The engine of the armoured bus hummed steadily, its vibration thrumming through the seats like a living heartbeat. Outside, the world was painted in shades of ruin—collapsed buildings leaning against one another like broken teeth, streets littered with burned-out cars, and the pale fog of lingering ash that dulled every horizon.
Yet inside, the atmosphere was oddly calm, almost sacred. Fifty shadow guards sat in silence, their black armour gleaming faintly under the dim bus lights. The tension wasn't just from the mission. It was because of her.
Amara sat near the front, Valeria just across the aisle, while her own thoughts drowned out the murmurs of the guards.
Level fifteen. The threshold. She could feel it in her bones, the weight of unseen eyes and a power that whispered through her veins. Her contract with Hades—the Greek god of souls and death—had always carried an edge of inevitability, but now it demanded clarity. A decision. A path.
A system screen appeared in front of her
[Class Advancement Available]
[Scout]
[Common Rank]
[A simple path. One built on speed, agility, and reconnaissance. Scouts thrived in the shadows, gathering information, striking quickly, and vanishing before the enemy realised what had happened. They were the eyes and ears of a force, those who mapped the battlefield and dictated survival through their foresight.]
The description was crisp, practical. Skills focused on mobility, sensory enhancement, and stealthy survival. But Amara felt a strange hollowness as she read it—like trying to wear clothes too small. It didn't suit her. She wasn't meant to merely watch, to sneak and report. The weight of Hades' presence within her soul told her she was meant for more than that.
[Assassin]
[Rare Rank]
[Sharper. Darker. This class thrived in silence and blood. Masters of lethality, Assassins used precision strikes, poisons, and shadows themselves as weapons. The aura around the description was heavier, laced with crimson edges of intent. Every word dripped with danger.]
Amara could see the path clearly: a shadow that moved unseen, dealing death with elegance and cruelty. Her heart pulsed faster, resonating faintly with Hades' dominion. It was tempting—clean, efficient, powerful. Yet still… incomplete. Assassins lived in the dark, but their darkness was human. Hers was divine, something older, colder.
She let out a slow breath, lips curling in a small, wry smile. No. Not enough.
[Envoy of Death]
[Legendary Rank]
The moment this description unfurled before her, the bus around her seemed to dim.
[An Envoy of Death was no mere fighter, no simple killer. They were messengers of inevitability, conduits of the eternal silence that awaited all things. Their presence alone weakened the living and unsettled the soul. Their skills allowed them to shepherd spirits, harvest essence, and wield death's energy as weapon and shield alike.]
The description wasn't just words—it carried a voice. A whisper. Hades himself.
Amara's skin prickled, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw faint black wisps curl from her hands, fading before anyone else could notice.
Her chest tightened, but this time not from rejection. It fit. It resonated. This was her truth. Yet even as she acknowledged that, her eyes scrolled further.
[Apostle of Hades]
[Legendary Rank]
[Here, the words carried more weight, as though each syllable was carved in stone. To take this path was to be marked, bound eternally as a servant of Hades' will. Apostles carried dominion beyond their own, able to call upon fragments of the god's authority directly. They were feared, revered, and burdened with power too immense for mortal bones to bear without cost.]
Amara's intuition screamed. Her breath caught in her throat, and she instinctively recoiled from the pull. Power, yes—but chains disguised as blessings. She imagined the heavy shackles of divine expectation locking around her wrists, and for the first time since contracting Hades, she felt an undercurrent of danger not aimed at her enemies, but at her.
From a young age, her intuition had been sharp, like a sixth sense that whispered warnings when no one else noticed danger. She had trusted it in everything — from trivial choices to life-and-death battles. It had never failed her.
And now, it screamed.
Her gut told her that if she chose it… She'd never come back.
[Chosen of Hades]
[??? Rank]
The final option was worse—or perhaps greater. It radiated secrecy, shrouded in mist; no description could pierce. All she could see was the title, the chilling gravity of it. To be chosen by Hades directly. To be… what? A vessel? A replacement? The unknown rank pulsed with possibility, but also with a depth of risk that nearly froze her in place.
Her gut screamed louder this time. Her intuition, honed over years and never once wrong, recoiled. Choosing this meant stepping off a cliff blindfolded, with no rope, no guarantee of surviving the fall.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Not this one," she whispered under her breath.
Valeria glanced at her, brow raised, but said nothing.
Amara opened her eyes. The choice hung before her, waiting. She ignored the Apostle. She shut out the Chosen. Her gut was her compass, and it told her there was only one path worth walking.
Envoy of Death.
The moment she chose it, the system confirmed:
[Class Advancement Accepted: Envoy of Death (Legendary)]
[Initiating Trial Requirements…]
[To unlock the Envoy of Death, complete the following tasks:
[?] Die.
[?] Obtain a weapon imbued with great death energy.
[?] Absorb 100 souls.]
Her eyebrows shot up. "Die?" she muttered, more annoyed than fearful.
Valeria caught the tone in her voice. "What happened?"
"Tasks," Amara replied with a half-smile, shaking her head. "You'd think they'd be a little more straightforward."
She stared at the list, mind racing. The first task was absurd, yet the system didn't jest. It never did.
'How the hell do I complete that without staying dead?' The second and third tasks felt monumental, too, but before doubt could nest in her chest, something stirred within her.
A pull.
It was faint but undeniable, like a thread of invisible energy tugging her chest in one direction. Her heart raced, and the world seemed to narrow. There, beyond the shattered cityscape, past the veil of smoke, she felt it.
A weapon. A call.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Guess fate's driving us in the right direction after all."
The bus rumbled on. Outside, shadow guards cut down scattered nulls that lunged too close, their blades flashing with practised precision. Inside, Amara sat straighter, a quiet confidence threading into her bones. She had chosen her path—not the one of servitude, not the one of blind faith, but the one where she carved her own legend with death as her ally, not her master.
Valeria leaned closer, her voice low. "So? Which class?"
Amara's eyes gleamed, dark and resolute. "Envoy of Death."
Valeria shivered at the tone. There was no fear in Amara's voice, only inevitability.
"Commander," one of the Shadow Guards barked suddenly, snapping the eerie moment. He was seated closer to the front, visor gleaming. "Road ahead is narrowing. More wreckage."
The driver grunted, swerving around a burnt-out van. The bus jolted, rattling the guards inside. Several gripped their weapons tighter, scanning the windows as though expecting Nulls to swarm the vehicle any second.
"Stay alert," Valeria ordered sharply. Her voice carried the confidence of someone the guards respected instinctively. "They'll come. They always come."
The guards nodded, checking crossbows, blades, and shields. The bus was a fortress on wheels, but even fortresses fell under endless waves.
Amara stayed silent, her mind still on the pull in her chest.
It wasn't just calling — it was guiding. Every bump of the road seemed to align them closer. Every turn, every adjustment, the thread tightened.
The bus lurched to a halt. The brakes squealed, dust billowing into the air outside.
"Movement ahead!" the driver shouted.
The guards surged to their feet, weapons raised.
Through the grimy glass, Amara saw them — huddled figures waving frantically from the shadow of a collapsed store. Survivors. At least a dozen.
"Open the doors!" Valeria barked.
The guards split out, moving in formation. They cleared the area with precision, cutting down stray Nulls that had begun to emerge from the alleys. Screams echoed, steel clashed against claws, and the smell of rot filled the air.