The sky had turned red as the three moons passed overhead. I sank to my knees, coughing blood that tasted metallic on my tongue. Spears from shadowed figures pierced my body—one through my leg, two through my feet, another in my abdomen, and six more driven deep into my back, passing through my chest and sides. Warm blood flowed freely from every wound, soaking the ground beneath me. The figures' wide, twisted smiles stretched across their faces, as if my pain were their amusement.

The shadowy figures erupted into laughter. "Hee-hee-hee… hah… hah… hah…" 

"What am I…? How can I escape?" The question echoed through my mind, numb and desperate, even as another spear tore into me. I had already died fifty-six times trying to escape from this place, and in countless ways. yet here I was again, each death as painful and real as the first. Every pain, every suffering, replayed itself as if mocking me.

"How… can I escape… in this place… in this... novel?" I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My body trembled, and the world around me started to swayed and darken.

Tick-tack, tick-tack… the sound of the old clock echoed in my head again, signaling that I was about to be pulled back into the novel, forced to start everything from the very beginning once more.

As the light and laughter faded, I no longer felt the pain. Instead, I found myself once again in a familiar, old-looking house. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and dust, settling into every corner. The walls were cracked and worn, its the house that belongs to one of the Vixxon, where the last descendant of the **Heartless children of endless warfare** live. Right now, I'm inside the body of that last descendant and the first fated enemy of Levis Godswork—the main character of the novel **The Peak of Endless Warfare,** or simply P.E.W.

"I was alive once again, yet still trapped. The world I had known from the main character's perspective was gone, replaced by a story not of my choosing. I realized, with a sinking sense of inevitability, that every story holds mysteries far deeper and far darker than the main character could ever perceive, secrets that cannot be contained by their perspective—or even by the eyes of the reader."

Let's rewind to six months ago back on earth.

My name is John Niagobert, 22 years old. I'm a fourth-year agriculture student. I have a small build and stand only about five foot four. I live alone in a small apartment near the university where I study.

Right now, I'm standing in front of the refrigerator, staring into the cold, empty shelves.

"I don't have any food left," I muttered. "I used all my money on tuition."

My stomach growled. "I'm hungry… but I'm broke," I said, staring at the empty table. "I want potato fries—but I'm broke. I want fried eggs with tomatoes—but I'm broke…" I sighed and looked at the rice cooker. "Maybe rice with salt and water is enough for dinner… and sugar water for dessert."

I scooped the remaining rice from the rice cooker and placed it into my blue bowl, adding a pinch of salt and a splash of water. I sprinkled a tiny amount of sugar into my cup of water, then picked up my spoon and started eating. Between bites, I muttered jokingly, "There's no better feeling than having a full meal," even though I knew it was a bit of a lie—I had just lost my allowance after contributing to the school projects. The thought made me sigh, but at least the simple comfort of warm rice and sweet water made the loss feel slightly less bitter.

After eating, I slumped back on my chair and opened my phone. I was reading a novel called P.E.W, written by an author named unknownauthor010. I had been a fan since I was eighteen, and now I am twenty-two. and somehow, it even got a game adaptation.

"A new chapter again chapter 2123, this guy really is Creative and hard working," I whispered, smiling faintly as I scrolled to the next chapter.

In that novel, eight kingdoms, each the size of a supercontinent, constantly battled, spilling blood without end.

**The Noviq** – demi-humans, barbaric creatures.

**The Hell** – demons and sin incarnate, purgatory.

**The Heaven**– angels of justice. Kingdom of the holiest.

**The Parrenia** – kingdom that shrouded in mystery and unknown.

**The Ixa** – the wasteland, a dumping ground for the unwanted.

**The Arwan** – a kingdom of martial arts.

**The Liphas** – the kingdom of dreams and hope.

**The Sea** – the kingdom that holding secrets beneath its waves.

The story begins in Parrenia, where the main character, Levis, is studying at the royal academy. With the other royalties In this kingdom, there are over five great royal families in Parrenia.

**Vixxon** – the heartless children of endless warfare of the west. The hunters.

**Laplace** – twisted magicians of the South, master sorcerer of dark and forbidden magic.

**Midas** – cunning merchant puppeteers of the Central lands, controlling wealth and influence.

**Lionheart** – the lawless pride of the East. 

**Torres** – defenders of the North, champions of injustice.

Each family moves through the kingdom like pieces on a chessboard—scheming, fighting, killing and waiting for the chance to dominate. And in the midst of this chaos, Levis walks the halls of the royal academy, where the string of fate are already have been decided.

I found myself oddly captivated by the novel and its characters. But there's one in particular who keeps me questioning—one of the villains, or perhaps just an NPC—named William Vixxon. He's a descendant of one of the great families and currently a second-year student at the Royal Academy, while Lewis and the others are still in their first year. Although UnknownAuthor010 is usually very detailed in both his writing and game planning design, there was something peculiar here. Instead of the usual phrasing like "DEFEAT IT!" that appears with other enemies like the enemy boss in each arc, even the strongest ones, the first released game—or the novel—only ever said of William: "KILL HIM!!!"..."DONT LET HIM GET AWAY!!!"

The writer—created the leveling system of the novel, where white stars (☆) and black stars (★) are used. There are twelve white stars and twelve black stars, ranked from Omega to Alpha. The darker the star, the more dangerous it is. William Vixxon was assigned only one white star (☆), the lowest difficulty.

But what keep me bothering *WHY,* he wasn't that strong. His design resembled a man in his teens, with dark charcoal hair. The distinct trait of his bloodline was their eyes, its pitch black, and said to grow even darker with age, until they reflected nothing but void. His face looked like he hadn't slept in years, the skin beneath his eyes buried under layers of dark circles. In the game, he seemed to have no limits to pain tolerance, but in reality, there was nothing more to him.

His background was shrouded in mystery. Most details were absent. It wasn't until chapter 191 of the novel that the MC discovered that: The western lands, where the Vixxon clan once resided, appeared to have been destroyed fifteen years ago, when William have died in his hand just 1 year ago. In the game, this piece of history didn't exist, simply because UnknownAuthor010 had no raw material or information to include to the game or the novel arc—it had never been explored, as the MC never ventured into the West EVER again.

But the fans never take it seriously, because to the P.E.W. game, vixxon family is nothing and William is more like a joke as the npc villain for almost all the players killing him. Throwing anything like chairs, tables, toilet because he is the easiest enemy and don't get any knock back or get stunned he just fall If he died, there is no pattern in his attack because he just swing it no defense, or parry. Just offensive.

Alright… this is taking too long. Let's rewind three months. Back on Earth, back home, to where it all started before entering in that bastard William body.

In the big old house/mansion, the sound of that old antique mantel clock still echoing loudly through the halls, tik... tak... tik... tak..., the sound never faded, no matter how far I walked. Its wooden casing was dark and worn, the glass face cloudy with age, and the brass hands moved with a slow deliberate motion.

Grandma eliza had kept it in her house for as long as I could remember. Yet every time I heard it. It always gives me goosebumps, because deep down, I knew that clock was a curse antique.

Right now, I'm here to visit Grandma. She has always been cold, picky, and strict—especially when it comes to manners. But even with all that, she was the one who stayed by my side whenever I was alone. No matter how many times I stumbled, she was the only person I could always return to. 

Before she died, she called me to her side one last time.

My uncle, José, stepped out of her room and wiped the tears from his eyes. "John… your here. Your grandma is calling for you," he said, his voice shaking.

I walked inside. The air smelled of medicine mixed with her favorite orange air freshener. Thin tubes hung around the room, and a single large oxygen tank stood beside her bed. The oxygen mask that should've been on her face now rested on the pillow, completely disconnected.

"Grandma…" I whispered.

She lay there quietly, her breathing shallow. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, dark circles beneath her eyes, and her lips looked dry and colorless. Her voice was weak, almost fading—but her eyes were still sharp, watching me with the last bit of strength she had left, as if telling me she knew the end had already come.

"You're here," she said softly. Then she added, "Come, sit beside my bed. How have you been?"

"I'm… alright, Grandma," I replied. I walked to her bedside, gently picked up her hand, and gave it a small squeeze.

"Don't be sad," she whispered. "Every living being dies. We can be rich, strong, healthy, or smart while we're alive, but we still can't escape death. That's the fate none of us can outrun. If it's my time, then it's my time. There's no sense wasting money on an old body that will soon fade too."

She took a slow breath. "I have a gift for you."

"What is it, Grandma?" I asked.

"Its my favorite clock, put that clock in your room," she said, pointing toward it. "It's a lucky item. Do you know why our family is rich? It's because we kept it. Except your Papa. He didn't listen. He threw the clock away, even though I told him to keep it."

 

Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to go on. "If you throw that clock, or sell it, or even keep it away from your room... you'll end up poor, just like your father. And if you don't listen, if you ignore me... I won't tell your uncles later to write your name down for any inheritance before I die. not until you graduate. Worse than that... you'll be cursed."

They were words that might make an adult laugh, dismissing them as nothing more than superstition. But to a child raised in a household full of beliefs, they were terrifying. Her tone, paired with her tired yet serious eyes, said only one thing—Grandma was truly serious.

 

"I understand… I'll keep the clo..." I stopped mid-sentence, confusion hitting me. "Hold on—Father was cursed? Didn't he die from a heart attack?"

 

Grandma shook her head slowly. "No… that's what they said. But the truth is different."

 

Her voice lowered, almost as if she was ashamed to say it out loud. "He died when he was texting me, asking for money and inheritance. But I knew him. I knew he would only waste it on drinking and partying with his friends. He always made excuses, saying it was for your allowance or for school. Lies."

 

"That day, he slipped. He stepped on dog feces and fell into a deep sewer canal. He drowned there. He was too fat to swim, and he never learned how to swim."

 

I imagined it, the foolishness of it, the pathetic way it ended. She let out a tired breath before continuing."The family was in tears when they heard it, not from grief, but from trying to hold back their laughter. Especially at the funeral. They said it was a heart attack, not drowning in a sewer. Because for us, that kind of death would bring embarrassment to the family."

  

The thought crossed my mind "Will I end up dying like that too...?"

Four hours later, she passed away. While my uncles and aunt cried inside the room, I stood quietly outside the door, staring at the clock as it ticked on and on.

"Grandma..."

Seven days passed, and she was laid to rest in the family's ancestral private cemetery.