The sky bled gold, a jagged wound torn open as gods descended from realms beyond mortal ken. Their presence crushed the world, unraveling the thin veneer of logic that held it together. Mountains dissolved into shimmering voids, their peaks folding into impossible spirals that defied gravity. Oceans churned, not with water, but with colors no eye could name—hues that screamed madness, swallowing ships and shores alike. The air itself grew heavy, thick with a pressure that snapped bones and stifled screams. Amid this apocalyptic ruin stood Nayra, a lone figure cloaked in blood and defiance, his body a shattered husk but his will an unbreakable blade.
The gods loomed above him, radiant silhouettes of wrath, their forms too vast to fully comprehend—some with wings of molten light, others with eyes like dying stars that burned holes through reality. Their voices shook the fabric of existence, each word a hammer striking the anvil of creation.
"You've mocked the ULTIMATE SYSTEM" roared the first, its voice a cacophony of thunder and despair, splintering the ground beneath Nayra's feet. Cracks spiderwebbed outward, swallowing entire cities in their maw. "No mortal deserverd power of ULTIMATE SYSTEM."
Another god, its form a shifting void colder than oblivion, leaned closer, its breath a frost that withered Nayra's flesh. "You've scorched the world for your ambition," it hissed, venom dripping from every syllable. "Ninety-nine percent of existence—erased. Because of you."
Nayra's laugh cut through the chaos, sharp and unyielding, blood bubbling on his lips. It was not the laugh of a man facing death, but of a predator baring its teeth. His black hair clung to his face, matted with sweat and gore, yet his eyes—dark, endless, like twin abysses—gleamed with something no god could extinguish: certainty.
"Deserve?" he rasped, voice raw but steady. "I took what was mine."
His trembling hand clutched at his chest, fingers curling around an invisible force—his Special Skill, Death Reversal, a forbidden power stolen from the lesser gods in a life long past. It was no artifact, no glowing relic; it was a shard of the Ultimate System itself, embedded in his soul, a defiance of fate's cruel design. The Ultimate System ruled this world, a cosmic force weaving logic and madness into a tapestry of power. Most were born with its diluted echo, the World System, granting Power Skills for strength, Passive Skills for endurance, or Active Skills for precision, godlike abilities that marked them as elite from their first breath the Special Skills that is most powerful that anyone can get. Without one, you were nothing, less than dust in a world that devoured the weak.
Nayra was no ordinary mortal. His reincarnation had refined his World System, sharpening his skills beyond natural limits. Death Reversal let him rewind time upon death, snapping back to childhood with his mind intact—a weapon against eternity itself. And now, reborn countless times, he sensed another Special Skill within him, locked deep in his soul, its power tantalizingly out of reach. It demanded more—more blood, more souls, more chaos to awaken. This cycle, he vowed, would be the one to unleash it.
The gods sensed it too. Their radiant forms pulsed with fury, the air around them crackling with divine energy. A third god stepped forward, its body a lattice of blinding chains that sang with the weight of judgment. "You are a flaw," it declared, its voice a chorus of a thousand condemned souls. "The Ultimate System does not permit your existence. You will be unmade."
Nayra's grin widened, blood streaking his teeth. "Unmake me? You've tried." His voice dripped with mockery, each word a challenge. "And yet, here I stand."
The ground beneath him erupted, a geyser of molten light surging upward. He didn't flinch. His body was a ruin—bones fractured, skin charred, one arm hanging uselessly at his side—but pain was an old friend, a companion through lifetimes of war and betrayal. He had faced gods before, shattered their altars, drunk their power. This was merely another verse in his endless song of defiance.
The chained god raised a hand, and reality obeyed. A spear of pure energy formed, its tip sharper than thought, brighter than hope. It screamed toward Nayra, tearing through space, leaving a wake of fractured dimensions. Time slowed, the world holding its breath as the spear found its mark.
It pierced his chest. The spear of Longinious a Special Skill ability that can bypass any normal defences.
Agony exploded, a white-hot inferno that clawed at his soul. His knees buckled, blood spraying from his lips as the spear's light burned through him, unraveling his very essence. The gods watched, their eyes unyielding, expecting surrender, expecting despair.
They were wrong.
Nayra's head tilted back, his laugh rising—a jagged, triumphant sound that mocked their divine wrath. "Is that all?" he gasped, voice cracking but fierce. His free hand gripped the spear, fingers sizzling against its radiant surface. He didn't pull it out. He pushed it deeper, as if daring the gods to try harder.
The void-god snarled, its form rippling with rage. "You cannot escape judgment forever, mortal."
"Judgment?" Nayra's eyes blazed, twin voids against the golden storm. "I am my own judge."
He staggered forward, each step a rebellion against death. The spear pulsed, its light fraying his soul, but Death Reversal hummed within him, a dark heartbeat refusing to still. His mind raced, not with fear, but with calculation. Every death was a lesson, every cycle a chance to grow stronger. He had burned worlds to reach this point, slaughtered empires, betrayed those who trusted him—all to claw closer to the second Special Skill locked within. This time, he was so close he could taste it, a power that would make even gods kneel.
The chained god's chains lashed out, wrapping around Nayra's limbs, searing his flesh. "You will not rise again," it intoned, tightening its grip. The other gods joined, their powers converging—a storm of light, shadow, and chaos meant to erase him utterly.
Nayra's vision blurred, the world fading to gold and black. His body crumbled, piece by piece, ash drifting on an unseen wind. But his mind clung to one truth: he was not done. Not yet.
"You think this ends me?" he whispered, voice barely audible, yet it carried a weight that made the gods pause. His fingers twitched, calling to Death Reversal. The Ultimate System stirred, its mad logic bending to his will. "I've died a thousand times. Each one makes me sharper."
The gods' fury peaked, their combined power surging to obliterate him. The world shattered—sky, earth, reality itself collapsing into a singularity of divine wrath. Nayra's body dissolved, his soul teetering on the edge of nothingness.
But he was ready.
With a final, defiant thought, he activated Death Reversal.
"Reverse."
Darkness swallowed everything.
Silence.
Then—damp earth, the metallic tang of blood, and the piercing wail of a newborn.
Nayra opened his eyes.
He lay in a crude hut, wooden walls flickering under an oil lamp's weak glow. His mother's stifled sobs filled the air, her exhausted face hovering above him. His father's shadow loomed nearby, silent but expectant. They were nothing—villagers with weak World Systems, their lives bound to toil and obscurity.
But Nayra was no child.
His mind was a vault, heavy with lifetimes of betrayal, slaughter, and unyielding ambition. He had died. He had reset. And now, he would climb higher than ever before. His refined World System thrummed, amplifying his potential. Death Reversal anchored him, a power no god could strip away. And somewhere deep within, the second Special Skill waited, locked behind a wall of power he hadn't yet earned.
His tiny fingers clenched, nails biting into his palms.
This cycle, he'd break that wall.
This cycle, he'd burn the heavens themselves.
The gods might forget. The world might reset. But Nayra remembered—every death, every lesson, every step toward godhood.
And this time, nothing would stop him.