The sun rises soon

Somewhere in the wasteland of a forgotten night, a hand twitches beneath the earth.

Not buried deep.

No.

The ground isn't a grave. It's a scar.

A place that burned.

A place that screamed.

A place that died.

Then, lightning splits the sky.

And the dead move again.

Fingers, blackened and half-rotten, punch through the ashen dirt.

The nails crack, the skin splits, but the hand keeps climbing.

Something crawls free.

First the arm, then the shoulders.

Then the face.

Lightning flashes.

And for the first time in who knows how long, the world sees Hex.

But Hex doesn't see the world.

His eyes—half-lidded, sunken, haunted—aren't looking at anything.

They're staring through.

Not out of fear. Not out of pain.

But because he is tired.

Not a normal kind of tired.

A deep, soul-shattering exhaustion.

Like he's been through hell and back.

But he doesn't remember going.

He barely remembers anything.

Just the feeling.

His entire being screams that he has suffered.

But he doesn't remember a single second of the suffering.

And the harder he tries to think about it—

FLASH.

A memory stabs into his mind.

Fire. Screaming.

Men.

Surrounding him.

Faces twisted in rage, fear, cruelty.

A sword raised—

Darkness.

The memory flickers out.

Gone.

Like trying to hold water in his hands.

The tighter he grips, the faster it escapes.

His jaw clenches.

He knows there's something important.

He knows he's forgetting something.

But it won't come back.

He exhales.

Or at least, he tries.

Nothing.

His chest doesn't rise.

Doesn't fall.

That's when he notices his surroundings.

The land is burnt beyond recognition.

Charred ruins. Twisted remains of buildings. Ash everywhere.

And he… he just emerged out of it.

A bitter, half-hearted thought slips from his lips:

"Am I the phoenix?"

No laugh follows. Not even a smirk.

He doesn't have the energy to entertain his own bullshit.

Then the real horror hits.

He presses a hand to his ribcage.

A terrible, hollow feeling stares back.

His heart isn't beating.

He presses harder.

Nothing.

No warmth.

No life.

A single whisper slides from his lips.

"…what the fuck?"

Then, without warning—

A screen appears.

Hovering in the air.

Like some twisted game interface.

<^> SYSTEM MESSAGE <^>

Welcome back, Host. You survived your first quest.

Quest 1: Break the Loop (Complete)

Reward: 75 Bloody Points

Hex stares.

"Break the loop?"

What loop?

He doesn't remember any loop.

His fingers twitch.

He wants to be angry.

He wants to demand answers.

But he doesn't even know who to yell at.

Then, the screen shifts.

[STATUS SCREEN]

Character Name: Hex

Level: 1

Class: Revenant Slave

Title: Cursed Soul

Race: Undead

[Stats]

Exp: 30/50

HP: 3 / 7

Mana: 20 / 45

Stamina: 1 / 5

Strength: 3

Agility: 4

Endurance: 2

Intelligence: 12

Dark Affinity: 16

Corruption: 3% (Higher corruption unlocks darker powers but weakens humanity)

[Equipment]

None

[Resources]

• Soul Fragments: 3/3000

• Bloody Points: 75

[Quests]

1. "Reclaim Your Soul" (Main Quest)

2. "The Witch's Pact" – Collect 12 cursed artifacts (Side Quest)

3. "Blood Debt" – Eliminate the Rogue Dark Lord (Bounty)

[Afflictions]

• Undead Curse – HP regenerates only through Soul Drain or potions.

• Haunted – Random whispers and visions appear, affecting focus.

Hex feels something boiling in his chest.

Not a heartbeat.

Not life.

Frustration.

Anger.

Desperation.

This isn't fair.

How the hell is he supposed to survive like this?!

Then—

A red alert flares across the screen.

<^> URGENT WARNING <^>

The sun rises soon. Seek shelter.

Direct sunlight may prove fatal.

Hex stiffens.

He whips his head up.

The sky is still dark—but not for long.

A faint glow touches the horizon.

Shit.

Then—another message.

<^> URGENT QUEST <^>

You need to feed to replenish your vitality.

Failure will result in severe weakness and potential death.

FEED.

The word cuts through his mind like a blade.

A pain ignites in his gut.

Something he's never felt before.

A hunger.

Deep.

Dark.

Wrong.

His vision blurs.

For a fraction of a moment, the ash around him doesn't look like ash.

It looks like—

Flesh.

He stumbles back.

No.

No, no, no.

His hands clutch his stomach.

But it's not his stomach that's hungry.

It's something worse.

The first ray of sunlight touches the sky.

And Hex feels his skin begin to burn.

It's not painful.

It's worse.

It's erasing him.

The warmth isn't warmth.

It's a slow, creeping nothingness.

He doesn't have time to think.

He doesn't have time to hesitate.

He needs to run.

But where?

A ruined building, where something is waiting for him?

A deep cave, where whispers are calling his name?

A city nearby—but if he goes, he'll have to hunt.

Hex doesn't know.

He just knows one thing.

If he doesn't move NOW—

He won't be moving ever again.