The first thing he noticed was the light.
Too bright.
Too white.
Lucas squinted, his eyes adjusting slowly as the sterile ceiling above came into focus. Flat panels glowed softly, humming with electricity. The faint beep of a heart monitor pulsed somewhere to his right.
Sheets. Thin. Clean.
A hospital.
He blinked again, slower this time.
His throat was dry, but not cracked. His body ached, but not like before. It was the familiar ache of sore muscles, not open wounds or near-death exhaustion.
'Where the hell am I?'
He tried to sit up.
His arms worked. Barely.
The blanket slid down his chest, revealing a simple patient gown and a band strapped to his wrist. He glanced around—plain white walls, a medical monitor, a half-empty IV drip. The window was shut, the curtain half drawn.
Then he heard movement.
A door opening. Footsteps.
A nurse stepped in—a woman in her thirties with tied-back hair and a data pad in hand. She nearly dropped it when she saw his eyes open.
"Oh! You're awake," she said, voice rushing out with relief. "Don't try to move too much. You've been out for a while."
Lucas said nothing.
He just watched her.
"You're in the central hospital ward," she added, stepping closer. "They found you unconscious yesterday morning. We didn't think you'd wake up so soon."
She tapped something on the pad, glanced back at him, then smiled gently.
"I'll call the doctor. Just stay calm and rest."
She was gone before he could respond.
The door clicked softly behind her.
And Lucas was alone.
The silence returned.
But it was different from the one inside the tower. Less heavy. Less alive.
Lucas leaned back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
'Was it all a dream?'
But the aches in his body told him otherwise. So did the quiet hum of something else—something not from this world.
A flicker of blue light danced in the corner of his vision.
He didn't hesitate.
He focused.
And the system answered.
[Initializing Interface…]
A translucent screen unfolded in the air before him—clean, simple, unmistakably real.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the lines of glowing text.
[Name: Lucas]
[Class: Deathbringer – Son of Thanatos, God of Death]
[Class Type: Unique]
[Soul Level: ]
[Core Status: Stable]
[Skills: New Skill Acquired: SOULREND]
– Cuts through both flesh and soul. Victims may be severed spiritually.
[Trait: Inherited Lineage – Death's Blood]
Lucas stared.
No blinking.
No breathing.
He read it again.
And again.
Then—he smiled.
Not a big smile.
Not joy.
Something darker. Quieter.
The kind of smile you made when something impossible had just been proven true.
'It wasn't a dream.'
He swiped the screen.
More windows opened.
[Inventory: 1 New Item Acquired]
[You have received: Abyssal Reaper]
[Item Type: Weapon – Scythe]
[Rarity: Unique]
[Status: Soul-Bound]
[Description: A scythe born from the void, forged in the shadows of forgotten gods. Its blade drinks light. Its edge remembers death.]
Lucas exhaled, long and slow.
'A fucking scythe.'
He leaned back, eyes on the glowing words.
He wasn't crazy.
He hadn't hallucinated that throne, or Shadow, or the blade in his chest.
The Crucible was real.
And now…
So was he.
Lucas let the interface fade, the glowing symbols dissolving like smoke.
He sat there, staring at the ceiling again, chest rising and falling slowly.
'Deathbringer… Son of Thanatos.'
It sounded like something out of a nightmare. Or a myth.
But it was real.
He could still feel the phantom pain of the scythe piercing through him. The weight of the throne. The stare of Shadow.
His fingers curled around the blanket.
He should have felt terrified. But he didn't.
Instead… he felt ready.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the name of the weapon echo in his mind:
Abyssal Reaper.
His.
And the skill that had appeared—Soulrend. He didn't even know what it would do exactly… but the name alone sent a chill through his spine.
He opened his eyes again, jaw tightening.
There was no going back.
Not after what he'd seen.
Not after what he'd become.
He exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath with a half-grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Guess I'm not normal anymore."
The door clicked open.
Lucas turned his head slightly as a man in a white coat stepped inside, eyes flicking up from a digital tablet. He was tall, maybe in his forties, with graying hair and a calm, clinical expression.
"Good morning," the doctor said, offering a polite smile. "Glad to see you're awake. You gave the nurses quite the scare."
Lucas said nothing. Just watched.
The doctor moved closer, checking the monitors with practiced ease before glancing at his patient again.
"You were found unconscious yesterday morning, on a park bench near Old Town," he continued, voice even. "No injuries. No trauma. Just... completely unresponsive."
Lucas's gaze stayed steady.
The man tapped his tablet a few times. "Vitals are stable now. Your readings have normalized. Most importantly, you woke up on your own."
He paused, tilting his head slightly.
"I assume you know what happened?"
Lucas blinked.
Then nodded, slowly. "Yeah. I do."
The doctor seemed to expect more, but when Lucas didn't elaborate, he simply nodded back.
"Some Awakeneds experience delayed transitions," he said, almost as if reciting from a manual. "Sometimes the strain causes brief collapses or blackouts. Especially during first awakenings. That's what we believe happened in your case."
Lucas didn't correct him.
Didn't say that his awakening involved blood, a throne, and a god of death.
He just forced a small nod. "Right."
The doctor gave a noncommittal hum and glanced down at the tablet again. "No physical abnormalities. We'll run a few more scans later today, but for now, get some rest."
He tapped a few more things and turned to leave.
Lucas watched him go.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Lucas sat in silence.
The ticking of the wall clock barely registered. The faint hum of machinery faded into the background. His body remained still, but his thoughts... they didn't stop.
He turned his head toward the window.
The sky outside was dull gray, smeared with the faint glow of morning. Clouds drifted over concrete towers and neon lights. The city moved on, unaware. Unchanged.
Cars rolled down the streets. A few people walked with coffee cups and half-tired eyes. Somewhere, children laughed.
And here he was.
Back in this world.
His world.
But it didn't feel like it anymore.
His fingers tightened slightly over the blanket.
That place... The Crucible... it hadn't let go of him. It never would.
He closed his eyes—not to sleep, but to focus.
To remember.
To prepare.
Two weeks.
it was the time he was there.
And he knew it wouldn't be the last time he crossed into that other world.
Not by a long shot.