The Dimensional Codex
Night passed in a blur. When the first pale fingers of dawn crept over the horizon, Eamon finally found clarity amidst the muddled remnants of his memories. Slowly, the puzzle of his recent death began to assemble in his mind. He recalled how, in his former life, he prided himself on caution—meticulously planning for every conceivable misfortune, from failed relationships and business bankruptcies to robberies and misfortunes on the street. Yet fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of irony.
One act of heroism—a desperate plunge into a raging river to save a stranger—had culminated in his untimely demise. And not merely that: when he awoke, he discovered he had been reborn into an entirely different world. The memories he now absorbed were not his own but those of a minor noble, a man named Williams, whose family bore a secret treasure. In this cruel new reality, Williams's lineage was condemned—not only by the venerated Sacred Kingdom but also by the shadowy cult of Destruction Day, whose dark tenets branded them as enemies of order.
Eamon's mind churned with bitter irony. He, a man of careful plans and calculated risks, had been thrust into a life marred by chaos and accusation. Worse still, he now inhabited a body far from his own making—a body that, according to the memories flooding in, had been entrusted with a fabled relic. Yet fate had dealt him a cruel hand: in the desperate struggle against his pursuers, the treasured artifact had shattered, leaving him with nothing but the bitter taste of defeat and a future riddled with peril.
Then, as if summoned by destiny itself, a mysterious interface materialized before his eyes—a pulsating, arcane codex that shimmered with the promise of untold power. The Dimensional Codex. Its pages, though weighty and dark as night, were as light as a feather in his grasp. Etched into its obsidian cover was a dazzling gemstone, encircled by silver rings that danced like the orbits of distant planets. Upon opening the tome, Eamon's new identity was laid bare:
[Executor: Eamon]
[Dimensional Points: 0]
[Equipped Soul Stone: Arthas]
[Buff Acquired: Undying Sovereign (increases sensitivity, damage, and defense against the undead by 50%)]
[Strength: E (no greater than that of an ordinary man)}
[Agility: D (speed may be your only saving grace)}
[Constitution: E (mortal frailty is inevitable)}
[Perception: D (keen senses are essential)}
[Charisma: D (beauty is in the eye of the beholder)}
[Skill Equipped: None]
[Exclusive Quest: The Curse of the Frostmourne Lament]
The Codex's ominous quest warned him that the enchanted sword he now possessed—a blade with an insatiable hunger for the souls of the damned—demanded a terrible price. To satisfy its curse, he was fated to reap the souls of a thousand lives. The very thought set his heart pounding with dread. Was it possible to bear such a burden?
It was then that the bitter truth struck him: the system he now navigated was no mere tool of magic—it was the very game he had once designed. In a cruel twist of fate, the unfinished mobile game, titled Dimensional Codex, had become his reality. As a Dimensional Mage, he was destined to traverse myriad worlds, undertaking perilous missions to harvest "dimensional points" and summon soul stones imbued with the might of beings from other realms.
His current soul stone, emblazoned with the visage of Arthas—the Lich King before his fall—offered two distinct modes of power. In its passive state, it provided a constant, albeit modest, boon. Yet should Eamon dare to activate its full might, he would gain access to abilities nearly indistinguishable from those he had unwittingly displayed on the bloodied battlefield. But caution was paramount; each activation was limited to a mere five uses before the stone shattered irrevocably.
For now, Eamon's only recourse was to strengthen himself. With enemies on every side—the relentless hunters of the Sacred Kingdom and the malevolent agents of the Destruction Day cult—failure was not an option. And so, with a resolute exhale, he invoked the latent power of the Codex.
"Teleport!" he murmured under his breath. In response, the tome's pages burst into a swirling cascade of light, forming concentric rings that enveloped him. In a heartbeat, his form dissolved into a dazzling array of luminous motes, and he vanished from that doomed battlefield.
Moments later, the sound of enormous wings stirred the air, and a cadre of majestic, white-winged steeds descended from the heavens. One of their riders—a stalwart figure with the bearing of a seasoned warrior—called out, "My sister, have you found any trace of our quarry?"
From atop a neighboring steed, a lithe woman closed her eyes, her expression distant. "No sign at all, my brother. I fear he has already slipped away," she replied softly.
The man's face contorted in anger as he muttered a bitter oath against the cursed cult that had wronged them. "That wretched heretic—he won't evade us for long. We must search every shadow until we find him."
Thus, as Eamon's consciousness rode the ethereal currents of the Codex, he braced himself for the unknown trials ahead. In this grim, unforgiving world—a realm reminiscent of the darkest legends of old—hope was scarce and peril ever-present. And yet, armed with his wits, a system of his own creation, and a destiny forged in both magic and misfortune, Eamon took his first uncertain steps toward an uncertain future.