It may be a bit of a cliché opening, but let’s start the story like this: “The world was shrouded in darkness.”

In this story, there is a clear villain—the wicked dark mages. They consumed the living, used the blood of innocent victims to fuel their magic, and enslaved the dead. Wherever they passed, only death and blood remained.

The dark mages spread a plague that turned humans into monsters thirsting for blood. Yesterday's family, friends, and neighbors became beasts with sharp fangs today. Simply put, it was a zombie virus.

There was no mercy from the gods. No cure existed. Once someone became a monster, they could never return to being human. Tears mixed with blood as parents wept while holding their infected children.

This is a story born from such a world. A tale of despair and suffering. Of choices and regrets. Of love and loss. And yet, it is also a story about seeking after hope.

This story begins modestly, amidst a line of refugees.

People who had lost their homes to plague and war gathered in droves at a walled city. How long would it take to count their numbers? The line of refugees stretched endlessly before the city gates.

The waif was one of them. With ashen brown hair and a dust-covered face, he sighed in exhaustion from the long wait. The anxiety of whether he could pass the gatehouse weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Beside him stood a woman armed with a sword—his older sister. Her blonde hair was faded and cut short. Watching the gatehouse grow closer, she spoke.

“It’ll be fine. You’re sixteen now—a grown-up. You’re healthy, and you even know some medicine. They won’t refuse you.”

No matter what, they had to enter together. They were all the family each other had left.

The waif was too tense to respond, merely nodding occasionally.

“No! Elena!!”

“Mom!!”

The waif flinched at the sudden shouts, his head snapping up. The commotion was happening just ahead. A soldier was dragging a woman away as a man and children desperately reached out for her, only to be held back by other soldiers.

Had the mother been bitten by a ghoul? The waif lowered his head. It was tragic, but there was no choice. At least he and his sister hadn’t been bitten.

As the line moved forward, the waif and his sister took three steps closer. The gatehouse was just ahead now. Hope and fear waged war in his heart—hope that he might enter the safety of the city, and fear of being turned away.

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And then, it happened.

“A pack of ghouls is approaching! Prepare for battle!”

The shout came from the castle wall, followed by the tolling of a bell, signaling an attack.

More than ten ghouls were charging toward the city, craving the blood of the living. They ran on all fours, their pale skin marked by blackened veins, their hands and feet transformed into clawed weapons.

The city gates slammed shut with a resounding thud. Ropes were lowered from the walls, and soldiers began descending. Refugees scattered in panic, abandoning their belongings as screams filled the air. The waif and his sister clutched hands and started running.

But then the waif tripped over a rock and fell. A cliché turn of events. He let go of his sister's hand and tumbled to the ground.

“Cavan!!”

His sister turned back urgently and saw a ghoul lunging at him.

She drew her sword without hesitation and struck the ghoul’s neck. Dark, congealed blood stained her blade as she kicked the creature’s body aside and stepped forward.

“I’ll hold them off! Run!” she shouted, gripping her sword tightly.

The waif staggered to his feet, his trembling gaze fixed on his sister’s back. Then, he turned and ran.

Let’s skip her battle for now. She fought bravely, slaying four of the seventeen ghouls. The soldiers took note of her skill, inviting her to join the city guard. Elated, she set off to find her brother.

“Cavan! We did it! We can both get in!” she exclaimed.

But her hope was short-lived.

A clear bite mark marred the waif’s arm.

...

Leaving his despairing sister behind, the waif was seized by soldiers and dragged to the underground prison. They threw him inside with a rough shove. The sound of the door slamming shut felt like a death sentence.

The cell was already occupied. An old man leaned against the wall with a resigned expression, his eyes closed. A woman knelt on the floor, praying desperately for mercy. A young man lay sprawled, pale and veined—his infection far advanced.

Dark red stains covered the floor, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air. It was likely evidence of earlier executions.

The waif slumped against the wall. Strangely, drowsiness overcame him despite his dire circumstances. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from the long wait or an unconscious attempt to escape his grim fate.

For a fleeting moment, the waif thought the scene felt familiar, but the thought slipped away as sleep claimed him.

...

A strange dream gripped him.

In the dream, he was no longer human. Yet, his mind remained intact, and his transformed body granted immense power. He wielded magic, brandished a sword, d□g□□□ed, and led a faith.

He survived the prison and embarked on a long, harrowing journey. Along the way, he faced agonizing choices—whom to save and whom to sacrifice. Each decision weighed heavily, and no path led to salvation.

He stepped through pools of blood, haunted by those he couldn’t protect and those h□ h□d □o □e□□r□y.

But in the end, glory awaited.

He confronted the malevolent Ancient Evil in a battle that tore the earth and sundered the sky. And finally, he triumphed. Darkness was vanquished, and the world regained its light...

No.

he □te t□□t □v□l□□ss a□d □ec□me t□□ □□w c□□am□t□. t□e□□’s □o h□ro w□o □□n f□□□ □□□□n□t h□□. □□ □□□□ □□ □□ □□□□ □□□□□...

Memories surged like a tide, overwhelming him with fragmented pieces. Swept away by the current, he drifted helplessly—until a realization struck him.

There had been four “Cavans.” Each had made their choices. Each had seen their endings.

When the waif opened his eyes, his gaze held a different light altogether.

He was no longer “Cavan.” He was a another waif, a soul from another world—the player of the fourth playthrough, now trapped in this body.