An old man with a cane in his hand was making his way across a dark, isolated bridge. He was supposed to find a mechanic on the other side of town, but his vehicle had broken down halfway, leaving him no choice but to walk. The night was silent, and with no one else around, help was out of the question.
Wobbling on weak knees, he pressed on.
Then he saw her.
A woman stood at the edge of the bridge, perfectly still, as if she might jump at any moment.
The old man froze. The tip of his cane scraped softly against the cold metal beneath his feet. The woman did not move. Her dress fluttered in the wind, and her hair hung in tangled strands that covered her face like black vines.
"Miss?" he called, his voice trembling more from unease than age.
There was no answer. Only the low moan of the wind through the bridge's cables.
He took a cautious step forward. "You shouldn't stand there. It's not safe."
Then she turned. Slowly.
Her eyes were pale, too pale, and for an instant he thought he saw the reflection of the river shimmering inside them.
His grip on the cane tightened. His breath caught as her gaze fixed on him, hollow and unblinking.
"Do you need help?" he asked, though the words felt useless and empty.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The wind carried a faint whisper that seemed to come from the bridge itself.
He stepped closer. The wooden boards creaked under his feet. The river below seemed to roar louder, though he knew it had not changed.
"Miss, please," he said, his voice cracking. "It's dangerous."
She tilted her head slowly and unnaturally, like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. Then, with sudden, dreadful speed, she smiled.
It was not a smile of warmth. It was the kind of smile that belonged to something that had waited too long in the dark.
Her grin stretched wider and wider until her skin split at the corners, tearing open toward her ears. A wet, broken giggle escaped her throat as if she enjoyed the fear in the old man's eyes.
He stumbled back and clutched his chest. The air grew colder, and his breath turned to mist. The last thing he saw was her face, twisted and hollow-eyed, still grinning, before darkness swallowed him beside the bridge.
....
Clink, clink.
He opened his eyes. The world seemed larger than before.
"Where am I?" he whispered.
Before him stretched a corridor swallowed by darkness, broken only at uneven intervals by flickering torches. Their light painted trembling shadows across damp stone.
Then, with a sharp snap, a blue screen appeared before his eyes. He blinked in confusion and began to read.
Name: None
Class: Vermin
Title: Foulborn
A chill ran through him as realization struck. This—this was just like the game his nephew used to play. He had been reincarnated… as a rat.
Heart pounding, he shifted his focus back to the screen.
Skill:Blight Bite, Corpse Memory
He squinted at the skills. Another window popped up, this one a faint grey with a golden border surrounding Blight Bite and an added description. Corpse Memory, however, appeared darker in shade, duller, almost lifeless. Perhaps there was a difference in class skills.
He read the description of the golden skill first.
Blight Bite: Inflicts decay and poison damage.
Corpse Memory: Retrieve memories from devoured corpses.
At the bottom, a final line shimmered faintly.
Mission: Evolve into the Blight Emperor.
"Blight Emperor?!" he exclaimed.
Another question immediately popped into his mind.
"If this is my status bar, why is the name blank?" he muttered under his breath.
Standing on his hind legs, though with some effort, he managed to steady himself and looked toward the window.
"I am Aaron Smith," he declared.
At once, a smaller blue window shimmered before him. Its content read:
"Are you sure you want the name 'Aaron Smith'?"
"What?!" Aaron shouted in confusion.
The system responded with a new line of text. This time, the title on the window read "Help."
"The name of any creature determines the authority it can gain in the new world. Choose the name wisely, for it will guide the path one takes."
Aaron paused, the system's words running through his head.
Suddenly, his thoughts turned inward. Something felt off. His body was lighter, strange, almost wrong. He looked down and froze.
His hands were gone. In their place were small, fur-covered paws. His legs were short and thin, and gray fur covered his entire body. The floor seemed huge, and the table beside him looked as tall as a wall.
A sharp chill ran through him. He turned, searching for anything familiar, and caught his reflection in a small puddle nearby. Two round, black eyes stared back at him. Whiskers twitched, and a long, thin tail moved behind him.
He stared for several seconds, unable to breathe.
"I'm... a rat," he whispered, the words barely leaving his mouth.
The system spoke again in monotonous voice:
"Are you sure you want the name 'Rat'?"