Darkness.
That was the last thing Sohan remembered. Not peace, not light just a vast, cold darkness swallowing everything. Then came the jagged screech of metal, the blinding glare of headlights, and the sound of his own breath: ragged, desperate, and ultimately, silenced.
Then, nothing.
"…still breathing."
"…barely."
"…leave him, he's not worth the effort."
Voices. They were faint and distant, like echoes vibrating through water. Sohan's mind struggled to bridge the gap between memory and consciousness. He tried to move, but his body felt like stone heavy, unresponsive, and anchored to the floor. A dull, rhythmic throb pulsed behind his eyes.
I died, didn't I?
The memory was vivid. A rain-slicked road. A truck. The sudden, violent realization that there was no time to react.
So why was he feeling a sudden rush of cold air against his skin?
Sohan's eyes snapped open.
The world was wrong. The familiar city streets and the chaotic roar of traffic were gone. Instead, a cracked ceiling loomed above him grey, stained, and barely holding together. The smell hit him next: a suffocating mix of damp earth, rust, and rot.
He was lying on a strip of rough fabric, thin and worn. A blanket? No it was more like a discarded piece of industrial cloth.
Sohan forced himself upright. Pain shot through his nerves like a lightning strike. "Ah!"
He clenched his teeth, his breath hitching. His body felt alien. It was weaker, thinner, and alarmingly smaller. His hands trembled as he lifted them into the dim light. They weren't his. These fingers were bony and pale, covered in a map of faint bruises and old scars.
"What… is this?"
Suddenly, a flood of foreign memories surged into his mind, hitting him with the force of a physical blow. Hunger. Cold nights. Running. Begging. The sting of a lash.
Sohan froze. "These memories…"
They weren't his, yet they felt etched into his very soul.
The door creaked open, hinges groaning in protest. A man peeked inside, his eyes scanning the small, derelict room with visible disinterest. "Oh. You're awake."
Sohan looked up, his mind still reeling. "Where… am I?"
The man snorted, leaning against the doorframe. "Where else? Slum Sector C."
Slum? The word echoed strangely, clicking into place with the foreign memories.
"You passed out yesterday," the man continued. "Thought you were dead. Would've saved us the trouble of dragging you inside."
"Trouble?" Sohan managed to rasp.
"Yeah. Dead weight isn't useful here." The man turned to leave, pausing only to throw a cold glance over his shoulder. "If you can stand, get out. There's no free food for the lazy."
The door slammed shut, leaving Sohan in the sudden, heavy silence.
Slum Sector. Orphan. Hunger. A strange, advanced world. His heart began to race against his ribs. "No way…"
He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the protest of his muscles, and staggered toward a broken mirror leaning against the wall. A boy stared back at him. Hollow eyes, a thin face perhaps sixteen, maybe younger.
It wasn't him. Not the Sohan who had lived a normal life.
"I've been… reborn."
The words felt unreal, yet the evidence was undeniable. Then, the realization hit him with a new weight. It wasn't just the body or the slums. It was the world itself. He looked out a small, grimy window at the metallic, layered structures and the unnatural, humming atmosphere.
It was too familiar.
Sohan's breath caught in his throat. "This world…"
Images flashed through his mind stories he had once read obsessively. A universe where humanity had discovered mysterious gateways to dimensions called Sanctuaries. A world where people hunted alien creatures and evolved by absorbing their very genes.
A world where strength was the only currency.
"This is the world of Super Gene."
For a moment, a cold grip of fear tightened in his chest. This wasn't a game. People died here meanly and easily. The weak were crushed under the heels of the strong. And right now, he was at the bottom of the food chain.
Sohan clenched his bony fists until his knuckles turned white. "No."
The fear didn't vanish, but it was eclipsed by a rising tide of determination. If this truly was that world, then he held the ultimate advantage. He knew the hidden opportunities. He knew the secret growth paths. He knew the rules of survival that others were still dying to learn.
A chance. A real, second chance.
He looked back at the mirror, his gaze sharpening. "This time… I won't die like that again."
Outside, the slums were alive with the sound of shouting and desperate living. Somewhere, far beyond the rusted skyline, a strange energy pulsed unseen, but undeniably real. A calling.
"The Sanctuaries…"
He remembered the path. He remembered the goal. His story hadn't ended on that road; it had just reached the beginning.
Sohan stepped toward the door. He was weak. He was hungry. He was alone. But for the first time in two lives, he was no longer helpless.
"In this world… I will rise."