Kaelen stood in the center of the nothingness. He looked down at his hands; they were whole, no longer bloodied or crushed by Vane's boot. There was no wind, no heat, and no cold. It was just a silent, endless blank page.
"Rough way to go, wasn't it?"
Kaelen spun around. Standing a few feet away was a man in a simple grey uniform—the same man who had been driving their transport bus just minutes ago. He looked unremarkable, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind, tired face.
"You," Kaelen breathed, his voice echoing despite the lack of walls. "I saw you... you were slumped over the wheel. They shot you first."
The driver chuckled softly, stepping forward. He didn't walk so much as glide across the white floor that wasn't there. "I've been a lot of people, Kaelen. A bus driver, a street vendor, a teacher. I find that being the 'help' gives me the best seat in the house to watch how humanity really works."
Kaelen frowned, his mind trying to reconcile the image of a mundane employee with the sheer power radiating from the man. "You're not a driver. Who are you?"
"A spectator," the man said simply. "A deity, if you need a label. I've watched you since you were a boy. I saw how you looked at the world like it was a puzzle to be solved, how you mastered every challenge put in front of you. You lived with a focus that most people can't even dream of. Honestly? I became a fan."
The deity sighed, looking around at the white void. "I didn't intend for your story to end on a dirty street corner at the hands of a bitter man. It was... messy. Unfair. And I hate a bad ending."
"My team," Kaelen said, the memory of his friends hitting him like a physical blow. "Are they here?"
The driver's expression softened. "They've moved on. They are at peace. But for you, I'm offering a fork in the road. Think of it as a reward for being so interesting."
He waved a hand, and two shimmering portals appeared in the white space.
"Option one: Paradise," the deity explained. "No more fighting, no more pressure to be the best, no more rivals. Just eternal rest with your friends. You've earned it."
Kaelen looked at the first portal, then back at the driver. "And the second?"
"Reincarnation," the driver said, his eyes twinkling. "But not back to Earth. Your world has become too small for you, too predictable. I can send you somewhere where your mind and your will are actually needed. A world that hasn't been mapped out by computers and sensors."
Kaelen looked into the second portal. It didn't show clouds or light; it showed a rugged, untamed horizon.
"You'd be starting over," the deity warned. "Different body, different rules. But the soul you have? That stays. The question is: are you finished, or are you just getting started?"
Kaelen looked at the second portal. The image of the rugged horizon shifted, showing glimpses of people with glowing patterns etched into their skin—patterns that pulsed with a raw, primal energy.
"This new world is called Derma," the deity explained, his voice becoming more rhythmic. "It's a place where your destiny isn't written in books, but on your skin. We call them the Tattooed. In Derma, ink isn't decoration; it's a conduit for the soul's power."
Kaelen listened intently. The concept of physical power being tied to a visual mark appealed to the part of him that spent a lifetime mastering systems.
"Everyone starts with Gray Ink," the driver continued. "It's the faint, fading mark of a beginner. But as you grow in strength and will, your ink matures, changing color to show the world exactly where you stand."
He gestured into the void, and a spectrum of colors flickered like a rainbow:
Gray Ink (The Weakest)
White
Green
Blue
Purple
Gold
Red
Unique Ink
Legendary Ink
"And it's not just about the color," the deity added. "The 'Category' of your tattoo defines how you fight. Some manifest Tools like swords or chains. Some call upon Summons to fight for them. Others use Enhancement to turn their bodies into iron, or command the Elements. The rarest ones use Possession, letting the spirit of the mark take over their very form."
Kaelen didn't hesitate. The idea of "Paradise" felt like a surrender. He wasn't a man who enjoyed sitting still; he was a man who enjoyed the climb.
"Send me to Derma," Kaelen said firmly.
The deity smiled, a look of genuine excitement crossing his face. "I thought you'd say that. Just remember, Kaelen: in that world, you don't have a team to back you up, and you don't have a screen to protect you. It's all real."
The driver stepped forward and placed a hand on Kaelen's chest. "I'll give you a little head start, just because I want to see what a King can do in a world of ink. Good luck."
With a sudden, violent shove, the deity pushed Kaelen into the second portal.
The white void shattered. Kaelen felt his spirit being compressed, stretched, and shoved into a vessel that felt too small and too cold. The sensation of falling returned, but this time it ended with a hard, physical thud against a wooden floor.
Kaelen gasped, his lungs burning as they took their first breath of dusty, stagnant air. He opened his eyes, but the bright neon lights of Neo-Eden were gone. Above him wasn't a ceiling of glass and steel, but a rotting roof made of straw and mismatched planks.
He was lying in a dilapidated shack. The wind whistled through the gaps in the walls, carrying the scent of dry earth and manure. His body felt thin, weak, and unfamiliar.
Slowly, he lifted his right arm. There, on the pale skin of his forearm, was a faint, jagged mark of Gray Ink. It looked like nothing more than a smudge of charcoal, but he could feel it—a tiny, flickering ember of power deep beneath his skin.
He wasn't the King of All Games anymore. He was a nobody in a shack.
"Let's see the rules of this world," he whispered, his voice raspy and new.