by PenguinBird
My life was a slow-motion funeral. Nineteen, broke, wiping drool in a nursing home. Then the dreams started: a jungle that felt too real, a river that could kill, a monster with obsidian teeth. I charged it, told it to eat me, and woke up changed. So I went back. I took a scale from something so massive it swallowed gods whole. Lashed it to a stick and called it The Last Meal. The world glitched.A pop-up appeared: 〈〈 SYSTEM INTEGRATION COMPLETE 〉〉 Turns out I'm not dreaming. I'm an appetizer in a reality designed to digest me. Instance 2,083. Unawakened. Survival rate: 34.7%. The menu says I'm a snack. But I've already tasted something bigger than the System's hunger. I've got a god's scale, a head full of defiance, and nineteen years of rage with nowhere else to go. It's time to flip the table.The System doesn't know what it just woke up.And I'm hungry.
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