[info]
[NAME : ASHA HELLBOUND]
[SKILLS : NONE]
[ABILITIES : LOCKED] {binding vowel}{invisibility} {Hell fire} {Dominance}
[TRAITS : LOCKED] {blessing of Cronos} {immortal} {Hell bound}
Asha's stoic expression remained undisturbed, as if he had anticipated this outcome all along. Unlike the conventional systems portrayed in fiction, Asha's system was different, as he analyzed the system's information. The lack of stats, points, or items was an unconventional approach, but it did not faze him. With unwavering conviction, he turned his attention to the single word that stood out on the screen: "[HELLBOUND]".
The word "HELLBOUND" was not just a title, but a reflection of Asha's unique resistance to death. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Asha's body could heal and rejuvenate itself from even the most mortal of wounds after death , granting him virtual immortality. But this gift came at a cost. Each time he succumbed to death, the gates of the underworld beckoned, and he was forced to pay the price for his resilience in the form of a day spent among the dead. This debt could accumulate, yet must be repaid within a strict 30-day time limit, or face dire consequences.
As Asha perched himself on the solitary bed, a smile played across his features as he ruminated on the mysteries that now encompassed his existence. The memories of his new body, infused with the essence of Asha Hellbound, were not unfamiliar to him. Rather, they felt like fragments of his own past, seamlessly woven into the tapestry of his life. For Ethan, the boundary between his old self and this new incarnation had blurred, leaving him to question the very nature of identity in the wake of transmigration.
As Asha's thoughts churned, a doubt began to creep into his mind. Was he truly Ethan, reincarnated as Asha Hellbound, or was he in fact, the character himself? The first scenario seemed more plausible, yet the second option, however unsettling, could not be dismissed. The idea of being a mere puppet, created for the fleeting amusement of others, gnawed at the edges of Asha's awareness. He pondered the implications of such a reality, and a knot formed in his stomach.
Asha, dismissing his existential quandary, turned his attention to the cramped confines of his room. With a sly grin and eyes blazing with irritation, he spat out, "This motherfucker, he's rich as hell, and this is the best he can do? A fucking closet for a room?" He was, by all measures, dissatisfied with the cramped quarters he now found himself in. To think that, even with such wealth at his disposal, he had been relegated to such a diminutive space.