Chapter 1

〔The Architect of Misery is impressed by your rapid growth!〕

That flat, robotic voice echoed inside my skull like a splinter of static-driven glass. It was sterile, emotionless—yet beneath its cold delivery, I swore I could hear a whisper of mockery and a mechanical sneer delivered by a system that had long since become my tormentor. My lips curled into a bitter smirk.

"Impressed, huh?" I muttered, eyes fixed on the floating system screen before me. "Go fuck yourself."

Impressed? What a joke.

The words felt pointless. Empty. Like throwing pebbles into a void and waiting for an echo that would never come.

I hadn't wanted to be chosen, hadn't begged for this cursed immortality. Others would call it a gift—a blessing, even. To me, it was a sentence. Eternal life with no meaning. No end. No escape. I had died. Willingly. That should have been the end.

But no.

Instead of peace, I woke up with a glowing brand on my chest and a curse disguised as a gift. Immortality. An endless cycle of survival, of carnage, of being torn down and rebuilt only to be torn down again. Every inch I grew stronger, the heavier my soul became.

"Impressed your ass," I scoffed, the word dripping with venom. "You enjoy watching me suffer, don't you?"

I sighed and turned my head to the floating window screen suspended in the air before me. The cold, pale glow of the system's interface painted my face in ghostly light, reminding me I was no longer entirely human. I ran a hand through my tangled hair, an automatic gesture born of frustration and exhaustion, but it changed nothing. My reflection in the screen—a man forever trapped in the body of a 21-year-old—looked just as hollow as I felt.

I dragged a hand through my hair, the strands greasy and tangled from days of neglect. The gesture was as futile as everything else I'd tried. Sleep didn't come easy anymore—not with memories clawing at me from every corner of my mind. The floating window remained in front of me, hovering like a smug overseer.

"Can I just... relax for one goddamn day?" I muttered, more to myself than the system.

The screen remained unmoved, unwavering. I held my breath and opened the status panel with a reluctant tap.

[Personal Information]

Name: Kael Suzuki

Age: 28 〔Forever 21 in physical form〕

Date of Birth: 04 / 14 / 5057

Level: 75

Power: Immortality

HP: ∞

[Ability Points]

Strength: 450 〔Can lift a car. Still crushed by despair.〕

Agility: 380 〔Faster than monsters. Not faster than pain.〕

Intelligence: 210 〔Knows how to kill. Not how to heal.〕

Willpower: 250 〔Just enough to keep breathing.〕

Equipment: [View Equipment]

Quest Log: [View Quests]

Death Wish: 100% 〔In Progress—Eternally.〕

"Even the damn system mocks me," I muttered, clenching my jaw.

I laughed—a dry, bitter sound. The kind of laugh someone makes when they've cried all they can. Even the interface was mocking me now. I could almost imagine the Architect himself watching, grinning behind that unseen veil.

"Seriously, I swear this whole system and that damn Architect have it out for me."

Beyond the translucent glow of the window, flames licked the charred husks of a half-destroyed building. I stood on the scorched ruins of what used to be a city. The stench of burnt flesh and blood filled the air, mingling with smoke that curled into the reddening sky. Devourer corpses twitched uselessly at my feet, already dissolving into black mist. These monsters were once terrifying, but now? They were just another reminder.

Another reminder that nothing could kill me.

"These things aren't strong enough to kill me anymore," I muttered. "I need… something. Anything that can end this."

My gaze lifted to the horizon—where the sun bled orange over the remains of the city. Seven years. Seven years since the Architect of Misery chose me. Seven years since I last died.

And seven years since I tried to take my own life.

I looked at the fading sun on the horizon and whispered, "How long has it been… really?"

**********

In the age of steel skies and scorched earth, humanity learned the price of playing god.

The year was 4056 when the world cracked open and bled. Scientists, in their insatiable pursuit of perfection, unleashed something they could never contain — The Devourers. Born from failure, forged in unnatural flesh, these abominations swept across continents like a plague. Cities crumbled, empires vanished, and in the span of twenty years, half of humanity was erased, reduced to dust and screams.

The rest ran.

We burrowed into mountains, into bunkers, into silence. We abandoned hope, and in our shame, forgot how to look up.

But then, as if mocking us, the sky answered.

A blinding flash. A voice from the void. And the arrival of the System — a strange, omnipotent force that changed everything. It named the first Apex Warriors, champions handpicked by enigmatic entities known only as the Architects. Each warrior bore unique power — gifts strong enough to match the fury of the Devourers. For the first time in a hundred years, humanity fought back.

A thousand years passed.

The world found balance. The Apex Warriors became both sword and symbol. Technology flourished, cities rose again, and children everywhere grew up dreaming of the day the light would choose them.

But not Kael.

The apartment was dark. Not because the lights weren't working—they were—but because Kael hadn't paid the bill. Again. The only source of illumination came from a flickering streetlamp outside, its pale light filtering through cracked blinds and casting broken stripes across the cluttered room.

Stacks of instant noodle cups towered like fragile monuments to desperation. Dirty clothes formed islands on the stained wooden floor. A sour stench lingered in the air, a mix of mildew, expired food, and something deeper—something human. Despair, maybe. It was tangible here.

Kael sat on the edge of a stained mattress, hunched over a bowl of soggy noodles. The broth had cooled long ago. He poked at it with chopsticks, but hunger was just a whisper now, lost beneath layers of anxiety and fatigue.

The only sound came from the rain drumming against the window, steady and relentless. Even nature seemed to pity him, offering a melancholic rhythm to accompany his quiet ruin.

A small, withered photograph sat crookedly on his nightstand. It showed three people—Kael, his younger brother Ren, and their father, Kenji. Kael was maybe ten in that photo, already awkward, already unsure. Ren's smile lit up the frame. Kenji stood tall behind them, one hand resting proudly on Ren's shoulder. His other hand was in his pocket.

He didn't even look like he belongs in the picture as if he was just there for the image but not welcomed in the family.

He closed his eyes, trying not to remember. But memory was cruel. It didn't wait for permission.

When Kael was eight, his father's lab was the only place he saw him. Cold, sterile, filled with blinking machinery and chemical smells. Kenji Suzuki, renowned robotics engineer, had no time for weak sons. Ren, two years younger, was a prodigy. Perfect scores, quick reflexes, emotional intuition—everything Kael wasn't.

"You'll never amount to anything, Kael," his father had once said, his voice calm. Dismissive. "You're a disappointment."

Still, Kael had clung to that one thread—that at least his father didn't abandon him completely. But over time, even that felt like a cruel joke.

At 18, Kael had a dream. He and his best friend, Taro, launched a robotics startup from a garage. There was passion. There was excitement. Nights spent with soldering irons and debug logs, sleeping on tool benches, eating cold pizza in between lines of code.

And it worked. For a while.

Their prototype—an adaptive drone for medical supply delivery—attracted attention. Small investors. Local tech fairs. Articles. Kael's hope had swelled. Maybe, just maybe, he could prove himself.

Then came the collapse. Manufacturing costs outpaced their funding. Their sponsor pulled out. The drone crashed during a live demo in front of their biggest backer. The failure was complete.

He remembered sitting on the floor with Taro, surrounded by lifeless parts and unpaid invoices.

"I'm sorry, Kael," Taro said, voice hollow. "I can't do this anymore. I'm moving back home. I… I don't think I can work with you again."

Kael didn't blame him. He didn't have the energy to.

Everything was going south for him, and the moment his brother Ren was chosen as an Apex Warrior by the Architect of Light, the last fragile strand of Kael's hope snapped.

He remembered it clearly—the announcement, the ceremony, the way his father's face lit up in a way Kael had never seen. Pride. Genuine, unfiltered pride. It was the kind of expression Kael had longed to see for himself, something he'd worked desperately to earn over the years. But it had never come. Not for him. Not once.

It was the night of Ren's official celebration. The ballroom was an ocean of glittering chandeliers, champagne flutes, and silk gowns. Laughter flowed like wine, bright and carefree, completely at odds with the storm in Kael's chest. He stood awkwardly in the far corner of the ballroom, invisible among the glittering crowd, a shadow cast by the blinding spotlight that was now permanently affixed to Ren.

Ren stood at the center of it all, surrounded by admirers and nobles. His newly gifted aura shimmered faintly around him like a divine cloak. People cheered his name, hands clapping him on the back, raising glasses in his honor. And at his side was Kenji Suzuki, their father—stoic, ruthless, powerful—now beaming with pride as he looked at Ren like he was the culmination of every dream he'd ever dared to have.

Kael stared, heart pounding, chest hollow.

He saw it all—the way their father gripped Ren's shoulder and leaned in to whisper something, laughing. The way he clinked glasses with prestigious officials, his voice proud and loud as he introduced Ren as his "legacy." It was as if Kael had never existed.

He clenched his fists, the plastic champagne flute in his hand cracking quietly. The music and laughter blurred together in a nauseating whirl.

Then, Kenji's eyes landed on him.

The smile vanished.

His father's gaze hardened, like stone slammed into steel. He tilted his head in a subtle gesture, summoning Kael over.

Kael hesitated, but forced himself to move, weaving through the crowd like a ghost. Each step felt like sinking into quicksand.

"Kael," Kenji said once he was close, his tone like ice wrapped in silk. "You're standing around like a stray dog. You're disrupting the atmosphere."

Kael flinched. "I… I just wanted to congratulate Ren."

Kenji's eyes narrowed. "Ren doesn't need your empty words. He needs focus and clarity, not distractions. Your constant failures cast a shadow over his light."

Kael's breath caught in his throat. "I didn't mean to… I thought maybe—maybe you'd want me here."

"Want you here?" Kenji barked a sharp laugh, quiet but venomous. "The only thing I want is for you to stop embarrassing me. You've brought shame to this family. You had your chance to succeed. You squandered it."

"But I've tried," Kael whispered, voice trembling. "I gave everything I had."

Kenji's expression didn't soften. If anything, it turned colder. "Trying isn't enough. You think the world rewards effort without results? You failed in business. You failed as a son. You failed even at being ordinary."

Kael's vision blurred. Heat pricked behind his eyes.

"Your things are packed," Kenji continued. "You will leave tonight."

"What? No… Father, please," Kael's voice cracked, panic rising. "Where am I supposed to go? I have nothing."

"That's not my concern. You made your choices. Live with them."

"Please," Kael said again, this time barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to make you proud. Just once."

Kenji leaned in close. "I only feel pride for those worthy of it. And you… Kael, you are nothing but a stain I've tolerated too long."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the music felt distant.

Two security guards approached from behind, impassive and silent.

"Escort him out," Kenji said, waving dismissively. "I don't want him seen here again."

Kael didn't fight. He couldn't. His knees felt weak as he was guided out, his small duffel bag clutched in one hand. The cold air hit his face like a slap as the doors shut behind him. Inside, the celebration roared on.

He stood on the sidewalk, his breath misting in the winter air. The stars above were hidden behind a veil of city light, indifferent and unreachable.

He sat on the curb, head in his hands, the silence pressing against his ears. That night, the streets felt colder than usual—not because of the temperature, but because of the emptiness that clawed through him.

From that night on, Kenji never called. Never visited. Never once asked if Kael was alive. It was as if he'd been erased.

For weeks after, Kael bounced between old contacts, sleeping in bus stations, then finally scraping together enough money for a crumbling apartment that smelled like mildew and broken promises. Every time he passed a television or heard someone whisper about Ren's growing power, it carved another wound into his soul.

One night, half-drunk on the cheapest whiskey he could find, Kael stared at the cracked ceiling and whispered to himself, "Why wasn't I enough? Why couldn't I have been the one they loved?"

No answer came.

Just the hum of a broken refrigerator and the faint echo of laughter from a nearby window—laughter that wasn't meant for him.

And so, a tear slid down his cheek. Not just for the rejection, or the loneliness. But because deep down, he still loved them. Still wanted to be seen. Still hoped—foolishly, painfully—that maybe one day, someone would say his name with pride.

But for now, all he had was the echo of slammed doors and the memory of a celebration he was never truly part of.

While he was remembering everything that has happened to him, the phone rang, a sharp and jarring sound that cut through the thick fog of Kael's mind. His eyes, glazed and dull, drifted toward the glowing screen, and without looking, he knew it was Ito. It was always Ito when it rang at this time. He let it ring twice, the silence between each ring stretching on like a slow, torturous countdown to something inevitable, something dark.

His fingers shook slightly as he reached for the phone. His heart beat a little faster, but it wasn't from fear. It was just another reminder—another thing weighing on him, another thing he couldn't escape.

"Hello?" Kael's voice was hoarse, barely audible, almost swallowed by the crushing silence in the apartment. He could barely even recognize it as his own voice anymore.

A gruff voice, thick with impatience and barely suppressed anger, barked through the receiver. "Kael. It's Ito. About the rent. It's been over a month now. Where's the money?"

Kael's stomach churned. He swallowed, the dryness in his throat unbearable. "Mr. Ito... I... I'm working on it. I'm trying to get some money together," he muttered, each word feeling like a lie. He wasn't working on anything. There was nothing left to work on. Every promise he had made to Ito felt like an old, decaying memory he couldn't bring himself to relive.

Ito's voice crackled with impatience. "Working on it? Kael, you've been 'working on it' for months. This isn't a game. I have bills to pay too. You're behind on three months' rent now. I'm about to call the eviction services."

The words slammed into Kael like a blow to the chest. He felt the weight of them settle like a stone in his gut, and his body grew cold, every inch of him rejecting the reality that was closing in on him. Three months behind... not that it mattered. His rent, his job, his life—it was all just a distant blur of missed opportunities, failed dreams, and endless disappointment.

A sickening wave of despair washed over him. He was cornered. The walls were closing in, and there was no escape. "Please, Mr. Ito," Kael's voice cracked, barely holding on, "Give me another chance. Just a little more time. I'll have the money next week. I promise."

Ito's laugh was sharp, cruel, and filled with years of frustration. "Another chance? You've had chances, Kael. You're nothing but a deadbeat. A useless bum. You think I care about your promises? I've heard them all before. Get your things out of my building by the end of the week, or I'll throw you out on the street myself."

Kael's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the room closing in around him, the walls pressing in like the weight of the world. His chest tightened, suffocating him with the weight of all his failures, all the shattered pieces of his life that he couldn't pick up.

The line went dead, and Kael just stared at the phone, the silence now more oppressive than the conversation had been. His heart thudded in his chest, a dull, lifeless beat that echoed in his ears. Ito's words kept ringing in his mind, each one a brutal reminder of how far he had fallen. The eviction notice. The loneliness. The failures. The promises he had made, and the promises he would never be able to keep.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, his gaze fixed on the phone. The reality of it all crushed him with an unbearable heaviness. The emptiness of his life was no longer just a feeling—it was a suffocating presence that hung over him, invisible but all-consuming.

The apartment around him—his prison—was so silent now, too silent, and his mind began to spiral further. Each breath felt heavier, the air thick with an oppressive stillness that matched the coldness inside of him. His mind began to loop through the same thoughts again and again.

'Everything's falling apart. There's no way out. I've failed. Everyone's left me. I don't belong here. They're right about me. I am nothing.'

He could see his father's face again. The cold, dismissive gaze. The lack of care. His father never once had faith in him. His brother, Ren—his golden child, his shining star—was the one who had been chosen. The Apex Warrior. The one who had it all. And Kael? Kael was the one left behind, forgotten in the shadows. There was no escaping the crushing weight of his father's rejection, nor the suffocating shame that followed him every moment of every day.

And now, here he was. No job. No money. No hope.

'They all left me. I don't even have the strength to fight anymore. Why keep going?'

The thought was simple but brutal, and it clung to him like a vice around his chest. The suffocating pressure of it—of his failure, his endless spiral—felt like too much to bear. He had been drowning for so long, and now, it felt like the water was finally going to swallow him whole.

'Maybe it's better this way. Maybe it's time to let go.'

He walked over to the small kitchen counter, his feet heavy as though the weight of his life was pressing him down. His fingers trembled as he tried to reach for the knife that had been sitting there for days, a quiet temptation he hadn't dared to touch until now. He stared at them for a moment, his mind clouded with a quiet numbness.

His heart felt empty. The echoes of his father's scorn, the mocking tone of Ito, the empty loneliness of his existence—it all rushed through him in a torrent, and for a fleeting moment, the silence of the apartment felt like a relief. A final escape.

A tear slipped down his cheek as took the knife from the counter. 'It'll all be over. No more pain. No more failures. No more being a burden.'

The thought seemed peaceful, but then, as his fingers tightened around the handle of the knife, something inside of him screamed to stop. It wasn't hope. It was something else. A fleeting moment of hesitation, a small spark of resistance that flickered to life inside of him.

"You're not alone..."

The thought surprised him, coming from nowhere. It was his brother's face, unbidden, but clear in his mind's eye. "Ren..."

But then that thought was crushed by the overwhelming flood of darkness. Ren was gone, just like everyone else. No one cared. Not really. Kael was nothing. No one would miss him.

His hand shook violently as he hesitated, but the emptiness inside him was too strong. He was so tired. So, so tired of fighting. What was the point? What was left for him?

The darkness swirled around him again, choking him with its weight. There was nothing left to hold onto. Nothing left to fight for.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the world went still. The echoes of the past, the pain, the rejection, the humiliation—everything faded into the background as his thoughts slowed.

'It's time...'

Kael went to his mattress with the knife still in his hand, Kael sat hunched at the edge of his torn mattress, its springs poking through like bones from a corpse. The lights hadn't worked for weeks. The electricity was long gone, just like everything else. His stomach had stopped growling days ago. Even his hunger had abandoned him.

He stared at the knife.

It was nothing special—just a rusted kitchen blade, chipped near the hilt. But tonight, it looked divine. Clean. Final.

The only thing in his life that could deliver certainty.

He could still hear Ito's voice echoing in his mind, laced with contempt:

"You're nothing but a deadbeat, Kael. A useless bum."

And his father's:

"Your presence is... disruptive."

He'd tried. The gods know that he'd tried. But trying meant nothing when the world only valued winners. When your best was never good enough. When even your own blood saw you as disposable.

Kael picked up the knife, feeling the weight of it.

His hands trembled.

"No one's coming," he whispered to the dark. "No one ever did."

The shadows said nothing.

He stared at the blade for a long time.

Then, with a sudden breathless resolve, he plunged it into his abdomen.

The pain was sharp and immediate, like fire licking through his nerves. His breath hitched, and his eyes widened. He twisted the blade slightly, gasping, teeth clenching hard enough to crack.

Blood poured freely, soaking through his thin shirt and onto the floor with a soft, sickening patter.

His vision began to darken at the edges. His limbs went cold. Time slowed.

And then—

DING.

A soft chime, like a distant bell echoing through a cathedral. It rang out, impossibly loud inside his dying mind.

Kael's body jerked in surprise, though his strength was fading rapidly.

Then, from the air in front of him, something glitched into existence—like a crack in reality itself. Lines of red code and black smoke wove themselves into a square interface hovering mid-air.

〔SYSTEM INITIATED〕

『 Architect of Misery has deemed the Host suitable. 』

『Commencing Emergency Binding Protocol...』

『Initiating: [Soul Reconstruction]...』

〔WARNING: Subject is undergoing terminal physical shutdown.

Estimated Time to Death: 11 seconds. 〕

Kael blinked through the blood in his eyes. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

'What… was this?'

〔Do you wish to live?〕

→ Yes

→ No

His eyes flicked over the prompt.

He couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

But something—some ancient force already inside him—clicked.

The option "Yes" selected itself.

〔 Override confirmed. Forced Resurrection Engaged. 〕

〔Binding Soul to Higher Authority...〕

『 HOST SELECTED: KAEL SUZUKI 』

『 Title Granted: Immortal Wretch 』

The blade in his stomach dissolved into black ash.

The blood reversed course, vanishing into his skin.

And then—agony.

Kael screamed. His voice was hoarse and unnatural, echoing with layered tones, like multiple versions of himself crying out in unison. His body convulsed violently, veins pulsing with black light. A jagged symbol burned itself into his chest from within—an arcane glyph of wings chained to a dying sun, ringed in runes written in suffering itself.

He felt everything—his regrets, his guilt, his humiliation—twisting into chains and wrapping around his soul. Binding it. Marking it.

"You were born to suffer," a voice said. Not from the system. From beyond. The voice was ancient, guttural, and serene all at once. "But I will give your pain... meaning."

The system blazed red.

〔 Congratulations! The Architect of Misery found you interesting and chose you as his champions! 〕

Kael: Eh?

〔 The Architect of Misery grants you the power of Immortality!〕

Kael: .... Ehhh?!?!

Kael found himself slowly losing his consciousness and he soon collapsed to the floor, gasping.

His wound was gone.

But something inside him had changed forever.

The room was silent again.

Only the system window remained, flickering softly in the air.

〔 Welcome back, Kael.〕