The final shot rang out like a whisper.
Luceris staggered, a hole burning through his ribs, blood trickling down his side in slow, mocking streams. The city's neon lights blurred into streaks of color around him - red, blue, yellow - none of it mattered anymore.
In the distance, he could hear the chatter of authorities closing in. The target was dead. The mission was complete. But the price... the price was him.
He let the pistol clatter from his hand and sank to his knees.
In the end, it wasn't the enemy that got him - it was his own employers, disposing of a tool no longer useful.
How fitting.
Luceris had never known a real home. He was raised in the slums - a place where life was cheap and death
cheaper.
Abandoned as a newborn, he had no name, no parents, nothing but the cold and the hunger gnawing at his tiny body.
The Syndicate found him when he was barely five years old. To them, he was a blank canvas - a perfect vessel to mold. They taught him how to fight, how to kill, how to obey without question.
Pain was a teacher. Death was a lesson. Mercy was a lie.
By ten, he was cleaning up the
Syndicate's messes.
By fifteen, he was their ghost - unseen, unstoppable, an assassin whose name was whispered in fear.
By twenty, he was a legend in the underworld, a weapon honed to perfection.
They gave him the name Luceris, meaning "one who brings light" - a cruel irony for someone who lived in eternal darkness.
He never asked for more.
No friends. No dreams. No
attachments.
He understood the rules of survival
better than anyone: use or be used.
And still, somewhere deep inside, he had believed hoped - that loyalty
meant something.
That hope died the night the Syndicate turned on him.
The mission had been simple: eliminate a rival leader in the heart of the city. Luceris executed it flawlessly, just like always.
But as he left the scene, blood still fresh on his gloves, the first bullet tore through his side.
He recognized the shooter immediately - his handler, the man who had taught him how to aim, how to kill.
Luceris's instincts kicked in, and he returned fire, escaping into the alleyways. But the truth was already clear: he had
been marked for death.
He wasn't useful anymore.
He was too skilled, too dangerous. Too human.
And so, the Syndicate decided to erase him - just another loose end to be cut. Betrayed by the only family he had ever known.
The rain soaked through his clothes, washing away the blood.
His breaths came shorter, sharper. The city lights dimmed. His heart slowed.
Was this how it ended?
After everything?
No grave. No prayers.
Just another body rotting in an alley no one would remember. And yet.. somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered:
Is this really it? The darkness that came for him was different this time - not cold, not
lonely.
It was warm.
When Luceris awoke, he knew instantly something was Wrong. There was no sterile hospital bed no flashing lights no sirens instead, the scent of damp earth filled his lungs, and the soft chirping of unfamiliar birds filled his ears.
His body - whole, uninjured - lay sprawled across a forest floor beneath a silver-drenched sky. A cool breeze stirred the branches overhead, and magic, thick and wild, hummed through the air around him.
Magic.
He sat up sharply, instincts kicking in. His hands were smaller, leaner- not a grown man's anymore, but a youth's. He could feel strength thrumming beneath his skin, raw and unfamiliar.
"What... the hell?" he muttered aloud. His voice, too, was younger, rough around the edges but lacking the weight of years.
Pain shot through his skull, and suddenly information flooded his mind:
• Race: Human variant (Unknown )
• Unique skill: Unique Skill: [Ashen Soul]
A unique existence born from death and rebirth, refining the user through conflict. Absorbs magicules from defeated enemies to strengthen the body, enhance magicules, and evolve abilities over time
• Extra skill: [Mist Step]
Enables brief merging with mist and ash to achieve high-speed movement and stealth.
A system like something out of a game.
Luceris frowned, trying to piece it all together. Had he reincarnated? Or transmigrated into another world?
Ash Manipulation. The word echoed in his mind. His signature ability - the power to control and weaponize ash - felt as natural as breathing.
Instinctively, he flexed his fingers. In response, the earth around him stirred. Fine, grey particles rose from the dirt, swirling in intricate patterns before condensing into a dagger in his hand - fragile-looking, yet humming with lethal energy.
Luceris stared at the blade, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
In this new world, he wasn't powerless. He wasn't just a tool to be discarded.
He was something more. Something dangerous.
He rose to his feet, brushing off dirt and leaves. In the distance, a low growl rumbled - something large, something
dangerous.
Luceris smiled faintly, the old instincts
rushing back.
It didn't matter where he was.
Assassin or not, monster or not -
survival came first. And survival.. was something he excelled at.