Darkness did not feel like sleep. It felt… suspended. There was no body. No breath. No heartbeat. Only awareness.
Then—a presence. It did not enter the void. It was already there.
"Fascinating."
The voice did not echo. It simply existed inside the space around me.
"You reacted before fear formed."
Silence pressed in.
"You did not hesitate. You did not curse fate. You did not beg."
A pause.
"You accepted. You accepted your demise."
The darkness shifted—not visually, but conceptually, as if reality itself leaned closer.
"Most cling to life like frightened animals."
A faint hum of amusement.
"I have observed countless deaths."
Another pause.
"Yours was one of the more pathetic ones."
The presence moved closer, though there was no distance to cross.
"You are not chosen."
A beat.
"And yet."
The space fractured. Light cracked across the void like shattered glass. A massive wheel formed—not mechanical, but conceptual. Symbols burned across its surface in languages that hurt to understand.
"Let us correct the statistical imbalance."
The presence's tone sharpened slightly, laced with disdain.
"I will grant you five rotations."
The wheel began to turn on its own.
"Not because you are worthy."
A slow smile could almost be felt, mocking and superior.
"But because I am curious how low you can crawl before breaking."
The first symbol flared.
"Spin."
The wheel accelerated, then slowed. Light bled across its surface, symbols colliding, splitting, reforming. I felt something strange—excitement? No, a flicker of hope, sharp and unwelcome. If this was real, it could change everything. But hope felt foolish here, like grasping at smoke.
The pointer landed on "Boaz."
"Highest raw physical ceiling among beast humans. Extended life due to demi-humans living longer than humans."
"Primitive."
Flat, dismissive.
The presence tilted slightly, its arrogance dripping like venom.
"You will possess strength."
Its voice cooled to ice.
"But strength without refinement is livestock."
I clenched my jaw—or what passed for it in this void. Primitive? Livestock? The words stung, but I swallowed the retort. Arguing with whatever this was felt pointless. Still, a spark of defiance burned. "If that's what I get, I'll make it count."
A low chuckle, condescending. "How quaint. The worm dreams of wings."
The second ring ignited.
"Core Ability."
The wheel spun again, slower this time, heavier. Symbols darker, sharper. My mind raced—what if it was useless? What if it sealed my fate before it began? Anxiety twisted in the nothingness, a human ache I couldn't shake.
It slowed. Stopped. A title burned across the void: Divine Protection of the Death God.
Silence followed.
Then—a low, almost amused exhale, superior as ever.
"How… ironic."
I didn't react outwardly, but doubt crept in. Ironic? What did that mean? "What does it do?" I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the unease gnawing at me.
The presence responded without hesitation, its tone laced with mockery. "Your strikes, when infused with intent, will deny restoration. Any wound you inflict through a weapon you wield cannot be healed while you stand within its reach. If you retreat, the suppression weakens. If you fall, it vanishes."
It paused, as if savoring my reaction. "You are not granted immunity. Not resurrection. Not escape. Merely inevitability. Your enemies may endure you, outmatch you, overpower you. But if you wound them… they cannot pretend it did not happen."
I absorbed it, a mix of grim satisfaction and frustration bubbling up. No healing mid-fight—useful, but it meant dragging battles out, wearing them down. Slow, brutal work. "That fits," I said quietly, hiding the flicker of relief. It wasn't flashy, but it was real.
The presence grew still, its arrogance sharpening. "Indeed. A fitting chain for a beast."
The second ring dimmed. The third began to glow.
"Trait."
The wheel turned, slower than the others, heavier still. Symbols less violent, more grounded. I braced myself—trait could make or break this. If it crippled me further, what was the point? Tension coiled in the void, my non-existent gut twisting.
The pointer slowed. Passed flashes of brilliance: Burst Growth. Heroic Surge. Rapid Ascension. It moved past them all. And stopped. A dim symbol ignited: Steady Ascension.
Silence followed.
The presence did not speak immediately.
"…Cruel," it said at last, with mocking delight.
The word carried no pity, only assessment. I waited, frustration mounting.
"You will gain excelia at half the rate of your peers."
Flat.
"Where others advance through ease, you will crawl."
The void shifted faintly.
"No sudden awakening. No miraculous leap. No explosive breakthrough."
Each word landed like stone, and anger flared in me—half? Crawl? This thing was toying with me. "How long?" I demanded, voice edged with irritation.
The presence answered without hesitation, its superiority dripping. "Years."
The symbol pulsed faintly.
"But what you build… will not crumble."
I considered it, the anger cooling to reluctant acceptance. Half excelia. No shortcuts. Just time. Just repetition. It sucked, but whining wouldn't change it. "That's fine," I said.
The presence grew still. "No complaint? No resentment?"
My answer was simple, though it tasted bitter. "I wasn't special before. I don't need to be now."
The void felt… amused, but with a sharper edge. "Interesting. The livestock aspires to endurance."
The third ring dimmed. The fourth flared.
"World."
The wheel altered. The outer construct peeled apart, revealing countless overlapping realities. Cities of steel. Endless oceans of flame. Floating continents. Dead worlds orbiting dying stars.
"Your environment defines the scale of your struggle."
The wheel began to turn. Faster. Worlds blurred into streaks of light. Magic-drenched realms. Godless wastelands. High-technology empires. Primordial forests ruled by monsters. I watched, a knot of apprehension forming—what if it dumped me in hell? What if I couldn't even survive the landing?
It slowed. Passed one world of mechanical wonders. Another of endless undead. A silent ocean planet. Then—it stopped. Symbols rearranged. A single name burned into existence: DanMachi.
The presence went still.
"…Ah."
Not excitement. Recognition, laced with smug satisfaction.
"A world where gods descend and grant falna."
Images formed. Orario. The Tower of Babel. The Dungeon spiraling endlessly below.
"Mortals grow through struggle. Excelia is carved from survival."
A faint pause.
"How fitting."
Levels. The Dungeon. Structured growth. Measured strength. I felt a grim nod to it—fitting my trait, at least. But something nagged. "Is this deliberate?" I asked, suspicion creeping in.
The presence responded instantly, arrogance undiminished. "I do not manipulate. I observe."
The void shifted again.
"In this world, growth is quantified. Your deficiency will be visible. Your slowness measurable. And your inevitability… undeniable."
The construct stabilized. DanMachi remained. Locked.
"Your foundation is set."
The presence leaned closer.
"Now."
The final segment darkened before igniting slowly.
"The Variable."
The wheel did not spin violently. It trembled. Almost… uncertain.
"Temporal Placement."
The outermost ring ignited. Images surged. The Tower of Babel incomplete. Zeus and Hera banners flying proudly. Adventurers whose names would one day be spoken as myth.
The wheel began to turn. Slow. Measured. It passed an era of relative peace. It passed the early descent of gods. It passed chaos. War. Dark Age. And then—it stopped.
A single phrase burned across the void: One Hundred Years Before Canon.
Silence followed.
The presence did not laugh, but something in the void shifted with haughty approval.
"You will not hide behind legends."
Images formed. Young Zeus Familia elites. Hera's monsters. The One-Eyed Black Dragon still undefeated.
"You will exist in an era where the standard is higher. Where Level ten is not myth. Where strength is not scarce."
The pressure in the void increased, and I felt a surge of frustration—earlier era? Stronger foes? This stacked the deck against me even more. "You will grow in an age where mediocrity is crushed."
A faint pause, dripping with condescension.
"And perhaps you may witness the fall of humanity."
The wheel shattered into light. The void fractured.
Boaz. Divine Protection of the Death God. Steady Ascension. DanMachi. One Hundred Years Before Canon.
The presence receded, its arrogance lingering like a sneer.
"Have fun surviving."
Darkness collapsed.