The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering with a kind of weary disinterest. Mason Reid sat hunched over a keyboard at his cramped cubicle, the monitor casting a dull glow across his tired face. Behind him, the familiar office drone of clacking keys and sighs filled the stale air. His blazer hung over the back of his chair like a discarded shell, and the only sign of life in his space was a lukewarm cup of instant coffee.
It was nearing midnight, yet the office remained occupied. Deadlines, always deadlines. For Mason, life had blurred into a cycle of code, copy-paste fixes, and invisible recognition. At nineteen, barely a year out of college, he'd traded in dreams for a paycheck, and even that came late.
His phone buzzed. A single message.
"Rent due by the 5th. No more extensions." He stared at it, unmoving. The screen dimmed, then went black.
No surprise there. Why would it be any different this month?
He rubbed his face, fingers tracing the growing hollowness under his eyes. A sigh escaped him: not one of exhaustion, but quiet resignation. The kind of breath one lets out when the soul has simply stopped protesting.
Outside the window, rain splattered against the glass. Each drop slid down like it was trying to escape the world, and Mason envied them for it.
The walk home was long and soaked in silence. Streetlights flickered across puddles, their reflections rippling with every passing car. Mason kept his hood up, but the wind had a way of finding skin anyway. The world was quiet: too quiet.
As he stepped into the crosswalk, a single horn blared. Tires screeched.
Time slowed.
He turned. Headlights consumed his vision. There was no chance to dodge, no last-minute miracle. Just a wall of steel and glass surging forward.
Then, nothing.
Not the nothing of sleep, nor unconsciousness. This was true absence—a void, cold and indifferent.
And then came the voice.
"Mason Reid. Age: 19. Status: Expired."
The voice echoed from nowhere, devoid of pitch or origin. It was not human. It was not trying to be.
"Cause of Death: Vehicular Impact. Time of Expiration: 12:03 AM."
"Soul Classification: Incomplete Potential. Reassignment Protocol Activated."
Mason couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his mind burned with questions.
Am I dead? Is this… purgatory? Hell?
"Neither. You are being reassigned. Consider it an anomaly clause. You were not meant to expire. Not here."
A flicker of light surged across the black. A small screen hovered in the void like a terminal.
***
[Reassignment Parameters Initializing...]
World: Erithis
Starting Rank: F-Tier
Class Affinity: Unranked (Hidden Potential Locked)
System Compatibility: High
Title: None Assigned
Attributes: Scanning...
Skill: [Adaptive Growth] – Acquired.
***
The screen glitched for a moment, flickering like old circuitry, then stabilized. Words shifted and pulsed with strange force, embedding themselves not only into sight but into thought.
"You are to be transferred to Erithis: a fractured realm bound by power tiers, Class inheritances, and relic dominions. Your soul has been aligned to the world's System. You will begin with no Class, no strength, and no favor."
A pause.
"You are to earn them."
For a moment, silence returned.
Then came the message, plain but absolute: [Do You Accept Transfer?] [Y / N]
Even without a body, Mason knew his answer. There was no hesitation.
Yes.
Light surged.
The void cracked.
His thoughts scattered and reformed as if stitched by an invisible hand. Pain erupted—brief but sharp—as sensation returned: fingers, skin, cold air, the smell of damp grass, the weight of gravity pressing against his frame. A heartbeat.
He opened his eyes.
He laid on his back beneath a sky unlike Earth's—tinted with lavender hues, its stars twinkling in unfamiliar constellations. Trees loomed above with bark like obsidian, and distant howls threaded through the air like ghostly warnings. A notification chimed in his mind like a thought given voice.
***
[Welcome to Erithis, Unranked.]
[System Integration: Complete.]
[New Skill Unlocked – Adaptive Growth (Passive): Your body and abilities evolve in direct response to challenges faced. The greater the risk, the faster the progression.]
***
Mason sat up, gasping as if he'd been pulled from water.
His hand instinctively went to his chest. The sensation of pain lingered, but it was fading, replaced by a growing warmth—like embers stoked within. Strength coursed faintly through his limbs, unfamiliar but present.
The words "Adaptive Growth" echoed in his head.
I can get stronger just by surviving... fighting... learning. Even if I start from nothing. His fingers curled into fists, knuckles pale. Then I will. No more scraping by. No more half-living. If I've been given another chance, then I'll climb. F-tier or not… I'll rise.
The wind shifted, and the leaves rustled like whispers. Somewhere in the forest, something stirred. And Mason Reid, reborn and marked by the System, stood on trembling legs at the base of a world built on dominance.
The ground beneath Mason's boots felt too real: too damp, too cold, too alive. Each step released a muffled crunch as moss gave way to compacted soil. Forest stretched around him in every direction, trees towering like cathedral pillars, casting shifting shadows in the lavender twilight above. There were no signs, no roads, no people.
No tutorial.
Mason looked down at his hands. They were rougher now, calloused. His body had changed. Slightly leaner, stronger even at rest. System-bound reconstruction. It's like... I was rebuilt. He exhaled, breath fogging in the cool air. I need to move. Figure out where the hell I am.
A chime echoed inside his head. Not a sound—a pulse of thought.
***
[System Directive: Survive the First Night. Reward: Class Path Visibility. Penalty: Soul Degeneration.]
***
"Great," Mason muttered. "They throw me into a forest with nothing but a threat and a warning."
He scanned the undergrowth for anything usable. Sticks, stones, thick vines. His hands moved methodically, driven by something deeper than instinct. Maybe it was the Adaptive Growth already nudging his survival sense. Or maybe this new body simply remembered how not to die.
He fashioned a makeshift spear: a branch sharpened with a jagged rock, tied off with strips of bark. Primitive, but it was something.
He followed a faint animal trail, hoping it might lead to water or shelter. As twilight deepened into a violet dusk, sounds emerged from the forest. Low growls. Insectile clicks. The wind carried more than chill—it carried movement. The forest was waking.
He reached a clearing just as the first creature stepped into view.
It was canine in posture but wrong in shape. Bone jutted from its back in crude spikes, and its eyes glowed a sickly green. Its breathing was erratic, like something too long without rest.
***
[Name: Carrion Wolf | Rank: F | Threat Level: Moderate]
***
He gripped his makeshift spear tighter.
So this is it. First fight. If I back off, I might live. But the System rewards challenge. If I kill it, maybe I'll unlock something.
The wolf lunged.
Mason rolled, the spear grazing along the beast's flank as he ducked low. Pain blossomed in his side where a claw raked him. His body burned, then shivered—but not with fear.
With change.
***
[Skill Adaptation Triggered: Reflex +1] [Skill Adaptation Triggered: Pain Tolerance +1]
***
His eyes widened. It really works... He shifted, adjusting his stance. He jabbed the spear again, this time catching the wolf under the chin. It howled, biting down, splintering the weapon.
Blood hit the ground. His and the beast's.
He dove forward, grabbing a sharp stone and driving it into the wolf's throat.
The creature spasmed. Then lay still.
***
[Kill Confirmed. Adaptive Growth Triggered. +2 Strength, +1 Endurance. New Trait Unlocked: Improvised Combat I.]
***
Mason slumped to his knees, panting. His side throbbed. His vision dimmed briefly.
Then, clarity.
One fight. One kill. And I'm already stronger. This is insane... He sat there, letting the glow of System messages fade as the moon climbed above the trees. The sky was alien. The stars moved. Nothing was familiar.
But for the first time in years, he felt something close to real.
Purpose.
The forest whispered around him again, but Mason didn't move. Not yet. He had survived the first encounter.
He would survive the night.
Because he had to. Because this world, unlike his last, had rules.
And he intended to break every one of them on the way up.
The wolf's corpse still twitched.
Mason stood over it, breath ragged, a crude branch gripped tight in his scraped-up hand. The blood on his knuckles wasn't his; or at least not entirely. Steam rose from the beast's torn throat, the final twitch of its nerves slowing into stillness. He stared at the body longer than he needed to. It wasn't caution. It was disbelief.
"I killed it..." His voice cracked.
Just minutes ago, he'd stumbled upon it—massive, mangy, and bearing eyes too intelligent to be called wild. It hadn't hesitated to lunge. No snarls. No theatrics. Just hunger and speed.
He hadn't run. He couldn't. Something in his body had locked up, not with fear, but focus. The System had clicked again in his mind like a turning cog.
***
[Warning: Threat Detected – Class D Beast: Ravager Wolf]
[System Advice: Evasion Recommended]
[Override Detected – Instinct Triggered: Fight Response
[Adaptive Growth: Skill Threshold Breached – Primitive Weapon Proficiency Acquired (Lv. 1)]
***
The club in his hand hadn't existed before that moment. He had pulled a branch loose without thinking. The skill upload had felt like a spike driven into the base of his brain: a white-hot jolt of knowledge, instinct, and raw feedback. Not technique, just function. Enough to swing. Enough to survive.
He looked down at the cracked branch. It had splintered where it struck the beast's jaw. Two clean hits: one to stagger, the other to finish. Fast. Brutal.
***
[Combat Complete – You have slain: Ravager Wolf (Class D)]
[System Feedback Processing...]
[Level Up: 1 → 3]
[HP: +20 / STR: +2 / AGI: +2 / END: +1]
[Skill Gained – Adrenal Surge (Passive): Slight boost to physical stats during combat.]
***
Mason felt the surge again. The heat beneath his skin. It wasn't joy. It was fuel. His body itched, bones humming with something he didn't yet understand.
This… this is what growth feels like here? Just one kill, and it's like I leveled years' worth of gym training...
The realization frightened him more than the wolf had. There was no real sense of balance. This world rewarded violence with progress. It wasn't about surviving the fight. It was about becoming the fight.
He took a shaky breath and stepped back from the corpse. Already, the body was beginning to dissolve, threads of smoke rising like it was being unwoven from reality.
***
[Essence Absorbed: 12 Units – Stored in System Core]
***
There were no explanations. No tutorials. The System offered him data without context. But the rhythm was becoming clear: kill, absorb, evolve.
A rustle from behind sent his nerves into a spike. He pivoted, weapon raised, stance wide.
But it was no new threat. Just trees sighing in the wind. Still, his pulse didn't slow. It wouldn't—not for a while.
"I can't stay here."
The forest had felt silent before. Now it pulsed with potential predators. He wasn't built for this—wasn't raised in wilderness or combat. But he had something else now. A thread of instinct, thin but growing stronger.
He looked at his hands again. They shook—not from fear, but adrenaline. From the feedback loop of experience crystallizing in his limbs.
If this is the low tier… if a D-class creature was already this bad…
He didn't finish the thought. He just started walking.
After half an hour, he found shelter. A narrow cleft in the cliff wall, almost too tight to see from the outside, but just wide enough to slip into. Moss lined the interior, and the scent of iron clung to the stone.
It wasn't safety, but it was defensible. That was enough.
He slid down against the rock wall, exhaling for the first time in what felt like hours. His stamina bar had faded from vision, no need to see what was already at zero.
The dark pressed in around him. His fingers twitched with ghost-pain from the fight. That wasn't going to heal on its own.
"Status," he whispered, half-expecting silence.
But the System obliged.
***
[Name: Mason Reid][Class: None][Tier: F][Level: 3][Attributes]• STR: 4• AGI: 5• END: 4• INT: 6• PER: 4• LCK: 1
[Skills]• Adaptive Growth (Passive)• Primitive Weapon Proficiency (Lv. 1)• Adrenal Surge (Passive)
[Essence: 12 Units]
***
It wasn't much. But it was his. And every inch of it had been earned with blood.
"Essence..." He said the word slowly, rolling it in his mouth like a coin between fingers. "System Core?"
No response. But a small icon blinked at the edge of his vision: a symbol resembling a tree root threading into a circuit.
He focused on it.
***
[System Core – Growth Path Initialization]Essence stored in Core can be used to unlock the following branches:
Path of the Blade – Melee weapon affinity and combat awareness.
Path of the Mind – Strategy, spell theory, sensory manipulation.
Path of the Body – Endurance, regeneration, and physical resilience.
Path of the Rogue – Speed, stealth, critical strikes.
Path of the Wild – Taming, instincts, survival traits.
[12 Essence Available]
***
The choice was his. He could only afford one path for now. He sat for a long time, reading and rereading the options. No flashy lights. No promises of overpowered rewards. Just five foundations. Five futures.
"Path of the Body," he said aloud.
Strength was fine. Speed was better. But none of it mattered if a single wound killed him. He'd learned that much today.
Essence burned like cinders across his bones, and the System chimed once more.
***
[Path of the Body – Initiated]
[Core Trait Acquired: Minor Regeneration (Passive)]
[Future Unlocks: Muscle Memory, Damage Mitigation, Vital Surge]
***
A warmth settled in his chest—not fire this time, but heat like a slow-building forge. Durable. Real.
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
I need sleep. Just a few hours. I'll wake up stronger. And tomorrow...
He didn't finish the thought. Sleep claimed him faster than he expected. And in the darkness of the cliffside cleft, the System watched in silence—always calculating, always preparing the next step.