Zenos awoke on a bed in a small wood-paneled room. He was alone, and it was quiet but for the beat of his heart and the rustle of curtains brushed by a breeze. His reptilian eyes stared at the ceiling, through a transparent notification that read [You Died]. It dawned on him what had happened.

“I’m alive,” he said, eyes widened.

There was no gap between death and rebirth. As far as he could tell, he’d been struck by a bullet, fallen, and awoken somewhere else. His system notification was the only evidence that he had died at all and not experienced some bizarre dream. Zenos’ heart began to race, his breath quickened, and he clutched his chest.

“I’m alive,” he said again. “Alive!”

Freedom.

Zenos smiled, rolled into his pillow. He wanted to laugh about his fortune, and then to cry over the same. He wanted to scream into his pillow, because his fortune changed nothing. His world was gone, his companions were dead, and he was still a murderer. With trembling hands, he clutched that soft cushion and buried his head. He took deep breaths, suffocated in the fabric, as he tried to summon the strength to grieve.

I deserved to die, he thought. Why was I chosen?

 Zenos threw the pillow to the floor. He sat up on the bed and flexed his hand, stared down at the creases of his youthful palm. “Anton, Amarytha… Mathematzan… and Achlesial,” he said, growled at the fiend’s name. “Achlesial was in the biography. The Zenith War… this world has gods, doesn’t it?”

 He chuckled; he couldn’t help but laugh. He stepped off his bed and stumbled into the middle of the room. All around him was furniture, bookcases, a desk, a nightstand and so on. I deserved to die, he thought again. His bedroom was clean and thoughtfully decorated with ornaments of glass and silver. The bed was plush and covered in a colorful quilt. The open window and cool, refreshing breeze led to a world of sunlight.

“I killed hundreds of millions,” Zenos said, arms stiff at his sides. “Death was my atonement. Death was my relief! And now—what now—I’ve returned to a world with gods?!”

He drew lines in Anton’s biography. The Zenith War was caused by Achlesial, a god Zenos had released. Anton’s death, and the deaths of all the people of Bastilhas, could therefore be his responsibility. The soldiers that had first shot at him existed due to his actions. The corpse on the hill, and the corpses of all those among Anton’s caravan also existed because of him.

The place he’d awoken to—what world he’d been brought to—was built by his crimes.

Zenos tore the books from the bookcase. He swept the glass ornaments from the desk and tables. He picked up the nightstand and launched it into the wall. He screamed. He laughed and cried in hysteria. There were no words for his pain. The freedom he felt was an illusion, guilt had shackled him.

His rampage brought him to a full-length mirror near the door. In it he saw himself, blonde hair, reptilian eyes and all. He was still wearing Anton’s gray coat and leather boots. The damage to his clothing had been repaired and there were no bullet holes or blood stains. He looked well dressed, but for that disheveled hair. His cursed eyes were puffy with tears. Zenos panted, vented his grief through his breath. The look on his pitiful face made him feel like a child.

It’s not like me to despair, Zenos thought in a moment of clarity. Didn’t you say something like that?

“I am bothered,” he said to the mirror, “to use another’s face, and speak with his voice. It feels wrong, alien, but….”

Zenos hesitated. He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, sniffled, rolled back the snot in his nose. “Maybe that’s also atonement.”

He returned to the bed and sat on the quilt. His arms rested on his legs and he stared at the floor, through the [You Died] notification that he hadn’t cleared. “If I were a player, and not an emperor,” he thought aloud, “my world could have ended differently.”

I don’t know what to make of these feelings, but I can’t stay idle, he thought and dismissed the notification. He opened his menu and searched for information. The user manual provided him what he sought; details on the player system, its functions and its terms. He read about his stats: Constitution, Strength, Intelligence, and so on. He tested his inventory by passing objects inside its holo-graphic screen, and even cut himself with shards of glass to observe his player regeneration.

The books strewn about the floor provided an opportunity to test his magic. A trivial spell, known to all wizards of his world, was Levitate. It was useful in many situations and at a spell level of 1 it was effortless to cast.

“Levitate,” he said and aimed his index finger at a discarded book. “Level 1.”

No reaction. There was no arcane circle, no rush of mana through the hand, or the slightest bump from the book that remained firmly on the floor. A system window opened spontaneously. [Spell unknown,] the prompt read. [Please learn the spell before attempting to cast it.]

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Zenos frowned and closed the dialogue. “Telekinesis, Level 1!” he shouted, outstretched his hand. A loud voice could concentrate more mana.

[Spell unknown, please learn the spell before attempting to cast it.]

Again, he closed the window.

“Dark Hand, Level 1!”

[Spell unknown….] He shut the window out, opened his character menu, and searched its information tabs. In the corner was a tab labeled Spell List.

“Nothing,” he said to himself. The list was empty. The most basic magics, what the demon emperor could cast as a baby, were nowhere to be found. “No spells, no skills, nothing!”

Then, by the sound of his voice, he was struck by an idea; his body was not his own, it was Anton Eddleston’s. The young man’s biography had mentioned something to the effect of ‘talentless.’ Anton had been the opposite of a prodigy. Though Zenos could remember all the magics he once mastered, Anton had never known them. As far as the system was concerned, Zenos’ knowledge was meaningless.

What cruel fate you suffered, Anton, Zenos thought as he looked down at a palm that was for all purposes magicless. How bizarre that magic’s scion would return this way. Was it intentional, Amarytha? If you didn’t bring me back for my power, then why…. He shook his head and put those thoughts aside as he opened the holographic screen of the player manual.

There was little use in wondering at the unknowable when there was so much else to learn.

Hours passed and he began to feel guilty over the state of the bedroom he’d trashed. With a word and the sweep of his hand he could have set it right with a spell, but that was out of the question. Instead, he found a broom in the corner of the room. Zenos took to sweeping while he searched the transparent pages of the manual with his eyes. When it came to replacing the books, he leafed through their pages and gleaned facts about his new world. It was called Adohas and there were at two continents artfully depicted on the jacket of an encyclopedia. Zenos didn’t know where he was on the map, but a dramatic canyon through the middle of the north-most continent caught his eye.

He kept those thoughts in his mind while he continued cleaning. Damage to the walls, like holes and dents, couldn’t be repaired, but he set the bedroom right as best he could. Afterwards when he had returned to the bed, he opened his character menu and took mental note of his stats. As he was Level 1, they were as follows:

[Strength: 100]

[Constitution: 100]

[Intelligence: 100]

[Agility: 100]

[Charisma: 100]

[Spirit: 100]

Those six characteristics, collectively known as stats, were absolutely mundane. A level of 100 was default as far as the user manual was concerned. Zenos elucidated that meant Anton’s body was average in every respect. Whether or not higher intelligence would improve his abstract wit, or higher charisma would make him more appealing to others, was left vague by the manual. At minimum, higher stats would increase his mana pool and health pool.

There were ‘level ups’ waiting in the character menu that could increase his level, and the manual informed him that he would be given points to allocate to his various characteristics. Since he didn’t know what would be valuable, he left the level ups alone. He didn’t touch the quest reward for the same reason. Instead he moved on to his proficiencies, found in the proficiency tab. They were as follows:

 [Sword (one-hand): 40]

[Sword (two-hand): 45]

[Axe (one-hand): 15]

[Axe (two-hand): 10]

[Mace (one-hand): 35]

[Mace (two-hand): 20]

[Knives: 24]

[Unarmed: 21]

[Shield: 40]

[Bow: 35]

[Crossbow: 38]

[Firearm (pistol): 0]

[Firearm (rifle): 8]

A sub-menu within the proficiency tab included information on abstract skills, like language:

[Bastilhasian (alphabet): 100]

[Bastilhasian (language): 100]

[Edwindian (alphabet): 75]

[Edwindian (language): 80]

[Atilonian (alphabet): 20]

[Atilonian (language): 20]

Zenos took this as confirmation that his centuries wielding a longsword as the Demon Emperor did not matter so far as the system was concerned. His old experiences did not carry over to his new body, Anton. What he found were proficiencies that Anton may have acquired before his death. Understanding of his native language was a given, but Anton had good comprehension of nearby Edwindian as well, perhaps due to his noble education. What little Atilonian Zenos understood was due to his own interactions with the soldiers and information he’d absorbed through a booklet.

The player system is terrifying, Zenos thought. I gained 20% understanding over an entire language just by interacting with a book. At first glance, I’d consider language redundant with the power of my Eyes of the Emperor, but in that regard, maybe I can’t rely on the Eyes as much.

There was just one item in Zenos’ ability tab, sub-menu: Innate.

[At-Will Ability: True Eyes of the Emperor (Dormant) (three uses per day)]

While his spells, skills, proficiencies, and even attributes had failed to transfer, the cursed Eyes did appear plain as day. He had used them effortlessly on the Atilonians, but they had resisted their full effect.

Could that have something to do with the word ‘Dormant’? Zenos wondered. The word ‘True’ is likewise strange. The most basic function of my Eyes is to discern truth from lies, and yet I can’t see the meaning behind this. I wonder if this dormancy, and this limit, is connected to Anton.

There was no mention of the Reaping, or any similar ability. Should I be thankful? he wondered. They always deserved to go somewhere, to the darkness of the system, or whatever lay after death. That they’re released from me is a small blessing in all of this.

It occurred to him that he too had died for a time before returning as Zenos, but he could not remember what he saw. It was an experience, like an absence, or a flag. Something was there that he could not recall, only feel.

Zenos stood from the bed; he would not satisfy his wondering by sitting down. There was a world outside his bedroom door and the answers he needed were surely out there. He checked his inventory one last time to confirm that there was nothing inside. Not the gun, nor the daggers from his previous encounter had traveled with him. He had no money, either. Whatever lay outside the door, he’d have to deal with poor and unarmed.

“At least Anton’s charisma stat was average,” he said as he approached the door.

He made to turn it, but halted his hand and hovered over the brass knob.

The answers to what trouble me; the loss of my magic, the state of my Eyes, and the reason for my being, I will not find here, he thought. I’m prepared to look for my answers. But I wonder… why do I feel so excited?

Zenos turned the knob and opened the door.