[VotA] Chapter 2 - Realm Assimilation (Patreon)

<<Previous Chapter     |     Next Chapter>>

A dimly lit hotel room reeked of cheap alcohol, sweat, and stale fast food. Greasy wrappers and empty beer bottles cluttered the floor, and a muted plasma TV flickered with the image of naked women dancing behind neon lights.

On the bed, sprawled across stained sheets, a black-haired man lay motionless in nothing but his underpants. His scrawny limbs twitched, his breath ragged.

His eyelids fluttered.

A groan slipped from his throat as a spike of pain stabbed into his skull. He grimaced, gripping the edge of the mattress, and rolled over—only to heave violently onto the floor.

“Urgh…”

Dizzy. Vision blurred. His stomach twisted in on itself, his throat burned from the acidic taste of bile.

Instinctively, his hand fumbled across the wooden nightstand, grasping for something. His fingers found a pair of glasses. Sliding them on, he blinked rapidly, the room snapping into focus.

The man, who looked somewhere between twenty and twenty-five years old, glanced around.

Trash. Beer bottles. His own vomit steaming against the floor.

A headache pounded against his skull, but his mind remained startlingly clear.

Then the pain spiked.

A strangled breath caught in his throat as he clutched his head, eyes widening in silent agony. His vision darkened, his body stiffened, and through the thin, grimy hotel curtains, he caught a glimpse of the outside world.

The sky.

The sky was bleeding.

A deep crimson hue spread across the skyline, swallowing the blue, drenching the city in unnatural red light. Cars honked. Pedestrians screamed. Streetlights flickered erratically.

The pain in his skull disappeared in an instant.

His chest rose and fell in rapid succession as he collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling above.

Then he laughed.

Soft at first, then growing louder, chest heaving with every breath.

“I’m… alive?”

Disbelief. A slow grin stretched across his lips.

“I’M ALIVE!”

He shot up, arms outstretched, fingers trembling in the dim glow of the TV. His body felt solid. Real.

His hands roamed across his face, fingers slipping into his mouth, pressing against his cheeks, running along his jaw.

Then he bolted out of bed.

And almost tripped over an empty bottle.

He steadied himself against the wall, breathing came out in ragged gasps, and he started touching his body.

His chest, his arms, even his flabby stomach.

“I have a body…” he whispered.

A tear slid down his cheek.

“I can talk. I can cry.” His voice cracked. “I’m alive, dammit.”

His reflection caught his eye.

A mirrored wall stood across the room, cracked in places but still intact.

He turned, staring at the pale figure looking back at him.

Dark circles hung beneath brown eyes, tired and sunken. His skin was sickly white, unkempt and marked with neglect. His black hair was messy, sticking to his forehead. The glasses perched on his nose were old, slightly bent at the hinges.

His gaze traveled downward.

A frail, skinny frame. No muscle. No scars. No signs of battle, hardship, or survival.

Not the body of a warrior.

A disgusting stench suddenly hit him. It was putrid, acidic, and mixed with sweat and alcohol.

He gagged, nearly doubling over.

Then he heard it.

Screams.

Gasps.

Honking horns.

He ignored it all.

Turning back to the mirror, his trembling hand pressed against the glass.

“I have a body again,” he whispered, voice laced with uncertainty. 

His fingertips trailed down the reflection of his face.

“…But was this ever my body?”

As the words left his mouth, his mind fractured.

Memories flooded in, the pain not being enough to take him out of the trance.

His body stiffened. His pupils contracted.

“I’m not Raion.”

The name left his lips through gritted teeth.

But he found nothing else.

No other name.

Just a void.

And a title.

The Marked One.

“…Who the hell am I?”

His fingers dug into his temple as fragmented memories of Earth resurfaced.

Cities. Skyscrapers. People. Mundane life.

And the System.

Then, the world shook.

His thoughts snapped into place. 

“It’s starting.”

He gripped the edge of the wooden nightstand for support.

Raion’s memories of the future were broken. Shattered. 

But this moment seemed to have been lived so many times that the previous body owner could never forget..

The end of the world.

And the man with glasses was smiling when thinking about it.

“I’m free. I’m not Raion. And I’m sure I’m not just a Marked One.”

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palm.

“And if my scrambled mind is right—” His eyes glowed with something primal. “—I’ll be getting you back, System.”

Outside, the crimson light thickened, drenching the city in its eerie glow.

Then, slowly, it turned white.

Everything it touched, be it buildings, plants, people, or animals, ceased to exist.

Not destroyed. Not disintegrated.

Just gone.

The streets emptied in an instant. The cars, the pedestrians, the trees along the sidewalk, the dust in the air. Everything was erased.

After a moment, the white light reached the hotel room.

The man, standing in nothing but his underwear, stared at the white light outside his window, a grin still lingering on his lips.

And as his vision was completely consumed, golden text filled his sight.

[Welcome to the 80th Realm Assimilation]

It burned into his vision.

[You are part of the world: Earth]

[Your world was deemed too fragile to be assimilated]

[A New World was made for you to colonize]

[The Realm Borders will be open as soon as colonization is complete]

[Please wait for the System Infusement]

A pause.

A flicker in the golden text.

[Error]

[System Duplicate Found.]

[Trait: Hero’s Life identified.]

[Scanning User...]

[Name: Mark Raion][Race: Human (Unknown)][Level: 1][EXP: 0/10][Grade: F][Class: None][Title: None]

[TRAITS]

None

[STAT POINTS]

[Hit Points: 120/120][Mana Points: 300/300][Martial (F): 1][Dexterity (F): 1][Vitality(F): 2][Soulforce(F): 20]

[SKILLS]

None

[Loading Previous Traits...]

[Hero’s Life: No Hero can truly die. As long as your race exists, you will always have a second chance. Time is meaningless in the face of true power.]

[Error]

[Trait already erased]

[Assigning Previous Traits]

[Martial Chosen: +5 to Martial Stat per level up]

[Hero’s Sage: You can learn every skill of the Human Race]

[Error]

[User is Race is not Human]

[User is Class is not Hero]

[Forming New Traits]

[Ruined Birthright: +4 to all stats per level-up]

[Inheritance of the Forsaken: You can learn every skill of the races locked in the Abyss]

[Trait Creation Completed]

[Choose your Class]

After the flood of text burned through his vision, Mark blinked.

He didn’t feel any different. Not yet. Besides having a name he now accepted, somehow.

The endless white void remained around him, stretching beyond perception, weightless and silent. A single line of golden text blinked in front of him, hovering, waiting.

It was like time itself had frozen, trapping him in this limbo until he made his choice. Or… until something else made it for him.

Have I ever seen so many error messages before?

The thought lingered as he scanned the notifications again, his mind trying to piece together their significance. But no matter how hard he focused, the information felt distant, just outside his grasp.

I know what Soulforce is, it's connected to mana. And understand the words the System showed me… But only their definition, not their true meaning.

There was no certainty in what was good or bad.

He sighed inwardly.

The only thing that mattered right now was moving forward.

Mark turned his attention to the blinking text in front of him. Instinctively, he selected it.

[Choose your Class]

Four options materialized.

[Fighter] - Unmatched in martial prowess, excelling in close-range battles.Bonus: +2 Martial and +1 Vitality per level-up.

[Rogue] - Swift and agile, specializing in precision strikes and evasion.Bonus: +2 Dexterity and +1 Martial per level-up.

[Guardian] - Durable and steadfast, a defender specialized in endurance and sustaining battles.Bonus: +2 Vitality and +1 Martial per level-up.

[Mage] - Wielder of mystical forces, frail but powerful.Bonus: +2 Soulforce and +1 Dexterity per level-up.

His breath hitched as he read through them.

Then—goosebumps.

The realization struck him like a hammer.

Each class gives 3 stat points per level-up… but my trait…

The words of the System replayed in his mind.

[Marked Chosen: +4 to Every Stat per Level-Up.]

His eyes widened.

That’s sixteen stat points per level, besides the three coming from the class. 

He would become at least six times stronger than a person having only a class, after making his choice.

Having a few decades of memories imprisoned, he searched for specific terms, in those descriptions.

But there was nothing about runes. Nothing about the drawn sigils he knew could be used to invoke power.

His gaze lingered on the Mage class.

Mystical forces. If anything, this should be the one closest to runes…

He was about to select it when a fragmented memory surfaced.

A fragmented memory surfaced—Raion’s voice, bitter and irritated, as he played some online game. The previous memory meshed with Mark’s current situation.

Don’t min-max! Raion’s words echoed in his mind. Mark smirked. 

That settles it.

And he answered the memory.

Are you kidding me? This isn’t some game from Earth. With the absurd amount of free points I get per level… By level 3, what Fighter or Guardian would even dare to challenge me?

He made his choice.

[Congratulations]

[You are now a Mage]

[Error]

[User’s Race can’t have a Class]

[Error]

[Class Needed for Tutorial]

[Forcefully Inputting Class]

[Building Tutorial Dungeon...]

As Mark was still processing the old ones, a new message flickered into existence that shimmered out of existence so fast, that he didn’t even read them all.

[Choose your Equipment]

The white void trembled.

A wooden table materialized in front of him, worn and scratched, as if it had been sitting here for ages. Three items lay atop it:

A glowing blue orb, a wooden scepter, and a tattered robe.

Mark stepped forward, golden letters hovering above each item.

[Novice’s Orb (F)]The user can cast Firebolt (F) Skill.

[Novice’s Scepter (F)]The user can cast Shield (F) Skill.

[Novice’s Robe (F)]Gives the user +2 Vitality while worn.

He scratched his head.

Okay… better be safe than sorry. Besides, I’m almost naked. This isn’t good.

He reached for the robe—

[Error]

[Items do not fit User’s Race]

[Changing Items...]

The items flickered.

A fourth object appeared, alongside a shift in colors from the others.

The blue orb turned red.

The wooden scepter turned green.

The robe darkened to a sandy hue.

And now, there was a bone-like, barbed whip.

[Wyrmling’s Orb (F)]The user can cast Fire Scale (F) Skill.

[Skeletal Scepter (F)]The user can cast Poisonous Touch (F) Skill.

[Dune’s Skin (F)]Gives the user +2 Vitality while worn.

[Imp’s Whip (F)]Gives the user +2 Dexterity while worn.

Mark stared.

...Huh.

The robes’ properties hadn’t changed, at least.

Shaking his head, he picked up the robe.

A golden message appeared.

[Congratulations]

[You now have Dune’s Skin (F)]

The rough fabric scratched against his skin as he slipped it on, but almost immediately, the material adjusted—molding itself to fit his form.

Not the best fit. But it was something.

Exhaling, he rolled his shoulders.

What now?

The answer came instantly.

[Tutorial Dungeon Built]

[Finding Party Members...]

(1/4) - Mark Raion

He squinted at the text.

Wait. Raion’s memories mentioned this.

A party system.

He grimaced.

It’s best I don’t get pig-like teammates. I won’t trust random people easily.

And as if responding to his thoughts, more golden lines appeared.

(2/4) - Mark Raion(3/4) - Mark Raion(4/4) - Mark Raion

[Party Completed]

Mark blinked.

Wh-

He barely had time to process the absurdity of it before his mind froze.

[Sending Party Members to the Dungeon]

And he disappeared.

[Starting Tutorial Dungeon: Black Forest (F)]

<<Previous Chapter     |     Next Chapter>>