Somewhere unknown, a young man opened his eyes on the damp sand.
— Hummm… where am I? I shouldn't be alive… — Leon murmured, squinting against the light.
He rose slowly. The scene before him looked like a painting: sand as pale as crushed snow, crystal-clear sea, palm trees bending in the breeze. The sun shone in a perfect spot, warm but not burning. Each step made the fine sand slip through his feet as if the place had been shaped to welcome him. The air carried salt and a sweet, almost fruity scent.
For a few seconds, he let himself be deceived by the charm. But soon, his stomach protested and his mind began to pull memories. Only fragments: a fall, blinding light, then nothing but shattered recollections.
— My name is… — he frowned. — Leon. — He repeated softly, as if he needed to hold on to his own identity before it slipped away too.
He walked to a moss-covered rise and sat down to catch his breath. It wasn't heaven. Nor hell. It was too real: warmth on the skin, breeze on the face, regular waves, hunger growing.
Then he saw something on the horizon. A tall shadow cutting across the surface of the sea. He narrowed his eyes against the light.
— A boat? — he whispered, heart racing. — A sailboat…?
He jumped to his feet. If it was a ship, there would be people. There would be salvation. He ran along the beach, feet sinking in the sand, trying to see better. But the closer he got to the water, the stranger the silhouette became. No masts, no sails. Just a dark tip rising like a blade.
The supposed "sailboat" swayed with the sea, and finally, the truth hit him: it was a fin. Just the visible part was over three meters long.
Leon froze, blood running cold. The fin cut through the waves slowly, almost lazily, but it carried the weight of a mountain. His heart pounded in his ears.
— This isn't a shark… — he murmured. — Not even a megalodon would be like this…
Suddenly, silence. The fin vanished. The beach that had seemed like paradise now felt watchful, as if the place itself was observing him.
Then the sea erupted. The creature leapt—not swimming, but gliding above the water, as if defying gravity. Its body resembled a shark only from a distance. Black, irregular scales, studded with purple spikes that pulsed as if breathing. White, opaque eyes. Its jaw opened in a deep roar, coming from somewhere deeper than the ocean. Rows of curved teeth emerged, shrouded in dark mist that twisted like something alive.
Leon wanted to run, but his body refused. It was as if the air around him had thickened, slowing time. The monster spread a wall of water as its fins gleamed silver like wings. Underneath, retracted claws shimmered—a predator of both sea and sky in one.
And then, in the last moment, something changed. The monster seemed to sense a presence that didn't come from Leon, but from the forest behind him. As if feeling an unseen threat, it twisted in the air and dove back into the ocean. The impact shook the ground like thunder, spitting a titanic wave.
Leon tried to run to the shore, instinct screaming for survival. But the wall of water reached him. He was thrown against the rocks, his head hitting hard. The taste of salt filled his mouth. The world went dark before he could even tell if he was still breathing.
When he opened his eyes again, there was an improvised roof above him: broad leaves woven with vines. The air smelled of smoke and roasting meat. He lay on a straw mat, muscles heavy as lead.
— Hey, he's awake! — a male voice echoed nearby.
Leon struggled to sit up. His vision revealed a rustic camp. Bamboo structures, campfires, vine hammocks. Thirty people scattered around, some sharpening makeshift knives, others talking quietly. No children. Everyone had eyes marked by fatigue.
Two men approached. The younger one, messy-haired with an easy smile, knelt beside him. The other, taller and serious, carried a spear on his back.
— You got lucky, man — the young one said. — If we hadn't seen you unconscious on the beach, that thing could have come back to finish the job. I'm Cael. This is Braga.
Braga only nodded, his gaze wary.
— Where… am I? — Leon murmured, his voice dragging.
Braga replied dryly:
— Limitless World. The world of the dead.
Leon's eyes widened.
Cael intervened in a softer tone:
— No one really understands it. Some say that when someone dies with unfinished business, they wake up here. Others think it's destiny. The truth is, no one ever comes back.
Braga raised his arm. A tattoo glowed on his forearm: circles and lines, with the number 9 in the center.
— Everyone arrives with ten lives. Die once, the number drops. When it hits zero… it's over for good.
Leon pulled up his sleeve. On his arm, the same mark, intact with the number 10.
— This… can't be…
— No one believes it at first. — Cael smiled without joy. — But you'll see. Pain, hunger, fear, everything here is real.
Braga added:
— And the monsters too.
Leon closed his eyes, remembering the fin.
— The thing in the sea…
Braga crossed his arms.
— Probably a Guardian — said Braga, his voice grave, as if the very name carried weight. — It's not the only level. There are others… some call them Shadow, then Terror, Abyss, Ruin, Chaos… until you reach the Guardians, who stand at the top of the chain.
He paused, letting the oppressive silence of the forest linger, before continuing:
— Each level has its own layers: beginner, intermediate, advanced, and the extreme. The last one is almost a transition to the next stage, but many — both humans and monsters — never manage to advance, due to internal… or external limitations.
— This is a nightmare… — Leon whispered.
— No. — Braga stared at him. — This is survival.
The young man noticed people in the camp watching him with curiosity and suspicion. Some marks glowed with the numbers 7, 5, even 3. Lives already spent. Near the fire, a girl looked at him as if lost, perhaps as confused as he was.
Leon took a deep breath.
— And who runs all this?
Cael exchanged a quick glance with Braga. The older man answered:
— The leaders. A man and a woman. They came searching for a treasure. Most went with them. Along the way, they found people like you. Not everyone survived.
— Where are they?
— Hunting. — said Cael. — And exploring. They haven't returned for days, but usually show up at dawn.
Braga nodded.
— When they arrive, there will be answers. Until then, eat. Rest. You'll need your strength.
Leon lay down again. The fire crackled, the breeze carried smoke and sea air. He closed his eyes with the tattoo still glowing on his arm. Ten lives. Ten chances. No certainties.
He fell asleep with the sense that the true journey would only begin with the sunrise.