Chapter 1: The Corpse at the Bottom of the Tower
The smell of ozone and burning copper always came right before the sky tore open. It was a heavy, metallic stench—the kind that makes the back of your throat taste like blood. Over the last ten years, humanity had learned that whenever that smell hit, it was time to run or die.
Leon couldn’t do either.
He was currently collapsed against what was left of a shattered concrete pillar, his lungs making a wet, whistling sound every time he tried to breathe. He coughed, spitting a thick glob of dark blood and concrete dust onto his boots. Above him, Manhattan’s skyline was gone. The sky had turned into a bruised, pulsing mess of violet and crimson light, completely blocked out by the massive, terrifying shadow of the Tower of Judgment. It just sat there, piercing through the smoke, like a giant tombstone for the human race.
"What a joke," Leon spat, his vision swimming.
He wasn’t some heroic figure. He wasn’t one of those high-and-mighty S-rank Awakeners whose airbrushed faces were plastered on neon billboards across the safe zones. He didn’t have a legendary bloodline, a cheat skill, or a corporate guild spending millions of dollars to keep him geared. Leon was a nobody. A glorified garbage collector. In the logistics division, his entire job consisted of picking up the broken mana stones and trash weapons left behind by real hunters.
And today, his luck had finally run out. A stray shockwave from some flashy battle between a High Demon and a local guild leader had ripped through the backlines. It didn’t even target him. It just clipped him, shattering his spine before he could even blink.
Collateral damage. That’s all he was. A tiny, nameless stat on a casualty report.
A wet, scraping sound echoed through the debris. Leon rolled his head to the side. A goblin scavenger—a scrawny, green-skinned rat of a monster with rotting yellow teeth—was creeping toward him. It was holding a rusted iron dagger, its eyes locked onto the expensive watch Leon had looted three days ago. Even the lowest, weakest garbage from the Tower could execute him now.
As the rusted blade sank into his ribs, Leon didn’t feel the sharp bite of metal. He just felt cold. A freezing numbness that crept straight from his chest out to his fingers.
’If I get another shot at this,’ Leon’s mind roared into the darkness, a sudden, vicious wave of pure hatred flaring up from his dying soul. ’I’m not running. I’m not hiding. I’ll drag every single one of you bastards down into the dirt with me.’
[WARNING: Dimensional Anomaly Detected.]
[Subject Soul ID: Leon_0984 exhibits extreme conceptual resonance.]
[Triggering Protocol: Regression.]
Leon gasped, his upper body snapping forward so hard his chair creaked. His hands flew straight to his chest, fingers clawing frantically through his clothes, looking for the sticky warmth of his own blood or the hilt of a goblin dagger.
Nothing. Just cheap, dry polyester.
The smell of blood and burning ozone was completely gone, replaced by the artificial scent of cheap lavender air freshener and old cardboard boxes. The roaring of monsters had been swapped out for the rhythmic, mind-numbing clicking of computer keyboards, the soft hum of central air conditioning, and the quiet gossip of office workers in the next aisle.
Leon stared at his hands. They were pale, clean, and completely devoid of the thick calluses he had built up over a decade of survival. He slowly looked up, his chest still heaving, and focused on the digital clock at the bottom right corner of his work monitor.
July 26, 2026 — 10:00 AM.
"Two hours," Leon whispered, his voice cracking. "I’m back. Two hours before the gates drop."
He knew this exact date. It was etched into his brain. At noon today, the sky would split, the Tower would fall from the heavens, and the world would turn into an open-air slaughterhouse. In his past life, he had spent these two hours crying under his desk, waiting for emergency services that never came. He had spent the next ten years paying for that cowardice.
Suddenly, the world around him lost all color, fading into a dull, static gray. The clicking of keyboards cut out instantly. His manager, who had been walking by with a stack of papers, froze mid-stride like a paused movie character. Time had stopped.
A sleek, black crystalline screen materialized right in front of Leon’s face. It wasn’t the bright, golden interface the news always talked about. This thing pulsed with a heavy, suffocating violet light that made the air feel thick.
[The World System has integrated with your reality.]
[Analyzing historical soul records... Error. Subject has already deceased in the future timeline.]
[Recalibrating Class Assignment based on Paradoxical Authority.]
[Congratulations. You have awakened the Unique SSS-Rank Class: Sovereign of Finality.]
Leon stared at the floating words, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. In ten years, the highest rank humanity had ever seen was an S-rank strategic mage. An SSS-rank class wasn’t just rare—it was a myth. Something the System shouldn’t even be able to generate.
Before he could even process the prompt, the text shifted, bleeding into an aggressive, crimson font.
[Due to your class authority, your starting passive skill has been unlocked.]
[Passive Skill: Absolute Extraction (Rank: SSS)]
°Effect: Upon delivering the killing blow to
any entity, you permanently absorb 10% of their base attributes. High probability of stealing unique skills or memories. No storage limits.
A low, sharp chuckle escaped Leon’s throat. The sound grew, turning into a bitter, resonant laugh that echoed through the frozen, silent office space.
The useless clerk who died in the mud was gone. The System had just handed him a master key to the universe. If he didn’t need to level up normally, if he could just kill and steal power without any limits, then he didn’t need to join a guild. He didn’t need allies. He just needed a high body count.
Leon stood up, ripping off his cheap tie and tossing it onto his keyboard. He didn’t pack his bag. He didn’t check his phone. In two hours, civilization was going to burn, and he fully intended to be the one fueling the fire.
He walked past his frozen coworkers, pushing open the heavy metal door to the emergency stairs. He wasn’t going to be the prey this time.
"Let the games begin," Leon muttered, stepping out into the bright morning sun.