# Chapter One:
The last thing Arthur remembered was a blinding flash and a deafening sound. Maybe a truck horn? Or perhaps a gas explosion in the adjacent building? The details were hazy, dancing at the edge of his consciousness like mocking ghosts. The only clear thing was the final sensation of falling, then... nothing. A cold, black void.
Then, sensation returned. Not all at once, but creeping in slowly, like an unwelcome guest knocking gently before barging in. The first thing to return was the cold. A damp, biting cold seeping through thin, worn clothes, clinging to his skin like an icy embrace. Then came the pain, a dull but pervasive ache throughout his body, as if he'd been thoroughly beaten and left to rot.
Arthur slowly opened his eyes, greeted by near-total darkness, pierced only by a thin sliver of pale grey light filtering down from above. He blinked several times, trying to dispel the fog enveloping his vision and mind. Where was he? The ceiling seemed impossibly far away, just a dark line separating two walls of crumbling, graffiti-covered brick.
He tried to move, but his body protested with a muffled groan. Every muscle screamed, every joint complained. He laboriously raised a hand in front of his face. It was alarmingly pale and thin, the fingers long and slender, the nails dirty and broken. This... wasn't his hand. His hand was slightly broader, bearing a small scar at the base of the left thumb from an old saw accident. This hand was completely alien.
"Well... this is new," he muttered in a hoarse, unfamiliar voice he didn't recognize either. The sarcasm in his tone was an automatic defense mechanism, a flimsy shield against the cold wave of panic beginning to rise in his chest. "Either I've been in a horrific accident resulting in selective amnesia and partial paralysis, or someone decided to play a very tasteless joke on me after I died. The second option seems more interesting, frankly."
He pushed himself up with difficulty, leaning against the cold, damp wall behind him. The foul stench of rotting garbage and stagnant water assaulted his nostrils, making him grimace. He was in a narrow, filthy alley, its floor covered in wet gravel and unidentifiable debris. The grey light seeped from a narrow opening between two towering buildings.
"Excellent. A mysterious death followed by resurrection in a dumpster. A promising start to my second life," he told himself, trying to ignore the tremor starting in his limbs. Was this some kind of personal hell designed just for him?
As he contemplated his tragicomic fate, something even stranger happened. A faint blue glow appeared directly before his eyes, not far away, but as if... inside his head? Arthur froze, then rubbed his eyes vigorously.
"No, no, no. Am I starting to hallucinate now? That's just what I needed," he whispered. But the glow didn't disappear. Instead, it intensified, forming a transparent blue rectangle, displaying glowing white text in a language that seemed familiar yet not quite right.
**[New consciousness detected. Initializing system...]**
**[Initial setup complete. Welcome to the Arcadia System.]**
**Name:** [Undefined - Data transfer error?]
**Level:** 1
**Health (HP):** 15/30 (Status: Weakened, Malnourished)
**Aether/Mana (MP):** 5/5 (Sealed?)
**Attributes:**
* Strength: 3
* Agility: 4
* Endurance: 2
* Intelligence: 7
* Willpower: 6
* Divinity: ??? (Unmeasurable/Hidden)
**Status:** Confused, Shocked, Suffering from Cold.
Arthur stared at the transparent blue screen with wide eyes. System? Level? Hit points? Divinity??? Had he died and been transported into a shoddy video game? Or had he simply lost his mind?
"Divinity?" he read the word aloud, then laughed bitterly. "Me? Son of Zeus, perhaps? How ironic. I can barely lift myself off the ground, and now I'm a candidate for godhood." The three question marks next to the attribute were as intriguing as they were ridiculous.
He tried to ignore the screen, but it remained fixed in his field of vision, moving with him when he turned his head. He sighed deeply, beginning to feel that sarcasm alone wouldn't be enough to handle this situation.
"Alright, 'System'," he said to the illusory screen. "If you're real, can you at least get me out of this damned alley? Or maybe provide a blanket? I'm freezing here."
Nothing happened. The screen remained silent, its information static.
"Figured as much," Arthur muttered. "Useless as ever." The sarcastic edge began to fade slightly, replaced by a colder, more serious note. This situation, however bizarre, was real. The cold was real, the pain was real, and this weak body was real. And the blue screen... it was real too, somehow.
Gathering what little strength he had left, using the wall for support, he slowly pushed himself onto trembling legs. He felt dizzy for a moment, his knees nearly buckling, but he clung to the crumbling wall. He looked around the alley again, trying to pick up any details that might help. The walls were high, and there seemed to be no easy exit other than the narrow opening at one end leading to... somewhere.
He had to get out of here. He had to figure out where he was, what had happened to him, and what this "System" and this new body meant. The feeling of utter absurdity began to give way to a new sensation: cautious curiosity, and a stubborn will to survive, no matter how insane this new reality was.
He took a hesitant step towards the faint light at the end of the alley, the blue screen following him like a ghostly shadow. "Alright, Arthur," he whispered to himself, using his old name as a final anchor in this sea of madness. "Let's see what kind of hell, purgat
ory, or dark comedy awaits us this time."