John felt the crushing weight of the ocean pressing against his chest—the insidious suffocation still clawing at his lungs as if the water itself rebelled against his presence. Yet, the class offered by the crystal—the Oceanic Sovereign—lingered in his vision like a distant promise he wasn't ready to embrace. Doubt and defiance boiled within him. Was this truly the path? Was there something beyond?

  Summoning every ounce of remaining strength, John clenched his fist and smashed it against the radiant surface of the ancient crystal. The first punch sent a shock through his bones, but the crystal remained whole and indifferent. Ignoring the pain that blossomed in his knuckles, he struck again—harder—until crimson droplets bloomed on his skin. Blood mingled with saltwater, trailing behind his submerged form.

  The agony mounted swiftly. His legs were gone, torn away by unseen forces; his right arm vanished beneath the waves. They had been eaten by creatures he could not see but the pain felt very real. However John refused to yield. With his remaining arm, he pummeled the crystal relentlessly. From the depths, small, writhing shadows emerged—miniature versions of the leviathan shark, their teeth sinking into his bleeding flesh, their bites igniting fresh agony. Yet still, he punched.

  The ocean around him bled into a deep crimson, swirling and staining the waters with his sacrifice. Cracks spider-webbed across the crystal's surface until, with a deafening shatter that echoed beyond the physical realm, the crystal exploded into fragments. Beyond the shattered remains lay a dark cavern carved into the seabed, an abyssal portal beckoning John forward.

  He pushed toward the opening, heart pounding, nerves aflame, and entered. The cavern was a void of pure blackness—the absence of all light and sound. Within that darkness, a shadow coalesced, immense and undefined.

  Above this formless presence floated a shimmering class window, its text stark yet enigmatic:

  Class Name: Choice

  Primary Stat: ???

  Rarity: ???

  Description: ???

  Difficulty: Impossible

  John understood at once—this was a realm beyond systems, beyond certainty. No clear definition, no path laid bare. The class of pure potential and unknown power awaited, inscrutable and daunting.

  This was the ultimate crossroads, a test not just of power, but of will and essence. John stood on the precipice of myth and madness, the ocean's abyss reflecting the uncharted journey before him.

  John had slipped through the shattering crystal’s fractured remains and stepped into the cavern beyond—a void of utter blackness so deep it seemed to swallow every fragment of light. The familiar bite of ocean water was gone, replaced by a strange stillness, a vacuum where sound and time hung suspended.

  The small, relentless sharks that had swarmed and bitten during his brutal assault on the crystal did not follow him here. Their absence left the space ominously silent, as if this shadowy realm rejected any hint of corporeal life.

  John closed his eyes, summoning all his will. He reminded himself: none of this was real — at least, not in the way he had known life and magic. This place was a crucible of essence, a place where reality bent and answers might be coaxed from the void itself. With that certainty, he focused on the broken parts of himself—his vanished legs, his missing arm—and with a calmness born of hard-won mastery, he willed flesh and bone to knit anew. Slowly, painfully, his limbs reformed, strength returning as though summoned by the very force of his mind.

  Now whole and steadied, John turned toward the shadow that loomed ahead—an immense, amorphous darkness, shifting with a presence both ancient and unknowable. Driven by desperation and resolve, he spoke into the void:

  “What class can save Elyndra?”

  Silence.

  “What is the system?”

  Silence.

  “Who are you?”

  Silence.

  “What magic is the base to the system?”

  Silence.

  Frustration flared, and the shadows seemed to deepen, pressing against him like the weight of unanswered questions.

  Then John’s voice broke the stillness with a fierce, defiant shout:

  “ANSWER MEEE!”

  The darkness rippled—as if stirred by a voice long awaited—and then, from the void’s depths, a single answer emerged. It was not spoken as words, but as a resonant wave of meaning that echoed directly within John’s mind—a cryptic pulse hinting that the path to saving Elyndra, understanding the system, and facing the ancient mysteries lay locked within the mysterious, undefined class named “Choice.”

  The cavern trembled softly, the shadow shifting almost imperceptibly, acknowledging that the question had been heard at last. But the true answers, like the class itself, remained veiled—waiting for John’s courage and wisdom to unravel them in time to come.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The silence that had swallowed John’s desperate shout stretched for a cold, suspended moment in the lightless void. Whatever presence lingered in the cavern—the one named only “Choice”—had offered nothing but a cryptic resonance, denying every question with an answer that dissolved before it could form. Frustration roiled in his chest, mixing with determination and a spark of realization: here, in this space behind words and systems, the only answers worth having were those wrested from the unknown by one’s own will.

  He drew a ragged, stubborn breath—imagined or real, it didn’t matter. “So be it,” John declared, his voice steady but filled with hunger. The mystery remained, the parameters undefined, the rules unseen. But every trial, every denial, every impossible threshold had pointed to this: he would have to make his own meaning, carve his own path, or perish as just another lost echo in the deep.

  Reaching out, he willed his hand—restored by willpower and defiance—to select the undefined class shimmering before him: “Choice.” As his mind focused on making this single, irrevocable decision, the shadowed void trembled.

  Instantly, a surge of force greater than any before lashed around him—not pain, but a raw, dizzying shift that seemed to tear apart every certainty and barrier at once. The ground vanished from underfoot, reality contorting as light and shadow streaked past. It was the beginning of something deeper than myth, stranger than ascension; the challenge, veiled in utter unknown, had begun.

  A voice—not heard, but felt in his bones—whispered through the darkness: If you would have truth, make it. If you would grant salvation, forge the key yourself. No path but your own.

  And abruptly, John stood alone in a new place—at the threshold of the final trial, the boundaries of system and self-stripped away. The challenge would not be given, but revealed with every choice, every act of creation, every refusal to buckle beneath the system’s old laws.

  The answer had been his all along: this mystery could not be told. It had to be lived—and conquered.

  John felt a sudden, overwhelming emptiness wash over him—a cold void where his powers once surged. The energy that had thrummed within every fiber of his being, the magic that had made the ocean sing and the crystals glow, all vanished in an instant. His limbs weighed heavily as if dragged by unseen chains; the vibrant aura that surrounded him dimmed to nothing.

  He looked down and saw himself as he had been before the system ever touched him: a mere boy, fragile and unarmored, stripped of the extraordinary gifts that had defined his journey.

  Beside him stood the elf he knew so well, unmoving and silent as ever—an echo of calm amid the gathering storm. The shadow of the ancient void itself loomed ever closer: the massive, terrifying figure of Umbraxis approached, its jagged stone-like limbs distorting space and time, and its icy eyes glowing with eternal hunger.

  Suddenly, in the empty air before him, a stark pop-up window flickered into existence—cold, unyielding, and impossible to ignore:

  Objective: Defeat the Umbraxis

  Difficulty: Impossible

  The system’s message struck deep into John’s soul—not a challenge but a dire warning. The power to face this nightmare had been taken from him. Now, he stood vulnerable, with only his will and the bitter knowledge of what was lost.

  Around him, the world seemed to hold its breath as the impossible confrontation drew near—a moment that would test not only what magic he could wield, but the courage, heart, and resolve that remained when all else was gone.

  John stood with the unmoving elf—her features caught between hope and despair—as Umbraxis, that monstrous shadow of jagged void and icy light, loomed ever closer. Stripped of all system powers, stripped of the oceanic might and magic he’d come to rely on, John felt smaller than he ever had—just a boy with fear pounding in his chest.

  But when Umbraxis drew near, its looming presence distorting reality, John made his choice. He turned to the elf and, with a voice that quavered but did not break, ordered her, “Run—go now!” Even powerless, even lost, John’s instincts were to protect.

  As the elf hesitated, John hurled himself between her and the void, arms wide. “Take me, not her!” he cried, casting himself into Umbraxis’s path. The shadow wasted no time. Tendrils of un-light erupted around John, trapping him in an instant—then pulled him away from the world, away from the elf, into a dimension of endless darkness.

  He tumbled through a silence thicker than water, gravity and memory both stripped away, until he landed—or rather, simply was—inside Umbraxis’s void. There was no ground, no air, no horizon; only the presence of the shadow, endless, patient, and infinitely cold.

  Umbraxis reached out and began its ancient, merciless work: attempting to absorb John, to feed on his magic, his essence, his hope and fear alike. But there was little to draw upon—stripped as he was of all power and even the small comforts of the system, John was nearly empty, a flicker of life amid the infinite black.

  Frustration crackled through the void. Umbraxis, used to eternally draining the power and spirit from others, found in John only scraps: the memory of courage, the stub of stubborn will. The more Umbraxis groped and clawed at his being, the less it found. At first, it raged silently—currents of cold irritation rippling through the darkness. But irritation soon faded, replaced by profound disinterest. The shadow, finding so little sustenance, began to withdraw its attention, turning once more into the empty, drifting hunger that marked its existence.

  Alone in the void, John lingered—diminished but defiant, awareness sparking in the absolute dark that even the worst of monsters sometimes lose interest when confronted with refusal and emptiness instead of fear and power. The encounter left an emptiness, yes—but within that emptiness, a strange possibility remained, waiting for whatever John might next become.

  John struggled, his mind and spirit coaxing every ounce of magic he once wielded—but the familiar tide of power refused to rise. The essence that had fueled his journey, the vast wells of mana and strength, remained locked away as if sealed by an invisible barrier. Frustration gnawed at him, a bitter reminder that loss was real and irreversible by ordinary means.

  Yet amid the silence of his despair, a spark of hope flashed in his memory—the second awakening, a hidden tier of growth and strength that lay dormant within him, quietly unfolding alongside the first. What if the power he sought was not lost but merely buried beneath layers of threshold and doubt? What if, instead of reaching for the greatness he once commanded, he called forth the foundations of that awakening, the level 1 stats of his second self?

  With deliberate focus, John summoned the fragmented echoes of that alternate growth. Slowly, tentatively, the currents of magic stirred—a faint glow blossomed within him, warm and tentative but undeniably present. His limbs, once heavy with absence, tingled with renewed vitality. His breath deepened magically as his senses sharpened. The system responded, the stat window flickering—showing new life as his second awakening’s baseline power reasserted itself.

  It wasn’t the flood of power he once commanded, but it was enough: a foothold, a fresh start. And in that fragile resurgence, John found the courage to rise again, ready to face the challenges that still awaited, knowing that true strength often begins anew from the humblest beginnings.