The world ended on a quiet morning.
Portals ripped open across the sky without warning, vomiting out horrors. The horizon bled crimson. Grass turned slick with gore. The songs of birds were drowned beneath the shrill chorus of death.
Gale awoke to the noise.
What the hell? A party? he thought groggily, rubbing his eyes. But the sounds weren't music—they were screams. Horrible, gut-wrenching screams. The kind that made your blood run cold.
A pit formed in his stomach as he realized the sun was already high. His head spun with unease as he stumbled to the window.
And then his heart stopped.
On the street below, a pack of kobolds—gnarled, doglike creatures with twisted claws—were tearing a man apart piece by piece. His shrieks of agony clawed through the morning air.
Gale's breath caught in his throat. His vision blurred. He knew that man.
"Mr. Howard…" His voice trembled.
The kind old man from next door—the one who always waved, the one with the young son—was being ripped to ribbons like a chew toy. His eyes were wide and pleading, but no one was coming. No one could.
The stench hit him then, raw copper and bile, and his body gave out. He dropped to his knees and vomited until his throat burned.
"God—cough—that's disgusting," he gagged, wiping his mouth. "What the f*ck is happening?"
Panic surged. His heart thundered in his chest as he staggered back.
A loud thud!—he tripped over something.
"What—?!" He spun. There was a chest on his floor. It hadn't been there before.
He reached for it, desperate for anything that made sense.
ZAP!
A jolt of electricity surged through him.
"Jesus Christ!" Gale yelped, clutching his hand.
Then—light.
A glowing window flickered into existence before his eyes, floating in the air like a hologram. Words etched themselves across it, impossible and terrifying:
[Welcome to the End of the World.][Think: Status Menu to Begin.]
His pulse spiked. Was this a dream? A breakdown? None of it felt real—but the screams outside proved otherwise.
Shaking, Gale thought status menu.
And it appeared.
Six options glowed before him: Stats. Inventory. Skills. Class. Traits. Titles.
He swallowed hard and selected Traits first.
Two entries.
Regressor — locked, but a single ability flickered beneath it, offering access to special classes.Resilient — the ability to cut blood flow to a severed limb after fifteen seconds.
The reality of that description sank in: this system didn't sugarcoat what was coming.
His fingers trembled as he navigated to Skills. Only one entry appeared:
Seeker's Glance — a gamer-exclusive perk allowing him to view others' skill windows.
A strained laugh escaped him. "Guess playing games all my life finally paid off…" His voice cracked halfway through.
Titles? None.Inventory? Empty.
It all felt like a cruel joke. Like someone had dropped him into a game meant for gods, and he was still a level-zero nobody.
Only two options remained.
He hesitated, staring out the window again. The kobolds were still feeding. Mr. Howard's screams had stopped. His limp body hung like butchered meat.
Gale forced himself to look away.
Classes. Focus.
He opened the final menu.
Nine options filled his vision, their descriptions almost mocking in their variety:
Archer — Precision from afar. Lightning-fast.
Tank — A shield of flesh and steel.
Warrior — The perfect fusion of magic and martial skill.
Berserker — Rage as weapon; pain as fuel.
Mage — Logic and mana; devastation unleashed.
Healer — A living miracle, life amid carnage.
Contractor — Binder of fates; breaker of promises.
Shadow — The unseen, the unheard, death itself.
Plunderer — A thief of the impossible. Skills stolen from void, victim, and fate alike.
His breath hitched. His hand hovered.
Every option promised power. Survival. Revenge.
But outside, the monsters weren't waiting. And somewhere next door, Mr. Howard's son was still alive.
His thoughts spun: Which class gives me the best chance?
He needed an answer—fast.
Echo here which do you think gale will choose and why