This was the second time something had pierced my skull.
The first time it happened, I was terrified, and I remember that moment clearly, the blur of falling steel, the sudden impact, and the cold shock rushing through my body as I genuinely believed I was about to meet God, a creator, or some final judgment.
But apparently sinners like me weren't even worthy of that much dignity, because instead of judgment, I had been thrown into this Viltrumite hell.
Back when I woke up here for the first time, I told myself that maybe the universe had decided I deserved a second chance to become something better, someone strong enough to finally stand my ground.
I believed a lot of things back then, but belief didn't change the truth that I had always been a man who stayed inside the small space where failure couldn't hurt him, a complete pushover who drifted through life pretending circumstances were the problem instead of admitting I simply didn't try hard enough.
Some memories never really disappear, like the look of pure disgust in that girl's eyes when she realized I had a crush on her, as if I had crossed some invisible line just by daring to feel something.
And my mother... that one stung more than anything because she worked her entire life believing her son would eventually stand on his own feet and build something respectable, her hands worn rough and her back bent from years of carrying the weight of our survival.
She used to smile when she talked about my future like it was something bright waiting just beyond the horizon, but she died before seeing any of it, no success, no achievements, just a son dragging steel beams and pretending that counted as a life.
Even now, the thought of her empty, hopeful eyes made something twist painfully inside my chest, reminding me that I was a legacy of nothing but disappointment.
"Check him."
A voice reached me through the ringing in my ears, sharp and detached.
"If he's dead, throw him into sector seven."
"Yes sir."
So this was how it ended: dying for the second time, first as a human and now as a Viltrumite weakling who was utterly, irredeemably pathetic.
Warm blood continued spilling across the stone floor beneath me, soaking into the cracks of the arena while my body refused to move because Thragg had just punched a hole through my head.
Viltrumite biology is strong, but even that has limits when your ribs are crushed inward and your organs are barely functioning, yet the heavy, slow footsteps of someone approaching to finish the job suggested I wasn't quite dead enough for them.
It felt appropriate that trash like me deserved a proper ending, but then my vision blurred into a hazy smoke that made me wonder if all of this was just a dream I was finally waking up from.
I tried to laugh.
"Gueek—"
And failed. Instead...
The sound was a choking gargle since my mouth and nose were a red mess, and laughing properly was a bit beyond my current physical abilities, so I just forced my one remaining eye open to see a strange blue light floating in the air.
Letters formed slowly in the haze, and though I assumed it was just a dying hallucination, the words became impossibly clear.
[Congratulations to the host for dying twice.]
I blinked, my brain struggling to process the text while the blood continued to pool beneath my shattered ribs.
[Conditions for Pitiful Lucky Reincarnation have been unlocked.]
[One-time Mystic Wheel with ten spins has arrived.]
[Does the host wish to spin.]
[Reminder: This is a one-time service provided by the Planes ROB for misfortunate transmigrator.]
Of course it would appear now, right as the light was fading.
Because the world clearly has a twisted sense of humor when it comes to someone like me.
But this was a chance...
I stared at the floating words with my remaining eye, and with the last spark of will I possessed, I thought the only answer that made sense.
'Yes.'
There were several questions I wanted to ask, beginning with who exactly this R.O.B. was that had decided my miserable existence was worth interfering with and what it meant by me dying twice when I was still technically conscious.
Wasn't I still conscious right now?
Did that count as being dead?
But those questions could wait because the footsteps approaching my broken body carried a certain weight to them, heavy enough that even through the ringing in my ears I could recognize the authority behind them.
The commander had said something earlier.
"If he's dead, throw him into sector seven."
Sector Seven wasn't exactly a burial ground, it was worse, a prison where Viltrum dumped surviving members of conquered species who hated us enough that even guards didn't like entering the sector unless necessary.
Of course the only reason they were in prison and not dead was because they were experiment materials.
I didn't even want to imagine what those prisoners would do if they found a Viltrumite lying there helpless, pathetic, vulnerable, and broken.
That was when the darkness stirred slightly, not outside, but inside my mind as if something enormous had begun moving somewhere beyond my sight.
The arena around me faded away, replaced by a strange empty void where only my consciousness and the blue holographic screen floating in front of me seemed to exist.
The wheel began spinning, slow at first and then faster, while symbols and fragments of unfamiliar energy flickered across its surface in a completely silent void.
Several spins passed with nothing happening until the first result appeared.
[Reward obtained: Mangekyo Sharingan bloodline fragment.]
I blinked, my brain struggling to process that through the haze of pain.
Mangekyo Sharingan from naruto world...this thing could actually pull abilities from completely different realities.
'…Well that escalated quickly.'
The wheel continued spinning through the endless darkness while more empty spins passed with nothing but silence.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then another message appeared.
[Reward obtained: Doomsday genetic template.]
That one made me pause because of all the things the universe could have handed me, it chose the blueprint of a creature whose entire existence revolved around dying and coming back stronger.
The monster that evolved every time it was killed.
The irony wasn't lost on me and a tired laugh almost escaped my imaginary throat.
Considering my track record… that might actually be appropriate.
The wheel slowed for the final time and the last reward appeared.
[Reward obtained: Absolute Healing Template — Ken Usato.]
[All rewards integrating.]
For a brief moment nothing happened, then everything happened at once as a pain that wasn't about broken bones or crushed organs began tearing my very soul apart and stitching it back together at the same time.
"Commander."
Footsteps stopped near my body.
"What is it."
"…He's not dead."
I could barely feel the commander's presence through the haze of agony tearing through my mind.
"…Interesting."
"…Viltrumite healing shouldn't be capable of this."
The last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me completely was that calm, authoritative voice.
"…I want to understand how this one survived."
.
.
.
Commander Kraevus had overseen thousands of combat trials in his lifetime, acting as the leader of fifty-seven savage Viltrumites and the head instructor of the training unit where even the emperor's son, Thragg, was currently a small fry in his presence.
There were very few things inside a training arena that still had the ability to surprise him, yet the body lying on the stone floor in front of him forced him to pause.
Moments earlier, the young warrior's skull had been shattered by a direct strike from Thragg, an attack so precise and powerful that death for a weakling of an inferior bloodline was a certainty Kraevus had seen clearly with his own eyes.
There had been no ambiguity about the result, and the fight should have ended the way every other slaughter between royal lineage and common stock did, yet the corpse in front of him refused to behave like one.
One of the soldiers standing nearby shifted slightly, watching the blood pooling beneath the unconscious trainee with visible uncertainty.
"Commander… the wound is closing."
Kraevus didn't answer immediately, his sharp eyes remaining fixed on the young Viltrumite's head where the catastrophic damage to the skull should have meant instant death even for their species.
Instead, thin strands of flesh were slowly knitting themselves back together and bone was reforming, a process that was slow but undeniably happening right before them.
"I saw the strike myself, commander; his skull was destroyed and there should be nothing left for the body to repair."
Kraevus crouched beside the unconscious trainee, his expression calm but his attention fully focused as his fingers brushed lightly against the side of the young warrior's head where the injury had been.
The bone beneath his touch felt uneven, new, and growing, which led him to realize that this was not the normal regeneration their people were known for.
Viltrumite biology allowed warriors to survive injuries that would reduce most species to scattered organs and broken fragments.
Centuries of ruthless evolution had perfected their bodies into living weapons, capable of enduring punishment that would end entire armies.
But this was not their usual regeneration.
There had been no brain left intact, no structure capable of sustaining life.
The damage had been fatal, yet the body was fighting to repair itself anyway, prompting one of the soldiers behind him to ask if it was just delayed neural death or the twitching of a corpse.
Kraevus slowly shook his head.
"He is alive."
The statement made the surrounding soldiers
exchange uncertain glances while Kraevus rose to his full height again, his gaze still fixed on the figure lying in the blood at his feet.
"Your earlier order was to send the body to Sector Seven if death was confirmed, so should we kill him and proceed with that directive?"
Kraevus considered the question briefly, knowing that normally the body would be removed and disposed of without ceremony, but this situation was no longer normal.
"…No."
"Transport him to the medical wing, because I want every stage of this regeneration documented."
"Yes sir."
Kraevus watched as the unconscious trainee was lifted from the arena floor, the soldiers carrying the body away while the arena slowly returned to its usual brutal routine.
That day Thragg defeated every single one of his peers.
Many died.
Only a few survived.
Among them was the boy with red hair and blue eyes.