Chapter 1
Of all the shitty ways to die," the man groaned, peeling his face off the pavement. His breath smelled like burnt coffee and regret. He flexed his fingers, half-expecting broken bones, but—nothing hurt. That was new. The last thing he remembered was the truck's headlights swinging wide, the horn blaring, and his own body folding like wet cardboard.
Around him, the alley smelled like diesel and something sweetly rotting. He blinked at the graffiti-streaked walls, then down at himself. Black jeans, scuffed boots, and—wait. His hands were younger. Smooth. No calluses from years of punching keyboards. A silver ring glinted on his thumb, engraved with twisting runes he somehow knew meant "magic sleeps until it doesn't."
*
A flicker of movement made him turn. A rat scuttled past, but its shadow... didn't. The inky blot writhed, elongating into something with too many legs before dissolving into the bricks. His pulse jumped. "Okay," he muttered. "Either I'm hallucinating, in hell, or—"
A notification pinged in his vision, glowing blue: **[Welcome, Ruler of Magic.]
*
His breath hitched. The words didn't fade—they pulsed, searing into his retinas like a brand. When he blinked, a status screen unfurled behind his eyelids: **\[Mana Reserves: 1%. Awakening Pending.\]** A jagged laugh escaped him. "Awakening? What am I, a fucking Pokémon?"
*
The air rippled. A whisper curled around his ear, cold as dry ice: *"Merlin."* He spun, boots skidding on wet pavement—but the alley was empty. Except for the shadows. They coiled thicker now, tendrils rising like smoke, forming shapes that almost looked like hands reaching... hungry.
His ring burned. The runes flared crimson, and suddenly he *remembered*: spells etched into his bones, a thousand dead languages humming under his skin. The taste of copper flooded his mouth—his own blood, magic demanding payment. He grinned, sharp and reckless. "Game on, you eldritch bastards.
The shadows lunged. Merlin—no, *Merlin Jackson*, he corrected with a hysterical laugh—didn't think. He spat blood onto his palm and slapped the pavement. The alley *screamed*. Concrete split like rotten fruit, spewing up jagged spikes of obsidian that impaled the reaching darkness. Black ichor sizzled where it dripped, eating holes through the asphalt.
A system prompt blinked: **[Improvised Spell: "Vein of the Earth" created. Mana reserves at 0.3%. Warning: Critical Depletion.]** His vision tunneled. The high of casting bled into nausea as his knees hit the ground. "Oh fuck," he wheezed. The shadows weren't gone—just regrouping, pulsing like a living wound at the alley's mouth.
Something warm trickled down his lip. He touched it—not blood. Liquid gold. The ring's voice slithered through his skull: *"The price is memory. Pay, or perish."* Behind his ribs, something ancient and nameless stirred. Merlin bared his teeth. "Fine. Take whatever the hell you want." The last thing he saw before passing out was his own shadow standing up without him.