Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

[Warning: Believer count is 0. Body will begin to destruct in 48 hours!]

The glowing system prompt hovered beside Ivaim, its cold, detached tone intensifying the weight pressing against his chest.

'How the hell did I end up here?'

He muttered under his breath, the words more for himself than anyone else.

He glanced around the room, his heart still pounding. The space was small, dark, and suffocatingly silent. Black stone walls surrounded him, their cold, rough surfaces amplifying the eerie atmosphere. The tiled floor, though neatly laid, was coated in a thick layer of dust, a testament to years of neglect.

A single table stood at the center of the room, a circular mat beneath it barely visible under the grime. Atop the table sat a candlestick, its flame flickering unnaturally bright—steady, as if it would never waver.

The light cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, providing just enough illumination for him to take in his surroundings.

'The last thing I remember... I was in Physics class...'

He thought, running a hand through his hair.

'I closed my eyes for a second, and now this?'

His first instinct was to assume he'd been kidnapped. But the glowing text hovering ominously beside him quickly shattered that theory.

[Warning: Believer count is 0. Body will begin to destruct in 48 hours!]

'Fantastic,' he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

'This is definitely one of those transmigration system clichés. Great. Just great.'

While Ivaim wasn't a die-hard fan of such stories, he'd read enough to recognize the signs. Unfortunately, theory wasn't doing much to calm the very real, very immediate panic bubbling in his chest.

He grabbed the candlestick from the table, gripping it tightly as he moved toward the door at the far end of the room. The wooden door looked old and fragile, its edges splintered from time. Relief flickered briefly in his chest—an exit.

"Okay, let's see where I am first," he muttered, reaching for the handle. But the door refused to budge, no matter how hard he pulled or twisted.

As frustration mounted, another prompt appeared.

[Would you like to exit your Fractured Reality?]

"Fractured Reality?" he repeated aloud, blinking. "What does that even mean?"

His instincts told him not to make any rash decisions. If this really was a system, maybe he could coax more information out of it.

"Uh... System Interface?" he said hesitantly.

To his relief, a detailed display materialized before his eyes:

[Title]: Spirit with Good Luck

[Reality Name]: Temple With Good Luck

[Rank]: Memory (Lower-tier)

[Abilities]

[Coin of Fortune]: Grants the user the ability to create a coin imbued with a minor blessing of good luck. Whoever wields it will experience a slight increase in fortune.

[Believer Count]: 0

[Authority Held]

Fortune: Memory-level (Lower-tier)

Ivaim scanned the details, his brows furrowing deeper with every line.

"Spirit with Good Luck?" he muttered.

'Seriously? What kind of luck lands you in a death countdown right out of the gate?'

As he stared at the interface, a sudden jolt of pain shot through his head, sharp and overwhelming.

[Memories have now synced.]

The words barely registered before he crumpled to his knees, clutching his temples as if trying to hold his skull together. A relentless flood of images and fragmented memories tore through his mind, crashing against his consciousness like a tidal wave.

It wasn't just pain—it was disorientation, confusion, and the overwhelming sensation of something alien forcing its way into his very being. A kaleidoscope of visions blurred before his mental eye: a temple bathed in flickering golden light, the glint of a coin spinning endlessly in the air, and the sharp crack of gunfire.

He gasped for air, shaking as the pain slowly faded. His body trembled as he stayed crouched on the dusty floor, trying to process what had just happened.

"I'm a... Reality Master?" he whispered, the words sounding strange in his own voice. "No... this body is. Or was."

Bits and pieces of memories came together in his mind, and the truth hit him like a punch to the gut.

"This body's a newborn?," he muttered, his voice shaky with disbelief.

'Why does it already look like it's in its teenage years...'

He remembered now—this "Reality Master" had been born only three hours ago.

It had just started its existence when a high school student stumbled into its domain, a place known as the "Temple With Good Luck." The student had entered through a special item, a coin-shaped Threshold that acted as a key to this reality.

The intruder wasn't here to explore; he came to kill. Armed with a knife and pistol, the teenager attacked without hesitation. Reality Masters were rare and valuable. Killing one meant claiming their power, and this student was willing to risk everything for it.

But the newborn Reality Master wasn't defenseless. Using its only ability, [Coin of Fortune], it stole the intruder's knife and managed to strike back, killing him. But the fight wasn't without cost—several gunshots had hit the newborn, fatally wounding it.

The original Reality Master's short life ended moments later.

And then... Ivaim woke up in its place.

"Unlucky from the start," he muttered bitterly, his voice thick with frustration.

'Spirit with Good Luck, huh? What a joke...'

He looked around the room, his mind racing. This body was running out of time. From the memories, he knew that Reality Masters needed believers to survive. Without people to sustain their existence, they would vanish within days.

"Two days," he muttered, gripping the candlestick beside him. His hands tightened around it as if holding on could stop the panic creeping in.

The temple was eerily quiet. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across cracked stone walls. Gold patterns lined the room, but they were tarnished, dull, and fading—just like the Reality Master itself.

"So this is mine now," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This fractured reality... and I have no believers, no real power, and no time."

His thoughts turned to the attack. Why would someone take such a risk? The memories gave him the answer. Killing a Reality Master meant inheriting their power, their fractured reality, and sometimes their abilities. It was dangerous, but the rewards made it worth the gamble.

Ivaim stood up shakily, forcing himself to focus. Self-pity wouldn't help him now. He needed to figure out how to survive, and fast.

"Seriously," he muttered, rubbing his temples, "I just wanted to get through physics class..."

He thought about home—his room, his books, the boring routine of school. It all felt so far away, like a dream he couldn't reach anymore.

'I guess this is where I'm supposed to start dreaming about getting back home, huh?' he thought, his voice bitter but steady.

He turned toward the heavy wooden door at the far end of the room. It stood there, silent and foreboding, waiting for him to act.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the rough wood.

"Alright," he muttered softly, forcing himself to stand straighter.

'Let's see what kind of mess I've been dragged into.'