The world ended with a whisper, not a roar.
Amit Kumar lay broken beneath the rubble of a collapsing city — a world of steel and glass now reduced to ash and screams. The air was thick with the scent of burning circuits and blood. Above him, the sky split apart, torn by rifts that bled violet light. From them descended shadows — monstrous beings with eyes like molten gold and bodies that warped the laws of nature.
He had fought, once.
He had tried to save them.
But what could one man do against the apocalypse?
His vision blurred. Blood trickled down his forehead. Around him, the last remnants of humanity's resistance flickered like dying stars. He could hear their cries, their desperation, their futile hope.
And then — silence.
The last thing he saw was a crimson sigil glowing in the debris beside him — an ancient relic that pulsed as if alive. It was a circular disc made of black bone and metal, its surface inscribed with runes older than civilization itself. The relic called to him, whispering across the boundary between life and death.
"You are not done yet."
The world faded to black.
Amit's consciousness drifted in endless void.
No light. No warmth. No time. Only an echo of existence.
Then came the voice again — deep, ancient, resonant like the tolling of a celestial bell.
[Initializing Transmigration Protocol…]
[Host Identified: Amit Kumar, Human, Deceased.]
[Compatibility: 99.7%.]
[Class Selection: Unique — Undead Archer.]
[Talent Granted: Infinite Evolution.]
The void trembled. Runes ignited around him, swirling into a vortex of blue and black flame.
"Rise," the voice commanded. "The cycle of death ends here. Let evolution begin."
Pain seared through his soul — the sensation of bones reknitting, sinew reforming, and essence condensing. He tried to scream, but no sound came. His heart no longer beat, yet power surged through him — cold, inexorable, eternal.
When the light faded, Amit stood beneath a crimson moon. His body was no longer flesh, but pale, deathly perfection. His eyes glowed faintly with ghostly light, and a bow of bone materialized in his grasp — sleek, sinister, and hungry for souls.
Around him stretched an ancient forest, silent and alien.
Above him, the system's voice echoed again.
[Welcome to the World of Elarion.]
[Survive. Evolve. Conquer.]
Amit exhaled — though his lungs no longer needed air.
He looked down at his skeletal hands, then at the horizon burning in distant firelight.
A new world. A new life.
And this time, he would not die powerless.
"If this world runs on evolution…" he murmured, his tone cold and resolute,
"…then I'll be the one who masters it."