Bri_ght8491

Warning: This novel contains explicit adult content, violence, and a ruthless anti-hero MC. Read at your own risk. 

I was the strongest player in the world—until they betrayed me.

When I woke up, I wasn’t a player anymore. I was just an NPC. A nameless mob, doomed to be farmed for EXP and discarded like trash.

But then, I heard it:

(You have been killed.)
(Unique Skill Activated: Infinite Resurrection.)
(Each death makes you stronger.)

Every time a player slaughters me, I steal their stats, their skills, and their power. I evolve beyond the system’s control, beyond the limits of this world.

They thought I was nothing.
They thought they could use me, farm me, erase me.

Now, I am the final boss—and I will make them suffer.
On the battlefield, and in my bed.

They will submit. One way or another.

God of Death: Rise of the NPC Overlord

‎But it was no dream shaped by Spiral will or mythic memory. It was deeper, colder—a slumber without form. He was drowning not in water or thought, but in a substance without a name. Something that existed before existence chose to explain itself.

‎Darkness moved around him—not malicious, not sentient. It was a void with history, the kind that predated language, time, even gods.

‎And within that dream, he remembered.

‎Not as Azael the Lorekeeper, or Advisor to the God of Death.

‎But as the thing he was before myth first blinked.

‎He stood in a place that wasn't place. A basin of concept, thick with primal noise. Shapes flickered—unfinished things crawling across unreal ground, not yet gods, not yet monsters. The air buzzed with creation's refusal. This was the time before the Codex. Before stories chose a shape.

Chapter 182 – The First Ones Never Named‎