Finally, the day had come.
The day I would face the single greatest trial of my new life. The day I would beat the main character who, in another timeline, had defeated the god whose power now resided in my soul.
Dramatic? Maybe. Impossible? Not when I possessed the single most broken ability known to any overpowered protagonist:
Future. Freaking. Knowledge.
The System, my sarcastic and ever-present companion, was unusually enthusiastic this morning, its voice echoing in my mind with a theatrical flair that set my teeth on edge.
[System: Welcome to the Hunger G—AHEM, Ashborn Academy Survival Assessment! Where dreams go to die and stats go to cry. Please keep all limbs inside the capsule until the simulation has come to a complete stop. We are not responsible for lost souls or shattered egos.]
I didn't need the dramatics. I already knew how this was supposed to end. I had read this chapter of Ashen's life, lived through the memories of his failure. The question was… how much chaos could I cause on the way to my victory?
We were herded into a vast, clean, and unnervingly sterile laboratory. The air smelled of ozone and antiseptic, a stark contrast to the nervous sweat and fear radiating from the hundred or so students packed inside. The room was dominated by rows of sleek, black capsule pods, their interiors glowing with a soft, neon blue light, making them look like futuristic coffins. The tech was seamless, otherworldly, fresh out of a sci-fi movie. Most students gawked, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. A few whispered anxiously to their friends, while one poor kid in the back actually puked from the stress.
Me?
I stood still, arms folded, my expression a carefully crafted mask of indifference. My eyes, however, were narrowed, scanning the room, cataloging every face, every nervous twitch. I'd been here before. Not physically—but in the memories of the boy I used to be. This entire event was the infamous "Mid-Entrance Massacre Arc." A.k.a. the part of the academy exam where ninety percent of the characters got brutally wrecked, and the protagonist, Rin, ascended to semi-godhood status.
I was not planning to be background scenery this time.
My eyes flicked to the holographic ranking board displayed on the far wall.
Current Elite Rankings (Pre-Assessment):
Rin Elvareth – The chosen one. The golden boy. Glows when he breathes. Has literal plot immunity.
Nyx Voxx – Gothic enchantress with enough curses to be a walking spoiler. Heir to the most powerful dark magic house in the empire.
Seraphina Loire – Elf royalty. Beauty, brains, and archery that could pin a god to a wall. Zero social grace.
Cecilia Thorne – Ice blade princess of the Galat Empire. Emotions sold separately.
Liora Nowa – My dear ex-fiancée. Still as cold and sharp as her rejection letter.
Noora Whitehound – Cute and deadly. Mostly deadly.
Eren Whitehound – A human smirk attached to a walking ego.
Ashen Crimson (Me) – The fallen noble. The underestimated wildcard. The dark horse with way too much trauma and a god in his head.
???
???
Aurelia Dawncrest – Daughter of the #1 adventurer's guild in Nowa. Once smiled at Ashen like he was the sun. Now avoids eye contact like he's the plague.
I wasn't just here to survive. I was here to rewrite the entire damn story.
I looked across the room—and of course, there he was.
Rin.
He stood as if he owned the very concept of the moment, bathed in the gentle blue light from the pods, his eyes half-lidded as if this whole high-stakes setup bored him. His presence alone seemed to suck the tension from the air, replacing it with a quiet, unshakeable confidence that infuriated me.
And then I realized, despite all my knowledge, all my preparation… I was still outmatched in a straight fight. "I'm so screwed."
My eyes then landed on Liora—my dear ex—who was glaring at me from across the room as if I'd just tracked mud through her throne room. Her disgust was a palpable thing.
"Yeah. Never stood a chance with her either."
But they didn't know what I knew. They didn't see the strings of fate that I could see. They hadn't lived the script.
I had the ultimate cheat.
The instructor, a man named Professor Kael, appeared like a caffeine-deprived ghost in a white lab coat. His expression was a permanent mask of weary resignation, the look of a man who had given up on life halfway through his morning coffee.
"Welcome, insects—I mean students," he droned, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Today's test: Survival. The rules are simple, because there are none. Fight, hide, form alliances, betray each other—I don't care. Whatever works. Just don't die. The paperwork is a nightmare."
He gestured to the capsules. "You'll be spawned randomly in the outermost zones of the VR world. Every ten minutes, the map will shrink inward. If you're caught outside the safe zone when it collapses, it's an instant disqualification. And maybe a simulated death so traumatic you'll need therapy for a decade. Fun, right?"
He gave a humorless smile. "Last one standing gets Rank 1. Second last gets Rank 2. And so on. Only the top 100 survive the cut. Everyone else? Back to civilian life with your shattered dreams. Now then… try not to make me write too many death reports."
The capsules hissed open. A cold, sterile gas filled the air. My vision blurred, my limbs went numb, and my thoughts slowed to a crawl.
[WELCOME TO: ASHBORN BATTLE ZONE]
[OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE. OR DIE LIKE AN NPC.]
The world exploded into existence.
The sky above raged with a perpetual storm of black clouds, split by veins of angry purple lightning. To my right, a field of bubbling lava hissed and popped, casting a demonic red glow on the landscape. To my left, a forest of twisted, skeletal trees clawed at the sky, their branches groaning in an unfelt wind. Every biome clashed in a chaotic war of climates.
I landed hard, my boots cracking the pavement of a broken highway that was being slowly swallowed by overgrown, carnivorous-looking vines. Rain hit one side of my face while snowflakes melted on the other.
I scanned the horizon.
To the east—the aforementioned lava fields. To the north—the skeletal remains of abandoned skyscrapers, their broken windows like vacant eyes, lit by the flickering, unstable glow of dying mana lights. To the west—the haunted, shadowy forest. And dead center, piercing the storm clouds like a needle of hope?
A single, gleaming tower. Tall. Unreachable.
That was the safe zone. The final arena. The place everyone would end up, one way or another.
My strategy was simple, born from a deep understanding of my own weaknesses.
"Avoid. Everyone. Get. There. First."
I wasn't built for open combat. Not yet. I didn't have Rin's plot immunity or Nyx's overwhelming power. But I did have foresight.
And I had speed.
Which meant it was time for my ace in the hole.
"Volkin. Come out, doggo."
A blur of silver and shadow burst from my own shadow on the ground, solidifying into the massive form of my spectral wolf. He let out a low, deep growl, the sound a promise of violence.
GRRRR!
My silver wolf. Sleek, fast, loyal, and a complete menace in a fight.
"Take me to the center," I commanded, swinging myself onto his back. "Full speed. No stops."
He barked once, a sharp, affirmative sound.
Then we vanished.
Shadow dash: activated.
The world dissolved into a blur of color and motion. Buildings became streaks of gray, trees a smear of green and black. The screams of less fortunate students echoed behind us, cut short by the sickening crunch of bone or the explosive burst of a fatal spell. Mana bursts lit the sky like a deadly fireworks display. Someone had already died—I could tell from the faint, system-wide notification that chimed in the air.
But I didn't slow down.
Every ten minutes, the world would shrink. Every ten minutes, the noobs would panic and make fatal mistakes. Every ten minutes, someone would fall.
I had maybe thirty minutes before the real monsters, the top rankers, started making their moves.
And I wasn't talking about the beasts that roamed this twisted landscape.
I was talking about the students who wanted to kill.
The ones who were smiling while they did it.
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