Drip! Drip! Drip! Rain slapped the city with sharp, angry smacks. The sound echoed between narrow brick walls, growing louder with each passing second. Water gushed from broken drainpipes and splashed over gutters clogged with garbage. Distant thunder cracked across the sky, and a harsh wind screamed down the alley, slicing through soaked cloth and bare skin alike. John White (reincarnated name) stumbled forward with a stagger in his step, his vision blurring. A deep cut stretched across his abdomen, leaking warm blood that soaked into his shirt and spilled between his fingers. He pressed down on it, teeth clenched, but the pain still lanced through him. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. His legs gave out. Thud! He collapsed to one knee, then fell against the wall. The bricks scraped his shoulder as he slid down, landing in a pool of rainwater mixed with his own blood. The storm kept hammering down. Cold droplets pelted his face, each one sharp as a needle. The scent of wet concrete and rot clung to the air. He coughed once. Blood spattered the ground beside him. He looked down and saw the red blood fade into the puddle like ink. "So this is it," he thought. "This is how I die." He let his head roll back against the wall, the rough brick scraping the skin at the base of his skull. The world around him pulsed and warped like a fever dream, the alley lights flickering above like distant stars threatening to blink out. His thoughts dragged through syrup, sluggish and disjointed. Faces he could not name. Voices he could not place. Memories twisted and coiled like smoke, drifting through the holes in his consciousness. Blood soaked through his shirt in thick, warm rivers, but the pain had become a dull echo, something far away and oddly unimportant. He could not feel his hands. He could barely feel anything. Even the cold night air pressing against his face seemed to be happening to someone else. The girl he had saved was gone. Not just gone, but vanished, swallowed whole by the darkness like a secret the night refused to share. He hoped she was safe. Or at least safer than he was. The flash of her terrified eyes lingered in his mind like an afterimage. He wondered if she had even looked back. Had she screamed? Had she even known it? As for the man who stabbed him... he had fled. Panicked footsteps, fading fast. A blade dropped in a puddle. The metallic clang still rang in his ears, sharp and sour. Coward. Or maybe just smart. The bastard probably thought the police would show up, or worse, someone with a badge and a grudge. Better to disappear and let the bleeding hero die alone in the dark alley. That was the story, wasn’t it? The good guy gets left behind while the city keeps moving. A weak laugh rattled in his throat. It came out more like a cough. His lungs were tightening now. His vision blurred at the edges. There was a coppery taste in his mouth. Maybe blood. Maybe regret. He could not tell anymore. Didn’t matter now. John had been an orphan his whole life. Passed from one foster home to the next. No family. No one to care if he lived or died. This city never gave him anything but loneliness. It had taken more than it ever offered. Now, it would take his life. He closed his eyes, just for a second. Just to rest. Just to breathe. And the darkness rushed in like an old friend. Drip. Drip. Drip. The rain kept falling. The wind howled through the narrow space, rattling an old metal sign at the alley’s entrance. Somewhere above, lightning tore across the sky again. Then something shifted. Beneath his right hand there was a pulse. It was faint at first. Then stronger. He opened his eyes and glanced down. His ring glowed bright. The silver band, the only thing he had ever truly owned, was shining. Black light swirled around it, flickering like embers caught in shadow. Strange lines appeared across its surface. They looked like ancient symbols or runes, each one shifting and moving like they were alive. A low hum vibrated through his bones. The puddle beneath his hand began to ripple, though the wind had stopped. The air grew heavier. Thick. As if gravity itself were pulling inward. He tried to move, but couldn’t. His limbs were like frozen ice. Only his eyes could follow the strange glow. Then the voice came. It did not echo from the alley. It did not whisper in his ears. It spoke directly into his mind. [Awakening sequence triggered. The host’s life force detected and fading very fast. Bloodline recognized.] John blinked slowly. His lips moved without sound at first. Then he forced a whisper past the blood in his throat. "What... the hell? Who is talking?" [Vital signs are critical. Host approaching death. Emergency protocol initiated.] The voice was not human. It was cold and layered, deep and ancient. It carried a mechanical rhythm, like metal grinding against stone. "What are you?" he managed to ask. [I am an Abyss class magic artifact. My dormant state exceeded the maximum duration. Awakening due to the final descendant’s imminent death.] "Abyss class? Magic? Artifact?" There were a lot of questions on John White’s mind. John blinked again. The pain in his stomach seemed to vanish. His skin no longer burned. The dark alley disappeared into a blur. He could barely feel the rain. His consciousness was slipping. [System installation pending,] the voice said. [Last will be required. Final command requested.] "System...?" he whispered. His mind, barely hanging on, latched onto that word. "Like... a game system?" he croaked. [Affirmative. The host may define the system parameters.]