Snow buried Ryuji, a shroud of white piling over his senseless body. His lips, blue as frostbitten slate, trembled faintly. The cold had claimed him, his breath a ghost fading into the endless storm.
From the bullet wound in his left arm, ornate spirals of blood-red patterns unfurled, tracing jagged paths down his skin. They coiled around his forearm, curling to his fingertips, staining his nails with uneven crimson, as if the blood itself had woven a tapestry of pain.
A voice, deep and imperious, tore through the depths of his soul, each word a hammer striking the anvil of his will. *"Awaken, vessel, or perish as nothing."*
Ryuji's eyes fluttered open, sluggish and heavy. The patterns on his arm pulsed in rhythmic waves, glowing with an icy, unnatural light. He raised his hand, staring at the intricate marks through a haze that clouded his vision. His mind was a fog, his body a frozen shell, the Wasteland's chill seeping into his bones.
The voice snarled again, cold as the void between stars, its tone laced with distorted static. *"Move, vessel, or become another stain upon this snow."*
His body obeyed before his mind could resist, lurching upright. He limped forward, snow crunching beneath his boots, each step a battle against the Wasteland's relentless grip. The world was a blur of white, the air thick with falling flakes that stung like needles.
A sharp pain lanced through his left hand, piercing the fog but not enough to break it. He glanced down. A circular sigil had etched itself into the back of his hand, its edges glowing faintly, each pulse sending agony rippling through his nerves. Hesitantly, he pressed the sigil. The pulsing stopped, as if the mark itself had been waiting.
A crimson panel flickered into existence, hovering above his arm, its blood-red glow stark against the blinding snow. Words burned across it, etched with chilling finality:
**MISSION: Survive**
**CHANCE OF SUCCESS: 0.00000000
(ERROR—ERROR)**
**PERCENTAGE BELOW ZERO**
Ryuji stared, his trance shattering. *Hallucinating? Now, of all times?* He shook his head, brushing off the vision, and trudged onward, the snow swallowing his footprints.
In the distance, a cabin emerged from the blizzard, its silhouette faint but promising shelter. Hope flickered—then died as a feverish heat surged through him, unnatural and suffocating. His skin burned beneath the cold, his fingers clawing at his shirt to tear it off.
Red flashes erupted before his eyes, coalescing into new panels that flickered like dying embers:
**WARNING: Paradoxical Undressing Detected**
**CAUTION: Do Not Remove Clothing**
**CAUTION: Vessel's Life in Serious Danger**
**4 Minutes Until Death. Seek Shelter Immediately.**
Ryuji waved a trembling hand, voice hoarse. "Give me peace, dammit." The heat overwhelmed him, and he collapsed into the snow, strength draining like water through a sieve. *This is it. The end.*
The panel pulsed again, relentless. **3 Minutes Until Death.**
He laughed, a broken, bitter sound. "Even dying, I'm dreaming up childish fantasies. A system? Life is not a fantasy story." His eyes fluttered shut, resigned to the cold's embrace.
A jolt of pain seared through his skull, yanking him back. He screamed, clutching his head as the headache surged, then vanished as swiftly as it came. He staggered to his feet, blinking in confusion. Wooden walls surrounded him, rough-hewn and weathered. A shelf sagged under the weight of dusty cans, and a single bulb swayed from the ceiling, casting a dim, flickering light.
*When did I get here?* His mind reeled, grasping for answers.
The crimson panel flared again, its glow bathing the cabin in an eerie hue:
**100% SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE**
**MISSION: Survive**
**CHANCE OF SUCCESS: 0.0001%**
**MAJOR IMPROVEMENT**
Ryuji's eyes widened, a spark of childlike wonder igniting. *A system? I have a system?* He leapt up, pacing the creaking floorboards, grinning like a kid. *No way! I'm the main character!*
In his mind, he saw it—a world chanting his name, scars sealed, dungeons conquered, his childhood dream reborn. But the panel's flickering text snapped him back: **CHANCE OF SUCCESS: 0.0001%**. He scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Major improvement? That's like shooting me and saying, 'At least it wasn't a bomb.'"
He glanced at his left arm. The ornate patterns had merged with his skin, no longer blood but something alive, pulsing faintly. He pressed the sigil on his hand again. The panel darkened, and his arm blazed with light. For a moment, the patterns spread, crawling across his chest, his legs, his entire body glowing with crimson marks. A memory flashed—sweaty gloves, the thud of fists on a punching bag.
Pain seared through his skull again, dropping him to his knees. He gasped, clutching the floor as the panel flickered:
**LEVEL 1 BOXING ACQUIRED**
**INCREASE LEVEL OR TRAIN TO LEVEL UP SKILL (BOXING)**
Ryuji stared, a question burning in his mind. *Can I take revenge on those who wronged me?* Haruka's betrayal, Yarishki's fists, Hana's mocking laughter—they surged back, fueling a dark ember in his chest.
The panel flared, its crimson light pulsing like a heartbeat:
**CAUTION: MONSTER DETECTED NEARBY**
Ryuji froze. The cabin's walls seemed to close in, the bulb's light dimming as a low growl vibrated through the floor. Outside, the blizzard howled, but something else moved within it—a shadow darting through the snow, small but swift. Its white fur blended with the storm, a wolf-like form with a tiger's ruff around its neck, eyes glinting like shards of ice. Something had its eyes set on him.
The Maw's voice rumbled, cold and distorted, a godlike decree that shook his soul. *"Prove your worth, vessel, or feed the Wasteland it's warmest meal."*