by Sun Wyzzard
his skull on a Parisian sidewalk. It should have been the end of the story. Instead, it was the beginning of a much worse one. Summoned before a goddess who cannot stop laughing at the manner of his death, Julien learns that his soul was never meant to leave the world so soon, and that the debt will be repaid with reincarnation into another world entirely. As a reward. Or a punishment. It's hard to tell which, once the goddess decides, almost as an afterthought, that the vacant body waiting for him belongs to the very earthworm that killed him. He wakes blind, limbless, and three inches long, buried in the soil floor of what he slowly realizes is a dungeon, equipped with a single, absurd stat: a 100% Critical Hit Rate. It should make him unstoppable. It doesn't. A critical strike from a creature with one point of strength is still barely a strike at all, and every attack carries the very real risk of ending in a monster's stomach before it ever lands. To survive, Julien will have to relearn what it means to fight, to hunt, and to think, using instincts that aren't fully his own, a body with no eyes and no mercy built into it, and a broken, overpowered system that seems to want something from him every time he draws blood. Excess damage. Warnings he doesn't understand. Whispers of evolution. Somewhere beneath the world he used to know, a worm with a human mind and a goddess's clerical error running through his veins is about to discover that in a dungeon, the smallest creatures are sometimes the ones worth fearing most, if they can just survive long enough to become something else.
