Kaelen sat up, his head spinning as if he'd just come off a twenty-four-hour VR binge without any hydration. He looked down at his hands. They were small—too small. The skin was stretched tight over bone, and his wrists looked like they'd snap in a stiff breeze. He was in the body of a teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and by the looks of it, a teenager who hadn't seen a square meal in a month.
As he tried to stand, a sharp pain flared in his throat. He reached up, his fingers brushing against a thick, angry welt of bruised skin circling his neck. He looked up at the ceiling. A frayed hemp rope dangled from a crossbeam, a silent witness to the previous occupant's final act of despair.
"So that's how it is," Kaelen rasped, his voice cracking. "The seat was vacant because the last guy checked out."
The grim realization was interrupted by a sudden, frantic pop in his ear, like a static-filled radio tuning in.
"Oh! Crap, crap, crap! Kaelen? You there? Can you hear me?"
It was the driver—the deity. He sounded less like a majestic god and more like a guy who had just realized he'd left the stove on at home.
"I can hear you," Kaelen whispered, glancing around the empty shack. "A bit of a fixer-upper, don't you think? And the neck bruise is a nice touch."
"Yeah, sorry about the 'used' body, but hey, it was available! Look, I'm in a bit of a rush—the Big Bosses are looking for me because I'm not supposed to play favorites—but I totally forgot the most important part! You're a gamer, right? You need your UI! Your HUD! The shiny stuff!"
Kaelen frowned. "You mean a System?"
"Bingo! Just think the word 'Status' or 'Interface' and it'll pop up. To the locals, it's invisible—they just feel their power instinctively like cavemen. But for you? You get the deluxe, high-definition version. Numbers, bars, the whole nine yards! Though, fair warning, some high-level Tattooed might sense you're... 'reading' the air, so don't get too cocky."
Kaelen closed his eyes and thought: Status.
A translucent blue screen shimmered into existence, floating in the dusty air of the shack. It was clean, minimalist, and exactly what he needed to make sense of this mess.
"Listen close," the deity's voice dropped to a frantic whisper, sounding like he was ducking behind a celestial curtain. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I've got a bit of a bias for your style. You aren't the only 'player' on the field. There are others who were brought here from different... well, let's just say you aren't the only one with a second chance. And some of them have had a head start. Watch out for—"
Static. "Hey! Who's there?! I'm just cleaning the—no, wait! Kaelen, just remember: the ink tells the truth, but the System tells the—"
The connection snapped shut with a violent crackle. The deity was gone, leaving Kaelen alone in the silence of the shack with a floating blue screen and a terrifying hint that he was in a race he didn't even know had started.
Kaelen ignored the lingering silence where the deity's voice had been and focused on the shimmering blue light in front of him. If there were others like him in this world, he needed to know his starting stats immediately. He swiped his hand through the air, and the interface expanded.
Player Screen:
Name: Kaelen Vance
Age: 16
Location: Crimson Creek Village - Outskirts
Power Level: Gray Ink, 1 Mark
Tattoo Screen:
Name of Tattoo: Phantom Grin Mask
Level: Gray Ink
Category: Tool / Possession
Description: A spectral mask that manifests over the user's face or floats behind them. It bridges the gap between a physical tool and a spiritual possession, drawing on the user's subconscious aggression.
Mana Cost: 5 per activation (Duration: 5 minutes)
Effects: Increases movement and reaction speed by 50%. Leaves a visual "afterimage" that confuses opponents.
Ink Pool (Mana): 20 / 20
Kaelen twisted his torso, trying to see his shoulder blade. In a cracked piece of a mirror propped against the wall, he saw it. The tattoo was haunting. It wasn't just a drawing; it was a jagged, hyper-stylized theater mask with a smile that looked like it was trying to escape his skin. The "shattered" linework vibrated with a ghostly silver light, and the needle-like teeth in the mask's mouth seemed to ripple as he breathed.
"Fifty percent speed boost at base level," Kaelen whispered, a familiar tactical spark lighting up his eyes. "In a world of physical brawlers, that's a massive frame-data advantage."
He stood up, testing his center of gravity. He was about to channel his "Ink Pool" to see how the speed burst felt when the shack's flimsy wooden door didn't just open—it was kicked off its rusted hinges.
BANG!
"Still alive, you pathetic little rat?"
A tall, broad-shouldered teenager with greasy hair and a sneer stepped into the room. This was Baron, the village head's son and the primary reason the previous owner of this body had reached for the rope. He was followed by two cronies who laughed as they looked at the dilapidated room.
"I heard you were trying to take the easy way out," Baron mocked, stepping over a pile of trash. "I came to see if I could help you kick the chair, but you're just standing there like a—"
Baron stopped mid-sentence. His eyes traveled from Kaelen's bruised neck to his bare shoulder.
The Phantom Grin Mask was reacting to Kaelen's surge of adrenaline. The deep obsidian ink was bleeding off his skin into the air like dark smoke, and the silver luminescence in the mask's eyes began to glow with a terrifying intensity. The laughing face on his back seemed to vibrate, casting a faint, dark afterimage of a mocking grin in the air behind Kaelen.
Baron's face went from flushed red to a sickly, chalky white. In a village like this, a Tattooed was a god among men, regardless of the ink color.
"A... a Tattooed?" Baron stammered, his knees visibly shaking. The two cronies behind him scrambled backward, tripping over each other to get out of the doorway.
The predator had just become the prey. Baron fell to his wooden floor, his bravado shattering. "Wait! Kaelen—no! I was just joking! I didn't know! Please, mercy! I'll bring you food! I'll give you my father's silver! Just don't kill me!"
Kaelen looked down at the shivering bully. He didn't feel the urge to yell. He felt a cold, professional detachment. He took a single step forward, the "smoke" of his tattoo trailing behind him like a ghost.
"You're making a lot of noise," Kaelen said, his voice low and steady. "And I'm trying to read."