Will You Become a God in a Doomed World? (1)

It's been a month since I last stepped outside. I'm out of food. No water either. I'm fucked. If I stay like this, I'll die. I want to go out, but I'm scared. Standing at the crossroads between getting bitten by a zombie and turning into one, or starving to death, I thrashed around the house, not wanting to choose either. Maybe there's something here? I still had two choices: conserve my remaining energy and slowly waste away, or burn it all rummaging through the house. I didn't want to get bitten and have my flesh torn off. I didn't want to wither away bit by bit either. So I rummaged through the house. Diligently, every nook and cranny. Didn't find anything useful in the end. The last thing I discovered was Grandfather's relic box.

My parents died in an accident when I was little. I lived with Grandpa just the two of us. He was an archaeologist, and I grew up listening to his exciting stories from dig sites around the world. I miss Grandpa. When my parents passed, I was too young—two or three years old. I didn't even grasp the concept of death back then. Suddenly they were gone, and Grandpa said I cried looking for Mom, but I don't remember. When Grandpa died from pancreatic cancer in just six months, it felt like the world was collapsing. The pillar that protected me was gone. Nothing felt solid anymore, so I quit everything and holed up at home. Sure, I could've met friends, grieved, cried it out—but as a guy, I couldn't show that side. So I stayed alone. Friends reached out, but I didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠want to see them. I numbed myself with movies, anime, dramas, games—whatever I could get my hands on. After months, I finally pulled myself together, thinking maybe I should do something, meet up with friends. That's when the zombie apocalypse hit. With Grandpa gone too, it felt like the world was royally screwing me over.

I was shocked and even went out to the convenience store at first. The first few days were okay. I could buy food with money. But exactly three days in, the store owner had turned into a zombie. The next day, the windows were smashed, everything looted. Zombies started multiplying on the streets. I saw them tearing into some poor bastard from afar. Seeing movie shit in real life? Pure terror. No way out of the house anyway. My place is surrounded by a massive horde. Open the front door, and I'm zombie chow. When Grandpa's mobility got bad before the cancer, we moved to this ground-floor apartment in Sane Ddeul Apartments D-1—great then, but in a zombie apocalypse, first floor is zombie central, welcome all. No idea how the neighbors or upper floors are faring. Starved or holding out, but not for long. The whole complex is zombie-packed; no one's getting out. No more food or water at home. This is as fucked as it gets.

On my lap: a fancy 18th-century antique wooden box. Looked like a treasure chest from a fantasy game boss room. Not huge—about the size of two stacked Choco Pies. Grandpa probably picked it up on one of his archaeology trips; expensive shit. It's the only thing he left me. After he passed, my heart hurt too much to even open it. I miss Grandpa. I opened the box. Inside were little statues. Like miniature versions of famous ancient sculptures carved by master artisans. Underneath, a thick book. Foreign language, couldn't read it, but if Grandpa put it in his relic box, it had to be valuable. I set the statues on the floor and pulled out the book. Heavy. Thick leather cover bound shut with a leather strap. I undid the strap and opened it.

...Korean? No. Some hieroglyphs, but why was I reading it in Korean? I flipped the page.

Before I could even process it, the book started glowing. Lights flickered. Computer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turned on by itself. The room brightened and darkened repeatedly. Power's been out forever? Ah, went dark again. Beep—doot doot doo~ ...But only the computer came on. I grabbed the Book of Ruin and approached. How the hell? Maybe one last game before I die...

Rubbed my eyes in disbelief, but I saw the book and computer connected by some weird energy. Like transparent laundry lines strung between them. ...What the. I propped the book next to the monitor and sat down. Clicked the mouse, tapped spacebar. Nothing. "...What the fuck..."

...Hero Statues...? The statues on my bedroom floor. Heavy marble minis. Four of them. All identical twins draped in thick cloaks. I lined them up in front of the book. Take them up, it said. Picked one up. "...Got it."

"...College student."

"...Male."

It kept repeating, so that wasn't it. "...Mage."

...Nephheka? I said mage. Huh? The statue in my hand started carving itself down. Stone dust poured out. Then it became a young male mage in robes, staff in hand, big satchel with straps slung over his side. Staring at the dust on my lap, I couldn't believe it. No sound either. Froze, staring at the statue.

"...Kepher."

The marble mage statue in my hand twitched. Slipped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from my grasp, hit the floor with a thud. Pushed up, stood, walked forward. Grew bigger. Almost my size—no, skin turning flesh tone, looking exactly like me. Turned back, met my eyes. Eyes glowed white. I am me. I am a mage. I'm in robes, holding a long persea wood staff in one hand. I'm standing, staring at myself. The me in the chair sits relaxed, eyes closed. "...Fucking insane."

Tattoos on both arms. Tattoos...? Like an interface? Weird hieroglyphs, but I knew their meaning instantly. Left arm.

Coins—I got that. The hieroglyph was 𓊹 (Neter). Something divine? Maybe EXP? Right arm.

I understood the 𓄿 𓎛 𓈐 as Sand Path. Pronounced Seti Waat or whatever—didn't matter. The me in the chair looked comfy. Even smiling. Weird feeling. I'm clearly this body, the mage Nephheka, but my back and hands felt seated, weighted down. Felt the staff's texture too. Sand Path was my spell. This body... it's mine, but off somehow. "...If this body dies, what happens?"

...Ah, that explained it. So even if this body dies, I respawn here, in front of the chair-me. ...No reason to hesitate? Zombies scary? Nah. I'm invincible. I flung open the front door and stepped out. Zombies right there. Slammed it shut before they could rush in. Click—last batteries locked it. "Uuuuugh—" They all turned to me, arms out. Hallway and beyond the walls crawling with them. Die and not die, right? Fine then. Aimed staff left down the hall. "Sand Path." Staff flashed. Zombies already grabbing my shoulders, waist. Scratched? Felt it, but no pain. Light like a flashlight straight ahead. Magic activated? Crunch, crackle from my body. No pain. No hassle. Moved fine. So, spell. How? Ah, like that. Usage flooded my mind. "...Hm."

Planted staff on ground. Tip touched, light waved forward like a tide, turning all zombies to sand. Piles crumbled. "...Whoa."

MP down 1. Now the rear. Quit grabbing me, assholes. Biting, clawing, swarming—messy. About to fall. Stepped back. "Sand Path." Light straight wave, zombies to sand.

Figure coins later. Range sucks—1m wide, 10m long. But anything in it turns to sand. OP as fuck. So damn fun. 1 MP left. Use it, die whatever. Ah, left arm interface.

...HP at 2. Looking at my body—chunks torn everywhere. Gut and waist ripped out... no guts. I'm sand too. Sand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dripping—huh? Sand from me vanishes before hitting ground? Ah. Zombies over the wall. "Uuuuugh—" "Sand Path."

Vision blurred. Body crumbling to sand. Opened eyes. Home. Me in the chair. Oh...! So that's how it works. Insane...! Grandpa. Gramps... My dear Gramps. Thank you. For this... this gift... Even after you're gone, you're still watching over me.