Path of the Demon Ascendant

After going through all possibilities strider once again starts the simulation by choosing the same talent Nirvaya again.

"System, start the simulation"

[Ok, host]

[Starting simulation

Talent - Nirvana

3.2.1...]

Loading Environment...

Location: Rural Village |

[You awaken to the familiar thatched roof of a small hut, sunlight streaming through cracks in the walls.

Due to the activation of your innate talent, [Nirvaya], you will undergo accelerated growth.]

[At the age of 1 you look like a 5 year old and when you reached 5 you already look like a young man.

Your body feels strong, limbs lean with muscles no child should have. Your family calls you a miracle, a genius. You walk, talk, and think far beyond your years. The world outside, however, whispers another name: demon.]

[By now, you stand taller than most adults in your village. With broad shoulders and a sharp gaze, your presence is commanding—almost intimidating. The farm tools fit awkwardly in your hands, but your strength makes short work of plowing fields. The villagers watch with wary eyes as you carry game from the woods or load sacks of grain no ordinary child could lift.]

They whisper behind your back, words that sting:

"He grows like a beast."

"This is unnatural."

"Mark my words, he'll bring us misfortune."

Yet, your parents defend you fiercely. Your mother smiles warmly, pressing a bowl of steaming stew into your hands after a long day.

"You're our gift," she says, stroking your hair. "Never forget that."

Your father nods in agreement. "The others don't see what we see. You're our hope."

[Despite the rumors, you bury yourself in work, learning quickly. Farming, hunting, even basic survival skills—all mastered at an astonishing speed. The whispers grow louder, but your family's love is a fortress.]

[The skies turn gray, and the rains stop. Crops wither under the sun's relentless glare. The animals you once hunted disappear into the barren woods. Your village, once lively with the hum of daily work, now echoes with cries of hunger.

The village council gathers, their faces etched with desperation.]

"We must leave," one elder says. "This land can no longer sustain us."

Your father grips your shoulder. "We'll survive this, together."

[A caravan forms, a ragged line of wagons and people on foot. The journey begins. You walk alongside your family, carrying more than your share of supplies. Along the way, other displaced villagers join, swelling your numbers to over 200 souls. The road is harsh, the nights colder than you've ever known, but you endure.]

[The caravan grows more organized with each passing week. Your size and strength draw attention, and the hunting team invites you to join their ranks. You accept, eager to contribute.

Nights are spent in the wilderness, patrolling the camp's perimeter with a spear in hand. You become familiar with the sounds of the forest—the rustle of leaves, the distant howl of wolves.]

[Knowing that today is the day when whole migration group will be poisoned through food you act like you have eaten the food and don't explain others about the poison as you know this will expose yourself to the preparator and even if everyone dies at last nothing changes as this is only a copy world]

[Strider's heart raced as he lay on the ground, feigning unconsciousness alongside the 200 other migrators. The scene coursing through his mind made it difficult to remain still, but he knew the slightest movement might expose his ruse. Minutes passed in silence, thick with tension, until faint sounds of shuffling broke through the air. Thirty figures emerged, shrouded in dark, tattered robes that concealed them from head to toe. The stench of decay emanated from them, a nauseating smell of rotting corpses that made Strider's stomach churn. He resisted the overwhelming urge to gag, instead subtly raising a hand to pinch his nose. Remarkably, the figures paid him no mind, moving with a mechanical indifference as if they themselves were lifeless husks.]

[One by one, the fainted migrators were lifted and carried through the forest. Strider, suppressing his rising panic, was among those dragged along. After ten agonizing minutes, they reached a waterfall concealing a cavern. The sound of rushing water barely masked the dread that crept over him. Inside the cave, dimly lit by flickering torches, an old man stood hunched over an array of intricate symbols etched into the floor. His robes were frayed, his face obscured by shadows, but his sinister presence filled the space. The old man looked up at the procession and grinned, a smile that sent chills down Strider's spine.]

[The robed figures began placing the unconscious bodies in specific positions around the array. Strider, pretending to be limp, was placed among them. He dared not open his eyes but could feel the tension building as the old man began chanting in a strange, guttural language. The syllables reverberated in the cavern, and a strange energy filled the air. Moments later, Strider felt an unbearable itch spreading through his body. He risked a glance and was horrified to see the vitality draining from those around him. Skin withered, muscles atrophied, and vibrant life was replaced by cold, lifeless corpses. He realized with dawning horror that this was how he had died in the previous simulation.]

[Knowing there was no reason to maintain his pretense, Strider tried to rise and confront the old man. However, his body betrayed him—strength fled his limbs, and he collapsed, powerless. As despair settled in, a commanding voice echoed from the cave entrance.]

"How dare you harm the innocent!"

The old man froze mid-chant, his head snapping toward the entrance with a flicker of fear. Strider watched as a young man, clad in simple but sturdy armor, burst into the cave, sword drawn. Without hesitation, the newcomer charged the old man, his blade flashing toward the villain's neck. The old man barely dodged, hissing in fury. His ritual was interrupted, but the damage was done. More than 90% of the migrators had already perished, and the few survivors, including Strider, were barely clinging to life.

[The two men clashed fiercely, the young man sustaining severe injuries before finally plunging his sword into the old man's chest. The villain crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The young man staggered, his wounds catching up to him, and collapsed beside Strider. Before strider can provide support a blade made of blood peirces through the young man heart and another same old man emerges from another corner of the cave In his final moments, Strider saw the remaining survivors take their last breaths. Darkness claimed him as the cave grew silent, marked by the tragedy of the migration group's demise.]

[System Notification:]

You are dead.

Cause of Death: Unknown Ritual.

Copy Completion: 60%.

Note: knowing how you died is something to brag about.

Simulation Terminated.