Chapter 1: Death and Rebirth
The sun shone bright today.
Alex stood on the sidewalk, squinted up at the sky, then glanced down at the sweat-soaked resume in his hand and sighed.
Twenty-three years old, two years out of college. Forty-seven resumes sent out, twelve job interviews. Either the salary was absurdly low—"Young people need to gain experience"—or the HR would glance at his resume and say, "We'll be in touch," and he'd never hear from them again.
The basement apartment he rented was due for another rent hike next month. The bald, overweight landlord had smiled and said, "Wang, prices are going up everywhere, you understand."
My last name isn't Wang. He corrected him every time, and the landlord forgot every time.
He rolled his resume into a tube, tapped it against his palm, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the office building across the street. Thirteenth interview, at a company called Starriver Technology. The receptionist had sounded sweet on the phone, saying, "We really value young people's drive."
Alex knew what that really meant. But he had no right to be picky.
He was halfway across the road when he heard a shrill horn blare.
He turned his head.
The front of a truck was less than two meters from his face.
Sunlight glinted off the windshield; he couldn't make out the driver's expression, only his own reflection staring back—twenty-three, in a borrowed suit, clutching a resume, looking a little dazed.
Then the impact.
No slow motion, no life flashing before his eyes. Just a dull thud, the sound of bones shattering from deep inside his body. He didn't even feel pain—only a massive, irresistible force flinging him like a ragdoll.
He heard screams.
Then nothing.
He lay on the asphalt, eyes open, staring at the sky. The sun was still the same sun, but his body no longer obeyed him. Blood oozed from the back of his head, warm, spreading across the pavement.
Twenty-three.
That was the only thought left in his mind.
Twenty-three, forty-seven resumes sent, twelve interviews, a basement rent hike next month, a thirteenth interview he never got to.
Is that it?
People were shouting "Call an ambulance", others taking photos. He wanted to tell them to stop, but his mouth wouldn't move.
His vision blurred. The sky faded from blue to gray, then to black.
Twenty-three.
His life hadn't even begun.
I won't accept this.
Darkness.
Nothing but darkness. No light, no sound, no body. He wasn't even sure he still existed.
Then something lit up.
Not light—text. Lines upon lines of green code, like in old sci-fi movies, surging from the deepest part of his consciousness, spreading densely to form an interface. He didn't see it with his eyes—he had none left—it materialized directly in his perception.
He couldn't read the code. But one line he understood.
[Host consciousness detected. Initiate Apocalypse System?]
"What…"
[Apocalypse System activated.]
[Synchronizing with host consciousness… synchronization complete.]
[Host status: Deceased (irreversible physical body destruction).]
[Available option: Rebuild physical body, cross-temporal teleportation.]
"Wait—"
[Condition attached to option.]
"What condition?"
[Host must accept a commission. Details to be disclosed at an appropriate time.]
"What do you mean appropriate time? Speak clearly—"
[Does the host accept?]
Two options popped up on the interface.
[Accept]
[Reject]
He stared at Reject for a long time.
Reject? Then what? Then there would be nothing. He was already dead. Lying on the road, blood pooling around him. In a few hours, someone would probably call his mother, all the way in another city.
He remembered his mother calling last month: "If you can't find a job, come home. Mom will take care of you."
He'd said no, just wait a little longer, it'd be soon.
Twenty-three. Forty-seven resumes. A basement. A landlord who called him Wang.
His life hadn't even begun.
I won't accept this.
He chose Accept.
[Host selection: Accept.]
[Rebuilding physical body… locating target spacetime coordinates… location confirmed.]
[Teleport countdown: 3—2—1—]
"Wait—what exactly is the commission—"
Gravity hit him first.
His body slammed hard onto a hard surface, his back throbbing, air forced from his lungs with a muffled groan.
Pain.
Pain was good. The dead didn't feel pain.
He snapped his eyes open, gasping for breath as if pulled from water. His vision blurred for a few seconds, then slowly focused.
He wasn't looking at the sky.
He was looking at metal.
Above him loomed a huge metallic dome, silvery-white, crisscrossed with dense light strips casting a soft cold glow. The dome was absurdly tall—at least a hundred meters—and things moved across it—not lights, but mechanical structures, writhing and reshaping slowly like living things.
He lay on a platform made of white ceramic-like material, warm and faintly vibrating. Around the platform stretched an empty hall, vast as a stadium, with dark gray metallic floors polished like mirrors, reflecting his figure.
He looked down at himself.
His clothes had changed. No longer the borrowed suit, but a close-fitting dark combat suit, fabric-like in texture but unnaturally tough. He tugged at it; it didn't budge.
His body had changed too. He could feel it—muscles firmer, reflexes faster, breathing deeper than before. The system had rebuilt a body for him.
"Where… am I?"
He stood up, his voice echoing through the hall.
Then he saw into the distance.
The edge of the hall was a full wall of transparent barriers—not glass, some kind of energy field, clear enough to see the world outside.
He walked over, stood before it, and froze.
Outside was a city.
But not any city he knew.
Buildings pierced the sky like silver spires, vanishing into the clouds, their surfaces rippling with golden light veins like living blood vessels. Giant ring structures hovered in the air, spinning slowly, with countless specks of light darting around them—crafts, thousands upon thousands, like metallic fish.
In the far distance, at the horizon, he saw something enormous… a ring, so big it blotted out half the sky. Not the moon, not the sun. A colossal structure under construction, its edges glowing with welding sparks, surrounded by thousands of engineering vessels at work.
His brain took several seconds to process it all.
Then a voice spoke inside his head.
[Welcome to the year 12456 AD, host.]
Alex stumbled back, hitting the edge of the platform behind him.
"You—you're inside my head?"
[Apocalypse System is permanently bound to host consciousness. Calm is advised. Heart rate has risen to 142 beats per minute, excessive adrenaline secretion.]
"Could've warned me first."
[Warning issued. Teleport countdown of three seconds.]
"That doesn't count."
He didn't argue further. He began to take in his surroundings.
He wasn't alone in the hall.
In the distance, several figures were approaching. No, not people—not entirely, at least.
They had human shapes, but parts of their bodies were mechanical. One had an entirely metallic left arm, intricate structures visible at the joints, fingers moving deftly. Another's eyes glowed faint blue, data scrolling in their pupils.
They were talking softly, but Alex heard every word clearly—not because his ears were better, but the system was processing the sound for him.
[Multiple life forms detected. Carbon-silicon hybrid constructs. Threat level: None.]
At the same time, text appeared at the edge of his vision.
[Identifying identity…]
[Name: Elliot Wayne]
[Position: Intermediate Inspector, Earth Union Security Department]
[Modification level: Left arm cyberization (military grade)]
[Name: Mira Cohen]
[Position: Data Analyst, Earth Union Security Department]
[Modification level: Visual system cyberization (intelligence grade)]
Alex blinked. The text stayed in his sight.
"What is this… AR?"
[Apocalypse System · Perception Resonance Module. Capable of identifying basic target information. More functions to be unlocked gradually.]
The group stopped in front of him.
The leader—Elliot—scanned him up and down. His gaze lingered a few seconds on Alex's combat suit.
"Another one from the Outer Ring?" Elliot said to Mira. "Haven't finished dealing with the refugee wave, and now new arrivals?"
Mira tilted her head, those blue-glowing eyes fixed on Alex for a few seconds.
"No identity in the database," she said. "Nothing at all. Not even a basic file."
"Stowaway?"
"Doesn't look like it. He…" She frowned. "His genetic marker is pure carbon-based. No modifications. Anyone from the Outer Ring has at least some silicon components, or they can't survive."
They exchanged a look, then turned back to Alex.
"Who are you? Where are you from?" Elliot asked.
Alex opened his mouth.
What could he say? I was dumped here by some broken system from 2027?
[Advice: Do not reveal true origin. Host lacks self-defense capabilities at present. Temporary identity concealment recommended.]
"…I don't really know," he said. "I just woke up here. I can't remember… anything before that."
It was the safest lie he could think of.
Elliot clearly didn't buy it, but didn't press. "Come on. The top wants to see you. Everyone coming through the teleport platform has to go through vetting."
"Where to?"
"Union Headquarters."
They led him out of the hall and into a hovering vehicle.
No wheels, no engine noise. The body was sleek silver-gray, spacious inside like a small meeting room. Through the window, Alex saw the city up close at last.
The streets—if they could still be called that—were layered. Upper levels were high-speed lanes, crafts darting at incomprehensible speeds; middle levels were pedestrian zones, storefronts and building facades lined entirely with holographic projections, ads, announcements, and art shifting constantly; lower levels were out of sight, but he could hear deep mechanical rumbling.
People of all kinds walked the streets. Some looked no different from 21st-century humans; others were modified beyond recognition—all-metal faces, glowing blood vessels, translucent chests revealing beating artificial hearts. And some… weren't human at all. Not human, anyway. They came in all shapes, some lizard-like, some resembling sea creatures, floating on specialized mobile platforms.
Aliens.
Alex stared for a long time until Mira coughed softly.
"First time seeing aliens?"
"…Sort of."
"Everyone from the Outer Ring is like that," she said, no mockery in her tone, just statement. "You get used to it. Hundreds of intelligent species in the galaxy, most with diplomatic ties to humanity. No one bothers you as long as you don't cause trouble."
Hundreds of species.
Alex leaned back in his seat, watching the city blur past outside, suddenly feeling his mind struggling to keep up.
"We're here," Elliot said.
The vehicle stopped before a colossal building, shaped like a sword plunged into the ground, silvery-white, its tip vanishing into the clouds. The main entrance was wide enough for ten trucks to drive through side by side, guarded by two rows of sentries—not all human, some three-meter-tall mechanical units with red energy veins glowing at their joints.
They entered, walking down endless wide corridors. Holographic screens lined the walls, playing news footage.
Alex glanced at one and froze mid-step.
The screen showed a battlefield. Charred ground, burning buildings, broken mechanical wreckage scattered everywhere. At the center was a symbol—a gear merged with a skull, silver, stark against the fire.
The narrator spoke, but Alex didn't listen. His gaze locked onto something in the corner of the frame.
A corpse. No, more than one. Piled together, unidentifiable as human or machine, twisted metal and mangled flesh tangled, as if seared by some high-temperature weapon.
His stomach churned.
[Identifying target faction…]
[Identification complete. Symbol match: Akanos.]
[Commission target: Eliminate the Akanos faction. Details pending.]
"What?" he blurted.
Elliot turned back. "Something wrong?"
"Nothing." Alex suppressed his shock and followed.
Eliminate Akanos. That was the condition the system had mentioned.
He wanted to ask more, but the system fell silent, like someone who'd tossed a bomb into his arms and walked away.
They were led into a meeting room.
Small, with an oval metallic table at its center embedded with a hologram projector. The opposite wall was a full-length floor-to-ceiling window, offering a panoramic view of the city—sky-piercing spires, darting lights, the giant ring under construction in the distance.
A man sat at the far end of the table.
He looked in his fifties, gray-haired, deep lines etched on his face. He wore a dark blue uniform with a badge pinned to his chest—a depiction of Earth encircled by olive branches. His eyes were sharp, the kind of sharpness only someone long in power possessed.
A hologram of Alex's profile projected onto the table—blank. Name field empty, origin marked Unknown, genetic marker showing only a red warning sign.
"My name is Andrei Voronov," the man said, voice low and steady. "Secretary-General of the Earth Union."
He paused, his gaze lingering on Alex for a few seconds.
"Your file is empty. Completely empty. That is nearly impossible in the Union database—even newborn infants have records."
Alex said nothing.
"Your genetic marker shows you are a pure carbon-based human," Voronov went on. "No modifications, no nanite implants, not even basic vaccine markers. A body like that couldn't survive a week in the Outer Ring."
He leaned forward, hands folded on the table.
"So I ask you again. Who are you? Where are you from?"
Alex felt the atmosphere in the room shift. Elliot's hand rested on his weapon at his hip; Mira's eyes glowed brighter—she was likely recording, or running deeper data analysis.
He needed to tell the truth. At least, part of it.
"My name is Alex," he said. "As for where I'm from… you probably won't believe me."
"Try me."
"2027."
Silence.
Elliot frowned. Mira tapped a virtual keyboard and shook her head.
"No record of temporal travel," she said. "Theoretically, reverse time travel is impossible. The energy requirement exceeds the capacity of any known civilization."
"I don't have a time machine," Alex said. "I died. Then something called the Apocalypse System brought me back and dumped me here. And it told me I have to complete a mission."
"What mission?" Voronov asked.
Alex hesitated.
"Eliminate Akanos."
The room fell deathly still.
Elliot's hand tightened fully around his weapon; Mira's expression turned alert. Only Voronov didn't move, just watched him, something new in his eyes.
"Do you know what Akanos is?" the Secretary-General asked.
"Not really. Just the symbol." Alex gestured toward the window—or rather, the news footage he'd seen earlier. "A gear and a skull. Doesn't look like anything good."
Voronov fell silent for a few seconds, then did something no one expected.
He smiled.
Not mockery. A tired, bitter smile.
"You're right," he said. "It isn't."
He stood and walked to the window, his back to Alex.
"Akanos. A mechanical planet. Ten thousand years ago, a group of Earth nobles refused Union rule, fled beyond the Solar System with their wealth and technology. They built an artificial celestial body there, converted themselves into cyborgs, and then… began to conquer."
He turned back.
"They raid our colonial planets, seize resources, abduct people. Captives are enslaved, used as test subjects. Sphinx—their leader—has killed thousands in his pursuit of immortality. Genetic experiments, consciousness transfer, mechanical fusion… he's tried everything. No matter how many die."
His voice was calm, but Alex heard the undercurrent. Rage, suppressed for so long it threatened to overflow.
"The Union has been at war with Akanos for nearly ten thousand years," Voronov said. "Our forces are evenly matched. Neither can destroy the other. But less than a decade after every truce, they attack again."
He returned to the table and sat opposite Alex.
"The Galactic Security Council has officially authorized the Earth Union to carry out Operation Akanos Purge. We're preparing a full-scale offensive. But intelligence is scarce. We know far too little about Akanos from the inside."
He looked Alex in the eye.
"If you're telling the truth about being sent to destroy Akanos… then you've arrived at exactly the right time."
At that moment, the alarms blared.
A shrill, continuous beep echoed from every corner of the building. The table hologram switched automatically to a massive star map. Red dots flickered at its edge, dense as a swarm of locusts closing in.
Mira shot to her feet, pale.
"Akanos fleet," she said. "Spatial jump signatures—detected thirteen minutes ago, now twenty minutes from Earth orbit."
Voronov's expression didn't change. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them.
"How many times this year?" he muttered, as if to himself.
"Third," Elliot replied.
"Prepare for defense," Voronov said, heading for the door. Halfway there, he paused and glanced back at Alex.
"You're coming with me."
They threaded through corridor after corridor until they reached a massive command center.
A circular hall at least two hundred meters in diameter. At its center loomed a giant hologram showing Earth and surrounding space. The red dots had multiplied, closing in on Earth orbit from multiple directions. Blue dots—Earth's defense fleet—were repositioning, like a disturbed hive.
Dozens of personnel bustled about, noise chaotic but orderly. Shouts of coordinates, fleet position updates, interception window calculations.
Voronov stepped to the central command console and checked the data.
"How many ships?"
"Sixty-three vanguard vessels. Main fleet still jumping, total estimated at over two hundred," an officer replied.
"Defense fleet?"
"One hundred twenty ships in Earth orbit. Mars fleet en route, estimated arrival in forty minutes."
"Forty minutes is too slow," Voronov said. "Order emergency jumps. Ignore hull wear."
He turned to Alex.
"You want to know what Akanos is? Watch this."
He pointed at the hologram.
The image zoomed in. Alex saw the red dots for what they were—warships.
Not the spacecraft he imagined. They were alive.
Not biologically alive. A hybrid of machine and flesh. Giant metallic hulls embedded with… meat. Organs, pulsing slowly, covered in glowing blood vessels. Some even had faces on their surfaces—not real faces, twisted nightmares of metal and flesh merged together, no boundary between them.
Alex's stomach lurched again.
[Warning. High concentration of malicious radiation detected.]
[Advice: Stay away from contact source.]
"These are Akanos 'living warships'," Voronov said, his voice cold. "Half machine, half organic. They use captives' bodies and nervous systems as control units. At least a hundred living people are converted into 'core processors' in every ship."
Alex felt his blood run cold.
"They're still alive?" he asked.
"Alive," Voronov said. "Sphinx discovered that a living human nervous system controls machinery more efficiently than any AI. Fear, pain, despair… these emotions boost the ship's response speed. So he keeps the captives conscious, trapped in constant terror."
He paused.
"This is Akanos."
Alex fell silent.
He thought of the pile of corpses in the news footage. Of the system's command to eliminate Akanos. Of how he'd hesitated to take the mission.
Now he didn't hesitate.
"What can I do?" he asked.
Voronov looked at him. "What can you do?"
Alex didn't know either. He'd just arrived in this world, knew nothing about it. But the system had given him something—a strengthened body, abilities he barely understood.
He needed to test them.
"Give me a way out there," he said. "Let me get close to those things."
Voronov frowned. "Are you serious?"
"I've died once," Alex said. "Don't plan on doing it again. But I'm not going to stand here and watch."
The Secretary-General stared at him for a long time.
Then he gestured. An officer stepped over and handed him a communicator.
"Put this on. We'll guide you," Voronov said. "If those abilities you mentioned are real… we need you back alive."
He stood on a launch platform, the sky—no, space—open above him. An energy shield separated vacuum from atmosphere; through it, he saw the black void and the approaching red dots in the distance.
A small shuttle rested before him. Silvery-white, streamlined, pilotless.
"Auto-navigation will take you to the front lines," Elliot's voice came through the communicator. "Once you're there… good luck."
Alex climbed aboard and settled into the cockpit. The seat adjusted automatically to fit his body.
"I have no idea how to operate this thing," he said.
"You don't need to. Just sit."
The shuttle lifted off, passed through the shield, and entered space.
Alex saw Earth through the viewport.
Not the blue marble in photos. Alive. The atmosphere glowed faintly in sunlight, clouds winding like white ribbons over the continents. In the distance, the Moon was clearly visible, its surface covered in dense buildings and lights.
He had no time to admire it.
The shuttle accelerated, racing toward the battlefield.
Space ahead lit up. Blue energy beams and red plasma blasts wove a net, explosions flaring like fireworks. Earth's defense fleet formed a defensive arc, attempting to intercept the Akanos vanguard.
The shuttle cut through friendly lines and charged into the enemy fleet.
"Three hundred meters ahead, a blind spot in the enemy ship's flank fire," Elliot's voice said in his ear. "I can drop you there, but only a ten-second window."
"Enough."
The shuttle's hatch opened. Vacuum suction tried to yank him out, but the combat suit locked tight against his skin, forming a transparent oxygen mask over his face.
[Vacuum environment detected. Survival adaptation module activated.]
[Advice: Use short-range teleportation to approach target.]
"I've never used this before."
[System will assist. Focus on target location.]
Alex fixed his gaze on the enemy ship. The flank of the living warship, a section without turrets, a seam between metal and flesh.
He took a deep breath.
Then he jumped.
Not a jump. Space folded, twisted, and realigned in an instant—and he stood on the ship's surface.
Beneath his feet was warm, faintly pulsing metal. No, not metal. Flesh. Organic tissue covered in a metallic shell, sinking slightly under his boots before springing back.
Disgusting.
He fought the nausea and looked around. A turret thirty meters above swiveled toward him—they'd spotted him.
[Analyzing weak points.]
His vision shifted. Tiny light spots crisscrossed the ship's surface like a web. One pulsed brighter than the rest.
[Structural weakness detected. Armor seam, energy conduit node. Destruction will trigger localized energy overload.]
Alex had no weapons.
But he had fists.
He activated physical overclock.
Power exploded in his veins. He felt muscle fibers tearing, rebuilding, strengthening; bone density spiked in an instant. Sharp, brief pain shot through his limbs—then suppressed by the system's power optimization.
He threw a punch.
It slammed into the glowing spot.
Armor shattered. Metal fragments flew, revealing flesh beneath—pink, veined, boiling the second it was exposed to vacuum.
Then the energy conduit.
He saw it—a glowing blue tube embedded in the flesh, pulsing. He reached out, grabbed it, and tore it free.
Energy overload.
The ship's flank erupted.
Not an explosion, a silent, slow disintegration. Metal plates peeled away, exposing innards like a gutted animal corpse. Fire burst from the cracks, then snuffed out instantly—no oxygen in space.
Alex was thrown spinning by the shockwave. He stabilized himself and looked down.
The ship's flank had collapsed. Turrets tilted, energy lines drifting like severed blood vessels.
[Teleport.]
He reappeared beside the shuttle, grabbed the hatch edge, and pulled himself inside.
"You…" Elliot's voice crackled through the communicator, stunned. "You just punched through a warship's armor with your fist?"
"It already had a weak point," Alex panted. "I just found it."
He looked down at his right hand. Skin split over his knuckles, blood beads freezing into red crystals in vacuum. But the wound was healing—visibly fast. Seconds later, the gash closed, leaving only dried blood.
"What exactly are you?" Elliot's tone sharpened with alert.
"I don't know either," Alex said. It was the truth.
He leaned back in his seat, staring at the disintegrating warship outside the viewport. More red dots closed in—Akanos's main fleet had arrived.
But he'd done it.
One punch, through a warship's armor.
The system's power was more absurd than he'd imagined.
When he returned to the command center, everyone was staring at him.
Not hostility. Something he couldn't quite name. Shock? Curiosity? Or something he hadn't earned—reverence?
"You single-handedly disabled an Akanos capital ship," Voronov stood before him, voice steady but his eyes glinting. "With your fist."
"It had a weak point," Alex said. "I just got lucky."
"Lucky people don't punch through a meter of composite armor in vacuum," Elliot said beside him. His wariness was gone, replaced by something Alex couldn't place—respect?
Voronov paused, then held out his hand.
"Welcome to the Earth Union," he said. "Unconventional as your recruitment may be."
Alex shook it.
"I don't know how much I can do," he said. "That system… it's unstable. Sometimes it spits out random information, sometimes it—"
He almost said makes me feel like I'm not myself, but stopped. It sounded insane.
"It doesn't matter," Voronov said. "We have plenty of time to figure it out."
He turned toward the window. The battle in space continued, but Akanos's vanguard had been repelled. After witnessing how their first ship was destroyed, the main fleet had pulled back—for now.
"Sphinx won't let this go," the Secretary-General muttered. "Every attack is a test of our defenses. A search for weaknesses. Once he finds them, he'll come with everything he has."
He looked at Alex.
"You said you were sent to destroy Akanos. I don't know who sent you, or why. But if you're telling the truth—we need to talk about what comes next."
Alex nodded.
He knew this war couldn't be won with fists alone. The system had given him strength, but also a mission he wasn't sure he could complete.
Eliminate Akanos.
He didn't even fully know what it was. But he'd seen the living warships. The monsters that used living humans as processors.
If Sphinx was the one who created such things…
He deserved to be destroyed.
[Commission updated: Eliminate the Akanos faction.]
[Current progress: 0.03%.]
[Corruption level: Lv.0 (Pure).]
[Warning: Ability usage accumulates corruption. Overuse may cause mental abnormalities.]
Alex stared at the text for a long time.
0.03%.
He'd broken through a warship, and only completed 0.03 percent.
The road ahead was long.
But at least… he'd taken the first step.