Raven had never liked the novel Eternal Ascension. He'd been a fan from the beginning, reading every chapter, reliving the protagonist's victories and setbacks—but the story never resonated with him. He couldn't stand the original main character, a cocky, idealistic cultivator whose rise to power felt too predictable. While the protagonist was celebrated as a paragon of strength and morality, Raven often found himself frustrated at the unfair advantages, the unearned breakthroughs, and the constant deus ex machina interventions.
And yet… he couldn't stop reading.
The nights spent buried in the text became his refuge from the monotony of life. He had followed the ups and downs, the betrayals and triumphs, laughed at clever tactics, and groaned at predictable plot twists. He had cried when friends and allies fell, cheered at victories, and cursed at the injustices of the cultivation world. But he had never finished it. Life had interrupted him too many times: school, work, sickness.
Now, lying in a sterile hospital room, he realized life had played its cruelest trick. His rare disease—ribose-5-phosphate isomerase deficiency—had worsened beyond treatment. Machines beeped in a mechanical rhythm around him, IVs pumping life-sustaining fluids into his failing veins. The sterile white walls pressed in, the harsh fluorescent lights reflecting off the metal frames of his bed, and every shallow breath reminded him of the futility of his existence.
He closed his eyes and let memories of Eternal Ascension flood him one last time. He remembered the battles, the techniques, the hidden realms and secret sects. He remembered Raven Cross, the first villain in the novel, always defeated too soon, doomed to die before achieving anything substantial. And now… he thought bitterly, he was nothing more than a failed copy of that character.
A cough wracked his body, sharp and painful. He gritted his teeth against the pain, trying to focus, trying to ignore the gnawing fear that life was slipping away. He had wanted more—more time, more purpose, more strength. But now the finality of death was pressing down on him, cold and absolute.
I wanted to see the ending… he thought bitterly. I never even finished it. And now…
He drifted into a half-conscious state, the beeping of the machines fading into a dull hum. Shadows from the ceiling lights stretched across the room, twisting in strange ways, almost like the illustrations of the mystical beasts in his favorite chapters. He reached out weakly, as if to touch a memory, and his fingers passed through air.
And then… darkness.
Raven's next breath felt strange, alien, almost electric. He gasped and suddenly, the sterile hospital room was gone. The beeping machines, the scent of antiseptic, the pale walls—all vanished, replaced by an unfamiliar world.
He was lying on a hard wooden floor. His body… not his own. He lifted his hands, flexing fingers that felt heavier, stronger, more coordinated than he remembered. A dim, flickering candle cast shadows across the walls, dancing in rhythm with the uncertainty that gripped his heart.
A mirror hung across from him. With trembling steps, he approached it.
His reflection froze him.
Black hair fell in thick, glossy strands around a face that was far too handsome, sharp, and well-proportioned. The violet eyes staring back at him were unnerving—piercing, almost alive, and entirely not his own.
He staggered backward, tripping over the edge of the wooden floor. No… it can't be…
Collapsing to his knees, cold sweat clinging to his forehead, he struggled to breathe. A thought clawed at the edges of his mind: this wasn't a dream. This wasn't some hallucination caused by medication or fever.
He was… reincarnated.
And worse… he was Raven Cross. The first villain in Eternal Ascension—the one who died early at the hands of the protagonist.
The panic hit him like a tidal wave. He remembered the chapter where Raven Cross, arrogant and foolish, fell victim to the protagonist's sudden rise. He remembered the humiliation, the helplessness, the agonizing realization that he was powerless in that story. And now… he was trapped in that same body, in that same doomed path.
"I… I'm supposed to die," he whispered, voice trembling. "Right… in the first arc, right? That's how it happened…"
The air seemed to press in, stifling and heavy. Panic rose, twisting in his chest. He could feel the pull of inevitability, the way the story had already mapped out his fate. The familiar dread of death he'd narrowly avoided in the real world now threatened to swallow him whole.
He pressed his palms to his face, breathing shakily. Memories of his life flickered: lonely nights reading novels, fleeting friendships, the endless repetition of office life, and now… the cruel finality of his disease. All of it seemed meaningless in the face of this new reality.
But deep down, a spark ignited.
No. I won't die here. I can't. I will survive.
He forced himself to calm down, taking deep, deliberate breaths. Slowly, he assessed his new body, his new surroundings. Every thought, every trick, every insight he had gained from reading countless cultivation novels—especially Eternal Ascension—he could now apply. He could change the course. He could rewrite his fate.
A small, determined smile touched his lips. Raven's violet eyes gleamed with resolve.
I will not accept the story's ending. I will carve my own path. I will survive… and I will become stronger than anyone imagined.
This was the beginning.