Karl floated in an endless white. No floor. No ceiling. Just him — and rows upon rows of pale figures standing in eerie, unnatural silence. The bodies were featureless and pristine, like mannequins carved from a single block of porcelain, waiting for an artist's touch. They were neither alive nor dead, simply… present.
"Great. Either I'm dead again," Karl muttered, the sound of his voice feeling strangely hollow in the void, "or I just got isekai'd inside a character creation menu."
He squinted. Naked bodies lined up in neat rows, all chalk-white with gray, empty eyes. Men, women, all shapes and builds, a library of humanity. Beside each one drifted a faint bluish wisp, a ghost of memory or soul. Ninety-seven in total.
