Darkness.
Not the kind that hides beneath your bed or coils in alleyways. This one felt… final. Like the end of everything. Cold. Heavy. Eternal.
Max Steels opened his eyes.
Or thought he did.
The blackness around him didn't budge. No sky. No ground. No light. Just the vague awareness of… being. Suspended. Alone.
His body was numb, like he'd been ripped apart and stitched back together by someone who didn't quite know what they were doing. His head throbbed, his chest burned with every breath, and his heart—his heart felt like it was learning to beat all over again.
Then came the voice.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
You have 100 lives remaining.
Welcome to the Trial of Regret.
The words didn't echo—they invaded. Like they were stitched into his thoughts, bypassing ears and language altogether. Cold. Mechanical. Without mercy.
Max blinked. "What the hell...?"
His voice sounded fragile. Not like his usual voice. Like he was thirteen again—scared, unsure. But he wasn't thirteen anymore. He was seventeen. A kid with no future, no family, and no backup plan. And now, apparently, no choice.
[WARNING: Host body unstable.]
Respawn initializing…
Dungeon Entry: Floor -100 | Zone: Forgotten Catacombs
Light burst around him—violent and white.
He screamed.
Not out of pain, but pure instinct. A rush of gravity yanked him downward like a ragdoll in the hands of a god. Then, slammed.
The ground met him like concrete, all bone and dust and sharp edges. He gasped, rolled over, and sucked in air that stank of mildew, rot, and old blood.
He was in a dungeon.
The walls were stone. Cracked. Mismatched. Carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly red. The ceiling dripped. Chains hung like forgotten memories. Somewhere nearby, something dripped—and it wasn't water.
Max pushed himself up on shaking elbows.
"Okay… okay…" he mumbled. "This is a dream. A bad one. Any second now I'll wake up. Bed. Ceiling fan. Rotten landlord banging on the door. Any second now…"
[You are now alive. Life Count: 100]
[Objective: Survive.]
A cold chill ran up his spine.
He wasn't dreaming.
A scream tore through the corridor ahead. High-pitched. Human. Then it cut off—wet and sudden.
Max froze. His breath caught halfway up his throat.
He had no weapons. No armor. No tutorial. Just a torn hoodie, jeans, and sneakers barely clinging to their soles. And fear.
It was real. Too real.
Then came the shuffling.
Thump.
Drag.
Scrape.
Footsteps. Not hurried. Not human. Something wrong was walking closer.
Max scanned around frantically. He spotted a jagged bone shard on the floor—maybe a femur? He didn't care. He grabbed it, gritting his teeth, holding it like a club.
The corridor ahead twisted into view—and out of the gloom, it came.
A corpse.
No… a mockery of one.
Its skin was pulled tight over bones, gray and cracked like dried clay. Its jaw hung lopsided, and its eyes—those eyes—were pits of glowing green hate.
It wasn't running.
It didn't need to.
[Enemy Identified: Rotling – Tier 0]
Status: Hungry. Decaying. Slow. Persistent.]
"Persistent?" Max whispered. "Why does that sound worse than fast?"
The Rotling saw him.
And it smiled.
Max tightened his grip on the bone. "Back off, creep."
The corpse lunged.
Max swung wildly—slamming the bone into its head. The impact cracked like dry wood snapping in half. The creature stumbled. But didn't fall. Instead, it hissed. Bone fragments stuck out from its jaw, yet it didn't seem to feel anything.
"Great."
Max ducked as it clawed at his face, the nail slicing a line across his cheek. He kicked it back—hard—but it barely moved.
"Come on!" he yelled, heart pounding. "Fall already!"
He struck again—bone on skull. The shard snapped in half this time. The Rotling pounced.
Max screamed.
Claws tore through his hoodie, digging into his ribs.
Pain exploded. Real pain. Sharp. Burning. He fell backwards, scrambled, kicked—but the thing climbed on top of him, mouth wide, dripping filth and decay.
He shoved it back.
But his strength was fading.
His blood spilled like a cracked pipe. Cold. Sticky.
Then… teeth.
Death #1
[You have 99 lives remaining.]
Light again.
Only this time… it was different.
Max shot upright, gasping, drenched in sweat. His ribs ached—but were whole. His hoodie was uncut. Blood gone.
He was lying in the same spot. Same dungeon. Same dripping chain. But the corpse was gone.
Or was it never here?
[You died.]
[Respawn successful.]
[Death Mutation Initiated…]
Skill Gained: Panic Reflex Lv.1 – +20% dodge chance when HP < 30%]
"What the… Mutation?"
[System Notice: Each death grants evolutionary mutation based on trauma experienced.]
Max sat back. Breathing hard.
He wasn't hallucinating. This was real. Every death changed him. Made him stronger. But he only had 99 left.
Ninety-nine tries to escape a place designed to kill him.
He laughed.
It wasn't happy laughter. It was unhinged. That bitter kind of laugh you hear from someone at the edge of breaking.
Then he groaned. "Oh great. I'm gonna be that guy… The psycho who giggles in a dungeon."
Still… that death did teach him something.
Rotlings could die. You just needed to hit harder. Aim better.
Survive.
Max stood.
His knees shook, but his eyes—his eyes—were sharper now. There was fear, yes. But also fire. A strange thrill beneath the panic.
He'd been powerless in the real world. A nobody. A kid everyone gave up on.
But here?
Here, he had a system. A reset button. And if death made him stronger…
Then he'd use it.
He turned toward the shadows.
"Alright, you rotting freaks. Let's dance."
A low growl answered him.
Not one.
Not two.
Three.
Max blinked. "Okay. Maybe not dance. Maybe… jog. Very quickly. In the opposite direction."
He turned to run—and tripped on a loose rock.
Slammed into the wall.
Fell on his ass.
Silence.
"…Really?" he muttered to himself, wiping dust off his face.
The Rotlings charged.
He didn't have time to pray. He barely had time to stand.
But this time—he was ready.
He ducked under the first claw swipe. Panic Reflex kicked in—his movements faster, instinctual. He grabbed a rusted pipe from the ground and drove it upward—straight into the first Rotling's jaw.
Bone cracked.
The second one tackled him from the side. He rolled with it, grunting, teeth clenched. Pain laced his shoulder but he shoved the creature off with both legs, flipping backward onto his feet.
The third circled.
Max faced it. "Come on, then. I've got 99 more tries."
They came at him all at once.
This fight wasn't perfect. His swings were wild. His grip was sloppy. He got cut, bitten, bruised.
But he fought.
And somehow… he lived.
[Enemies Defeated: 3x Rotling]
[EXP Gained: 24]
[New Title Earned: First Blood]
[Passive Unlocked: Death Taught Me] – +1% all stats per death.]
Max collapsed against the wall, panting, bloody but alive.
He looked at his hands—trembling, raw.
Then he smiled.
A real one this time.
"I'm not dying for nothing," he whispered. "Every death makes me better. Every pain teaches me more."
He looked into the dark hallway.
"I'll die 99 times if I have to. But I'll crawl my way out of this hell… or drag it down with me."
And for the first time in years…
Max felt alive.
( To be continued... )