I walked toward the white-haired boy, but my legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Each step was heavy, mechanical, as if my body had forgotten how to move. The blood squelched under my feet – a wet, sticky sound that would haunt my nightmares for years to come.
He didn't move. He just stood there, his arms crossed, his blue eyes fixed on me. The broken sword hung at his hip, still dripping black ichor from the creatures he had killed. His white dreadlocks were streaked with red – human red, not monster black.
I stopped a few feet away. The distance between us felt like a chasm.
"You're staring," he said.
"I'm trying to understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why you saved me."
He shrugged. "You were useful."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Behind him, the Ferryman stood at the center of the white world, watching the chaos with mild amusement. The pile of corpses around the scarlet-haired girl had caught his attention. He tilted his head, almost curious, like a scientist observing a particularly interesting specimen.
"Most of you have completed the first mission," he said. His voice echoed across the white expanse, amplified by the emptiness. "Some of you have exceeded expectations."
His gaze lingered on the scarlet-haired girl. She didn't flinch. She didn't look away. She just stood there, her red eyes fixed on the Watcher, her expression unreadable.
"Some of you have barely scraped by."
His gaze found me.
I felt naked. Exposed. The Ferryman's eyes were dark, bottomless, and they seemed to see right through me – past my skin, past my bones, past the blood on my hands. He saw the hesitation. He saw the fear. He saw the man I had killed.
"The interface you see is the System. It tracks your soul, your traits, your inventory, your shards. You will learn to use it, or you will die."
He gestured, and the panels grew brighter. The light was blinding, painful, and I had to look away. When I looked back, new information had appeared.
"Your stats are not static. Kill monsters. Complete missions. Conquer floors. Your soul core may grow. Your traits may evolve. Your affinities may sharpen."
A woman nearby raised a trembling hand. She was older, maybe forty, with greying hair and a face lined with worry. Her white cloth was clean – she hadn't killed anyone. Someone had done it for her.
"What are shards?" she asked.
The Ferryman smiled. It was a terrible smile – thin, cold, utterly devoid of warmth.
"Currency. For the Exchange. You'll find it in your inventory tab. For now, it's empty. Fill it, or starve."
I opened my inventory tab.
Inventory: 0/10 slots empty.
Below it, a sub-tab: Exchange. Locked until Floor 1.
"You may also form parties. Share shards. Share loot. Betray each other." His smile widened. "That is also allowed."
The white-haired boy scoffed. "Trust no one," he muttered. "Got it."
I looked at my stats again. Dust core. Rank 1. The lowest. The bottom of the barrel. But I had a Rank 5 trait – Seeker. I didn't even know what it did.
I focused on the word Seeker.
A new panel appeared.
Seeker (Rank 5, Weave, Active)
Passive Effect: Eyes of the Observer – Enhanced perception of hidden details (traps, lies, inconsistencies).
Active Effect: Future Sight – See 1-3 seconds into the future. Cooldown: 1 day. Heavy soul drain. Low proficiency.
Future sight? I could see the future?
A man nearby screamed. I turned.
He was clutching his head, his panel flickering erratically. The light was strobing, casting strange shadows across his face. "I can't – I don't understand – what is Blessing? What is—"
The Ferryman flicked his wrist.
The man popped.
Not blood. Not gore. He just… exploded into light. His white cloth fluttered to the ground. Empty. His panel vanished. His screams were cut off mid-syllable.
"The System is not a toy," the Watcher said. "Learn quickly, or die quickly."
Silence.
The survivors stared at the empty cloth. Some wept. Some vomited. Some simply stood there, their faces blank, their minds already broken.
Then, from across the field of corpses, the scarlet-haired girl spoke. Her voice was soft, but it carried.
"How many floors until the exit?"
The Ferryman turned to her. His smile faded.
"There is no exit. Only the top. Floor 100."
"Then what's at the top?"
"A new god."
Her red eyes narrowed. "And the old gods?"
The Ferryman didn't answer. He simply raised his hand.
"First mission complete. Survivors: twelve thousand, four hundred and thirty-two. Prepare for transport to Floor 1."
The white world began to flicker.
The edges of reality seemed to peel back, revealing darkness beyond. The light dimmed, flickered, died. The floor beneath my feet trembled.
I looked at the white-haired boy. "What's your name?"
"Hunter."
"I'm Ren."
"I know. You said that already."
The world twisted.
---