The transition between worlds never gets easier. For a soul that has already clocked 50 years across two different realities, you'd think the cosmic whiplash would fade.
It doesn't.
Riku opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the bitter, metallic taste of ash and a sky the color of a bruised plum.
The "2nd world transmission" was supposed to be a graduation, but instead, the universe dropped him right into the meat grinder: The 3rd World of Apocalypse.
Status Check
Riku sat up, his new joints popping with a youthfulness his 50-year-old soul wasn't used to. He quickly took stock of his situation:
The Body: Early twenties. Lean, wiry, but severely malnourished. The muscle memory of this new vessel felt twitchy, hardwired for fight-or-flight.
The Environment: An abandoned, crumbling concrete overpass. Below, the rusted skeletal remains of a civilization stretched out as far as the eye could see.
The Atmosphere: Heavy. The air burned the back of his throat.
"Two lifetimes taught me how to survive diplomacy and magic," Riku muttered, cracking his knuckles.
"Let's see if any of it applies to a wasteland."
The First Encounter
A low, wet growl echoed from the shadows of a collapsed transit bus a few meters away.
In his first world, Riku would have panicked. In his second, he hug the thigh of the general Alpha and here? He instinctively reached for a jagged piece of rebar lying in the dust.
A creature slinked into the dim light. It was humanoid, but its skin was translucent, stretched tight over a mutated musculature, its eyes milky white and blind, relying instead on the clicking sound it made to map the area.
A "Clicker-Variant", or whatever this world called its localized nightmares.
Riku held his breath. Fifty years of accumulated soul-wisdom meant one thing: "patience". He didn't strike. He waited for the creature to click, track a falling piece of rubble away from him, and turn its back.
Step. Step. Lunge.
The rebar found its mark with terrifying, practiced precision.
The New Rules
As the creature dissolved into a strange, black ash, a faint blue shimmer caught Riku's eye. A tiny, crystalline shard was left behind in the dust. He picked it up, and a sharp jolt of energy surged up his arm, settling into his chest.
The transmission hadn't just changed his location; it had changed the rules of engagement.
Soul Age: 50 Years (Mature)
-Grants mental fortitude, tactical patience, and immunity to early-stage psychological despair.
Physical Body ~22 Years (Unconditioned)
-High agility potential, but currently starved and lacking raw power.
World Mechanic- Ash Shards
- Dropped by infected/mutated entities. Seems to fuel some form of internal adaptation or power source.
What's Next?
Riku wiped the black grime from his hands onto his tattered trousers.
The sun—or whatever dying star passed for it here—was beginning to dip below the horizon, and the ambient temperature was plummeting fast.
He had no food, a makeshift weapon, and a vast, dead world to map out. But a 50-year-old soul doesn't despair easily. It adapts.
Wait, why I couldn't feel system 888 ?