As soon as I woke up from this nightmare-ish daydream, a deep colorless blade appeared before me.

It gleamed balefully in the distance, waiting for someone to take it. Waiting for its presumed owner.

I walked over towards the blade of darkness; a color so dark that it can't be described sufficiently, and stuck my hand out. The blade had jagged edges, probably a very old weapon. I tried to grab the handle of this weapon, but couldn’t.

Then I heard a distant voice yell out…

The trial has begun!

As this voice said that, I stood up straight and looked around for the source of this discreet voice. After a few seconds, several colorful robots filled the room I was in and started to attack me.

As the robots entered the room, another voice spoke out to me. A deep, mysterious voice said, “To pass Death’s trial you must eliminate all robots within a 100m radius.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? How am I supposed to fight thousands of robots with my bare hands?”

“Figure it out before you fail.” The voice was serious.

Within another 15 seconds, several more robots flooded the entrance, and I was in for a rude awakening.

The first robot that attacked me was destroyed by a right hook, the second by a left hook, and several others by varying hooks and kicks. I was started to get exhausted from fighting these emotionless enemies, and was about to pass out at any passing moment. Then I heard another voice, a charismatic voice; very charming.

“Death please proceed with the attack…

Don’t leave a single one alive!”

What is the person talking about… they’re just robots, who is dying?

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That question was answered when these robots morphed into different creatures…

Humans!

Then a familiar voice from before called out, “Now do you understand your predicament? Do you understand where you stand at this very moment? Can you distinguish your importance? Those questions must be answered.”

What are all of these questions supposed to mean to me, I thought concerningly. What does it mean to “distinguish” my importance? I’m not important, I’m just an unlucky high school student, one thrown into a hell-scaped world full of ‘mysteries’.

Then I saw these morphed humans chasing after me, while having zombie-like movements. If they are just zombies then I should have no problem fighting them with my bare hands. And no regrets.

A zombie chased after me; it looked like a child. I kicked this creature in the jaw, then I hit another dozen or so zombies with several different boxing and martial arts moves. I learned these different self-defense techniques from my father.

All of this exhausting exercise was finally getting to me and as a gave out a left hook to the zombie closest, my knuckles gave out.

“What the hell!” “This hurts… it really hurts!”

My wrist shattered upon impact and my adrenaline started to dwindle, which meant that I would start to feel the pain and consequences of bare handed fighting.

Then I felt the tear of a vital ligament in my other arm. “What the hell is going on!” “Why is my body destroying itself!”

Then the voice said,”That is because you can not control it yet,” he paused for a minute to take a breather in between his important sentence, “your Shinigami physique is not yet the child of ‘Death’. He stated this proudly, but unconvincingly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I have utterly no idea what this being was telling me.

“It just means you have a lot of training left to do, child.” He really emphasized the word training in his sentence.

Just then black mist sprung inside the bottomless room and completely filled the nearly unlimited space. This spawned numerous more zombies in this hellish room.

As these zombies flooded the inescapable room I felt a slight but noticeable tingle, spiraling from the bottom of my spine, to my upper body.

I wondered on and on what this weird feeling could possibly… “I just can’t think with all of this pandemonium going on around me, like I’m not important in this scenario; like I don’t even exist, but I’m more less like an alien or an undesirable and unknown creature to these beings. I am not akin to them.

A dozen or so more zombies run and target me, so I try to make a run for it, but am left helplessly out of breath and severely dehydrated.

One zombie leaps several feet in the air for a surprise attack, and it connects with a powerful kick to my sternum, pushing me back a few feet; nearly lifting me off of my feet and into the air.

I pivot my left foot to break the inevitable fall and helplessly try to fight back against the other zombies.

One of the other zombies has a staff in his hand, another with a shining steel blade that was clearly ready to be skewered through my tough abdomen, or possibly throw through the thick air at my cranium.

I was starting to get somewhat fatigued from the previous encounters with these non living beasts that are attacking me. I wanted this all to end.

I wish I could just live easily and also without the varying regrets that have compounded throughout the past several days of my adventure. Why was this life given to me? What underlying beliefs and motifs are behind my existence in this new world, or life experience that I now have the luck or cease to make it a worthwhile experience.

More zombies were in the room with many other highly dangerous weapons ready to cut me down, for the sole reason to stop me from achieving more in this second life of mine; this gift that I was given, and the gift that I shall cherish for the unimaginable and forgoing future. What does this world have in store for me? What risks will I have to take? What rewards shall I receive? Which people or comrades of mine will have to be slaughtered in order for me to live this life? And most importantly…

Who am I?