Thick, storm-darkened clouds loomed overhead, swallowing the sky in an endless abyss of gray. The wind howled through the battlefield, carrying the scent of blood and decay.

The downpour soaked through Noah's clothes.

"Ngh..."

A sharp inhale.

The stench of blood, smoke, and rot clawed at his nose. His stomach lurched.

"W-What the hell…?"

Noah's throat burned as he coughed, spitting out something metallic. Blood. His? Someone else's? He had no idea.

"Where... am I?"

His fingers twitched, pressing into something wet, cold... and soft.

"Wait—what is this?"

He forced his eyes open—and his breath caught.

Corpses.

Everywhere.

Corpses lay in heaps, armor shattered, limbs twisted at impossible angles. The scent of burnt flesh hung thick in the air.

The silence was suffocating. Only the occasional crackle of lingering flames broke it.

"No, no, no—"

His hands shook as he scrambled back, pressing against something sticky. His fingers trembled as he looked down.

Dark stains smeared across his skin.

"Is that… blood? Oh god, this is—"

A violent cough wrecked his body, his lungs seizing up.

"Why does it smell so strong—?!"

His voice came out raw, throat shredded like he had been screaming for hours.

His body ached. Muscles burned. Like he had fought a battle and lost—badly.

"What the hell happened to me?"

A faint glow flickered in the pool of blood beneath him. His breath hitched as he glanced at his reflection.

"What...?"

Pale skin. Deep red, glowing eyes. The face looking back at him was his—but something was wrong.

Something more.

Noah's hands shot up to his head.

His fingers brushed against something hard.

Horns.

"No. No, no, no. This—this isn't—"

His stomach lurched violently.

"Ugh—ghk!" He gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth.

"I need to wake up. This isn't real. This can't be—"

Slap! Slap!

He smacked his cheeks, hard. The sting barely registered. His breaths came in short, frantic bursts as his eyes darted around.

The blood. The bodies. The silence.

Nothing changed.

His hopes were shattered.

"Why am I... a freaking monster?!"

[Welcome to the Demon's Land.]

A familiar cold, mechanical voice chimed in.

Noah tilted his head up and saw a blood-red panel floating up on the air.

[Your arrival has been designated at the aftermath of Duskwither Hollow.]

Noah's blood ran cold.

"Duskwither Hollow...?" The name tasted foreign on his tongue, yet something about it sent a chill down his spine.

His gaze swept over the carnage—the mangled bodies, the shattered weapons, the blood-soaked earth.

"What the hell happened here...?" His voice wavered.

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[A large-scale conflict. Casualties: Absolute. Survivors: None.]

"None..?" Noah gasped out.

[You lack the necessary knowledge to proceed.]

The mechanical voice rang in his head, distant yet all-consuming.

"What do you mean, transfe—"

Noah barely had time to react before a searing pain exploded in his skull.

"ARGHHHHHHHH!!"

Flashes of another life—memories not his—flooded his consciousness.

Azazel. The youngest prince of the demon royal family. A 16-year-old disgrace. Born frail, powerless, and cursed with an incomplete rune.

A failure.

A stain on the royal bloodline.

He saw it. Felt it. A childhood spent in the shadows of monstrous siblings, each gifted with strength, talent, and power beyond comprehension.

But Azazel?

He was nothing. A prince in name only.

Mocked. Scorned. Beaten.

Stripped of his title and exiled, tossed into the brutal outskirts of the demon lands like discarded trash.

"The royal family does not keep the weak."

His father's voice, cold and indifferent, echoed in his skull, like a brand burned into his soul.

Then, blood.

The scene shifted. A battlefield. This battlefield.

Duskwither Hollow.

He stood amidst it all, surrounded, outnumbered, his breath ragged, his body failing. A massacre.

A final stand.

Then—darkness.

The memories stopped.

"Gh—hah… haah…!" Noah choked on his own breath, gulping down air like a drowning man breaking the surface.

His body convulsed, his fingers clawing at his head. His skull still throbbed, his mind reeling from the flood of unwanted knowledge.

"What... the hell was that—"

His breath came in short, uneven bursts as he slowly forced himself to sit up.

He looked down at his trembling hands.

That's when he saw it.

Dark markings.

Tattoo-like runes sprawled across his skin, pulsing with eerie, inky black light. They coiled up his arms, stretching from his fingers to his shoulders, chest, and back—alive, writhing beneath his flesh.

"What... are these?"

His voice wavered as he traced a trembling hand over the markings. They pulsed in response, as if sensing his touch.

Something about them felt... unnatural.

Familiar, yet foreign.

Like they had been a part of him all along.

Yet he had no idea what they meant.

Noah swallowed hard.

Azazel. Exiled prince. Weak, powerless. Dead.

"This can't be happening… This has to be a mistake!"

Noah clenched his fists, his breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

His chest heaved, and his vision blurred.

"This isn't real! I....I don't belong here!" His voice cracked, his throat raw from screaming.

His hands shot to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as his body trembled.

"I wanna go back! I don't wanna be here! System! Teleport me back! Take me home—please!"

"Damn it, do something! Please, I don't—I can't—" His legs buckled.

He collapsed onto his knees, arms shaking as he hugged himself.

Tears welled up, spilling over.

"Mom… Dad…"

"I don't wanna die here… I wanna go home…"

The cold pressed in. The blood beneath him was real. Too real.

Then—

[Request denied. Dimensional transfer is irreversible.]

A fist clenched around Noah’s chest.

"What…?"

His lips trembled.

"What do you mean I can’t go back?! You can't just leave me here!"

He grabbed at his own arms and his nails were digging into his skin even deeper.

"Please… please don't do this." He sniffled, hiccupping between sobs.

The words chained him down, heavy and suffocating.

There was no way back.

"I—I can't do this. I don't even know how to cook! I can't even cut vegetables without messing up! How the hell am I supposed to survive in some goddamn medieval battlefield?!"

His voice cracked into a wail.

"I don't wanna be here! I don't wanna die! Please, just let me go home!"

His hands covered his face, shoulders shaking. His sobs echoed in the empty battlefield, swallowed by the cold wind.

But no one answered.

No warm hand ruffling his hair. No reassuring voice telling him it would be okay.

Just the smell of blood.

Just the silence.

And the crushing realization that he was completely, utterly alone.

[Processing emotional distress…]

[Emotional regulation protocols: Activated. Recommended action: Breathe deeply. Panicking will not change your circumstances.]

Noah let out a broken laugh.

"Oh, sure! Yeah, I will just breath deeply and everything will be fine, right?!"

"Maybe I'll wake up back home. Maybe none of this is real!"

[This is a reality.]

"Then why me?!" he snapped, his voice breaking "Why the hell am I here? Why am I in his body?"

[You have been assigned your mission based on your calculated karma.]

Noah froze.

"...Karma?"

[Correct. All designations have been assigned according to karma levels, past actions and probability of success.]

"That doesn't explain anything! What does that even mean?! Why was I given this mission while my classmates were told to protect the world?!"

The system’s words echoed in his mind.

"Their mission is to protect..mine is to annihilate everything?"

His pulse pounded and his vision started to blur.

[Correct.]

"...Why?!"

The system remained silent for a moment.

Then...

[This question cannot be answered.]

A chill ran down Noah's spine.

"What do you mean it cannot be answered?! You just explained the karma thing. So why cant you tell me?!"

[You do not have the required permission to access this information.]

Noah swallowed hard.

"I...I don't have permission?"

His stomach churned. A sharp, nauseating wave of helplessness hit him like a punch to the gut.

"I don't even get to know why?" The words barely left his lips.

The system didn't respond.

"What… am I supposed to do now?"

[Finish your mission.]

"...And if I fail?"

[Failure will result in permanent termination.]

The air felt colder.

[If you die here, you will be dead. There will be no return. No second chances.]

No going back.

No waking up in his room, no warmth of home, no family waiting for him.

Just... nothing.

Noah's vision started to blur—was it the rain? Or the tears still welling up in his eyes?

"That's it, huh?"

"I either kill, or I die."

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair at all.

His hands curled into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.

But fairness didn't matter. It never did.

"...Hah." Noah let out a slow exhale.

Something inside him stilled. A sharp, quiet shift. His hands tightened again—not in fear, but in acceptance.

This was it.

This was all he had.

And if he crumbled here… he was as good as dead.

With a grunt, he forced himself to his feet.

The cold rain pelted against his skin.

"I gotta do this."

His grip tightened.

"If this is the only way to survive… then I don't have a choice."

A sharp exhale. His lips pressed into a thin line.

The fear hadn't disappeared. It sat there, curled deep in his gut. But something else had taken root.

"If this world wants me to be a monster…"

His red eyes flickered.

"Then fine."

The glow deepened.

"I’ll be one."

Silence.

"Whatever this world is… whatever this mission means."

"I have to move forward..."

His eyes burned brighter.

"...Or die trying."