The status screen in Elena's mind glowed faintly, its lines etched like cold steel—every word a testament to the SS-Rank talent she'd torn from Oroboros, broken yet formidable:[Immortality](SS-Rank, Damaged)Core Truth: You are death made flesh.Skill 1 (Coffin Rebirth): Upon death, your body will teleport to a random underground coffin. Full revival after 10 minutes; maximum 1 use every 72 hours.Skill 2 (Only the Dead Hear): Control the souls of those who died by your hand. Duration and power depend on the target's remaining life force.Skill 3 (Death Imitation): Designate one target (living or dead) to mimic their Divine Talent. Only 1 target can be designated at a time—switching targets erases the mimicked talent.Skill 4 (Shadow Over Sanity): All dark-aligned skills/items gain a 50% effect boost. (Locked)Skill 5 (Army of the Fallen): When facing a horde, revive all fallen allies to fight for you. Cooldown: 80 hours. (Locked)
Elena's lips curved. Even damaged—Skills 4 and 5 grayed out, stolen but unactivated—it was a weapon. Coffin Rebirth alone made her unkillable in the short term; 10 minutes of revival was a lifeline most players could only dream of. And Only the Dead Hear… she thought of the 画眉鸟 (thrush) she'd seen in a pet shop window that morning. A perfect test subject.
A sharp knock on the wall jolted her. Followed by screams—Clara's, high and panicked.
Elena moved fast. She washed the phone shrapnel cuts on her palm (now bandaged), changed into a plain hoodie, and stepped out. Clara and Olivia stared at her, their faces ashen.
"Late night talk with Ethan," she said, rubbing her temples like she had a hangover. "We had a drink—he's still asleep. You two should make him some hangover soup." She didn't wait for a reply, heading for the door.
As she passed, she flicked [Take One]at their purses—just a test. The skill fizzled. A new line appeared on her status screen: [Thief God]Restriction: Cannot target non-players with life force below yours.
"Non-players," she muttered. So Ethan's girlfriends were just bystanders—weak, but not worth the risk. Yet.
Her first stop: a phone store. She bought a cheap smartphone, activated a new SIM card (her old one had burned with the exploded phone), and kept her hood up. Fame had its perks—she was a B-list actress, recognizable but not hounded. No one spared her a second glance.
Liam called as she walked to the bank. His voice roared through the speaker: "You're ditching the shoot? Do you want to be blacklisted?"
Elena leaned against a lamppost, her tone tired but firm. "I need two weeks off, Liam. I'm burnt out. We can grab a drink when I'm back—catch up."
Silence. Liam knew her "nice girl" act—he'd used it to pimp her out to executives. But the offer of a "catch-up" (a veiled threat, if he refused) made him hesitate. "Fine. But don't disappear."
She hung up. The bank teller handed her a cashier's check for $80,000—her life savings. In six months, when Warcraft: Rifts of Dread fully invaded, cash would be worthless. Gold, silver, copper—game currency—would rule. But for now, cash bought leverage.
Leverage like the villa.
Last life, she'd bought it for Ethan—paid $70,000, put it in his name. He'd turned it into a den for his cronies, and she'd found a dungeon portal hidden in the guest bathroom (a "Rift Anchor," the game called it—where aliens sent advance teams). This time, the villa would be hers.
She called the realtor, skipped the viewings, and offered $80,000 cash—$10,000 over asking. The deal closed by dinner.
The villa smelled of dust when she unlocked the door. She went straight to the security panel, deleting Ethan's, Clara's, and Olivia's fingerprints. Then she drove to a pet shop, bought a thrush in a cage, and stopped at a restaurant for takeout.
Back at the villa, she set the takeout on the counter. Then she picked up the thrush.
"Sorry, little guy," she whispered. She twisted its neck.
She activated [Only the Dead Hear].
A cold link snapped into place—her mind merging with the thrush's corpse. She "saw" through its dead eyes: the living room, the couch, a woman 盘腿 on the floor.
Elena froze. The woman wasn't Clara or Olivia. She wore a black cloak, her face hidden—but Elena recognized the aura. A player. One of Ethan's allies, sent to check the villa?
She guided the thrush's corpse to fly, circling the woman. The woman didn't move—like she was meditating. Elena's "vision" flickered—controlling the thrush drained her stamina. She landed it on a bookshelf, keeping watch.
After eating, she cleaned the villa, then unpacked her loot: potions, guns, gold, all sorted into plastic storage bins. She kept two loaded pistols (20 bullets each) in a nightstand—easy to grab. The rest went into a locked cabinet.
A delivery truck arrived at dusk: a wooden herb cabinet, ordered that morning. She labeled each drawer—"Healing Herb A," "Mana Herb B"—and stacked her potions on the bottom shelf.
By 10 PM, her inventory was organized:
488 Minor Healing Potions488 Minor Mana Potions7 Minor Invisibility Potions2 Rusted Shotguns3 Storage Bins (full of bullets/dynamite)
She checked the thrush. The woman was gone. A faint black mark remained on the floor—where the Rift Anchor would spawn, she realized.
Elena sat on the couch, the thrush's corpse in her hand. [Immortality]hummed in her veins. [Thief God]cooled, its cooldown at 45 minutes.
She thought of Ethan, still asleep in his apartment. Of Liam, counting on her to return. Of the woman in the cloak.
"Game on," she said.
The thrush's eyes glinted—dead, but controlled. Outside, the moon rose. And somewhere in the city, a dungeon portal stirred.