Survival

Ding!

You have died.

Ding!

Resurrection once activated.

Ding!

Resurrection once has failed. You have been exiled from the celestial heavens by the gods.

Ding!

Searching for a new world to resurrect.

Ding!

New world found.

Ding!

Resurrection once activated.

Michael found himself suspended in a vast emptiness that gradually grew brighter. Suddenly, he felt solid ground beneath him, and he emerged in a lush, vibrant forest, completely naked. But something felt off; his body was different.

As the chilling messages echoed in his mind—"You have been exiled by the gods" and "You have been cursed by the gods"—blood rushed to Michael's head. Logic abandoned him. Overwhelmed by rage and despair, he howled like a wounded beast, the sound ripping through the serene forest and echoing into the unknown.

The thought of being separated from his little sister, along with his inability to honor his mother's last wish, drove Michael to the brink of insanity. In that moment, hatred consumed him—hatred for the gods who had torn him from his sister and for the cruel system that forced him into a mission that led to this despair.

Without the system, he could be in the village with her, sharing stories and laughter under the vast sky. Yes, the system offered him wealth and power, but those things felt hollow without the joy that once filled his life. Life in the village was simple and demanding, yet the labor was intertwined with a peaceful melody that sang in his heart.

Thud…

After venting all his frustration, Michael fell on his butt, sweating and panting.

"Dammit, dammit, why am I so weak?"

Michael was stunned by his own weakness. Having been a tier 2 sword master in his previous life, this new sensation felt foreign to him. He then began scanning himself.

He was a young man, seemingly around eighteen, with long, flowing black hair that cascaded to his shoulders, contrasting beautifully with his smooth, pale skin. His features were striking, almost ethereal, with delicate lines and angles that gave his face a feminine quality.

His deep black eyes held a mysterious allure, drawing you in with their intensity. The way they sparkled under the light hinted at an inner depth, a story waiting to be told. His alabaster skin, flawless and luminous, seemed to almost glow, making him appear like a figure from a dream.

After observing himself for a while, Michael shook his head, disappointment tightening his features.

"This won't do. This body is too weak. Even if I train for a hundred years, I'll barely reach Tier 1," he muttered, anger simmering beneath the surface as he ground his teeth.

"Did those bastards foresee my thirst for revenge and trap me in this pathetic shell? Or is it this cursed system?"

His fists clenched at his sides, frustration bubbling over. Memories of his previous life surged like a tidal wave. He could still picture the strength he once possessed, the way he wielded a sword as if it were an extension of his body, traversing endless miles without a hint of fatigue. Now, every movement felt like an uphill battle, as if he were struggling against chains made of lead.

Michael opened his eyes, determination flickering in their depths.

"It doesn't matter if you think a weak body will stop my revenge; you're greatly mistaken."

While Michael was lost in thought, the rustle of leaves and snapping twigs jolted him back to reality—the unmistakable sound of something large drawing nearer. Instinctively, his muscles tensed, heart racing as dread settled in. Just beyond the veil of trees, a shadow twisted among gnarled roots, a predator stalking its prey.

He recognized the unmistakable dread of a rank 1 magic beast. Not now—his mind raced as primal fear clawed at his heart.

"Run!" he urged himself, forcing his exhausted body into a sprint. He couldn't allow the creature to see him. But with each stride, it felt like he was a turtle struggling through mud, each footfall heavy and slow.

"Run faster, you damn legs!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

After surviving the wrath of a goddess, the thought of being devoured by a common monster felt absurd. Yet here he was, heart pounding and muscles burning, driven by instinct.

He pushed harder, every ounce of training fighting against fatigue. The underbrush cracked underfoot as the creature's presence loomed behind—an oppressive shadow ready to pounce. He dared not look back. The forest blurred around him, transforming into a green haze as he fought to quicken his pace.

"Just a little further,"he thought, clinging to hope, as he spotted a small bush off the path.

***

As he approached the bush, adrenaline surged through him, and he leaped inside. Crouching low and holding his breath, he tried to shrink into the shadows. In that moment, he felt as delicate as a spider's silk—vulnerable and utterly exposed.

Seconds later, the wolf emerged. Its presence was both majestic and terrifying, a living shadow cloaked in mottled grays and silvers. It glided forward with a silence that sent chills down his spine. The wolf's glowing red eyes scanned the area, radiating primal hunger and menacing intent.

Michael struggled to keep his thoughts straight over the thunderous drum of his heart, its rapid beats echoing in his ears. What if it finds me? The thought spiraled down into an abyss of despair. God, please don't let this be the end. Each breath served as a reminder of how fragile his existence was in that moment, as if the very air around him conspired to suffocate his resolve.

When the wolf began sniffing the ground, Michael's body froze, locked in a primal instinct for survival. It's my scent. It's going to track me. That realization pierced through him with chilling clarity, igniting a surge of memories—images of a life unfulfilled and dreams deferred.

I still have things to do. I still haven't taken my revenge.

A shudder coursed through him as he envisioned the wolf's teeth sinking into his flesh, tearing into him as though he were nothing more than paper. The gruesome image burned in his mind—blood spilling, screams echoing in the desolate wilderness, darkness closing in like a vice. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes.

"Somebody, help me! Help me survive this!" His desperate pleas spilled forth, louder and more fervent than any prayers he had ever uttered. Each cry resonated in the silence, reaching out into the void, as if hoping for a response from the universe or whatever forces might be listening.

The wolf moved with relentless grace, its eyes fixed and unyielding as it prowled closer. Every step was calculated, each sniff deliberate, as if the beast savored the hunt. The sharp gleam of its claws caught the faint light filtering through the branches, sending ripples of sheer terror cascading down Michael's spine.

"Rosie, Mother, I'm so sorry," he gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks, a stark contrast to the encroaching darkness. "I couldn't keep my promises… I'm useless!" The anguish entwined with self-loathing closed around his heart like a vice. He felt an overwhelming urge to curl into a ball and disappear, to give in to the despair that choked him.

Then, amid his spiraling thoughts, a small rabbit burst from the underbrush, startling Michael from his morbid reverie. The creature's instincts kicked in, and it fled into the unknown. Michael watched in wide-eyed astonishment as the wolf, momentarily distracted, abandoned its pursuit of him, launching after the rabbit with a ferocity that jolted adrenaline through his veins.

As the wolf raced into the distance, an enormous weight lifted off Michael's chest. He released a long, shaky breath, relief washing over him, only to be followed by an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. His body felt heavy, unresponsive, like lead. He wanted to rise, to escape while he still could, but his limbs betrayed him, refusing to move.

"Please don't let it come back," he murmured weakly, closing his eyes against the encroaching darkness. The adrenaline ebbed away, replaced by a weariness that surged through him like an incoming tide. For now, safety lingered in the silence, and all he could do was surrender to the all-consuming fatigue, his mind teetering on the brink of consciousness.