Chaos Devourer System: My Classless Ascension

Chapter 2: Chapter 1: Dante Draven!

”Gahhhhh!!”...

Huff, huff, huff... That blasted dream again. My chest heaved violently as I tried to steady my breathing, but nothing worked. Each time I closed my eyes, the same nightmare clawed its way back into my mind—merciless, unrelenting. Even after drowning myself in distractions the night before, the visions had followed me, creeping into every quiet moment.

Sighhh~~~ reincarnation wasn’t supposed to be this... exhausting.

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My name is Kyle Donnoghan, or at least that was my old identity. I was average in every sense—average height, average build, average looks, average life. Honestly, I could’ve spent eternity watching paint dry and considered it exciting. Yet, I had been content. I had a stable enough relationship, parents who actually loved me, and a life free of catastrophe... until Truck-kun intervened.

As I strolled toward work one fateful morning, the chaos arrived in the form of a drunk driver barreling toward me like a runaway cannonball. My mind raced through every trope I had ever read. ”Not today, Truck-kun. Not me!” I thought, smirking as I executed a dramatic dive to the side, channeling every action hero I’d ever idolized.

But, of course, reality had its own cruel sense of humor. My foot landed on something slippery—a banana peel, of all things—and in true cartoonish fashion, I slipped, slammed headfirst into a fire hydrant, and felt my consciousness unravel into oblivion. Poof. Instant transmigration.

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”Absolutely ridiculous,” I muttered as I stared at the mirror in my new room.

Gone was Kyle Donnoghan, the unremarkable youth. In his place stood a young man who could have stepped straight out of the fantasy novels I once devoured. Golden eyes gleamed with intensity, framed by tousled white-blond hair. My body—a sculpted monument to discipline—towered at six-foot-seven, muscles defined, proportions perfect. Even in casual attire, I looked like a living advertisement for perfection.

”Heh, if transmigration always comes with perks like this, I wouldn’t complain,” I said aloud, running a hand through my hair and admiring the reflection. Narcissistic? Maybe. But in my defense, it wasn’t every day you woke up looking like a protagonist in a high-fantasy epic.

Once I had sufficiently marveled at myself, I noticed a letter resting on the nightstand. The handwriting was familiar, playful.

”Hey, had to get up early because I knew if I waited, you’d probably still be drooling on the pillow... Hehehe. Get dressed and meet me at school. Today’s the day; don’t be late! Love, Clara.”

My ego swelled at the familiarity of her teasing tone. ”So it’s finally happening, huh? A month of waiting, and I finally find out if I’m the first transmigrator without a golden finger,” I muttered, crumpling the letter and tossing it aside.

Awakening day. The ceremony that separated the powerful from the mediocre. In a world where strength defined worth, failure here meant a lifetime of obscurity—or worse, dependence. I had hoped for some ”golden finger,” some miraculous cheat, but so far... nothing. Today would decide everything.

I dressed quickly, choosing a simple black shirt tucked neatly into black pants, slacks to match, and a glinting gold chain around my neck. Even in simplicity, I looked striking.

”Damn, even in basic clothes, I look this good. Should be a crime,” I muttered, adjusting the collar with the dignity of a man who knew he’d arrived.

Breakfast was a blur; I practically inhaled my food. Life had become a whirlwind of adaptation—new body, new skills, new rules—and there was no time to waste. A final glance in the mirror at the front door revealed a stranger who had become me, fully prepared to take on the challenges ahead.

Then, I froze.

Standing at the doorstep was Raven Blackthorn—my aunt, my guardian, the one person who had carved a path through the sharks circling my inheritance. Black hair whipped in the morning breeze, her figure commanding even when partially veiled. The one-piece dress she wore accentuated her presence without effort; it was devastating, intoxicating.

”Gods... she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me looking like that,” I thought, momentarily forgetting everything else. My pulse raced, my confidence wavered, and for a fleeting moment, I was paralyzed by the sheer aura of her presence.

Then, her voice, light and melodic, pulled me back.

”Hello, sweetie. Happy birthday,” she said, smiling in a way that seemed to light the world around her..

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A/N: and we’re off, hope you enjoy the new book..

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Thanks for reading...