The darkness was absolute. There was no sky or ground, no up or down. Everything seemed to float in a space with neither beginning nor end, an eternal abyss that devoured everything: sounds, thoughts... even hope.
"Is this death?" he wondered, though the word echoed more like a thought than a certainty. There was no one to answer, no divine judgment waiting with open arms, no warmth of a promised second chance. Only the void.
"He" could not feel his body. He couldn't move it, but that didn't matter. The concept of having shape or physical limits seemed irrelevant here. Even so, his mind remained active, his thoughts struggling against the tide of nothingness.
He recalled fragments of his past, like a poorly edited film. His appearance, his routine, his life were unclear. What echoed loudest in his mind were stories—tales he had once watched, read, or studied.
The only thing he remembered from his previous life were stories of others—legends of people, human or inhuman. Of himself, there was nothing but emptiness.
It was curious. Despite this lack of identity, he did not feel uncertain, as if it were natural—or perhaps, given his current state, he considered the mere act of thinking to be more than enough. In this eternity, simply having awareness felt like both a blessing and a curse, one that would accompany him to the end of his being...
Or so it seemed.
Distant roars began to shake the void like war drums. These were not ordinary sounds; they carried an ancestral weight, as if each scream had echoed since the dawn of time. Satoru could not see their origin, but he felt them deep within. Each roar was accompanied by explosions that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself.
"What's happening?" he said aloud. But there was no one to answer.
There was more. Voices—countless voices—rising and falling like a distant storm. Satoru turned instinctively, though he felt no body to move. The voices began as whispers but soon became wails. When he tried to focus, he started to make out ethereal forms around him: shadows, souls. They seemed trapped, fighting against something invisible.
"What are these?" His mind could barely process it. "Are they... human?"
It was hard to say. The shapes slowly faded, absorbed into the darkness like droplets in an infinite ocean.
Some screams echoed with fragmented words; others simply vanished into a void of silence. As more and more disappeared, something within him began to stir—a mix of fear and desperation. Would he disappear too?
The loudest roar yet shook everything. It was as if something immense were breaking the chains of the universe itself.
And then, silence.
For a moment, everything stood still. The souls vanished. The echoes faded. The darkness ceased to be oppressive.
"So this is where you were," said a voice, not from the void but from somewhere closer, almost within his own mind. Before he could understand, a blinding light appeared before him, so bright it seemed to split the darkness in two. When the light faded, he was no longer in the same place.
The environment had changed. The absolute darkness was replaced by an infinite white void. But this void was not oppressive like before; it was different, almost... peaceful.
"You survived the edge of disappearance," said a voice, this time clear and sharp. He turned toward the source, and what he saw left him speechless. A luminous, vaguely humanoid figure stared down at him from what appeared to be a throne made of light.
"Who are you?" he asked, though his voice sounded more like a thought spoken into the air.
"A remnant," the figure replied. "What remains of those who tried to stop what now lurks at the heart of the void."
"What does that mean? What's happening?"
"You stand at a point where all things converge," the voice continued, ignoring his confusion. "A place where choice and destiny are one."
The figure extended a hand, and three lights began to float before him. "There is no time for full explanations. Existence itself is on the brink of collapse, and you are one of the last remaining flames. This is all we can give you."
Faced with this, he felt dissatisfied. With no memories, he knew his experience in interaction was no better than that of an infant, and so, he was full of doubts. But as someone who possessed countless stories where similar events had unfolded, he understood one thing clearly:
Receiving no further information was troubling.
"More answers won't help you now," the voice replied, as if reading his mind. "But understand this, Satoru: what you were no longer matters. What you will become... that depends on you."
A light emerged from the darkness, a small yet brilliant point that grew until it enveloped him. Within it, Satoru could make out a vaguely defined sphere pulsing with unfamiliar energy, as if made from fragments of something far greater—something incomprehensible.
"This will aid you on your path."
Satoru hesitated. He understood nothing of what was happening. A path? This all felt like one of those stories he remembered. Was it punishment? A reward? A game orchestrated by a higher being?
The sphere shifted colors each time he looked at it. First golden, radiating ancient, heavy, yet alluring power. Then silver, translucent like an ethereal flame flickering between existence and disappearance. Finally, it turned dark—almost black—with a luminous core that seemed to hold an entire universe.
Something within him urged him to step forward. Reaching out toward the tricolored light, he felt part of himself ignite with energy he couldn't comprehend. There was something far greater than himself here, a weight he couldn't explain but somehow knew he was meant to carry.
When he touched it, the first surge was golden power flooding through him. It felt like a thousand voices screaming in an unknown tongue, demanding to be heard. Before he could make sense of them, the energy engulfed him, branding something deep within his being.
The second light filled him with a sense of protection, as if a mantle had draped over him. It was cold, yet comforting—an invisible armor that fit his essence perfectly.
The last was different. No explosion of energy, no heat or chill. Only absolute certainty: a path with no visible end had opened before him.
When the light faded, Satoru stood alone once more. But this time, something had changed. He was no longer a formless observer in the void. Something pulsed within him—something he didn't yet understand but knew he was meant to discover. A cold sensation ran through him, and as he looked down, he understood.
He was no longer himself.
His hands—if they could be called that—were bone. Bones cloaked in a faint dark glow that seemed to emanate from within. His body was tall, thin, and entirely skeletal. He could feel no heat, no cold, not even a heartbeat.
"What am I now?" he wondered.
Then, a torrent of information flooded his mind. Names, images, concepts that weren't his became part of him. Magic, races, lands he had never seen but could now visualize in perfect detail. The identity of a being that had never existed in this world, but now defined his existence.
Now he knew the answer to his earlier question. His current race was that of an Overlord. A species originating from YGGDRASIL—not even a real game, but a fictional one from a light novel series by the same name: Overlord.
He knew that story well. For a particular reason: his name was Suzuki Satoru. He shared the original name of Momonga, the series' protagonist.
Maybe that was also why he had so much information about it. His knowledge of Overlord and its system was far deeper than any other memory he held.
And yet, those memories only brought another question: Why? What was the reason behind these "gifts"?
Now, Satoru could feel what each light represented.
The Golden Light was Momonga's legacy. He had been granted all of his abilities and spells. This body of his was the result of his racial levels, which had evolved into this form.
The Silver Light had given him something else: every artifact, every item that had ever been in Momonga's possession. Even those he sold, lost, or never used in battle. Feeling the weight of an immeasurable fortune, he knew his arsenal was complete from the start. There was no need to seek legendary gear or relics. Everything that had once belonged to him was now at his disposal.
But the third light—the Dark Light—was what truly changed him. He was no longer bound by YGGDRASIL's rules. He could evolve beyond level 100, something theoretically impossible in the story.
He looked at his reflection in the infinite void. He was not the Momonga he knew. In the hollows of his skull there were no flames of red; instead, there were vibrant blue points of light. He was not Suzuki Satoru. He was far from human.
He was something new.
Something that existed in no story.
When the lights finally faded, something remained floating before him—a dark tablet etched with symbols that seemed to shift constantly. When Satoru touched it, a surge of knowledge coursed through his mind: it was an artifact that would allow him to travel between worlds. He didn't know how he knew this, but he felt the object was his by right.
"Is this a joke of fate? Or something more?"
Before he could reflect further, he felt his body beginning to dissolve, replaced by a sensation of emptiness. A message echoed in his mind:
"What you've taken is not enough. Seek the stars and claim the power you need. This body is only a beginning."
And then, the light vanished, leaving Satoru alone once more in the same white void as before—at what seemed to be the beginning of a journey he could scarcely imagine.
CRACK!!
The white void began to shift. Tiny black fractures appeared around him, as if space itself were being devoured. The initial calm Satoru had felt after the earlier events vanished in an instant. Panic surged within him.
"What's happening?" His thoughts raced as he watched the cracks expand. If he still had a human body, he would have heard the frantic pounding of his heart.
But then, one of his newly acquired abilities took over. The panic faded, replaced by an eerie calm. His mind, now clear, recalled the words the voice had spoken before disappearing:
"Seek the stars and claim the power you'll need. This body is only a beginning."
"Power?" he murmured, frowning. "Why would I need more power? What am I supposed to be fighting?"
The void continued to collapse around him. Each growing fracture seemed to carry a whisper—an echo of the souls he had seen vanish earlier.
"In Overlord, one could grow stronger by killing..." he muttered, as if trying to make sense of the situation. "If this body works the same way, does that mean I can level up too?"
The idea was logical, but incomplete. In Overlord, the game's rules provided a clear path: gain levels, unlock better abilities, gather resources. And now, he had supposedly surpassed the level 100 barrier—a limit he was certain he had already crossed.
"If it's about power, where should I go?" His mind began to work, calm despite the growing chaos around him. He analyzed his options as if selecting a book from a shelf.
"I have no idea how this works. But if this object can take me to other worlds..." His gaze settled on the floating black tablet.
"Maybe I should find a place where I can start testing it."
As he stared at the tablet, images began to project into the void, responding to his thoughts. Different worlds unfolded before him—some familiar, others completely unknown. Each glowed with a different intensity.
One of them caught his attention immediately: a vast and colorful landscape filled with brilliant cities and magical creatures. He recognized it at once: Death March Kara Hajimaru Isekai Kyousoukyoku.
"Death March..." he whispered. "Satou's world."
The projection showed a surreal vista. The sky was dark, filled with red clouds that seemed to burn from within. On the horizon, flashes of light pierced through the storm, as if the world itself were being torn apart.
Satoru watched in silence. He knew what this meant. This was the moment when Satou, an ordinary man from Earth, would be summoned to this world and, within minutes, would gain such overwhelming power that he would become invincible—even to the gods of that world.
"Satou," he repeated to himself. He remembered the story. The protagonist was an overworked programmer who ended up in a fantasy world after being trapped in his own creation. At first, he was just an ordinary man, but then...
As he studied the world, thoughts began to stir in his mind, aided by his emotional regulator that kept him analytical:
"Unlike more complex worlds, Death March has relatively simple magic and combat systems."
Still, was it really the best place to gain experience?
"If I choose this world..." Satoru spoke aloud, trying to organize his thoughts. "My target should be the protagonist, Satou."
He paused for a moment, letting the emotional regulator keep him composed. Yet even with a clear mind, doubts clung to him like a fog.
"Why choose this world? Why not a simpler one, where I can grow without interference?" he wondered. The answer came almost instantly. "Because I don't have time to play the long game. I need results—and I need them now."
Satou's power was comparatively greater than his own. Gaining experience by killing him might prove more efficient than hunting countless weaker beings to fulfill his quest for power.
There was another advantage to targeting Satou: the way he obtained his power had left him unconscious for several hours.
The projections shifted, showing Satou after the attack—lying on the ground, unconscious, surrounded by a faint blue glow. Vulnerable.
Satoru narrowed his eyes.
"This... could be my chance." The words felt strange, even to him. He understood what that power meant. He remembered the original narrative: a man who rose to such strength that he became unstoppable in the long run. But that wasn't the issue. The problem was what it meant for him.
The images changed again, showing Satou later in the story—fully equipped, with advanced skills. Satoru observed the transformation and felt a chill, though his emotional regulator kept him calm.
In Death March, there was a level and experience system. Satou had reached level 310 in a world where the average human barely reached level 3. But that level didn't grant special powers, skills, or magic. The system in that world separated those aspects—people had to train rather than kill to grow stronger.
Satou gained his levels by using a massive area-of-effect spell at the slightest hint of danger, wiping out countless high-level beings, including dragons—one of them a dragon god. But level was all he gained; his abilities remained no better than those of a level-1 character.
However, he gained the ability to rapidly learn any skill he witnessed or discovered. Each skill could be leveled up using "Skill Points." Satou had 3,100 of these, and since most skills maxed out at 10 points, he could master any field with ease.
That was why Satou was only vulnerable immediately after his sudden level-up—while still unconscious.
Another reason Satoru was tempted to hunt him was Overlord's mechanic: the greater the level difference, the more experience gained. Of course, it was possible that this wouldn't translate between different systems, but...
He looked again at the image of Satou—unconscious, surrounded by the remains of the monster army. His mind began to calculate. "What if it does work?"
The white void continued collapsing, the black fractures drawing closer and closer. A mounting pressure pushed into his mind, as if something—or someone—was urging him to act.
"It's decided," he finally said. His voice was cold, almost as if he were deciding to go for a stroll rather than kill someone. "This world may not help me fully understand my current situation, but at least it will give me power."
He reached out toward the tablet, which began to shine brightly as his decision took shape. The images of Death March expanded, engulfing him in a blinding light. Before it consumed him completely, a voice echoed in his mind:
"The world you've chosen is only the beginning. Remember: power only has meaning if you know how to use it."
When the light faded, Satoru found himself atop a rocky hill, wind lashing against his skeletal body. In the distance, an army of monsters surged forward like a dark tide. Lesser dragons, giants, and grotesque creatures filled the valley, advancing toward a lone, barely distinguishable figure.
"So this is it," Satoru murmured as he looked up—and saw the meteorites begin to fall.
This was the ability Satou had received upon arriving in this world: [Meteor Rain]. The power of the spell was immense. Satoru doubted he could survive a direct hit—much less three in succession, which Satou unleashed in desperation upon seeing the massive army before him.
First one, then another, and then hundreds more. Each impact shook the earth, raising pillars of fire and ash that darkened the horizon. The monsters had no time to react; they were erased from existence in mere seconds.
Satoru stood firm as the ground trembled beneath him. Though he had known what would happen, witnessing the devastation firsthand was another matter entirely.
"So this is Satou's power," he thought. "Seeing the memory and witnessing it in person are worlds apart."
He remained unmoved, observing the spectacle with a mix of admiration and analysis. The spell was massively destructive, but beyond selecting the area of effect, there was nothing else—no way to adjust the power or halt the attack. Once activated, it struck indiscriminately.
When the final meteor fell, the valley fell silent. No screams, no movement—just a scorched wasteland. At the center of it all, a lone figure lay motionless on the ground.
Satoru descended the hill slowly, using a spell to glide down smoothly while keeping his senses sharp. He detected no traps or immediate threats—his new abilities, magic, and enhanced senses assured him—but he knew better than to lower his guard.
He was intimately familiar with what this body could do, and locating the most suitable abilities hadn't been difficult.
When he reached the valley's center, he found Satou. The man lay face-down, his clothing in tatters, his body surrounded by a faint blue glow. There was no doubt: he was unconscious. Satoru's emotional regulator activated, keeping him calm as he analyzed the situation.
"So this is him," he whispered. "The man who is now one of the strongest entities in this world—stronger even than the gods."
Satoru leaned in, studying him closely. He looked so normal, so human. Not a warrior, not someone capable of annihilating an army. He looked like an ordinary teenager. And yet, the power surrounding him was unmistakable.
His skeletal hands rose, ready to strike. But something stopped him.
What if it doesn't work the way I think? he wondered. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was overlooking something. Satoru had to admit—his knowledge of Death March was limited to the early events. He wasn't sure why; perhaps he simply never had time to finish the story.
That thought brought another consideration. Was there another variable he hadn't accounted for?
But the doubt didn't last long. His gaze hardened.
"No. I can't hesitate now. This is the only chance I have."
At last, he made his decision.
"I'll go all in."