Today marks my twenty-fifth birthday.Nothing significant has ever defined my life. I'm exactly what most people expect from an ordinary office worker—minimum wage, no girlfriend, barely surviving. Still, from my perspective, this life isn't so bad. Being able to live through another day is already a blessing.
People who know my story always say the same thing: "Such a miserable soul." They aren't wrong. I'm not just ordinary—I was born with a rare disease, one that no doctor has ever identified. Because of it, there isn't much I can do with my life.
Even so, today felt strangely warm. My colleagues wished me well, hoping I'd find a cure someday. Their kindness touched me more than I expected.But like any other transmigration tale, the story can't begin unless the protagonist dies.
It happened after work. On my way home, I saw a thug harassing a child. Normally, I wouldn't interfere—such things are common where I live—but something inside me clicked. Maybe instinct, maybe stupidity. For once, I stepped in.
And that was it.A gunshot. A single bullet through my chest.
Strangely, I didn't feel pain. Perhaps it was because my body, already dulled by years of illness, had finally gone numb. Or maybe it was because, deep down, I welcomed the end.
The world blurred before my eyes. I saw it one last time, before surrendering to eternal slumber.
The void was endless, cold, and eerily silent. I couldn't tell if I had been here for seconds or centuries; time had unraveled into nothingness. My body no longer existed, and yet I felt the strange weight of consciousness—like a thought refusing to dissolve.
Then it came.
"Oh… I wasn't expecting anyone today."
The voice was soft, like silk brushed against skin, but it echoed through the void with a power that made everything vibrate. My non-existent heart seemed to lurch, and before me, light gathered.
A figure emerged.
She was—how could I even describe it? Words like beautiful or gorgeous felt cheap, insults even, to the vision before me. Her form seemed sculpted from the essence of perfection itself: long hair flowed like a midnight river, skin glowed faintly with a warmth that made the void less suffocating, and her eyes… they were galaxies in themselves, shimmering with secrets too old for me to comprehend.
And yet, there was playfulness in them, a spark that softened the overwhelming divinity.
I froze, staring like an idiot. What could I possibly say to… that?
A laugh slipped from her lips, light and crystalline, carrying the kind of charm that could make nations kneel.
"Well now," she said, tilting her head. "A mortal, here of all places? And such a quiet one. Are you stunned into silence, or are you simply rude?"
My mouth opened. "I—I…" Nothing came out. My mind scrambled. I was dead, right? Shot, bleeding, gone. This had to be some hallucination before the end.
"You… who are you?" I finally managed.
Her smile deepened. "Better. At least you remembered how to speak."
The woman—no, the goddess, for there was no other word—placed a finger against her lips as though debating how to introduce herself. Finally, she spread her arms slightly, a motion so graceful the void itself seemed to ripple around her.
"I am one of those you mortals call a god. A being tasked with weaving threads of fate, ensuring the worlds spin as they should." Her tone dipped into mock seriousness before softening again. "But you may call me Amara. It's easier on your tongue than my true name."
"Amara…" I repeated, dazed.
She nodded approvingly, then her gaze sharpened, piercing. "And you are… unfortunate. Or perhaps fortunate, depending on perspective."
"What do you mean?"
Amara's expression shifted; amusement lingered in her eyes, but beneath it lay something heavier. "You weren't supposed to die, child. Not like that. A stray bullet from a petty thug? No, no, that wasn't in your script. You were meant to live several more decades, grey-haired and weary but content."
My chest tightened. "So… my death was…?"
"My mistake."
The words struck harder than the bullet had. She said it casually, almost flippant, but it carried the weight of a divine confession.
For a moment, I couldn't speak. My death—reduced to an accident? Not destiny, not karma, not even some grand design, but… paperwork lost in the heavens?
"You're telling me," I said slowly, "that I died… because you messed up?"
Amara pressed a finger to her chin and looked away, as though embarrassed. "Mmm. Yes. A small oversight. Mortals die all the time, you know. Sorting your threads is tedious. Sometimes… one gets snipped too early."
I stared at her in disbelief. A goddess, admitting negligence.
"So… my whole life, the pain, the disease, all of it—just for me to get shot early by mistake?"
Her eyes softened. "Not all of it. Your struggles were real, your suffering shaped you. But your death? That part… was not meant to be."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Great. Just what I needed to hear in the afterlife—'oops, sorry, my bad.'"
To my surprise, she chuckled. "Sharp tongue for someone addressing a god."
"Well excuse me," I snapped, though my voice trembled more than I wanted, "but I think I'm entitled to a little sarcasm, considering you killed me."
Amara only smiled, unbothered. "Fair enough." She waved her hand lazily, and the void rippled, stars blooming like flowers across the emptiness. "That's why I am here, child. To atone. Gods are not supposed to interfere directly with mortal threads, but when one of us makes a mistake…" Her voice lowered, gentler now. "We must compensate."
I blinked. "…Compensate?"
"Yes. You could call it a gift. A second chance."
My breath caught. This was the part in every novel, every story, every manga I'd ever read—the setup. The ordinary man, the tragic death, the benevolent deity offering another life. And yet, standing here, I felt no joy. Just suspicion.
"What's the catch?" I asked.
Her lips curved in approval. "Clever mortal. Most of your kind are too blinded by hope to ask. Yes, there are conditions. I cannot return you to your old life—your thread there is already cut. But I can grant you passage into another."
"Another… life."
She nodded. "A new body, a new world, a new fate. And because the fault was mine, I will offer you something no mortal has ever been given before."
Her hand lifted, and light spun between her fingers, coalescing into a glowing sphere. Within it swirled images: castles and forests, seas of stars, skies burning with dragons, cities brimming with soul masters and strange powers.
"You may choose," she whispered, voice echoing with divine resonance. "Choose the world you wish to live in."
I couldn't breathe. My heart—if I still had one—raced in my chest. Choose… the world?
She watched me carefully, her star-filled eyes locking onto mine. "I can see it already. You are not a soul who wishes for a simple countryside life, no matter what you say. You endured suffering, you craved meaning. You read stories, didn't you? Tales of heroes, of power, of worlds beyond your reach."
Heat rose to my face. She wasn't wrong. Back in my world, I had devoured fantasy novels and web serials, my only escape from the reality of disease and drudgery. I knew the names of worlds by heart, imagined myself walking their paths.
"Yes…" I whispered. "I did."
Amara's smile was both kind and mischievous. "Then tell me, mortal. If you could live again, where would you go?"
The images within the sphere shifted faster now, countless worlds shimmering before me. But amidst the chaos, one image held me captive: a familiar emblem, a memory from nights spent reading until dawn.
The world of Douluo Dalu.
Soul rings. Martial spirits. Tang San and Shrek. The universe that had shaped so much of my imagination.
My voice trembled as I spoke. "I… I want to go there."
Amara tilted her head. "Douluo Dalu… Interesting. Ambitious choice. Do you even know the cruelty of that world? The bloodshed, the endless struggle for power?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "I know. And I still want to go."
For a long moment, she studied me, silent. Then, slowly, her lips curved upward.
"Very well, little mortal. Douluo Dalu it shall be. But remember—gifts are never free."
Her hand extended, and the sphere of light drifted toward me, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"This gift will not only grant you passage, but also something rare—something no one else in that world will possess. A second martial spirit, born from the depths of your soul itself. One cold as eternity… and one soaked in blood."
The sphere of light sank into me, cold and scorching all at once. I gasped, though I had no lungs, and clutched at my chest though I had no body.
"What… what is this?"
Amara's eyes gleamed. "The gift I promised. Power drawn from the fragments of your soul, refined by my will. When you awaken in your new body, you will find not one spirit but two. They will shape your journey—blessings and curses both."
Her words lingered in the void, heavy as chains. I swallowed hard. "Two spirits? But… isn't that too much? I've read enough to know most people are lucky to awaken one. A few geniuses awaken two. But mine—"
She cut me off with a soft laugh, melodic and cruel. "Mortal, do you think my compensation would be ordinary? If I took your life before its time, then what I give in return must be extraordinary."
"But… why?"
Her smile thinned, her gaze sharp as a blade. "Because balance demands it. The thread of your life was cut early. That imbalance must be corrected. But whether this gift saves you… or damns you… is no longer my concern."
Her words sent a chill down my spine. "Wait—damn me? What do you mean by that?"
Amara leaned closer. Even in this formless void, her presence pressed down like a mountain, suffocating and irresistible. "Every gift is a double-edged sword. Power does not come without hunger. The first spirit—Ice Buddha—will grant you serenity, clarity, and a cold strength that few can withstand. But if you rely too much on it… you will find your heart freezing along with your enemies."
Her hand traced a lazy circle in the void, and frost spread outward like fractal glass, beautiful and merciless.
"And the second…" She paused, and her voice lowered, darker. "The second is Muzan's Blood. A spirit of corruption, domination, and eternal hunger. With it, you may command others, shape them into extensions of yourself. But beware, child—every drop of blood you give, every soul you bind, will echo back into you. Their sins will become yours. Their hunger will feed your own. Tell me…" She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Will you be their master… or their slave?"
My throat tightened. The thought of power that could command others thrilled me—and terrified me.
"…Why me?" I whispered.
Amara smiled faintly, but this time without humor. "Because fate is cruel. And because I was careless."
Silence stretched between us. I wanted to shout, to demand answers, but the weight of her presence swallowed every word. Finally, I forced myself to ask:
"So I'll awaken with… Ice Buddha. And Muzan's Blood."
"Yes."
"And you're just… handing this to me?"
Her lips curved again, the kind of smile that was both promise and threat. "Not handing. Bestowing. Whether you use it wisely, recklessly, or not at all—that is yours to decide. I do not coddle mortals, even the ones I wrong."
Her gaze deepened, galaxies whirling in her eyes. "That world is a crucible. It will test you. Break you. Remake you. If you had chosen another—some peaceful life in a quiet land—your gifts would rot. You would waste them. But in Douluo Dalu…" She spread her arms, and for an instant I glimpsed visions: Tang San clashing with Spirit Hall, blood raining across battlefields, seas roaring as titans fought, skies burning with divine light. "In that world, your power will matter."
I couldn't tear my eyes away.
Amara's voice dropped to a whisper, both intimate and terrifying. "That is why, little mortal. That is why you chose it. And that is why I allow it."
I licked my lips nervously. "…And if I fail?"
Her laughter rang out, silver and sharp. "Then you die. Again. Perhaps this time, properly."
"…You're cruel."
"I am a god," she replied simply. "Cruelty is not a choice. It is the nature of my existence."
For a while, neither of us spoke. I stared into the void, replaying her words. Power beyond reason, gifts that could damn me, a world of struggle ahead. My life had always been small, defined by limitations I couldn't overcome. And now—now I was being hurled into something vast, terrifying, and alive.
I should have been afraid. I was afraid. But beneath the fear was a spark—something I hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
Amara must have seen it in my eyes, because she leaned closer, her voice softening, almost tender. "Do not mistake this for kindness, child. I am not giving you what you desire. I am giving you what you need. Whether you curse my name or worship me in the end… that is irrelevant."
I took a shaky breath. "Then… what happens now?"
Her smile returned, serene and radiant. She lifted her hand, and the void around us began to ripple, folding inward like a collapsing dream. Stars winked out one by one, darkness devouring everything but her glowing form.
"Now," she said, her voice echoing everywhere and nowhere at once, "you awaken."
The last thing I saw was her gaze, ancient and amused, watching me like a reader savoring the turn of a page.
And then—