The Ancient Matrix AwakensThe air in the main training field of Starlight Academy hummed with the thrum of discharged energy and the rhythmic thud of fists meeting practice dummies. The field itself was a vast expanse of interlocking metal plates under a perpetually grey, smog-filtered sky. This was Nova Bastion, one of the last great fortified cities of humanity, and from the top of the academy’s central tower, you could see the colossal, fifty-meter-high walls that kept the horrors of the outside world at bay.
It had been three thousand years since the Great Calamity, the day the 4th Dimension decided to unceremoniously park itself on top of our reality. This cosmic fender-bender created rifts, shimmering tears in space from which creatures of the Deity World poured through. They were called Mutated Beasts, and they weren’t the friendly, talking kind from old-world fairy tales. These things were walking nightmares, marked by the strange iron, silver, or gold patterns that glowed on their heads, indicating their power. They had a singular, uncomplicated goal: turn every human into a fine red mist.
In response, humanity had fought back. Some people began to awaken talents, an ability to absorb the ambient energy that leaked from the rifts—a shimmering, cosmic dust they called Stardust—and use it to become Super Soldiers, the only real defense against the encroaching tide of monsters.
Among the hopefuls on that training field stood Icarus Morningstar, an eighteen-year-old student who, for the past week, had been living a life that was not his own. One moment, he had been a perfectly average young man in a perfectly average world, likely debating the merits of pineapple on pizza. The next, he’d woken up in this scarred, high-tech, monster-infested future. Reincarnation, he’d concluded, was not nearly as glamorous as the stories made it out to be. It was mostly just confusing and painful.
Right now, the pain was coming from a combat simulator set to its absolute lowest difficulty. A setting that, according to his classmates, was reserved for toddlers and particularly uncoordinated house pets. The simulator, a tangle of articulated metal arms on a rotating base, whirred and clicked with mocking efficiency. An arm swung out, and Icarus, attempting a heroic dodge he’d seen in an old movie, instead executed a sort of clumsy, falling-down-the-stairs maneuver. He landed hard on his side, the impact jarring his ribs. His body, this new, frustratingly weak body, ached with a profound weariness that went bone-deep.
He mentally reviewed his stats, not because he needed to, but because self-flagellation had become a new hobby.
Strength: 25. Endurance: 27. Agility: 24.
These numbers were, to put it mildly, pathetic. The average for a student his age was around 35 in each category. His resulted in a Combat Power of 160, a score so low it was practically a rounding error. Icarus felt a familiar frustration bubbling in his chest. In his old life, he’d been unremarkable, but at least he hadn’t been the designated punching bag for a glorified toaster. The upcoming Combat Trial loomed over him, less like an exam and more like an execution date. The trial was the final gateway to becoming a Rank 1 Super Soldier, and for him, it was a gateway he was about to face-plant into.
A burst of laughter cut through his haze of self-pity. “Look at Morningstar! I think the simulator is starting to feel sorry for him.”
The voice belonged to Cassian Holt, a student who was everything Icarus wasn’t: tall, handsome, talented, and possessing a smugness so potent it could probably be weaponized. His Combat Power was a stellar 320, putting him on the very cusp of breaking through to Rank 1. He stood with his arms crossed, a small crowd of sycophants chuckling along with him.
“He’s a talentless reject,” another student chimed in. “His family name is ‘Morningstar,’ but the only star he’s seeing is the one after he gets knocked out.”
Cassian swaggered over, a predatory grin on his face. “Hey, Icarus. The machine is too predictable. How about a friendly spar? I’ll teach you a thing or two.” The offer was as friendly as a Fanged Rat with a toothache.
Icarus pushed himself to his feet, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow. “No thanks, Cassian. I’m busy… uh… refining my technique of falling with style.”
Cassian’s grin widened. “Come on. Just a few pointers.” He looked over to the instructor, Master Torren, a man with a perpetually bored expression who looked like he’d seen it all and been disappointed by most of it. “Master Torren, a quick spar to help a fellow student?”
Torren gave a noncommittal shrug, his eyes glazed over. He had the air of a man who was just counting the seconds until his pension kicked in. “Don’t break anything expensive. Or each other. Too much paperwork.” With that ringing endorsement, the spar was on.
It was, in a word, brutal. Cassian didn’t even bother with a proper stance. He was just toying with him. His fists, faintly glowing with the Stardust he’d absorbed, moved with a speed Icarus’s eyes could barely track. The first punch caught Icarus in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him in a painful whoosh. He doubled over, gasping. The second, an open-palmed shove, sent him stumbling backward.
Icarus tried to fight back. He channeled all his frustration and desperation into a wild haymaker, a punch that had more hope than technique behind it. Cassian dodged it effortlessly, stepping inside Icarus’s clumsy swing and landing a sharp, stinging jab on his cheek. Pain exploded across his face, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He fell to his knees, his vision swimming. The laughter of the other students sounded distant and distorted, like he was hearing it from underwater.
Cassian loomed over him, his shadow falling across Icarus’s beaten form. He spat on the metal plate next to Icarus’s head. “Stay down, trash. The only job you’re qualified for in Nova Bastion is sweeping the streets. People like you are just a waste of resources.”
Lying there, with blood dripping from his nose onto the cold ground, a profound despair washed over Icarus. He was doomed. He had been given a second chance at life, only to be cast as a background character in someone else’s heroic story. A nobody, destined to be forgotten in a world where strength was the only currency that mattered.
And then, just as his consciousness began to fade into a comforting blackness, a sound cut through the fog in his mind. It was sharp, clear, and utterly out of place.
Ding!
A calm, mechanical voice, devoid of any emotion, spoke directly into his thoughts.
[Necessary condition for unlocking system has been fulfilled: Host has experienced near-fatal despair and physical trauma. Good job on that, by the way.]
Wait, what? Icarus blinked, and his blurry vision sharpened on a translucent blue screen that had appeared, hovering just inches from his face. It was a clean, futuristic interface, displaying text in a language he instinctively understood.
[Ancient Matrix System activated!]
His heart, which had been sluggishly pumping a moment ago, gave a powerful thud. A system? Like in those web novels from his past life? The ultimate cheat code for the reincarnated protagonist? The absurdity of it all nearly made him laugh, a gurgling, bloody sound.
The screen flickered, displaying his current, rather depressing, information.
Host: Icarus Morningstar
Level: 0
Experience: 0/100
Strength: 25
Endurance: 27
Agility: 24
Potential Points: 0
Combat Arts: None (Unless you count ‘Failing Gracefully’)
Genetic Skills: None
Combat Power: 160
Okay, so the system had a bit of a personality. He could work with that.
[A Starter Pack has been awarded to the Host for successful activation. Would you like to open it?]
Yes! Open it! Open it now! he screamed in his mind, his desperation turning into a frantic, giddy hope.
[Starter Pack opened. You have received: 1 Potential Point.]
Just one? It felt a little stingy for a cosmic welcome gift, but he wasn’t about to complain. A new line of text explained that Potential Points could be added to his core stats. This was it. This was his chance. With the Combat Trial only a week away, every little bit counted. Without hesitation, he mentally directed the point. Add it to Strength.
A sensation, warm and invigorating, flowed through his body. It felt like a shot of pure caffeine had been injected directly into his muscles. The throbbing ache in his ribs lessened, and the world seemed to snap back into focus. His Strength stat on the screen ticked up from 25 to 26. It was a small change, but it felt monumental.
A sensation, warm and invigorating, flowed through his body. It felt like a shot of pure caffeine had been injected directly into his muscles. The throbbing ache in his ribs lessened, and the world seemed to snap back into focus. His Strength stat on the screen ticked up from 25 to 26. It was a small change, but it felt monumental.
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