Fred London had never feared death. Not really.
He had feared spiders, public speaking, and accidentally liking an old post while stalking someone's social media. But death? That was too distant, too abstract. Something that happened to other people.
That changed on a warm Tuesday in late spring.
The sky above Lake Merrin was painted the color of perfect dreams—brilliant blue with a lazy sun overhead. The water sparkled, wind rippled, and Fred's friends cheered from the old dock as he sprinted forward and leapt with a whoop.
It was supposed to be just a dive. Something stupid. One last thrill before graduation.
He never saw the jagged rock just beneath the surface.
Pain exploded in his skull as he hit it—sharp, blinding, and absolute. The world twisted. His lungs flared as they begged for oxygen. Blood mixed with lake water as his limbs flailed uselessly. Then came the silence. The stillness.
As the cold crept in and his vision blurred, Fred thought, So this is it, huh?
Then... nothing.
---
He opened his eyes to light.
No sound. No wind. No scent. Just white—pure, perfect white stretching in every direction like a blank canvas untouched by creation.
He stood there barefoot, still in the clothes he had died in. His blood was gone. So were his injuries. The pain? A memory.
He turned slowly, wonder stirring in his chest.
Am I dead?
As the thought formed, a figure emerged from the endless white like ink bleeding into paper. Robed in shifting clouds and crowned with light, the being radiated power. Stars danced in its eyes.
Fred's heart skipped.
"You're…" He swallowed. "God?"
"Yes," the being said, its voice like distant thunder wrapped in silk. "You have passed from your world, Fred London."
Fred exhaled sharply. "I… I made it to Heaven?"
There was no gate. No angels. But the peace, the clarity—it had to be.
"I'm in Heaven?" he repeated, his voice cracking slightly with hope.
God's expression remained neutral. "No."
That single word felt like a blade.
Fred blinked. "W-What do you mean 'no'?"
"You are not permitted to ascend," God said. "Your soul is stained."
Fred's heart thundered in his ears. "Stained? With what? I've never hurt anyone—I paid my taxes, helped my grandma, even volunteered at a food drive last year!"
God's eyes narrowed. "You have taken countless lives."
"What? That's not true!"
"In video games."
Fred stared. "Excuse me?"
"You killed characters with glee. You slaughtered without remorse. In games, you chose violence as your first solution. Simulated or not, your actions reflect your soul's tendencies."
Fred's jaw dropped. "You're sending me to Hell because I played Darkblade Requiem? Because I shot NPCs in Bullet Hell Online?"
God didn't blink. "The intent behind an action defines its morality."
"That's INSANE!" Fred shouted. "Then who the hell even makes it to Heaven?! Is anyone up there? Is it just a bunch of monks who never touched a controller?"
There was a pause. A long, painful silence.
"You have questioned the judgment of Heaven," God said finally. "You will descend now."
"No—wait, this can't—"
The white world shattered.
---
Fred screamed as he plummeted into flame.
Hell was no cartoon caricature. It was worse. The sky bled fire. The air was ash and poison. Screams echoed from unseen mouths, stretching for eternity. The ground was bone. The rivers, molten.
Pain became a companion. Time lost all meaning.
He lay there—soul shattered, mind trembling—until a voice spoke from above.
"You got screwed, huh?"
Fred opened his eyes.
A man stood before him. Slick black suit, red tie, horned shadow stretching behind him even though there was no sun. His skin was smooth, his smile serpentine. Eyes like twin furnaces.
The Devil.
"Fred London," the Devil said, almost lazily. "Another casualty of divine hypocrisy."
Fred managed to sit up. "You knew?"
"Of course. I watch the auditions."
Fred frowned. "What do you want?"
"To offer a way out."
"I'm dead."
"True. But rules are flexible here." The Devil crouched beside him. "I'll send you somewhere else. A new world. A fresh start."
Fred narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
The Devil's grin widened. "Because I'm tired of watching the self-righteous claim moral superiority. Because the system is rigged. Because I want someone to burn it all down."
A gust of ash swept past. The Devil held up three fingers.
"Three wishes. That's all. Choose wisely."
Fred stared into the inferno around him.
"What's the catch?"
"I send you to a random game world. Two years before its official release. No rules, no tutorials. You get your wishes—but you survive on your own."
Fred's voice was hoarse. "You're saying it's dangerous?"
"I'm saying," the Devil said with a hiss, "it's so dangerous I wouldn't go there myself. But if you survive… you come back here. And you tear Heaven from the sky."
Fred's breath caught. It was madness.
But it was also freedom.
"I want a System," Fred said. "Stats, skills, progression. Something to help me grow stronger."
"Done."
"I want a Gacha mechanic. Random rewards. Epic gear. Even rare items from other games."
"Spicy. Done."
"And I want to be a Mythical Beast—not human. Something powerful. Something ancient. A form that can level armies."
"Oh… very interesting." The Devil's teeth gleamed. "Granted."
The ground beneath Fred cracked. Symbols glowed beneath his feet. His body convulsed as power surged through him—bones twisting, blood thickening with magic. He screamed as claws formed, wings sprouted, and primal instincts bloomed in his heart.
The Devil stepped back, satisfied.
"Remember, Fred London. Survive this world. Grow. Evolve. Conquer. And when the gates of Heaven open again... burn them."
A portal yawned open behind him—swirling with shadow and light.
Fred didn't look back.
He leapt.