The blade went in clean.
That was the first thing Kieran Voss noticed—not the pain, shock, or the sudden, intimate awareness of his own mortality.
Someone had put a knife between his ribs with the same careful precision a surgeon might use to remove a tumor.
The second thing he noticed was how quiet it was.
He had always imagined death would be louder. Not dramatic—he wasn't foolish enough to believe the universe kept a ledger of souls, noting which departures deserved fanfare and which deserved silence—but something. Maybe a sound, a scream or better, the thunderous rush of a life ending.
Instead, there was only the soft whisper of blood soaking into his shirt and the distant, indifferent hum of the city beyond the walls.
Well, he thought distantly. That'sdisappointing.
Kieran looked down.
The hilt protruded from his chest like a question mark.
Dark wood, worn smooth by use. It wasn't ornate with embellishments.
The blade itself was already buried deep, nestled somewhere between his ribs where the important things lived. Lungs. Heart. The fragile machinery that kept a person tethered to the world.
Whoever had done it had known exactly where to aim.
Deep enough to end things.
And clean enough not to make a mess.
It seemed very professional.
Or perhaps… personal.
Kieran considered the distinction for a moment, turning it over in his mind like a coin.
If it was professional, a stranger with a contract and a price tag had done it. It meant he was just another name on a list, another problem someone else had paid to solve.
But if it was personal—
his gaze shifted slightly, unfocused
—it meant something else entirely.
It could mean only one thing that somewhere in the dark, someone had wanted this badly enough to do it themselves.
Kieran let out a shallow breath. It rattled slightly on the way out, as though his lungs were already reconsidering their purpose.
"…Good technique," he muttered.
His voice sounded distant to his own ears. Thinner than it should have been. Then again, that was fitting.
He had spent most of his life observing things from a distance.
Footsteps echoed softly across the stone floor.
Kieran didn't bother lifting his head.
He didn't need to.
He already knew.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it held no warmth.
"So it's you," he said, more to himself than to them.
No reply came.
Naturally.
There was nothing left to say.
For a brief moment, he considered feeling angry.
Betrayed.
Or maybe enraged.
Something suitably human.
It would have been easier.
Instead, all he felt was a quiet, almost tired sort of understanding.
Of course it would end like this.
People like him didn't die as heroes.
They died as necessary sacrifices.
The word surfaced in his mind, uninvited but familiar.
Monster.
Kieran exhaled softly. It might have been a laugh, if there had been more breath to spare.
"Funny," he whispered.
A thin line of blood slipped past his lips, warm against the cold air.
"They needed one."
His fingers twitched weakly at his side.
Already, his body was beginning to drift away from him, piece by piece.
He had always known this would happen.
Not the exact moment, not the exact method—but the outcome.
It had been inevitable from the start.
After all, he had been the one to design it.
The strategies.
The sacrifices.
The outcomes no one else had the stomach to consider.
He had built their victories.
One decision at a time.
One life at a time.
And in the end—
Kieran's gaze shifted slightly, unfocused.
He had simply become one more.
"…You really made it clean," he murmured.
A pause.
"…like I wouldn't even be worth the trouble."
The footsteps faded.
Silence settled in their place.
That bothered him more than anything else.
No one bothered to confront, say any final words or attempt to justify what they had done.
Not even a lie to make it easier.
Kieran closed his eyes briefly.
"So that's it."
If there was regret, it was a quiet one.
Not about dying or being betrayed but about something far simpler.
"…I miscalculated."
The admission came easily.
It always had.
He had trusted the wrong variable.
Assigned too much weight to something as unreliable as human emotion.
A faint smile returned, sharper this time.
"Should've known better."
The darkness at the edges of his vision deepened steadily, like a curtain being drawn.
His thoughts slowed.
Fragments breaking apart before they could fully form.
Still—
One lingered.
If there was a next time—
Then something interrupted.
—ERROR—
Kieran's brow furrowed faintly.
Error?
That didn't belong here.
Death wasn't supposed to have technical difficulties. Death was supposed to be quiet.
—REWRITING SEQUENCE INITIATED—
"…What?"
The word came out barely above a whisper.
For a moment, everything paused.
Not the world or time.
It was as if the space between moments, the gap between one heartbeat and the next and the thin, fragile membrane that separated what was from what could be has become unstable.
Then—
Pain crashed into him violently. It wasn't the distant, fading ache from before.
Kieran gasped.
Air rushed into his lungs too fast and sharp, as though it had been denied for far too long.
His chest expanded painfully. His heart slammed against his ribs with sudden, disorienting force.
He was breathing.
That realization came first before anything else.
His eyes snapped open.
Bright light flooded his vision.
He flinched, raising a hand instinctively—
And froze.
The hand was steady, uninjured and most importantly whole.
Kieran stared at it.
For a long moment, he didn't move or think.
Then, slowly, his fingers curled.
He didn't feel any resistance or weakness anymore.
"…No."
The word came out quiet disbelievingly.
He turned his hand slowly, as though expecting it to betray him if he moved too quickly.
There weren't any scars, calluses or even signs of the life he remembered.
Impossible.
Kieran pushed himself upright.
The motion was smooth and infact too effortless.
The room came into focus around him.
It was small and plain. A desk, a chair and a narrow bed.The sight was familiar but from a memory far older, something buried beneath years of survival and bloodshed.
"…This place…"
Recognition settled slowly, like a weight dropping into place.
He knew this room.
Knew the way the light hit the wall in the morning.
Knew the faint crack running along the ceiling.
Knew the exact number of steps it took to reach the door.
Not because he had seen it recently.
But because he had once lived here.
Before everything.
Before the Abyss, the war and the...betrayals.
Kieran went still.
"…No."
The denial came softer this time.
Because deep down—
He already understood.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood.
His balance held and his body responded without hesitation fully alive.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
Each movement grounded him further in a reality he hadn't asked for—but could not ignore.
"…I died."
There was no doubt about that.
He remembered it too clearly.
"…So this is before."
The conclusion formed inevitably.
Before everything went wrong.
Kieran turned toward the window.
The curtains were drawn.
Thin fabric filtering what little light remained.
For a brief moment, he hesitated.
Then he reached out and pulled them aside.
The sky was gone. No, it wasn't clouded or pitch dark.
It was just gone.
In its place was something vast and empty.
Something that swallowed light instead of reflecting it.
Something that did not belong.
Kieran stared at it in silence.
"…Right."
Of course.
It was today.
The day the world changed.
A quiet breath left him in acceptance.
"…I really came back."
The words felt strange.
And yet—
Everything around him insisted they were true.
Kieran leaned slightly against the window frame, his gaze fixed on the void beyond.
"Out of all the possibilities…"
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"This is the one I get."
His eyes hardened and there wasn't any confusion from earlier anymore.
"…Then I won't make the same mistake twice."
The words were soft but absolute.
The air shifted.
Amd Kieran stilled.
Something was wrong.
No—
Something had been wrong for a while.
He had just been too distracted to notice.
A faint shimmer appeared in front of him.
Distorting the space like heat rising from stone.
Then it stabilized.
A translucent screen hovered in the air.
Kieran watched it without blinking.
"…You're new."
His voice was calm.
The screen flickered.
[Welcome, Regressor.]
Silence.
Kieran tilted his head slightly.
"…Regressor."
The word felt incomplete.
His gaze sharpened.
"…And you are?"
It didn't answer.
Instead—
[Initializing Abyss System…]
Kieran exhaled softly through his nose.
"A system."
Of course.
Why not?
He had already died once.
Returning with an extra complication hardly felt excessive at this point.
A faint trace of amusement surfaced.
"Do I also get instructions?"
The screen pulsed.
[Primary Directive: Grow through Fear.]
Kieran's smile stilled.
"…Fear."
[Collect Dread. Dominate. Evolve.]
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
A quiet chuckle left his mouth
"…How honest."
There were no pretense or illusion of righteousness.
Kieran's gaze drifted back to the broken sky.
"They didn't even try to disguise it."
And it was strangely refreshing.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[First Trial Issued.]
His attention snapped back to the screen.
[Objective: Break the mind of the one who will betray you.]
Kieran went still and something deep inside him tightened.
"…Already?"
The screen flickered
.
A name began to form slowly.
Kieran's gaze locked onto it.
And for the first time since waking—
His breath caught in recognition.
"…You."
The smile that followed was small, cold and sharp enough to cut.
[Target: Elias Thorn — Future Hero.]
Heavy silence stretched.
Kieran exhaled slowly.
"…I remember you."
He took a step forward.
"…I remember how you looked at me."
Then another.
"…right before you left."
His eyes darkened.
"…Let's see if you can do it again."
The screen pulsed.
[Trial begins in 00:59…]
Then the timer begin to tick .
59
58
57
Kieran didn't move or even blink. He just watched the countdown begin.
Then—
very slowly—
He smiled.
"…Run," he whispered softly.
"While you still think you can."