Chapter 1: The First Death
Pain. That was the first thing I felt.
A scorching agony erupted in my chest, spreading like wildfire through my veins. My breath hitched, my vision blurred, and the world tilted sideways. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a scream—it took me a moment to realize it was mine.
I staggered forward, hands clutching my stomach, only to feel something slick and warm against my skin. Blood. My blood. It was pouring out of me, thick and endless, soaking my shirt, dripping onto the cold pavement.
"Hey... what the hell...?" My voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.
A knife. That bastard had stabbed me.
I turned my head, searching for my attacker. A shadow darted between the alleyway's flickering streetlights. A coward. He didn't even stay to watch me die.
My knees buckled. I collapsed. The cold, filthy ground embraced me like an old friend.
Then came the real horror. The sensation of dying.
I felt my heart struggle each beat weaker than the last. My mind, once sharp, was now sluggish, drowning in a sea of darkness. My lungs burned as they begged for air, but I knew—deep down—I wouldn't last another minute.
And then... silence.
A void. Infinite. Eternal.
But it didn't last.
I woke up.
Gasping. Shaking. A scream tore from my throat as my body jerked upright. My hands scrambled over my chest no wound. No blood. No pain.
I was alive.
And I was in my bed.
"What the...?" My own voice sounded foreign. My heart pounded, a panicked rhythm drumming against my ribs.
I turned my head, expecting to see the dirty alley, the blood pooling around me. But instead, I saw my room the same old cracked ceiling, the broken lamp on the nightstand, the pile of laundry I had been meaning to clean for weeks.
My breath came in short gasps. Had it been a nightmare?
No. It was too vivid. Too real. I could still feel the blade slipping between my ribs, the icy chill of death wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.
I threw the sheets off and stumbled to the bathroom. The moment I flicked on the light, my breath hitched.
The mirror showed something impossible.
My reflection wasn't the same. My features were sharper, my skin clearer, my muscles more defined. It was subtle, but I looked… stronger.
I swallowed hard. "No way..."
Hesitantly, I clenched my fist. My veins pulsed, and an unfamiliar warmth surged through me. My body felt different. Lighter. Faster. Stronger.
Then, a single word echoed in my mind, carried by an unseen force.
[You have died. Strength +1.]
I froze. My blood ran cold.
That wasn't normal. That wasn't my own thought. It was like... a message. A notification burned into my very soul.
I pressed my palm against my forehead, trying to steady myself. Had I really died? And come back... stronger?
I exhaled sharply, stepping back. My heart was racing again, but this time, it wasn't just fear. It was something else. Something I hadn't felt in a long, long time.
Excitement.
I needed to test this.
Without hesitation, I sprinted out of my apartment, the world outside buzzing with its usual indifference. The streets were alive with neon lights and restless souls. I could still hear the faint sound of sirens, but they felt... distant.
I ran to the nearest alley. The very place I had died. The blood was gone no evidence of my death remained.
A nervous chuckle escaped me. "Okay, this is crazy. I'm crazy."
But if what happened was real… then I had to be sure.
I took a deep breath. And then, before my fear could stop me
I stepped in front of a speeding truck.
A sickening crunch. The world turned upside down.
Then blackness.
And then, I woke up.
Gasping. Panting. Heart pounding.
Back in my bed.
[You have died. Strength +1.]
I bolted upright, gripping my sheets. My entire body was buzzing. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking, but not from fear. From power.
I clenched my fists. My muscles tensed, stronger than before. I felt it. Every fiber of my being was pulsing with raw energy.
Every time I died… I got stronger.
My breath caught in my throat.
A grin spread across my face.
Then, a terrifying thought settled in.
What would happen… if I couldn't die?
And why… why did I have this power in the first place?
I didn't have answers.
---
I had to test the limits.
I stood on the rooftop of a twenty-story building, looking down at the world below. The city pulsed with life honking cars, flickering neon signs, people lost in their own little worlds.
None of them knew what I was about to do.
I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders. My heart wasn't pounding like it should. There was no fear, no hesitation. Only anticipation.
I took a step forward.
And then another.
And then, I leaped.
The wind roared in my ears, and the world blurred as I plummeted. My stomach lurched, but it wasn't fear it was exhilaration. The ground rushed up to meet me, and for the briefest moment, I wondered
Would it hurt?
Then
CRASH.
A violent, bone-shattering impact. Pain exploded through my entire body. My skull cracked. My ribs caved in. My vision flickered.
Then blackness.
And then
I woke up.
Gasping. Sweating. Back in my bed.
A grin tugged at my lips.
[You have died. Strength +1.]
The rush was intoxicating.
I bolted out of bed and dropped to the floor, immediately going for push-ups. The first one was effortless. The second? Even easier. By the tenth, I wasn't even breaking a sweat.
I needed more.
I ran to the mirror. My reflection had shifted again. It was subtle, just like before, but undeniable. My arms were thicker, my shoulders broader.
I clenched my fist, feeling the raw power coursing through my veins.
I needed more.
---
That night, I tried everything.
Drowning? Brutal. The sensation of my lungs filling with water was pure agony. The panic. The desperation. And then darkness.
Electrocution? Instantaneous, but there was a brief, fiery jolt that tore through my body like a raging storm.
Jumping in front of a train? That one was a mess.
By sunrise, I had died six times.
Each time, I woke up stronger. Faster. Sharper.
I felt unstoppable.
But as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, a new thought crept in.
How far could this go?
I ran my fingers through my hair—was it thicker? My jawline—sharper? I flexed my fingers, feeling the strength in my grip.
If I kept dying… would I keep changing?
And then another thought hit me.
I had been so focused on testing my limits that I hadn't asked the real question.
Why was this happening to me?
I wasn't special. I was just a guy. An average nobody. I worked a dead-end job, lived in a cramped apartment, had zero goals.
And yet
Here I was.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands. I could still remember the sensation of dying. The pain. The emptiness. The nothingness.
And I realized something terrifying.
I didn't hate it.
In fact, I liked it.
I liked the rush. The feeling of breaking through my limits. The way my body adapted and grew stronger every single time.
I exhaled slowly.
I needed to push further.
I needed to see how far this power could take me.
Because if I was truly immortal…
Then I had nothing to fear.
And that meant
The world had everything to fear from me.