Night had bled into the city.
Miz walked alone beneath broken streetlights, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. The silence of the hour wrapped the world like a shroud—one only the sleepless and the soulless could recognize. He moved without urgency, drifting more than walking, like the air itself had forgotten he was alive.
He yawned.
And in that exact moment, something cold and precise entered through the roof of his mouth—slipping upward in a clean, unhesitating path. It pierced soft flesh, shattered bone, and cracked thought in half.
No time to react.
No scream.
Just light.
Then—
Oblivion.
You Have Died.
Cause: Assassination(Elite Cult Member)
Resurrection Trigger: [Vessel of Death]
Skill Unlocked: [Inventory]
— Create a dimensional rift to store and summon physical objects.
— Capacity expands with soul resonance.
Status: Resurrection Complete
Death Count: 2
Miz's breath exploded from his lungs as he stood again—reborn in the same spot, body untouched, but soul rattled. His knees bent slightly as if his bones still remembered the pain. Yet there was no wound. No blood. Just the heavy echo of the moment he died.
And in front of him, the one responsible remained.
The figure stood on the sidewalk's edge like a memory waiting to fade. Human-shaped, glowing faintly with a golden light. A cloak draped his form, shimmering with unnatural threads of time itself. Two ethereal daggers floated around his hands like calm satellites. His eyes held no emotion—only distance.
Miz narrowed his own.
"Let me guess," he muttered. "You serve one of the Judges."
The being gave a shallow, respectful nod. "The Judge of Time."
"So you were here to kill me?"
"To confirm," the man replied, voice neither warm nor cold. "And yes—you are a vessel."
With that, he turned—already fading, preparing to vanish.
But Miz raised a hand and pointed lazily at the space above the man's head.
"There's no judgment mark," he said. "So you get to walk away."
The being paused mid-flicker.
Miz shrugged, almost smiling. "But next time you try to kill me, either do it properly… or make it entertaining."
A faint, amused smirk crept across the golden figure's face.
And then—he was gone.
Miz stood there for a few seconds longer, the wind brushing past him like nothing had happened. Then he noticed something glinting on the cracked pavement below.
A dagger.
It lay exactly where he'd fallen—humming with subtle power. The air around it shimmered slightly, as if time itself bent to avoid touching it.
He crouched down and picked it up. It was warm—elegant and cold all at once, like holding a memory no one should remember.
[Blade of Time] Acquired
Classification: Divine-Class Weapon
— Active Ability: Rewind or fast-forward a target's physical state by 3 seconds (Cooldown: 60 seconds.)
— Passive: Functions as a high-grade divine dagger
— Status: Temporal Resonance Detected
Without speaking, Miz raised his hand and simply thought.
A thin, swirling slit opened mid-air—black, quiet, formless. A rift. A pocket in space.
His fingers slipped the dagger inside, and the portal sealed shut.
[Inventory: Active]
Items Stored: 1
Miz let out a breath, whispering to no one, "Guess I'm collecting more than just trauma now."
Back at his apartment, Miz dropped onto the mattress with a dull thump.
The cracked ceiling above offered no comfort—only familiarity.
But sleep took him quickly. Faster than it had in days. Like something deeper was pulling him in.
And then, there was nothing.
Not a dream. Not even darkness.
Just a place where sensation ended.
No sound.
No voice.
No gravity.
No thoughts.
No color.
No time.
Only void.
He floated.
Not as Miz. Not as a vessel.
Just as something that used to be.
Time didn't move. It didn't even pass.
It existed—silent and eternal.
This wasn't a dream.
This was the memory of Death itself.
Miz awoke with a sharp inhale, lungs stretching like they hadn't been used in a century.
Morning light sliced through the blinds like judgment. His body trembled, his skin damp, his heart distant.
He sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, palms to his face.
"That wasn't a nightmare," he whispered.
"That was… forever."
He didn't cry. Didn't scream.
He just sat there, still.
Not because he was afraid—
But because now he understood.
Death isn't the end.
It's where memory begins.