Black.
Not the soft black of night, or the warm black behind closed eyes.
This was deep. Cold. Unmoving.
Like falling through the color of nothing.
Was I dead?
Of course I was dead. I had just tripped on a bag of dumplings and faceplanted into the afterlife. Not even dramatic dumplings. Discount ones. I think they were pork. Or chicken. I never even checked.
What a way to go.
Seriously?
Seriously?
Twenty-four years old. Two college dropouts under my belt. A decent brain, a crap attention span, and a dream I told no one about because it sounded stupid when said out loud: "I want to be the best FPS player in the world."
Well, I was. For exactly eleven minutes and forty-seven seconds. And then I died like an idiot in my socks.
I wanted to laugh. Except there wasn't a mouth. No body. Just thoughts pinging off each other in the black like loose bullets.
No more morning coffees from that one broken café machine that made everything taste like cardboard.
No more all-nighters in front of glowing screens, living in three dimensions of pixels. No more gamer rage. No more aim training.
No more listening to the sound of my heartbeat slow when I pulled off the perfect headshot.
And I didn't even get to tell anyone. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not my one friend from college—Lina—the only person who ever actually looked me in the eye and said, "You're good enough. Just go for it."
She always said I'd win something big one day. That I'd prove the world wrong.
I wonder if she's online right now.
I wonder if she saw me win.
God. Lina. I didn't even say goodbye.
Did she know I was ReaperZero? Probably not. No one did. That was the whole point. Fame without the face.
Glory without the price tag. I thought I'd come clean after I won. Maybe call her. Send her that dumb selfie I never posted. Say, "Hey, look, I made it."
I thought my parents would be proud. I thought they'd see the numbers and forgive the choices.
Ten million dollars. Ten. Million. And I didn't get to touch a cent.
Never kissed anyone. Never dated. Still a damn virgin. Not even a romantic "final moments" flashback. Just frozen meat and a skull-shattering edge.
All that time building a life no one could see… and now I was invisible in the most permanent way.
Damn.
This sucks.
...
A sliver of light pierced the void.
It was subtle at first. Not blinding, but... warm. Soft. Like the sun filtered through silk curtains. It stretched, peeled the darkness back, and poured into every corner of the nothing I was trapped in.
Then the light swallowed me whole.
---
I blinked.
The first thing I noticed was green. Not the dull kind from city parks or potted plants. This was green. Emerald. Iridescent. Alive.
I was lying on the softest patch of moss I'd ever felt—thick, springy, and humming with something weird I could somehow feel in my skin.
Giant trees soared above me, their trunks wrapped in vines that shimmered like fiberoptic threads, pulsing gently with violet light.
The canopy was high and dense, but sunlight filtered through in perfect gold beams that looked too aesthetic to be natural.
Birds flew overhead—no, not birds. Feathered things with gem-colored wings and faint glows trailing behind them.
Like fireflies in bird form. I heard a waterfall somewhere close, and when I sat up, a breeze rustled my hair and filled my nose with the scent of pine, lavender, and something faintly spicy.
This place was… unreal.
And I was still dressed like I had just rolled out of bed after a game binge. Same gray tank top. Same torn black pants. Fingerless gloves. Dirt-smeared boots.
My dog tag was still around my neck.
ReaperZero.
"What the hell…" I muttered, touching it.
Then a voice echoed from the trees.
"Greetings, mortal!"
I jumped so hard I almost fell backward into the moss.
"…Just kidding. Uh… so… bad news. You weren't supposed to die."
I stared at the empty air. "Excuse me?"
"We killed the wrong person."
Silence.
The breeze stopped.
Even the glowy birds seemed to pause.
"…What?"
"Yeah. So, real talk? There was this other human in your city who was supposed to get hit with a freak accident—arcane soul transfer and whatnot, the usual isekai package—but due to a clerical error and some dumplings, you got…uh, reaped. Accidentally."
"Oh my god," I whispered. "I'm the wrong isekai."
"Bingo. But don't panic! We're fixing it. Sort of. Mostly. Ish."
The voice had no gender, but it sounded tired. Like a corporate intern who had hit their third coffee and fifth existential crisis.
"So here's the deal. You're in Elyndra now. Fantasy world, big monsters, cool forests, deadly politics, the usual. We figured since it's our fault you're here, we might as well compensate you. You're gonna love this."
"I just died. I haven't even processed that I died. Or the fact that I—"
"Yeah yeah, trauma, shock, etcetera. Super valid. But also, stats."
"…Stats?"
"We imported your game profile."
A soft chime echoed in my head. My vision flickered, and suddenly a transparent interface appeared in front of me—just like in a video game.
Eirian Vale
Class: Glitched Mercenary
Level: 1
HP: 100
Stamina: 180
Aim: MAX
Reflex: MAX
Critical Thinking: High
Charisma: …meh
Luck: 3
"Wait. 'Glitched Mercenary'?"
"Yup! It's the closest thing we could code on short notice. You've got all the stats from your final match: reflexes, accuracy, spatial awareness, pain resistance. All upgraded to real-world equivalents. Pretty sweet, right?"
I flexed a hand. My body did feel different—lighter, sharper. Like everything was calibrated.
A breeze whispered through the trees, and I could feel the direction it came from, the way it tickled my skin. I could hear insects three trees over. My eyes focused like sniper scopes on a hummingbird twenty feet away.
Okay. That part was badass.
"And you even got a weapon."
A small digital window popped open in front of me.
Item Acquired: Rusted Sidearm
Condition: Shabby
Damage: Low
Fire Rate: Inconsistent
Additional Note: Sometimes honks when fired.
"…Huh?"
I turned and spotted the gun lying next to me on the moss. It was sad. That's the only word for it.
A stubby, rust-covered pistol that looked like it hadn't fired since before plumbing was invented. I picked it up with two fingers like it might infect me with disappointment.
"This is what I get after winning a world championship?"
"It's got potential! Kinda. It can evolve. Probably. With enough kills. Maybe."
"Are you seriously telling me I died—tripped on dumplings—and woke up in a magical death forest with a gun that honks?"
"Okay, technically it honks only when it overheats. Or jams. Or is confused."
I stared flatly into the forest. "Confused?"
"Anyway!"
The voice was clearly trying to move on.
"So! World 101: This is Elyndra. It's a mix of high fantasy and modern magic-tech. There are cities powered by mana grids, floating trains, enchanted vending machines, and monsters that eat people if they look at them wrong. Most folks here level up through quests, combat, and training. You've got a head start with your stats, but you're still at Level 1. So, uh, try not to get stepped on."
"…Stepped on?"
"Oh yeah. Did we mention dragons?"
Before I could answer, the moss beneath me shuddered. Birds screeched overhead. The forest darkened—not from a cloud, but from something massive passing overhead. A gust of wind slammed through the trees, flattening grass and branches alike.
I looked up.
A colossal shadow moved above the canopy, wings like obsidian sails blotting out the sun. Crimson scales shimmered between the gaps in the leaves. Clawed feet scraped against treetops. The air grew hot and dry, the scent of ash and ozone filling my lungs.
A dragon.
An actual, horrifying, world-ending dragon.
"Anyway, enjoy your new stats. Try not to die again. Bye."
The voice vanished.
I stared up at the sky as the dragon's glowing yellow eye passed over me like a god's judgment.
"…I hate dumplings."