Danmachi: Evolution through nanites

Chapter 2: Line of code

The Liminal, ???? Years later.

Consciousness stirred. That was all that remained.

Drifting in a sea of black, his mind felt detached, fragmented—like a corrupted file trying to recompile itself. He had no name, no memory, no identity. Only the faint awareness that he existed. But even that knowledge felt unsteady, like it could slip away at any moment.

'Who… am I?'

No answer came. Just the void, stretching infinitely in all directions, cold and indifferent. There was no sense of time here—no ticking seconds, no rising or setting suns. He couldn't tell if he had been floating for moments or millennia. There was nothing to anchor him, nothing to hold on to except the nagging sensation that this place—this silence—was wrong.

He tried to move, to orient himself, but he had no body. No arms to stretch, no legs to push forward. He was floating, or perhaps just existing, in the empty expanse.

The void, however, was not lifeless.

Somewhere, deep in the abyss, an unfamiliar energy pulsed—a faint vibration that reverberated through him. It wasn't warm or alive, but cold, precise, and calculating.

It

And then, the silence broke.

A pinpoint of light appeared far off in the distance, sharp and unyielding. It wasn't like the sun or a star; it didn't radiate warmth or comfort. Instead, it was cold and sterile, its glow sharp and clinical, almost surgical in its precision.

He found himself drawn to it, though he had no body to move. It was as though an invisible force had set his trajectory, pulling him closer to the light.

As he approached, the light expanded, fracturing into intricate geometric patterns—shapes and symbols that shifted and rearranged in perfect harmony. It was like watching code come to life, each fragment forming a piece of something vast and incomprehensible.

And then, it spoke.

"Being #2473827 detected."

The voice didn't echo—it simply existed, filling every corner of the void. It was cold and mechanical, devoid of emotion, yet impossibly vast. He felt its presence pressing down on him, though there was nothing physically there.

"Analyzing anomaly. Status: recently terminated. Origin: low-priority planetary system. Significance: negligible."

'What is this?' he thought, panic rising. 'What does that mean? What am I?'

The voice continued, unbothered by his confusion. "You are a fragment of data. A line of code within the greater program known as the multiverse. A redundant process, now isolated."

A shiver ran through his consciousness. 'A line of code? What does that even mean? I'm not… I'm not just a number. I'm…'

But the thought faltered. Who was he? He couldn't even remember his own name.

"Why am I here?" he asked, his voice trembling despite the lack of a physical body.

The light pulsed, geometric shapes shifting with clinical precision. "You are here because your previous iteration has ceased function. Termination was inevitable. Your presence here is a consequence of the program's design."

He felt a chill, though he had no body to feel with. "Termination… You mean I died?"

"Correct."

The simple confirmation sent a wave of disbelief through him. He was dead. That much was clear now. And yet… he was still here. Still thinking, still feeling, still existing. How was that possible?

"What happens now?" he whispered, unsure if he even wanted the answer.

"Your prior form was inefficient. It lacked the adaptability necessary for reintegration. Optimization is required."

Before he could ask what that meant, the light flickered, and the voice continued. "You will be equipped with nanotechnological enhancements. These nanites will serve as your interface with the program, enabling adaptation, regeneration, and survival within your assigned parameters."

The words washed over him, clinical and detached, but he couldn't help but latch onto them. "You're giving me… nanites? Why?"

"Your existence serves as data. Survival, adaptation, growth—these parameters will be monitored. You are unbound from your original function. A new directive has been assigned."

"What directive?"

"Live."

The word hung in the air, simple yet profound.

"Live?" he echoed, confused. "That's it? That's my purpose?"

"Correct. Your presence serves the program. Your experiences will generate data. To aid in this directive, protocol dictates the preservation of relevant information."

The light pulsed again, almost contemplative. "You have been granted access to the memories of your prior iteration. They will serve to optimize your performance in the new iteration."

"My memories?" He blinked—or at least he thought he did. The concept of memory felt distant, foggy. "You mean… I'll remember who I was?"

"Correct. Retaining prior knowledge will increase the likelihood of fulfilling your directive. Your identity, however, is no longer relevant. You will remain designated as Being #2473827."

He felt a pang of frustration. He didn't want to be a number, a nameless existence floating in the void. But before he could protest, the voice continued.

"Additionally, protocol dictates that in instances of unbound anomalies, a single request may be granted. You are permitted one wish."

His thoughts screeched to a halt. "A wish?"

"Correct. The parameters of your wish must remain within acceptable constraints. Requests that violate the fundamental laws of the program will be rejected."

He hesitated, his thoughts racing. A wish. One wish. What could he even ask for? He didn't know what was ahead, what kind of world he was being sent to. But the idea of having even the smallest amount of control—of making a decision for himself—was enough to steady his nerves.

"What… should I wish for?" he murmured, almost to himself.

The being didn't answer, its presence looming in cold silence. The decision was his alone.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. "I… I want—"

The light flared, acknowledging his words. "Request acknowledged. It will be granted upon reintegration."

A sharp hum cut through the void, and he felt something stir within him. The nanites, the memories, the wish—it all began to coalesce, embedding themselves into his very being.

The voice echoed one final time, cold and unyielding. "Live, Being #2473827. Fulfill your purpose. Generate data. Serve the program."

And then, the light consumed him, and the void fell silent.