"Life without something," they say, "is black and white." A tired cliché, perhaps. But what the hell was this? When I opened my eyes, the very world was a canvas painted in shades of death.
The sky, a sickly, pale gray, churned with howling winds that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself. Between the skeletal, towering primitive trees, countless spectral beings, translucent and grotesque, drifted like forgotten dreams. Gray and white, the colors of oblivion, stretched endlessly, consuming every corner of my vision. Not a single vibrant hue, not a hint of life's normal palette, existed. It was all like a 50s cartoon!
A biting cold, sharp as a winter blade, soaked into my very essence. I longed to shiver, to hunch my shoulders against the frigid assault, but then a horrifying realization dawned: the cold wasn't just external. It emanated from within me.
I looked down. My chest was a shimmering, translucent void. Through it, I could see the gnarled roots of the ancient trees, the swirling mists. Faint murmurs, like the distant sigh of the wind or the tortured whispers of lost souls, brushed against my non-existent ears. A wave of nausea, profound and unsettling, twisted in my gut.
No, "gut" wasn't right. I didn't even know if I was human anymore. This… this was a ghost. A complete, utter ghost!
"OH—NO—" The scream tore from my spectral throat, a soundless shriek of pure, unadulterated terror. "Why did I die right after I woke up?!"
Duke clutched his head, or where his head should have been, his translucent hands phasing through his own skull. The reality was a crushing weight he couldn't bear. A guttural roar, a raw, primal cry of anguish, ripped through the desolate air. David Edmund Duke was furious. Duke was weeping, a torrent of silent, spectral tears.
Yet, in that moment of absolute despair, something shifted. A sudden, sharp electronic chime sliced through the wailing wind, followed by a voice, clear and unnervingly sterile, that resonated directly in Duke's mind.
"Congratulations, Host, for successfully traversing countless light-years and spatial barriers to reach the world of Azeroth. As one of billions of successful crossers, you will receive technical support from the [Strongest King Assistance System]."
"Uh, what the hell?" Duke blurted out, a subconscious reflex. To his astonishment, the series of obscure, guttural syllables he uttered were perfectly understood by the system's voice.
"Would the Host like to name this System AI"
'Uh, what the hell?'
Duke resisted the urge to scream again. This broken system had a limited IQ? He was trapped as a ghost in a monochrome hellscape, and its first concern was naming itself after his bewildered expletive? But then, one word from the system voice pierced through his exasperation: 'Azeroth'.
"No, hold the naming. I'm in Azeroth? World of Warcraft?"
"It has been detected that a game memory in the Host's cognitive archives bears a strong resemblance to this world… Analyzing… Preliminary assessment complete. 80% overlap between this world and the Azeroth depicted in the MMORPG game [World of Warcraft] within the Host's memory. Further details require personal exploration."
A cold dread began to seep into Duke's soul, far deeper than the environmental chill. He finally had a preliminary understanding of his situation. And it was terrifying.
Damn it. This wasn't some fantasy paradise. This was a death trap! A world where cataclysmic wars erupted with the regularity of seasons, where ancient evils stirred, and where the very air reeked of impending doom.
"But the most crucial thing is… I'm dead! I died the moment I arrived! Other transmigrators become kings, or invincible heroes, or some 'Mary Sue' or 'Galen Trollbane' archetype! Why am I a bloody ghost right after I crossed over?!" Duke's roar echoed, filled with indignant rage.
"Apologies, Host. Upon your initial transmigration, you encountered a particularly aggressive wild boar. You were successfully terminated by said wild boar."
'God damn it Lancel! I got gored by a boar!'
Another gust of frigid wind swept through the desolate cemetery. Duke felt his young, kind heart—or what remained of it—suffer a catastrophic 100,000 points of critical damage. An inexplicable, hollow echo reverberated within his translucent chest.
Killed by a wild boar…Killed by a wild boar…Wild boar…One minute I was alive… the next, I was pork chops for a level 1 quest mob.
The system AI's voice chimed in again, oblivious to his existential crisis. "You are currently located in the cemetery. Would the Host prefer to revive on the spot, or move your soul to retrieve your body and then revive?"
"Damn it! I can be resurrected?! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"
"You did not inquire." The system's monotonous, mechanical tone seemed to convey a hint of aggrieved logic, making it all the more infuriating.
"Of course, I'll revive on the spo—wait!" Duke almost made the impulsive choice, but a flicker of game knowledge, a distant memory from his past life, surfaced. In World of Warcraft, resurrecting at the graveyard inflicted a 25% durability loss on equipment and a 10-minute 'Resurrection Sickness' debuff, weakening all physical attributes. Running back to your corpse, while slower, only incurred a 10% durability loss.
"Let me ask first," Duke demanded, his spectral form tensing, "what's the difference between resurrecting at my corpse and reviving on the spot?"
"Ding… Host's soul integrity compromised… Death hazard assessment initiated… Comparing pre- and post-death data… It has been determined that death will result in the permanent loss of 'humanity' and 'memory'. Estimated loss: 10% humanity and memory for a single ordinary death. Even if you retrieve your corpse for revival, your humanity and memory will be permanently reduced by 1%. If you revive on the spot in the cemetery, you will permanently lose 20% of your humanity and memory."
'Damn, is this Warcraft or Dark Souls?!'
If Duke could sweat, he would have been drenched. The system's cold, clinical explanation was a chilling revelation. He hadn't noticed it before, but now, a terrifying void opened in his mind. He'd had a beloved dog, a loyal companion he'd raised from a puppy for sixteen years. At this very moment, he couldn't recall its name. The realization was a punch to his non-existent gut.
This was far more troublesome than he'd imagined!
And the system wasn't done. It delivered the final, fatal blow.
"According to calculations, if the Host loses more than 40% of its humanity, most creatures in this world will be unwilling to communicate with the Host. If humanity loss exceeds 90%, it is projected that the Host will transform into a low-level ghoul, condemned to wander this world forever until both body and soul are utterly annihilated."
A cold shudder, far more profound than any physical chill, spread through Duke's very soul. He didn't make an immediate decision. He needed to assess the situation first.
Guided by the faint, ethereal tether connecting his soul to his physical remains, Duke began to move. His spectral form glided effortlessly over the desolate ground. The mass grave where he'd awakened wasn't far from his body, only about 300 meters. He covered the distance in a matter of moments.
As he drifted into the vicinity of his corpse, the system's voice chimed again. "Do you wish to revive here?"
Duke remained silent. He observed.
This wasn't a game anymore. He wasn't a player hunched over a small 19-inch monitor, manipulating a digital avatar with WASD keys and a mouse. He was here. He had truly entered this world, a ghost in a land of the living, or rather, the dying.
He had no idea where he was on Azeroth's sprawling, chaotic timeline. He only knew the broad strokes: a world constantly teetering on the brink of collapse. Past wars, future scourges like Arthas, the bastard who would spread plague and blight, and the insidious whispers of ancient gods stirring beneath the earth. If he didn't fight tooth and nail to make a name for himself, he'd die not just ten times, but a hundred, a thousand times over.
Forget the distant, world-ending threats. The immediate danger was enough. Just seeing the wild boar that had ended his brief transmigration—a beast with a back as tall as a grown man when on all fours, and six tusks like sharpened daggers curving from its mouth—Duke knew this world would not be easy.
He held back from immediate resurrection. The violent wild boar, a creature larger than an adult rhinoceros, represented a first-class threat. Most young people who played games weren't exactly peak physical specimens. Looking at the dense, unforgiving woods and the rugged, uneven terrain around him, Duke knew that if he revived randomly, he'd likely be killed again within a few steps, perhaps even by the same monstrous pig.
"Patience! Calm down!" Duke repeated to himself, a mantra against the rising panic.
Ten minutes crawled by, each second an eternity. Duke's spectral patience wore thin, replaced by a growing, desperate frustration. That bastard wild boar refused to leave. Even though it seemed to have no further interest in his disemboweled corpse, it stubbornly remained nearby, grunting as it dug at the dirt with its long tusks.
Just as Duke felt utterly lost, a flash of vibrant color, a stark contrast to the oppressive monochrome, caught his attention. A figure, beautiful and agile, stepped into his sight.
Her image was subtly different from the one he remembered from the game, but Duke recognized her instantly. There was no mistaking the regal bearing, the sharp, intelligent eyes, the aura of a seasoned hunter.
Alleria Windrunner. The most famous high elf ranger general in World of Warcraft.