Shin leaned back in his chair, the plastic creaking under his weight. The office lights vibrated with a dull, rhythmic flicker that made his eyes ache. For years, his life had been a closed loop: 9:00 AM clock-in, cold coffee, spreadsheet cells, and a train ride home. It was a cycle of work, food, sleep, and shit. He wasn't living; he was just waiting for the clock to run out.
He walked out of the building into the gray drizzle of the city. As he stepped into the crosswalk, his mind was already on tomorrow's morning meeting. He never saw the semi-truck. There was only a sudden roar of an engine, a flash of white metal, and then nothing. Shin died instantly.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a jagged roof made of rotting wood and moldy straw.
'What... where am I?'
The air was heavy with the smell of woodsmoke and damp earth. Shin tried to move, but his limbs felt light and uncoordinated. He looked down and froze. His hands were tiny, covered in filth, and skeletal. He wasn't wearing his suit anymore; he was draped in a tattered, brownish rag.
He scrambled out of the pile of hay he'd been lying on and stumbled into the light. He was in a narrow, muddy alleyway. Outside, the world looked like something out of a history book. Stone buildings leaned over the streets, and people moved about in tunics and heavy cloaks. There were no cars, no sirens, and no hum of electricity.
'This isn't Earth. This is... medieval? No, it's like a fairytale.'
He walked toward the main street, his heart thumping against his small ribs. A man in a long, dusty coat stood by a merchant's stall. The man pulled out a short wooden wand and pointed it at a metal mug on the counter.
"Accio!" the man muttered.
The mug flew through the air, zipping straight into the man's hand. Shin stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide. A surge of pure adrenaline hit him.
"Magic," Shin whispered, his voice high and crackling. "There's actually magic here!"
He let out a short, breathless laugh. The crushing boredom of his old life was gone. He didn't care about the mud or the rags. In a world where people could move objects with a word, anything was possible. For the first time in years, he felt happy.
Shin spent the next few years surviving in the slums until he was taken in by an old man named Elian. Elian was a retired battle mage with skin like burnt parchment and a long, silver beard that was permanently stained with ink and potion spills.
By the time Shin turned 18, he had mastered the basics and joined the ranks of the mages in the Kingdom of Virgil. He was a natural. He viewed magic with the same precision he once used for his 9-to-5 job, but with a passion that burned like a furnace.
Twenty years passed.
Shin was now 38, known across the lands as the "Virgil's Storm." His name was feared, but peace didn't last. The Dictian Kingdom declared war, sending waves of steel-clad warriors and dark casters toward Virgil's borders.
Shin stood alone on a charred hill, facing a horizon filled with Dictian banners. Thousands of soldiers charged, their armor clanking like a death knell.
"You want a war?" Shin muttered, his eyes glowing with a faint blue light.
He slammed his staff into the ground.
"Incendio Storma!"
A massive vortex of blue flame erupted, tearing through the front lines. Men were incinerated before they could scream. As the survivors pressed on, Shin waved his hand, his mana beginning to burn hot in his veins.
"Depulso Wave!"
A physical shockwave shattered the shields of the incoming infantry, sending bodies flying back like ragdolls. A group of master swordsmen managed to close the gap, their blades shimmering with anti-magic runes. Shin didn't flinch; He drew a circle in the air with his finger.
"Glacius Spikes!"
Jagged pillars of ice tore through the earth, impaling the swordsmen mid-stride. He moved like a dancer, casting Sectum a localized cutting spell to decapitate mages who tried to counter him. He was a god on the battlefield, having killed nearly 10,000 warriors and mages single-handedly.
But his chest began to tighten. His mana his life force was flickering. The high-level spells had drained him to the bone. He slumped to one knee, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
From the shadows of the Dictian army, 100 figures emerged. They were the 8th-class mages, the elite of the elite.
Shin looked up, blood dripping from his mouth. He was surrounded. A hundred wands pointed at him, glowing with a lethal, blinding light.
'Not a bad way to end the loop,' he thought, a small smirk forming on his face.
The 100 mages fired simultaneously. A roar of magic consumed the hill, erasing everything in a white flash.