Have you ever felt the urge to strangle an author for ruining a perfectly good story at the very end?
Mors was feeling exactly that right now.
Which said a lot, considering how unmotivated he usually was. Even the desire to be angry took effort.
The book in his hands lay open on its final pages, the ending he had stubbornly dragged himself awake to read.
"Sigh… What a waste."
Mors muttered the words as he reread the ending, just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood it.
He hadn't.
The book he was reading was a high-fantasy novel titled: The Fourth Worldfall.
Sure, the story was kind of cliché, but clichés were popular for a reason. People liked them.
It began by explaining that the world known as Osiris had already been destroyed three times during the war between the Apostles of the Devil God and the Heirs of the Goddess of Creation.
Each time, the Goddess reset the world back to the moment before its destruction ever began.
This book depicted the fourth cycle, or rather, the fourth reset.
The only ones who retained their memories of this repeating apocalypse were the Apostles and a single chosen existence.
The Heir of the Vow.
Asier Crowne, The Chosen One.
A being with the emotional intelligence of a peanut, who had no idea how to interact with people.
He behaved like a toddler attempting to comprehend the strange biological organisms known as "Humans."
Anyway, the book went on to depict Asier's growth, his academy life, and the endless struggles that followed.
Mors had genuinely thought the ending would be one where Asier finally brought the war to a close and put an end to the constant resetting of the world.
He was wrong again.
Instead, the final scene belonged to Charon, one of the Apostles of the Devil God.
Charon's gaze rested on Asier, devoid of emotion, as he spoke in a low, unhurried tone.
"Your Goddess has reached Her limit," he said. "She may reset this world once more. After that, I will ensure it never wakes again."
Then, without hesitation, he severed Asier's head with a black sword.
"What a load of bullshit."
Mors snapped the book shut and stood up from the sofa in his living room.
'I should have just slept instead of wasting time on this garbage.'
He glanced at his phone, expecting the time, but the date caught his eye instead.
14 ‑ 01 ‑ 2026
'Oh… today's my 18th birthday.'
"Happy birthday to me," Mors said with a faint grin.
'Now… time to sleep. I've already been awake for eight hours.'
He started walking toward his bedroom, but halfway there, his legs gave out. He sank to his knees on the marble floor, the book slipping from his hand and landing in front of him.
"Haa… shit!" He planted one hand on the floor, forcing himself not to collapse completely.
Mors's body suffered from a peculiar disorder that forced him to sleep 16 hours every day.
He had tried every doctor and medication available, but no one could give a clear answer. Some believed it was Narcolepsy. Others suspected Kleine-Levin Syndrome.
Yet neither explanation truly matched what was happening inside his body.
And it looked like today's time to sleep had come. But unlike before, something felt… off.
"Khh…!" Mors clutched his chest, a sharp, unbearable pain shooting through him. Usually, when his forced sleep acted up, he never felt anything like this.
Cold sweat ran down his black hair and traced along his pale skin.
"Cough… cough!"
"... Blood?!" His eyes went wide as a few drops of blood spattered onto the floor, some landing on the book.
It felt like someone was squeezing his heart with invisible hands. His vision blurred, the edges of the world darkening fast.
The last thing he saw was the book glowing unnaturally. The last thing he heard was an ancient, feminine voice whispering,
"Finally…"
And the last thought that crossed his mind was: 'I am… so fucked.'
♢ ♢ ♢ ♢
◇ World of Osiris ◇
In the south-eastern reaches of the Realik Continent, a boy lay motionless on the damp earth of a vast forest.
He was dressed in a black training outfit. His face was frozen in a twisted mix of helplessness and despair, emotions etched into him at the moment of death.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open.
Mors jolted awake, his breath hitching violently in his throat.
"Haa… haa… what?!"
His vision swam as he struggled to focus.
Just moments ago, he had been reading a novel. Then, without warning, he collapsed on the marble floor of his cozy home, as if struck by a sudden heart attack.
But now, cold soil pressed against his back, and the sharp scent of wet earth filled his lungs.
Mors stared at his hands. Then his arms. Then the pale, unfamiliar body beneath him.
"This isn't… my body?" he whispered.
A chill crawled up his spine.
"Did I regress to my childhood? Or did I transmigrate?"
Those were the only explanations that made sense.
Maybe it was years of reading webnovels and watching anime on weekends, but instead of wondering whether he was in heaven or hell, his mind latched onto those absurd conclusions without hesitation.
He slowly looked around.
The forest was eerie. Water droplets clung to blackened leaves and fell in soft, irregular taps, as if the forest itself were breathing. Mist hung low between the trees, and the soft morning light filtered through the canopy.
Mors tried to stand up—
But before he could, a sharp pain suddenly exploded inside his head.
"Aaaaarghhh!"
He screamed, clutching his head as tears spilled uncontrollably. The pain was overwhelming, as if something was being violently forced into his mind.
Memories flooded in. Not his own, but someone else's.
Images, emotions, and experiences crashed together in a chaotic torrent.
Mors thrashed on the forest floor, rolling through dirt and wet leaves.
Time lost all meaning as the agony tore through him.
Then, slowly, mercifully, it stopped.
"Haa… haa…" Mors lay still, struggling to steady his breathing.
When he finally managed to sort through the foreign memories now carved into his mind, the same conclusion he had reached before dying rose to the surface.
"I'm double fucked."