"Again? For fuck's sake, again!?" Dantalian groaned as he sprawled on the cold, filthy ground. He was on the receiving end of yet another fresh serving of fists, kicks, and a full-course beatdown. Blood dribbled from his split lip as he coughed, his entire body aching from the relentless assault.
It wasn't the pain that annoyed him—it was his complete inability to do anything about it. Not just this fight, but his entire life.
At five, his parents had died. At six, he was sent to live with an abusive uncle and aunt who saw him as nothing more than a nuisance and a means to an inheritance. At ten, they stripped him of everything—his home, his wealth, his parents' legacy. By thirteen, they tossed him onto the streets like garbage. For four years, he survived, scraping by in an abandoned house, stealing food, joining gangs, fighting for every meal. His one friend, Mike, was shot and killed by a rival group of homeless thugs, leaving him truly alone in this world.
And now, it seemed he was next.
"Hey, should we...?" A voice broke through the haze of pain.
"You mean?" A sly smile spread across another man's face, his expression darkening as he understood the suggestion. Both of them were young—maybe nineteen—dressed in tattered but relatively clean clothes. They weren't the skeletal husks most would expect from homeless people. No, these two were predators.
"Hahaha, it's been a while. I'd prefer a woman, but we can make do with him."
"He's a pretty boy too."
Dantalian, barely conscious, felt a chill crawl up his spine. A zipper. The sound of shuffling clothes. Then hands grabbing at his belt. His dazed mind snapped awake in an instant.
'Oi. Oi. Oi. Oi. No fucking way! I thought they were just gonna rob me! I know I'm goodlooking, but these bastards aren't actually—?!'
Before he could react, the first guy spoke again. "Wait a minute. Why do you get to go first? It was my idea."
"Just shut up, it doesn't matter. Just pull his pants dow—"
"Fuck you! You always try to take the first piece of the pie! I'm not letting you have this one, especially after what happened with that girl last time! You killed her, you idiot , I couldn't even have my turn!"
Dantalian forced his bruised eyes open at the sound of scuffling. The two degenerates were now fighting each other, arguing over who got to go first.
'Of all the ways to die… I hoped two beauties would fight over me, not two ugly-ass homeless bastards. Lady Luck, you sure took your time, huh?'
BANG!
BANG! BANG!
A searing pain tore through his body. His vision blurred, the distant sound of thunder rumbling in the sky.
'No way… these fuckers actually shot me.'
The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was the two men sprinting away, leaving his bleeding body behind in the cold alley.
When Dantalian opened his eyes again, he wasn't in the alley. He wasn't even in his body.
A grand, cosmic space stretched before him—an infinite expanse of swirling galaxies, distant nebulae, and collapsing stars. The air was neither warm nor cold, and the very concept of time felt irrelevant.
Before him stood a man—or something beyond a man. He had flowing white hair and piercing silver eyes that held an ancient, unfathomable wisdom. Dressed in regal silver robes, the being exuded a presence that demanded both reverence and awe.
"So, that's what happened," the figure mused, his voice smooth yet weighty.
Dantalian scoffed bitterly. "Which part? The near-rape or the part where I got shot in a back alley like a dog?"
The deity cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes… well, we will most certainly be compensating you for that, along with your life's accumulated misfortunes."
Dantalian exhaled, shaking his head. Memories of his past flickered through his mind. The good times—few as they were—mostly involved Mike, stolen phones, and pirated novels. He had read thousands of them, and strangely enough, he could recall every single one with perfect clarity, even though his memory for everything else was just above average.
He turned back to the divine figure, eyes narrowing. "Wait a minute. So, is this the part where I get my cheat skills?"
The deity, who introduced himself as Ten, smiled faintly. "Yes. That is what you might call it."
With a wave of his hand, a golden throne materialized behind him, and he sat down, exuding the effortless authority of a god. A moment later, a translucent screen appeared in front of Dantalian, displaying rows of text that resembled a game interface. "Before I send you to your new world, I will grant you abilities far beyond what most reincarnated souls receive. I would choose and grant you them myself but , that simply wouldn't be fair , I know far too much , both on which skills are strong , which are weak and which are more "balanced ". So think of this as your first test you will carve out your own destiny , good or bad with the skills you choose . You may select them yourself. However, be warned—choosing incorrectly could lead to a fate just as cruel as the one you escaped."
Dantalian stared at the screen, exhaling deeply. His mind raced.
'I'm actually dead. This is real. This isn't a dream, or some hallucination. I fucking died.'
Strangely, he didn't feel fear—just an odd sense of acceptance. His life had been a living hell, so it wasn't as if he had regrets. Just anger. Pure, undiluted anger at the world that had chewed him up and spat him out.
'Alright then… If this is a fresh start, I'm not about to waste it.'
His eyes focused on the screen, ready to carve out a new destiny.