The Supreme Monarch of Continuum

Continuum reincarnated himself on Earth, a young, volatile planet only a few billion years into existence. In cosmic terms, it was barely formed. A half-finished sculpture of fire, ash, and rot. Humanity, the dominant species, was nowhere near where it should have been. Progress existed, yes, but buried beneath the weight of chaos. Greed. Division. Desperation. A species with godlike potential, shackled by its own ignorance.

He emerged in the middle of a street in Boston, Massachusetts. Cars honked. People shouted into glowing rectangles. The sun scorched the pavement, but no one looked up. Eyes were locked on screens, mouths moving in silent conversations, oblivious to the shifting world around them. The dungeons that scarred the city, great, gaping holes in the veil of normalcy, were ignored like background noise. Even death no longer impressed them.

Continuum walked forward, blending in perfectly. His form was tailored to this age: dark hoodie, worn jeans, black boots. Nothing regal. Nothing divine. Just another face in the crowd. Yet every step he took was laced with calculation. He moved through the city with calm detachment, eyes scanning every corner, studying their mannerisms, their habits, their decay.

He stopped as he watched a man finish drinking a bottle of soda and, without pause, toss it into the street. The bottle bounced off the sidewalk, landed in a puddle of oil and dirt. The man didn't look back. No one did.

Continuum narrowed his eyes. The planet lived, he could feel it breathing beneath his feet. Yet its caretakers treated it like filth. He stepped forward, bent down, and picked up the bottle. He found a rusted trash can nearby and dropped it in. The sound it made, a soft clink, was hollow, but satisfying. It stirred something in him. Accomplishment. A sensation dulled by immortality but sparked here, in the grime of Earth.

Then, he saw them.

A group of young men standing near an alleyway entrance. Five in total. Tall. Broad. Confident. Their skin varied, some white, one Hispanic, two black, but their expressions were the same. Predatory. The circle they formed was tight, suffocating. In the center stood someone smaller. A boy. Seventeen at best. Blond hair. Pale skin. Glasses too large for his thin face. Cargo pants, polo shirt. Out of place. Easy prey.

Continuum drifted closer, weaving through the foot traffic. No one else noticed. No one cared.

The largest of the group leaned in toward the boy, arm slung over his shoulders like a noose. His face hovered inches away, teeth bared in a grin that didn't reach his eyes. His voice came out low, guttural, soaked in venom: "You know," he said, lips curled in mock affection, "you've been a bad boy lately. And I think you need to be punished. Don't you agree?"

The boy gave a slow, reluctant nod. Not submission. Resignation. He already knew what came next.

Continuum passed by them, head turned just enough to catch a glimpse out of his peripheral vision. And there they were, faint, but visible to him, thin red slashes along the boy's neck and scalp. Spiritual wounds. Psychic lacerations. Signs of torment layered beneath the skin. Most humans couldn't see it. Wouldn't see it. But Continuum wasn't most humans.

His pace didn't falter, but his mind sharpened. He pivoted his course, slipping behind the crowd, eyes locked on the group from a distance. They led the boy toward the alley, laughing as they walked, their backs turned to the city that would pretend it never saw them.

Continuum followed in silence, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze hard. This wasn't curiosity. It was confirmation. He had wondered how far Earth had fallen in his absence. Now he knew.

He stepped into the alley's mouth like a shadow folding into darker shadow. Trash bins overflowed. Steam hissed from a broken pipe. And there, beneath a flickering light, five boys had surrounded the smaller one like wolves.

The short kid was already crumpled on the ground, curled into himself. Blood dripped from his nose. His limbs twitched every time another kick landed. Each strike was deliberate, paced; meant to draw it out.

The tall one, the leader, stood above him. His smile wasn't one of joy but cruelty, carved deep into his face like it had been practiced. He squatted to the boy's eye level and summoned a fireball, palm glowing with a pulsing orb of heat. The air warped around it. The flames danced inches from the boy's face.

The boy recoiled, whimpering through a cracked lip. But the tall one didn't let him go. He grabbed the back of his neck and dragged him closer. The fire hissed louder. Tiny burns blossomed on the boy's cheek and forehead.

That was enough.

Continuum reached to the ground, fingers curling around a rock. He snapped his wrist, and the stone whistled through the air before striking the tall one directly in the eye.

A sickening crunch.

The fireball vanished instantly. The tall boy reeled back, screaming, a howl of pain so primal it cut through the city's chaos like a blade. "AHH! What the hell! Who did that?!"

He clutched his face, blood pouring between his fingers. His voice turned ragged, animalistic. He collapsed to one knee, writhing, teeth gritted against agony.

Continuum stepped into view, silent and calm, his hoodie slightly swaying with the alley's heat. He wasn't a hero. Not here. Not now. He was just a man, an immortal god wearing flesh, who'd grown tired of watching.

Then, something shifted in the air.

---

[System Notification]:

Congratulation!

You have awakened.

You may now access your stats by saying: "Character Information."

---

Continuum blinked. His brow furrowed slightly.

Of course, the system. He had almost forgotten. Every being under Moanrch rank was governed by the interface: players, monsters, even world bosses. Monarchs were excluded, as they had once written the system's framework themselves. It was equal parts gift and manipulation, an elegant control system masked as opportunity.

Before he could speak, two of the boys charged him. Neither of them were awakened, but their size and rage made them dangerous.

He ducked the first strike with minimal effort, but the second boy caught him clean across the face. His head snapped to the side. Pain blossomed, brief but sharp. He stumbled back a step, spitting blood, but kept his footing. Eyes narrowed. Posture reset.

He had awakened. That meant a skill was now available.

All players received one starting skill: either active or passive. Some lucky few received unique skills, rarer than stars in a void sky.

Continuum moved. He lunged at the first boy, then feinted. Predictably, the second rushed in to follow up. Continuum spun low, delivering a precise roundhouse kick to the first one's jaw. Teeth flew. The boy crumpled like a snapped branch.

The second one froze. Too late. Continuum swept his legs and cracked him across the chin with an elbow on the way down. He dropped, unconscious before his head hit the pavement.

Then came the real threat.

Two more boys entered the alley. Both awakened. One conjured a roaring fireball, the other summoned jagged water spikes that hovered midair. They launched their attacks simultaneously.

The ground ruptured. Heat surged. A boom echoed down the alley and rattled nearby windows.

Continuum dashed sideways and dove. Asphalt cracked where he'd stood a moment earlier. As he rose, he grabbed two rocks from the ground, each heavy and jagged.

The first he hurled at the fire-user, slamming into his shoulder with a sickening thud. It staggered him, just enough.

Continuum closed the gap with the water-user and slammed a right hook into his face. The boy's head whipped back as he fell, limp and unconscious.

The second rock flew, striking the fire-user dead-center in the forehead. The sound of skull meeting stone echoed louder than the previous explosion. He dropped like a marionette with its strings severed.

Then came the voice: calm, clear, final: "Dominion Protocol: Absorb."

Continuum extended both hands. Their bodies lit briefly with pale light as energy funneled into his core. The skills fused into his own.

Only one remained: the tall boy, groaning in the corner, blinded in one eye and barely able to breathe. He tried to summon another fireball, his hand shaking.

Continuum sidestepped it.

Then responded in kind.

A crimson orb of flame formed in his hand: more stable, more lethal. He launched it with purpose. It struck the boy clean in the chest. His body convulsed, then went still. Smoke rose from his shirt. His soul faded.

Another absorption. More power. More refinement.

When the police arrived minutes later, they found three corpses and two unconscious delinquents. No sign of a perpetrator. Only the echo of violence.

Continuum carried the injured boy through another alley: quieter, abandoned. He set him down gently against a brick wall and waited.

Then he said the words: "Character Information."

A blue screen materialized in front of him, filled with detailed lines of data.

---

[Character Information]:

Name: __

Race: Human

Age: 22

Level: 2

Class: None

Title: __

[Attributes]:

HP: 81 (-19)

MP: 25

STR: 10

AGI: 13

DEX: 15

INT: 50

PER: 10

WIL: 10

VIT: 5

[Unused Stat Points: 1]

[Skills]:

[You currently own: 2 Active / 0 Passive / 1 Unique System Skills]

[Active Skills]:

Fireball (E-rank)

Launches a concentrated orb of flame that explodes on impact, dealing AoE fire damage.

MP Cost: 7

Water Spike (F-rank)

Summon a high-pressure spike of water from below the target to impale and knock up.

MP Cost: 5

[Passive Skills]:

[Unique Skills]:

Dominion Protocol (F-rank)

Absorb, store, and fuse skills from defeated enemies.

MP Cost (Fusion): 30

[Equipment]:

Head: None

Body: None

Weapon: Body

Accessories: None

---

He studied the screen. Some sections were blank. No name. No title. He thought for a moment. "Continuum" didn't suit the mortal world. "John" felt hollow.

Then, voices drifted from the nearby street. A girl's laughter. "Oh, Klaus. I could easily beat you in beer-pong."

The name echoed in his head: Klaus.

He smiled faintly.

---

[System Update]:

Name Registration complete.

You are now recognized as: Klaus.

All system references will reflect this designation moving forward.

---

Klaus focused his gaze on the Attributes section, eyes narrowing in consideration. One unspent stat point hovered above the list, a single fragment of power waiting to be placed. His eyes shifted toward his MP stat.

The cost of using the fusion feature from Dominion Protocol was thirty mana. With only twenty-five at his disposal, it wasn't usable yet. The choice was obvious.

"Allocate stat point to MP," he murmured.

The number flickered.

---

MP: 26

---

Still short, but one step closer.

Then, he analyzed his HP stat more closely. It had increased slightly, now listed as 90, but with a -10 next to it. His earlier value had been 81. That meant the number in parentheses indicated current HP lost or gained, relative to his max. It wasn't a static number, it adjusted with his state in real time. So if someone had 100 HP, and the readout showed +10, then their effective maximum would be 110 until that temporary bonus faded. His deduction was clean. Efficient. The system, for all its complexity, obeyed logic.

Next, his attention moved to the skill that was rapidly becoming his foundation: Dominion Protocol. He selected it, pulling up the detailed description.

---

Dominion Protocol (F-rank) 

Absorb, store, and fuse skills from defeated enemies. 

MP Cost (Fusion): 30

Core Functions:

-> Absorb (Active): Upon defeating an enemy, their core skill may be absorbed if its rank is equal to or lower than the Dominion Protocol's current rank.

-> Store (Passive): Can store up to 3 absorbed skills at a time. Attempting to store more requires an upgrade to the Protocol's rank. Older skills will be overwritten unless preserved through special means.

-> Fuse (Unique): Combine two stored skills to create a new one. Results vary based on skill compatibility, elemental synergy, and user affinity. Attempting to fuse more than two skills requires an upgrade to the Protocol's rank.

---

Klaus nodded to himself. This wasn't just a utility skill: it was a growth engine. A means of evolution, designed to adapt, mutate, and enhance his arsenal. Absorb. Store. Fuse. The possibilities stretched far beyond basic combat. Strategy, timing, compatibility, Dominion Protocol was a skill for a tactician, not a brute.

The corner of his mouth lifted, ever so slightly.

Just as he began mentally strategizing the types of elemental combinations he might try, the boy in front of him stirred.