Deep in the volcanic mountains of Sakor, a figure made of fire stood motionless, gazing out at an endless cycle of flames, lava, and destruction. The roiling landscape seemed alive, yet eerily desolate, its fiery dance reflecting the chaos within the figure's mind.
"Aish!" the figure exclaimed, its fiery face twisting into an expression of frustration. "What made me act like a bloody hero?!"
The figure's name, once upon a time, had been Mark Hood—a name associated with wealth, influence, and control. As a high-ranking manager at Samshung Limited, Mark had been the kind of man who could bend the world to his will with a single phone call. Yet, none of that mattered now.
This wasn't the life he knew.
---
The Morning That Changed Everything
The day of Mark's death had begun like any other. He had been jogging around his pristine suburban neighborhood, the air crisp with the scent of freshly cut grass. Life felt good—predictable, safe, and utterly in his control.
Then, he saw it: smoke rising from the roof of a modest house at the end of the street.
Mark paused, sweat dripping from his brow. "A fire? Here?" He glanced around. The street was empty—no neighbors, no emergency sirens.
For a moment, he hesitated. Common sense whispered, Call 911 and wait. But a stronger, irrational urge surged through him: the desire to do something.
Before he knew it, he was sprinting toward the house. He tore off part of his sleeve, covered his nose, and kicked open the door.
The heat hit him like a physical force, but adrenaline kept him moving. He darted from room to room, shouting, "Is anyone here?!" Each echoing silence made his heart pound harder.
In the kitchen, the source of the fire became clear—a ruptured gas pipe, flames roaring hungrily around it.
"Damn it," he muttered, coughing into his makeshift mask.
Then the ceiling groaned.
Before he could react, a support beam gave way, crashing down on him. Pain exploded in his chest, and the world dissolved into searing heat and darkness. His last coherent thought was a bitter one:
I should have stayed outside.
---
An Unfamiliar World
Now, surrounded by molten rock and rivers of lava, Mark groaned. "How stupid can you get, rushing into a burning house without calling for help?" He rubbed his fiery face, which only seemed to burn brighter in response.
"What is this place?" he muttered, scanning the horizon. The landscape stretched endlessly, an inferno of glowing peaks and bubbling magma. Strange shapes flickered at the edges of his vision—was it movement or just tricks of the light?
Before he could investigate, a glowing blue screen appeared before him, floating silently in the air.
"WHAT THE—?!" Mark yelled, stumbling backward. He landed on the ground with a thud, staring wide-eyed at the glowing text.
The screen didn't move, didn't react. It just hovered, waiting.
Mark stood slowly, his fiery form crackling with each motion. Warily, he leaned closer to the screen.
---
NPC STATUS
Level 1 (0/1,000,000 XP)
Name: Varzamochorginechtigroranm
Race: Pure Fire Elemental (Young)
HP: 150,000
MP: 50,000
Strength: 780
Agility: 750
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 500
Wisdom: 500
Charisma: 348
Danger Level: ☠️☠️☠️☠️
Skills:
Flame Aura (Passive): Increases surrounding temperature to extreme heights, causing burn damage to afflicted targets (15 HP/second).
Flame Manipulation (Active): Allows control and manipulation of flames at will (MP cost varies).
---
Mark blinked. Then he blinked again, though it seemed pointless without eyelids.
"What the hell does this mean? NPC?!" he shouted. The words "Non-Player Character" echoed mockingly in his mind, a concept straight out of the video games he barely understood.
"I'm not some background character!" he roared. "I'm Mark Hood! I was—" He paused, a flicker of realization cutting through his indignation. "I was... someone important."
A painful silence settled over him. The weight of his new reality pressed down like the beam that had ended his life.
"Damn it," he whispered. His gaze dropped to his fiery body, now crackling faintly. Slowly, he looked down.
Where his "crown jewels" should have been, there was... nothing. Just smooth, flickering fire.
"Oh, come on!" he yelled, throwing his hands in the air. As if mocking him, a small flame flickered in that spot, then retreated.
Mark sank to the ground. "Not only am I dead, but I've lost my balls and my freedom. What's next? Players coming to kill me for XP?"
The thought lingered. His flames dimmed as despair washed over him. But then, somewhere in the back of his mind, a stubborn ember flared.
"No," he muttered. "No way."
He stood, flames roaring to life around him. "I may have lost my life, my job, and my jewels, but I'm not losing this second chance to some overpowered teenager with a sword!"
His gaze sharpened, focusing on the distant horizon. For the first time, he noticed something—movement. Shadows danced in the distance, too large and deliberate to be tricks of light.
A chill—or the fiery equivalent—ran through him. This world wasn't empty.
"Fine," he said, clenching his flaming fists. "If this is a game, then I'll play to win. Let's see who's really hunting who."
And with that, Mark Hood—now Varzamochorginechtigroranm—took his first step into a new, unpredictable life.