing!]
Arthur ignored it. His gaze returned to the shimmering city.
He'd died betrayed—murdered by those he trusted, perhaps buried in an unmarked grave beneath skies that never cared he existed.
And now? He'd awakened in the body of a ghost—a boy erased before he was ever written.
But here—in this world of wings and miracles—no one knew his worth. No prophecy bound him. No script dictated his end.
For the first time in any life he'd lived, he was free. And knowledge was his weapon—loaded, primed, and ready to fire.
Arthur closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a quiet, scorching flame burned within.
"Begin," he commanded firmly. "I want to know everything."
The System swelled with pride:
[That's the spirit! Alright then, let's get to work, Mr. Arthur Gray.]
It paused for a beat—then whispered with mock solemnity:
[Welcome to the Abyss.]
Beneath neon skies of a city defying reality, the forgotten extra took his first step—not as a pawn on a chessboard, but as a storm waiting to break loose.