The gates of Eternal Heaven trembled under the clash of red and black auras. Even the gods and goddesses below watched in fear, their divine hearts shaken by the storm Above.
"How far will that mortal go?!" a god cried out, his voice laced with dread.
"It's beyond anything we can handle," a goddess muttered, teeth clenched, fists tight, her eyes locked onto [ImNumber1]
The Eternal Guardian lunged at [ImNumber1], knocking down his HP. [ImNumber1] blocked and dodged with skill, but his martial arts barely scratched the Guardian's defense.
I need something else. Something stronger.
This is my last shot to unlock Eternal Heaven.
Suspended mid-air, [ImNumber1] opened his system and scrolled through his weapons. All were SSS-tier—yet none could touch the Eternal Guardian.
These won't do. I need... the Eternal Blade.
Before he could act, the Guardian's sword slashed through the system window, shattering it into fragments of light.
"Tch... this monster."
[ImNumber1] grabbed the Guardian's blade mid-swing and hurled him to the edge of the battlefield—but the Guardian's HP didn't budge.
He opened the system again.
[Treasures]
[GOD-TIER Items]
Scrolling quickly—
[Eternal Blade]
A radiant sword materialized in his hand—white as starlight, with a golden hilt and a glowing blue aura.
You're finished now, Eternal Guardian.
"That sword... it's the Eternal Blade! How can a mortal wield it?!" a god gasped, his eyes wide, hands trembling. The blade's aura bent the very gravity of the realm—some gods fell to their knees, unable to stand.
With fury in his eyes, [ImNumber1] charged forward. The moment the blade was about to strike—
Darkness.
The power went out.
Samarth stared at his monitor, fury boiling in his chest. With a scream, he hurled his mouse at the screen—glass shattered, sparks flickered. He wasn't done. His keyboard followed, crashing into the wreckage.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he shouted. "That was my last chance! I already failed twice. Only three chances... and I blew it! Aahh! I spent all my money on this game, only to end up lost!"
Just then, his phone rang. Still seething, he glanced at the screen. A number flashed. He answered.
"Sir, today is your interview. Are you coming?" a man's voice asked calmly.
Reality hit like a slap.
"Yes! Yes, sir! I'm on my way!" Samarth stammered.
The line disconnected. In a blur, Samarth sprinted to an old wardrobe, yanked out a worn pair of office clothes, threw them on, and rushed out of the house. His only hope now—catch the train.
But as he reached the station, the train had already left.
"Why does this shit happen to me only?!"
No time to mourn it—he ran. The office was twenty-five minutes away by train, but he made it on foot in forty-seven. The sky cracked open, rain poured down like a curse, soaking him to the bone. Still, he walked into the building with a shaky smile.
The interview room was large, modern. White walls with birch-wood textures. Opposite him, no wall—just glass. A long table stood in the center, sleek and polished. Three chairs. Two men sat with stern faces, and at the left end sat an elderly woman in a wheelchair. Late sixties, maybe older. Her light grey-brown eyes were cloudy with age, her face worn and wrinkled.
"You are late," said the man on the left, locking eyes with him.
Samarth looked down. "Sorry, sir." His smile vanished.
"Who do you think you are?" the other man snapped. "You think we'll wait for someone like you?" He pointed to the door. "Leave. We don't need latecomers."
Tears welled up in Samarth's eyes. He didn't argue. He turned to go. The last thing he saw was the old woman looking at him—not with anger or disappointment, but pity. As if she understood.
He stepped into the elevator—but not to go down.
He pressed the button for the rooftop.
There, under the grey sky, rain still pouring, his soaked documents slipped from his hands and scattered across the ground. Samarth sank to his knees, tears mixing with the rain.
That was my last chance. I lost it.
I've got nothing now. I spent all my money on WuXhun Online.
No food. No job. Even my computer's gone.
What do I have left...?
He looked toward the edge of the rooftop. Only one thought echoed in his mind—
Just jump.
He stood up, his legs trembling, and began walking toward the edge.
"What are you trying to achieve by doing that?" a soft, feminine voice called from behind.
Samarth turned around. It was the old woman in the wheelchair.
"I have nothing left," he said, tears falling freely. "I've lost everything. I don't even have money to survive. My family abandoned me. There's no point in staying alive... I'll never achieve anything."
The old woman rolled forward slowly.
"Just because you've lost everything doesn't mean you should give up on life," she said gently. "Life is the most beautiful thing you have—and you're about to throw it away?"
"Beautiful?" Samarth laughed bitterly. "Maybe for you. Not for me."
His voice cracked as he continued.
"My family was abusive. They forced me to study what they wanted. I never got to choose—never had a say in anything. If I failed to meet their expectations, they beat me. Still, I gave up everything—my dreams, my goals—just to make them happy. And in the end? They tossed me aside... said I was disobedient. A failure. After everything I did for them."
He took another step closer to the edge.
The old woman moved closer in silence, her wheels creaking softly on the wet rooftop. She gently reached out and held his wrist.
"Why are you even here?" he snapped. "This has nothing to do with you. Don't you old people have anything better to do than bother others?"
She didn't answer. But her eyes—aged, deep, filled with quiet pain—told a different story.
Eyes that had seen things.
Maybe even lived them.
---
Samarth pushed her hand away, but she gripped his wrist again.
"Let go!" he snapped, trying to shake her off.
In the struggle, his trembling legs lost balance—and suddenly, he slipped backward.
In pure instinct, his hand clutched the old woman's—and in that one desperate moment, he pulled her down with him.
Fuck! Fuck! What have I done?! I dragged her into my suicide!
The rooftop vanished behind them as they plummeted from the 24th floor.
Wind howled in his ears. Panic flooded his chest. His eyes widened in terror.
But hers?
She was smiling.
Like this fall... was what she had wanted all along.
As they neared the tall glass wall of the interview room, one of the man caught a glimpse through the window.
"That old fucking hag!" he shouted, face twisting in fury. "How dare she die from my building?! She's trying to ruin my name—drag my respect into the gutter!"
The two men bolted from their seats and ran for the elevator, rushing toward the ground floor.
---
Samarth's fear slowly melted... into peace.
Into joy.
Because deep down, this was what he had wanted all along—to end everything.
---
The two men burst out of the building, breathless. A crowd had already gathered near the base.
They shoved through the murmuring people, panic rising in their chests.
And then—they saw them.
Samarth and the old woman, lying side by side.
Lifeless.
Blood painted the pavement in a dark, spreading pool. But what froze everyone wasn't the blood—
It was their faces.
Both of them were smiling.
Not a peaceful smile—but something... unsettling. Unnatural.
Something that made everyone around step back, chilled to the bone.
Even in death, they smiled—like they had found something the living would never understand.
---
A raindrop landed on Samarth's cheek.
His eyes fluttered open.
He wasn't where he had been before.
He was being carried—cradled in the arms of a woman. But… he wasn't small. Not a child. How could she carry him so effortlessly?
Beside her walked a man. Both of them wore strange, old-fashioned clothing—unlike anything Samarth had ever seen. Their faces were unfamiliar. Their style... foreign. Ancient.
But the biggest question clawing at his mind—
I should be dead... so why am I alive?
He tried to speak, to ask where he was, but no sound came from his lips. His throat was frozen, as if words no longer belonged to him.
The two figures spoke to each other in a language he couldn't understand—soft, fluid, and unfamiliar.
Eventually, they reached the edge of a forest.
The woman knelt beside a large tree and gently laid Samarth down, hiding him beneath tall grasses and thick roots. Her hands trembled.
Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him with a sorrowful smile.
"Sorry, ______," she whispered. "We can't stay with you… if we do, they'll kill you too."
Her features were mostly human—except for the long, pointed ears that peeked through her hair. The man had a normal humanoid body but carried an air of strength, ancient and steady.
"Sorry! Sorry!" she sobbed, wrapping her arms around him one last time. She held him tightly, as if memorizing the feeling.
Then—she let go, turned, and ran with the man back the way they had come.
Moments later, heavy footsteps echoed through the trees. A group of people sprinted past the tall grass, chasing after them—they didn't noticed Samarth hidden in tall grasses.
His eyes began to fill with tears. What's happening to me? Am I… crying? But why?
He lifted a hand to wipe his face—but froze. They were tiny. His eyes widened in shock.
His body… it wasn't under his control. It started crying. Loudly.
What the hell? Am I a kid? A newborn?
The fuck—how did this happen?!
Suddenly, from the tall grass nearby, an old man appeared. Through the blur of tears, he could barely make out the man's features—only a long white beard and a sagging, aged face. The old man picked him up without a word and started walking away.
Hey! Where the hell do you think you're taking me, you old bastard?!
He tried to resist, to struggle—but his small, weak body gave out quickly. Helpless, confused, and full of fear, only one thought remained:
What's going to happen to me?
And then—
Everything went black.