The world was dead, but it refused to lie still.
Beneath a sky choked with ash, the remnants of humanity crawled through the bones of their own creation. Cities, once titans of steel and stone, were now graves for the arrogant. Those who survived were not the strong, not the wise, but the desperate—clinging to life like moths to a dying flame.
Yet even in the ruins, power flourished. Not the power of kings, nor the dominion of men, but something otherworldly. A gift, or perhaps a curse—superhuman abilities, born from the ashes of destruction. The survivors called it salvation. But salvation had a price.
With power came madness.
The strong proclaimed themselves gods, wielding their newfound abilities like divine judgment. They stood atop crumbling towers, shouting to a broken world:
"I am the strongest. I am beyond the reach of death."
But the earth cared nothing for their delusions. The winds carried no songs of triumph, only the echoes of their folly.
The first to rise were the first to fall. They believed themselves chosen, wielding power without control, mistaking survival for victory. Yet strength without wisdom was a curse, not a gift. Power twisted their minds, feeding their arrogance until they became blind to the truth. They were not untouchable. They were not eternal. They were fools.
And the fools fell quickly.
The world whispered its lesson through the rubble, soft yet unrelenting:
"Survival is not a promise. It is not your right. You are not beyond destruction, no matter how high you climb."
For even in a world touched by powers beyond understanding, the laws of ruin remained unchanged. Those who let madness consume them were bound to fall, no matter their strength.
And so the tale began. The Echoes of Madness rose like a storm, tearing through the fragile masks of strength and glory. To live was not to triumph; it was to endure. To survive was not to wield power recklessly, but to master the storm within.
For in this world, only one truth remained:
The survivors who could control their madness were the only ones who could claim true strength.
Not the arrogant. Not the fearless. Only those who tamed their chaos and bent it to their will.
So survive. Not with pride, but with resolve. For survival itself was the blade, and only the worthy could wield it.
"So, guys, you are seen in a world on the brink of ruin: The last message from '000.'"
Everyone was glued to their phones. On the bus, in the train, at restaurants, in shopping malls—even an old couple in their dimly lit living room. The post spread like wildfire, igniting a storm of emotions across the world.
Some were angry, their frustration spilling out in venomous words:
"This guy is nothing but an attention seeker."
"Another lunatic trying to scare everyone."
"People like this are the first to go when things go south."
Others were skeptical, their doubt wrapped in unease:
"How could anyone know the world is ending?"
"Are you some kind of prophet, or just a fraud?"
"This feels like a joke, but it's giving me chills."
And then, there were the fearful, their desperation seeping through the screen:
"Please, tell us what to do!"
"Do we need to hide? Where can we go to be safe?"
"Should we join forces? Is that the only way to survive?"
But there was no answer.
Eyes remained fixed on their screens, hearts pounding with a fear they couldn't yet name. Then, without warning, the sky began to darken.
On the bus, passengers exchanged uneasy glances before turning toward the windows. In shopping malls, cashiers and customers alike stopped in their tracks, their gazes drawn upward. On the streets, people froze, clutching their phones as murmurs rippled through the crowd: "What if… what if what '000' said is true?"
And then the birds began to fall.
One by one, they tumbled from the sky, lifeless and hollow, their fragile bodies breaking on the ground. The sound of them hitting pavement was soft but relentless, like a whispered warning no one could ignore. Children screamed, running into their parents' arms, while adults stood frozen, their breath caught in their throats.
The air turned heavy, a suffocating cold that seemed to seep into the bones. A pale mist began to creep across the sky, blotting out the faint traces of light. Trees shriveled, their branches curling inward as if recoiling from the unseen force.
Through the mist, something began to take shape.
Black and red. Towering figures that seemed to pulse with malice, their outlines blurred and shifting. There were too many to count—hundreds, maybe more. They loomed in the distance like monsters from a nightmare, silent but suffocatingly real.
In a high school courtyard, students dropped their backpacks, staring up at the sky. One boy whispered, his voice trembling, "What… what's happening?"
In the middle of the crowd, a figure stood, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a large hat, his voice low but deliberate. He spoke as if the world was listening, though no one seemed to notice him.
"Finally," he said, his words carrying an air of inevitability. "The main story has started."
His voice was calm, yet there was a tremor of excitement, as though he knew something the rest of them didn't.The weight of his words hung in the air, the first hint of a new chapter beginning—a chapter they were all unknowingly part of.
Then the sky shattered.
A jagged rift tore through the heavens, a wound that bled darkness. The sound was deafening, a guttural roar that sent shivers down every spine.
From the portal, the mist turned black, spilling out like a living thing. The shapes within the mist moved now, shifting, growing, reaching out with intent.
And then the screams began.
The end wasn't near—it had arrived.
And there Rose was, sprawled out like a log in her dark, cramped room.The air was heavy, the silence thick—until it wasn't.
Suddenly, screams pierced through the walls, sharp and relentless. Rose groaned, grabbing her thin, lumpy pillow and shoving it over her ears. "Stop it," she muttered groggily. "Let me sleep just a little longer…"
But then, a searing light cut through the darkness, invading her eyelids. Blinking, she lowered the pillow just enough to see the source. A glowing status screen floated in front of her, its bright letters casting eerie shadows across the cramped room.
"Accept your ability."
The words echoed in her mind, cold and commanding. Heart pounding, Rose sat up and stared at the screen. Her fingers trembled as she reached out, tapping on the pulsating "Accept" button.
The moment she did, a sharp, unbearable pain tore through her chest. She gasped, clutching at her heart, her breath coming in ragged bursts. Her vision blurred as the light intensified, and then, like a searing brand, a glowing symbol appeared on the back of her hand.
It was small but intricate—a perfect hourglass, its edges glowing faintly with a silvery-blue light. Inside the hourglass, crimson sand began to flow slowly, yet some grains hovered mid-air, as if frozen in time. Around the hourglass, delicate runes shimmered faintly, inscribed in a circular pattern that seemed to move with her every breath.
The symbol flared brightly at first, the glow overwhelming, but then, as if it had found its place in the very fabric of her being, the light began to fade. The glow softened, leaving only a faint, constant pulse beneath her skin—a mark of something ancient, powerful, and far beyond her comprehension.
The top of the hourglass was cracked, a thin fissure running through it, and tiny fragments of glass floated around the symbol like drifting ash. Despite the cracks, the sand continued to flow, its glow still lingering, but now steady, like a heartbeat—alive, yet bound to the moment.
Rose stared at it, her hand trembling. The symbol was beautiful and haunting, its presence both alien and intimate. It wasn't just etched into her hand—it felt embedded deep within her soul.
And Rose could feel the power surge in her heart, a deep, pulsing energy that seemed to vibrate through her entire being. It was as though her very essence was intertwined with this newfound strength, heavy yet exhilarating.
Then the status screen said, "Congratulations, you have been chosen as a System Warrior, and your ability is—"