Chapter 2: Awakening in the Sin World
I was drowning in darkness, the kind that presses in from all sides, thick and endless, like being buried alive in warm tar. Gabriel's words echoed through the void, his voice calm and ancient, replaying over and over in my head like a glitchy recording.
"You will live another life, Shawn David. Be the hero. The savior."
Hero. Savior. The words had thrilled me back in that glowing garden, but now they felt distant, mocking. I floated there, weightless, my mind racing ahead. I'd said yes—hell yes—to another shot at life. Reincarnation? Sign me up. What kind of world was waiting for me? A world of heroes, where I'd wield epic powers and slay dragons? Or maybe a fantasy realm full of beautiful elves, graceful and deadly, with silver hair and eyes like stars? Beautiful ladies everywhere—princesses, warriors, mages—falling over themselves to join my party. Or perhaps I'd be reborn rich, a young master in a cultivation world, dripping in spirit stones and artifacts, cool as ice, my life entirely different from the broke gamer who got betrayed over a stupid golden ticket.
Excitement bubbled up inside me, cutting through the dark. Yeah, this was it. My second chance. Maybe I'd wake up in a luxurious bed, silk sheets tangled around me, and there she'd be—a sexy black elf with curves that could start wars, her skin like polished obsidian, full breasts straining against a skimpy outfit, leaning over me with a sultry smile, whispering, "My lord, you've finally awakened..."
Voices started filtering in, faint at first, like echoes from a bad dream. Groans. Shouts. The clang of metal. A baby's cry, cut short. My heart raced. This was it—the awakening. Any second now, the elf's warm breath on my neck...
I opened my eyes.
The world hit me like a freight train of horror.
No silk bed. No elf. Just death.
Bodies everywhere, sprawled in twisted heaps across a barren field of cracked earth and smoldering craters. Men and women in black tactical uniforms, ripped and bloodied, their faces frozen in agony. Katanas lay scattered beside them—some still clutched in rigid hands, blades chipped and stained with something black and viscous that wasn't human blood. The air was thick with the stench of iron and decay, a choking fog that clawed at my throat. The sky above was a nightmare canvas: bruised purple clouds swirling like a storm that never broke, threaded with veins of red lightning that pulsed like arteries in a dying beast. Ash drifted down endlessly, coating everything in a gray shroud, turning the scene into a monochrome hellscape.
I tried to move, to sit up, but... I couldn't feel my body. Not numbness—absence. Panic surged. I craned my neck down, and that's when I saw it.
My left leg was gone.
Just... gone. Severed above the knee, the stump a ragged mess of charred flesh and exposed bone, oozing dark blood that pooled beneath me. My entire body was painted in it—crimson streaks across my chest, arms, the remnants of the same black uniform as the dead around me. The hole from Jess's bullet was still there, right over my heart, but it looked wrong now, scarred with faint golden lines that seemed to throb in time with my frantic pulse.
A scream tore out of me, raw and primal, echoing across the desolate field. It didn't sound like my voice—deeper, rougher, like it belonged to someone who'd screamed too many times before.
That's when I heard the wet, ripping sounds.
Thirty feet away, hunched over a small bundle, was a creature straight out of a fever dream. It looked like one of those things from Stranger Things—the Demogorgon, but worse, twisted by something even more malevolent. Its body was a mass of glistening muscle and sinew, no skin, limbs elongated and jointed in ways that defied biology, ending in claws that dripped ichor. Its head split open into four petal-like jaws, lined with rows of serrated teeth that gnashed as it fed. And what it was feeding on... God, no.
A baby. A tiny, swaddled infant, now half-devoured, its cries silenced forever. The creature made soft, slurping noises, oblivious to the world, until my scream cut through.
Its head snapped up, those milk-white eyes—pupilless voids—locking onto me. It dropped the mangled remains with a wet plop and charged, scuttling on all fours with unnatural speed, its body contorting as it closed the distance.
Terror flooded my mind in a torrent. How? Did Gabriel lie to me? Where were the powers—the hero's strength, the system window, the cheat skills? How the hell was I supposed to be a savior when I couldn't even stand? This wasn't reincarnation; this was a joke, a cruel punchline. The creature's jaws unhinged wider, saliva stringing between teeth, and I felt my bladder give way, warm urine soaking the crotch of my ruined pants.
I was going to die. Again. In seconds.
A deafening crack split the air, ozone burning my nostrils.
Lightning lanced down from the roiling clouds, striking the creature square in the back. It erupted in a shower of charred flesh and sparks, screeching as it convulsed.
A woman descended from the sky, dropping like a thunderbolt, her boots slamming into the earth with enough force to crack the ground. She was a vision of lethal beauty—a baddie in every sense. Tall and athletic, with skin like storm clouds, hair as white as fresh snow whipping in the wind. Her eyes glowed with electric blue intensity, crackling with inner power. She wore form-fitting armor that hugged her curves, black leather reinforced with metallic plates that hummed with energy. In her hand, a katana forged from pure lightning, the blade a jagged bolt that sizzled and popped.
She turned to me, her voice sharp and commanding over the dying echoes of thunder. "Are you ok?"
I nodded frantically, my head bobbing like a puppet on strings, too shocked to speak.
"Which unit are you?" she pressed, scanning the horizon for more threats.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Panic again—why couldn't I answer? Then, like a glitch in a corrupted file, memories flooded in. Not mine. Flashes of war: explosions, screams, the sting of blades, unit formations under a blood-red sky. I was in someone else's body. This wasn't Shawn David anymore; this was... borrowed meat.
"Unit 5," I rasped, the words tumbling out in a voice that wasn't fully mine.
She fixed me with a piercing stare, those electric eyes narrowing as if she saw something off. She opened her mouth to say more—
A blur of motion behind her.
The creature—impossibly alive, regenerating—thrust its elongated arm forward like a spear. It pierced straight through her chest, erupting out the front in a spray of blood and sparks. She gasped, lightning flickering erratically along her katana.
I yelled, a guttural cry of horror.
The creature leaned in close, its petal-jaws whispering something unintelligible, then twisted viciously. Her neck snapped with a sickening crack, and she went limp, eyes dimming as the lightning faded.
Her body slumped to the ground, lifeless.
I kept yelling, the sound blending with the distant thunder, as another creature burst from the smoke—this one morphed into a grotesque lion form, its body a mass of writhing shadows and bone, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow a man whole. It bounded toward me, earth shaking under its weight.
No one was coming. No hero's luck. No angel intervention. This was it.
Then, laughter. Bold, defiant, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. John 1:5!"
The sky ignited.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of spears of blinding white light rained down, each one a pillar of pure radiance that pierced the creatures with surgical precision. The lion-thing exploded into ash mid-leap, its roar turning to a gurgle. The air hummed with holy energy, the ash scattering like frightened insects.
A man leaped down from the heavens, landing in a crouch beside me with effortless grace. He was different from the others—dripping style in a world of ruin. His clothes screamed "apocalypse chic": a long black coat adorned with golden chains that dangled like holy relics, a massive gold watch on his wrist catching the faint light, fingerless gloves studded with crosses. A katana strapped to his back, its hilt engraved with angelic script. He had a scar running through one eyebrow, giving him a roguish edge, and his hair was tied back in a high ponytail, strands escaping wildly. His smile was wide, confident, the kind that said he'd stared down worse and lived to joke about it.
He looked at me and grinned. "Divine? Man, you look like hell warmed over."
Divine. That name from the glitchy memories. This body was Divine.
I was stunned, but I had to play along—act like this was my skin. "I'm... ok," I muttered, forcing the words out.
He threw his head back and laughed again, the sound almost jarring in the desolation.
More people descended, floating down on wings of light or bursts of wind—his squad. They were all dripping too, in the midst of war: a woman with glowing tattoos that swirled like living scripture, a sniper with a rifle that hovered autonomously, a girl whose eyes burned with inner fire. Their outfits mixed tactical gear with flashy accessories—chains, rings, pendants—all etched with holy symbols. They called him "Captain," their voices a mix of respect and camaraderie.
One of them eyed me. "Looks like a new recruit. Fresh meat in the grinder."
They helped me up, slinging my arms over their shoulders. That's when they noticed the missing leg. The captain—Ezekiel, from the memories—burst out laughing again. "You were bragging about not getting killed last week, cousin! Now your leg's out. Classic Divine."
A huge man in the group—built like a walking fortress, with muscles that strained his armor and a face scarred from countless battles—swatted Ezekiel on the back of the head. "Stop laughing at your cousin brother like that. Encourage him, Zeke. The boy's been through enough."
Cousin brother? Me? Damn, this Ezekiel was cool—his drip outfit was insane, like he'd raided a post-apocalyptic luxury store. I was shocked, my mind reeling, but a small part of me latched onto it. Family in hell? Better than nothing.
Then more people approached—regular soldiers, not dripping like Ezekiel's crew. They wore the same battered war outfits as me: black fatigues caked in mud and blood, no flair, just survival. Their leader, a grizzled woman with haunted eyes, reported in a low voice. "A lot of Sins have killed entire units out there. Pride's illusions tricked 'em into turning on each other. Gluttony's devouring everything in sight. And it seems the Ghost Rider Sin is the leader tonight. He's still roaming, hunting stragglers."
Tension rippled across their faces—Ezekiel's smile tightened, the huge guy's fists clenched. These Sins... they were terrifying, legends of nightmare made flesh. The air grew heavier, the ash falling thicker, as if the world itself feared them.
They carried me to a massive warehouse on the edge of the battlefield, its walls reinforced with scrap metal and glowing wards. Inside, it was a makeshift sanctuary of suffering: hundreds of people crammed together, the air thick with the moans of the wounded and the scent of herbs and blood. Female healers in white robes moved among them, hands glowing with soft golden light as they mended flesh and bones, their faces etched with exhaustion. Some soldiers prayed on their knees, murmuring verses under their breath; others sang hymns in trembling voices, the melodies clashing with the distant roars outside. I was confused, overwhelmed—this wasn't a hero's welcome; it was a last stand.
They set me down on a cot next to a boy who looked barely fourteen. His face was disgusting—a ruin of melted skin and scar tissue, his eyes gone, sockets empty and bandaged with blood-soaked cloth. I couldn't start a conversation; the sight made my stomach churn.
But he turned his head toward me, as if sensing my presence. "What's happening outside?" he asked, his voice steady despite the horror.
I gave him a little story, stuttering through it: the creature, the lightning lady's death, the light spears.
He exhaled slowly. "May the Lord grant us strength."
Desperate for answers, I asked, "What are those creatures?"
He cocked his head. "Are you ok? That question is weird. Or... are you new here?"
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded.
He smiled—a grotesque twist of his scarred lips. "I figured. You're new, and you're really scared to start the conversation." Then his voice dropped, almost amused. "And yeah, I can tell you're staring at that healer's sexy boobs over there. Dude, chill."
I froze, terror spiking again. How did he—?
He chuckled softly. "Calm down. That's my gift. Mind-reading. I'm a Defender class. Name's Noah." He extended a hand, bandaged and trembling. "And this? This is the Sin World. Where the Seven Deadly Sins rule, and we're the last line holding back the end."
Outside, a distant howl echoed—Ghost Rider, they said. The warehouse fell quieter, prayers intensifying. I gripped Noah's hand, the golden scar on my chest burning faintly.
This wasn't the wrong world.
This was the end of all worlds.
And I was stuck in it