This world operated on a strict system. Just like in Halo's previous life, where everyone had a purpose they fulfilled day after day, this world had turned that concept into a rule carved into its foundation.
Here, the world itself assigned missions known as Purposes. Even in the game, Halo hadn't completed many, but he knew each one came with a reward called a Wish. Failing a Purpose meant instant erasure.
And yet, despite all of that, the hero's path had always been fixed. Certain Purposes, certain Wishes, all of it inevitably leading him to challenge the gods within a single year.
But no player could ever become the Hero. They only played as adventurers or companions, the world's downfall was unavoidable. No one could stop it.
But now, as someone living in this world, Halo refused to stand by and watch it happen. That would be like suicide to him.
His situation was already strange. He should have received his first Purpose the moment he awakened. Maybe the gods were giving him time to adjust.
He moved through the forest, giant trees towering overhead, their canopies filtering the distant sunlight into dim streaks across the dark soil.
He had been walking for a long time, and although practical concerns nagged at him, such as how to bathe, shelter himself, or even find food, they couldn't shake the dazed fog clinging to his mind.
Everyone in this world was sponsored by a god. They blessed mortals with abilities and weapons, turning them into entertainment as they fought each other and the Sinners. The Hero had wanted to end it, kill the gods and free everyone. But that act had led to something far worse.
Halo had no interest in slaying gods himself. His goals were far simpler: stop the Hero from destroying them all, and understand what his own strange fate meant.
"What exactly made me a god's fascination? I barely even knew anything about this game…" he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.
He would've preferred fear. Fear was clean. But his naturally twisted nature only made everything messier.
His sponsor god was Death, his Only Sin. He'd seen that much. It made sense: he died and killed, so Death claimed him. But that didn't answer the real question. Thousands died every day. Why choose him—an assassin—out of everyone?
After weaving around roots as thick as walls and mushrooms the size of cottages, Halo began to worry. There was still no sign of the next region. In the game, it hadn't been this far from the academy grounds.
He stayed alert, watching for signs of Sinners. The early stage of the game had never included threats, but this wasn't the game. This was a world that didn't care about tutorial zones.
Then, suddenly, he stopped cold.
A mist drifted toward him, thick, slow, and deliberate. Something that had never appeared in the game.
Panic bit at him.
Sinners roamed most lands. If he'd somehow wandered into the wrong region, he could be facing something completely beyond him. And he had no weapon. He remembered all too well how dangerous Sinners were in hand-to-hand combat.
He backed away immediately, his instincts had always been sharp. When he reached what felt like a safe distance, he finally paused.
But survival wasn't his only concern anymore. He needed to understand his abilities.
'Status.'
A bronze screen materialized in front of him.
***
[ Name: Halo D. Tenebris
Title: Shadow of Death
Rank: Awakened
True ability: Death Clone - - - Description:
Flaw: Coldness
Only Sin: Death
Nemesis:?
—
Sin Fragments: 0/10
Dominant Skill: Agility
Clones: 0 ]
***
He exhaled slowly. Something was wrong.
His title was odd. And he had no nemesis, something every player was supposed to have from the very start.
This world was proving different from what he knew. Too different.
He dug his fingers into his hair, frustration clawing at him. A title represented the bond between a player and their god. He couldn't even recall the Hero's title. Had the game ever mentioned it? But the nemesis? That he remembered.
The Ancient Light. The Hero had made sure everyone knew that name.
Players were meant to hunt their nemesis from the beginning. Once found, the system assigned a Purpose detailing what to do.
The Hero found his within a year. Killed him. The power gained from slaying the Ancient Light alone made him strong enough to challenge the gods.
But Halo had none. Was he even considered a player?
He pushed the question aside and focused on what mattered, his True Ability.
'Description.'
***
[ Death Clone: Description:
You may summon clones of yourself, of others, and of all who have fallen by your hand. You become one.
Yet know this, what you wield is only a gift on loan, never a truth you possess. When Death comes to gather its belongings, it will reclaim them, and all you believed was yours will vanish like dust in your grasp. ]
***
Halo blinked, then scowled. "Wait… what?"
His eye twitched as irritation surged through him.
He should have died. The poison would have been slow and agonizing, death had almost been a mercy. Then he woke up here, thrown into a brutal world, only to be told the power he had wasn't even really his?
"Tsk. Fuck these gods…"
This was new. He had played the game obsessively. He once deleted a Lost Lord character just to replay with a stupid chicken-head cosmetic. He thought he knew everything.
Apparently not this.
Still, his mind didn't spiral. He focused on the utility. The ability to clone anyone he killed? That had potential. He could even kill the Hero and resurrect him as a loyal puppet.
He smirked despite himself.
Not that he planned to. For all his monstrous edges, he didn't kill without reason. He knew what loss felt like.
But the mist remained ahead of him, and he still had no power he could use.
'I summon a clone of myself.'
The screen flashed again.
***
[ Would you like to summon a clone of yourself? ]
Price: 2 Sin Fragments.
| Yes | No |
***
He slapped his forehead.
Of course. Sin Fragments, the universal currency. Earned by killing Sinners or humans.
Each fragment carried a Dominant Skill and a piece of the fallen's Flaw, a corruption that grew worse with time.
He'd once traded a fragment for a secret from a player he killed, right before his own death. He never even got to see what the secret was.
He clenched his jaw. Without fragments, he was powerless.
Which meant he had to face the mist alone.
He hated it, but he wasn't stupid. He didn't know enough about this world. Wandering at night would be even worse.
He took a breath.
He had no choice. He needed to push through the mist and reach civilization.