The last thing Harry remembered was the voice.
[The final chapter of humanity begins now.]
[Welcome to The End.]
Before he could register the words, everything went black.
For a moment—or perhaps an eternity—there was nothing. No sound, no sensation, no thought. Just an overwhelming void stretching endlessly, pressing against the fragile edges of his consciousness.
And then, the void cracked open.
A sharp gasp tore from Harry's throat as his senses came rushing back.
His lungs burned. His head throbbed. Every inch of his body ached as if he had been thrown against a brick wall. He coughed, sucking in air that felt thick and unfamiliar. His mind reeled as he blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Where was he?
What just happened?
Pushing himself up with shaky arms, Harry forced himself to take a look around.
And what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.
"W-Woah..."
He was in a forest, but not like any forest he'd ever seen.
The trees were monstrous, their twisted, gnarled trunks reaching toward a blood-red sky. The ground beneath him was fractured, jagged cracks running along the earth, glowing faintly with an ominous orange light, as though magma pulsed just beneath the surface.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and decay, and the distant wind carried an unsettling sound—a hollow, eerie wail that sent shivers racing down his spine.
"What the hell…?" Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Is this a… dream?"
To make sure, he pinched his arm.
"Ow—!"
Nope.
Definitely not a dream.
And then, he noticed something even more alarming. Or relieving?
He wasn't alone.
Around him, sprawled across the cracked earth and twisted roots, were people. Some groaned as they stirred, their faces pale and confused. Others were frozen in terror, their eyes darting around wildly.
Some were classmates—Harry recognized a few from school—but there were also strangers. People he had never seen before.
"What is this place?" someone whimpered.
"Are we… dead?" another voice trembled.
Before Harry could say anything, the air shimmered, and the voice returned.
Cold. Emotionless. Unyielding.
And like before, it came from everywhere—as if the trees themselves were speaking.
[Welcome to The End.]
[You have been chosen to participate in humanity's final trial.]
[Your world has been deemed unworthy, and its survival now rests on your shoulders.]
Harry's heart pounded.
This was it. The kind of thing he had fantasized about—being thrown into an apocalyptic, high-stakes survival scenario.
Except… it wasn't a game.
[The End is not just destruction. It is a purge, a reckoning. A test of resilience, ingenuity, and cooperation.]
[The End is the great equalizer, a thread woven into the tapestry of creation. It is neither cruel nor kind—merely inevitable.]
[The End is not an event of judgment, nor is it destruction alone. It is a cycle—a turning point in the fabric of existence. Worlds rise, worlds fall. Yours is neither the first nor the last to face it.]
[The End is a passage, a crucible through which all things must pass. It is not unique to you. It is a truth as old as creation itself—unyielding and impartial.]
[Many will fail. Few will rise. And those who succeed… will shape the new beginning.]
Silence followed.
Harry's breath came fast and uneven. Around him, people exchanged frantic whispers, their fear palpable.
And then, the voice spoke once more.
[Stage 0: "Introduction to The End" will now commence.]
[Objective 1: Survive for 12 hours.]
[Note: You will be provided with basic resources and a basic weapon. Use them wisely.]
[The clock starts now.]
A sudden weight pressed into Harry's hands. He looked down.
A small leather pouch… and a sword?
No—not quite.
It was shorter than a regular sword, with a plain hilt and a dull blade. Nothing special. Nothing magical.
"Seriously?" Harry muttered, holding it up to the dim light. "No flaming greatsword? No enchanted bow? Just… this?"
He gave it an experimental swing. Nearly lost his balance.
"Great. I'm gonna die holding a glorified butter knife."
The pouch jingled, drawing his attention.
He opened it to find:
- A small loaf of bread - A flask of water- A basic first-aid kit
"Oh wow, the deluxe survival package," he muttered dryly.
"Harry? Is that you?" A voice called out.
Harry turned. A slightly chubby boy stumbled toward him, clutching a crude spear.
It was Tim. One of his classmates.
"Yeah, it's me." Harry grinned. "Welcome to the apocalypse. How's your first day on the job?"
Tim didn't laugh. "W-What… do we do?"
Harry shrugged. "Survive, I guess? Not like we have any other choice."
On the other side, the murmurs of the crowd grew louder. Panic rising. Fear tightening its grip. People were asking questions—questions no one could answer.
- Where are we?
- Why are we here?
- What happens if we fail?
- etc...
'Right, typical reactions.' Harry exhaled slowly. His mind was racing.
A fantasy setting. A survival trial. A system that provides weapons and resources.
It was just like the games, comics, and novels he had spent his life obsessing over.
Only this time… there was no tutorial.
No helpful NPC.
No guide.
Just a voice and a ticking clock.
And yet… why wasn't he panicking?
Was it because he had imagined scenarios like this so many times that it didn't feel foreign?
He took a deep breath and raised his voice.
"Alright, listen up folks."
Heads turned toward him.
"I don't know what's going on either, but running around like headless chickens isn't gonna help. If this is some kind of survival trial, we need to stick together."
"Heh." A scoff.
"And who put you in charge?" someone snapped.
Harry raised his hands. "Nobody. But unless you have a better plan, panicking isn't gonna do jack."
"Y-You!"
The murmuring subsided, but the tension remained.
He turned to Tim. "We should find shelter."
Tim nodded.
"And also figure out what the hell is—"
"Grrr..."
A low growl cut through the air.
"!"
Harry froze. His grip on the short blade tightened.
His heart pounded.
"Please tell me that was your stomach."
Tim paled. "I don't think so."
"GRR..."
"GRR...."
The growl came again. Louder. Closer.
From the shadows of the twisted trees…
Glowing red eyes appeared.
Harry swallowed hard. His fingers clenched around the hilt of his not-so-great knife.
"Well," he muttered, voice shaky but still clinging to humor. "Guess this is where we confirm if butter knives really work on monsters."