No one mourned Ethan Xander when he died.
The world had already cast him aside, a forgotten shadow in the gutters of existence, long before his final, ragged breath. Orphaned in the raw chill of youth, a constant target for the cruel jests of classmates, and ultimately, betrayed by the very few he had dared to call family—Ethan had spent the majority of his twenty-seven years clawing for survival in the unforgiving cracks of society. The last vivid memory he clutched onto, a searing brand on his soul, was the face of his stepbrother. It was a sneering mask of smug victory, framed by the harsh overhead light of the alley as the dark, viscous pool of his own blood spread beneath his ribs. The cold seeped into him, deeper than the concrete, as consciousness slipped away.
Then came the darkness. It was an oppressive, suffocating void, a silence so profound it felt like a scream. Time ceased to exist, a concept utterly meaningless in the crushing absence of light and sound. He drifted, an echo in an endless night, until a shift in the nothingness began to stir.
And then… the voice. It wasn't a sound, but a direct resonance within his very being, clear and crystalline in the black.
[System initializing… Host compatibility at 87%… Synchronization complete.] [Welcome, Ethan Xander. You have been selected for the Vengeance Protocol.] [Rebirth commencing in 3… 2… 1…]
A gasp tore from Ethan's throat as his lungs, suddenly vast and aching, surged with a frantic rush of air. The world slammed back into existence, a brutal assault of freezing rain drumming against a grimy windowpane and the cloying, damp smell of mildew clinging to everything. He shot upright, his limbs protesting, a violent tremor running through his entire body. He wasn't in the sterile chill of a hospital, nor the quiet despair of a morgue. Instead, he found himself slumped on a lumpy, stained mattress inside a roach-infested studio apartment. A single, bare bulb flickered weakly overhead, casting long, dancing shadows.
"What the hell…?" His voice was a raw croak, unfamiliar even to himself.
His gaze swept around the cramped, fetid space. The same peeling wallpaper, a sickly yellow beneath years of grime, flaked from the walls. The flickering ceiling light continued its maddening dance, a silent disco of decay. And there, in the corner, lay the broken computer screen, its dead black surface reflecting nothing but the dim light. This was it. Every miserable detail. This was his old apartment, exactly as it had been six years ago. The air was thick with the scent of cheap ramen and desperation.
He stumbled, his legs unsteady beneath him, towards the small, mildewed bathroom. The mirror, tarnished and splattered, reflected a gaunt figure. He froze, his breath catching in his chest.
His reflection.
He was seventeen again. His face, once etched with the harsh lines of early hardship, was now smooth, though still pale and marked by faint, lingering bruises. His eyes, though weary, held a spark he hadn't seen in a decade. Hopeless, yes, but undeniably alive. The rough cotton of his worn t-shirt felt alien against his skin, too loose, too familiar.
"No. This… this is before everything," he whispered, his voice thin and reedy, a ghost of his future self. "Before Mom died. Before Blake ruined my life. Before I dropped out." The words tumbled out, each one a sharp stab of memory.
Then the voice returned, smooth as polished ice, cold as deep space:
[You have been granted a second life under the Vengeance Protocol. Your mission is simple: rise, retaliate, and rewrite fate.] [You are now bound to the Nemesis System. Gain power by humiliating your enemies. Acquire skills by dismantling their lives. Every act of dominance fuels your ascent.]
Ethan stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the chipped porcelain of the sink. The cold ceramic sent a jolt through him. "I'm hallucinating. This can't be real." His mind reeled, trying to grasp the impossible.
[To begin, locate your first Nemesis: Blake Hastings. Reputation Level: 72. Social Status: Golden Boy. Financial Power: Upper Elite.] [Mission 001: Dismantle Blake's college admission offer. Deadline: 72 hours.]
For a long, agonizing second, Ethan just stood there, the erratic thump of his heart echoing in the small, silent room. The rain outside continued its relentless patter. Then, slowly, a dangerous, predatory grin began to stretch across his gaunt face, transforming it. A flicker of something cold and ruthless ignited in his eyes.
"Alright, System. Let's play." The words were a low growl, a promise whispered to the shadows.
By sunrise, the faint glow of dawn painting the grimy window, Ethan had already accomplished his first act. He moved with a chilling efficiency, a ghost in the pre-dawn quiet, stealing Blake's student ID from the local prep academy. Every turn of the polished hallways, every blind spot in the outdated security cameras, every teacher's predictable routine—it was all etched in his memory, a blueprint for vengeance. This time, he wasn't merely surviving, a cornered animal; he was hunting. The thrill of it hummed beneath his skin, a potent, addictive current.
The System wasn't just a disembodied voice. It was power, raw and undeniable. Data, vast and intricate, flowed into his mind like a torrent—academic records, intimate psychological profiles, secrets hidden in plain sight behind carefully constructed facades. With a mere thought, a silent command, he accessed Blake's pristine attendance records. His fingers, hovering over the ancient keyboard, moved with a newfound precision as he injected falsified disciplinary marks, surgical strikes against a fabricated perfection.
[System Alert: Blake Hastings' Reputation has decreased to 69.] [Nemesis Weakening Bonus Activated. Skill Acquired: "Social Discredit Lv.1"]
His hands, still resting on the keys, trembled with a surge of raw adrenaline. This wasn't just petty revenge, a childish act of spite. This was an orchestrated campaign.
This was war.
Three hours later, the ornate office of the academy principal felt unnaturally cold. Blake stood before the imposing mahogany desk, his face a mask of bewildered fury, as the stern-faced principal waved a stack of seemingly authentic, altered documentation. The clock on the wall ticked with oppressive slowness.
"What do you mean I missed twelve days?!" Blake's voice was sharp with incredulity, bordering on a whine. "This is a mistake! I've had perfect attendance since kindergarten!"
"The file came directly from the Education Board's central archive, Mr. Hastings," the principal stated, his voice devoid of sympathy, cold and cutting. He tapped a manicured finger on the incriminating papers. "Your full ride scholarship to Crestmont University is now under immediate review, pending a full investigation." The finality in his tone hung heavy in the air.
Back at his squalid apartment, the morning light streaming through the dirty window, Ethan burst into a fit of unrestrained laughter. It was a sound that was both joyful and a little unhinged, echoing off the bare walls. He hadn't felt this profoundly, exhilaratingly alive in years. The air tasted sweet, like victory.
[Congratulations. Mission 001 complete. Reward Unlocked: "Cognitive Acceleration Lv.1"] [Next Nemesis unlocked: Cassandra Belle – Ex-Girlfriend, Betrayal Index: 91]
The name hit him like a physical blow, a brick to the chest, momentarily stealing his breath. Cassandra. The girl with the innocent smile who had shattered his heart, then callously sold him out to those who sought to exploit him. The memory was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, the anger a cold, hard knot in his gut. A dangerous glint returned to his eyes.
"You're next." The words were a vow, whispered into the quiet, expectant air of his reborn life.
To Be Continued.