Transmigrated As An Extra In The Apocalypse-Chapter 59 - 58: Owning Doom

The void was still, silent, and endless, but my mind was anything but calm.

The Spectator’s words echoed in my head, a constant reminder of how much I still didn’t know.

I had thought I was starting to understand myself, my abilities, my purpose.

But now, standing here with the weight of my failures pressing down on me, I realized how little I truly understood.

My gun, Doom, wasn’t just a weapon.

It was something more, something I hadn’t even begun to comprehend.

"Spectator," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "You said I’m using the gun wrong. What did you mean by that? How do i ’tame’ a gun? It’s not a beast. It’s... it’s just a tool."

The Spectator spoke, calm and measured, as if it had been waiting for me to ask.

"A tool, yes. But not ’just’ a simple tool. Your gun, Doom, it’s different from other guns, and It possesses something other guns don’t have. It is not enough to wield it. You must earn its recognition. You must own it, just as you would a beast."

I frowned, staring down at my hands as if I could see the gun there, though it was nowhere to be found in this void.

"What do you mean?"

"You have to make the gun recognize you as its owner, or it will never reach its full potential."

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the idea.

"But I’ve been using it. I’ve carried it, fired it. Doesn’t that make me its owner?"

"No," the Spectator said simply. "Using a weapon does not make you its owner. Ownership is not granted by possession. It is earned through understanding, through connection. You must prove yourself worthy of it, and it will decide if it wants to to own it."

I groaned, running a hand through my hair.

"Damn, This is getting way too complicated. How am I supposed to ’connect’ with a gun? It’s not like I can talk to it, it is just a gun"

"You can," the Spectator said, its tone infuriatingly calm. "But not in the way you think, it is different, Summon its system. And see for yourself."

I hesitated, then closed my eyes and focused.

My system had appeared before, floating in front of me like a holographic screen.

Maybe I could do the same with the gun.

I concentrated, imagining the weapon in my hands, its weight, its presence.

And then, just like before, I felt that strange sensation, like a switch being flipped in my mind.

When I opened my eyes, the screen was there, glowing faintly in the void.

But this time, it wasn’t my system, or my tame system.

It was the gun’s.

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Name: Doom

Rank: ???

Owner: None

Abilities:

- Ash of Negation (Undefinable): The ability to negate anything and everything.

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I stared at the screen, my eyes widened slightly.

The gun had a system.

A rank.

And an owner, or rather, a lack of one.

The word "None" glared back at me, a stark reminder of how little to no control I actually had of it.

"Why does it reads ’None’?" I asked, my voice tight with frustration. "I’m the one using it. Shouldn’t it show my name?"

"It does not work that way," the Spectator said. "Ownership is not assumed. It is earned. The gun does not recognize you as its master because you have not proven yourself worthy, or even tried to."

"Worthy?" I snapped, my frustration boiling over. "What does that even mean? How do I prove myself to a gun?"

"That is for you to discover," the Spectator said, its tone maddeningly neutral. "But I can tell you this, the path to ownership lies within the system. Observe closely."

I glared at the screen, my eyes scanning the text.

The word "Owner" stood out, taunting me.

I reached out, hesitating for a moment, then tapped it.

The screen flickered, and a new set of text appeared.

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Ownership Requirements:

- Blood Binding: The weapon must be bound to its owner through a blood ritual. Place your blood on the weapon to initiate the binding process.

- Warning: The binding process will be excruciating. None can handle it, not even the strong in willpower can endure it, only the destined one.

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I read the words twice, my stomach sinking.

"Blood binding?" I muttered. "Are you serious? I have to... cut myself and bleed on the gun?"

"Yes," the Spectator said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The bond between a weapon and its master is not forged lightly. It requires sacrifice, pain. Are you willing to endure that?"

I hesitated, my mind racing.

The thought of injuring myself made my skin crawl.

I wasn’t exactly a fan of pain.

But then I thought about my last battle, about how I’d failed, how I’d been unprepared.

The pain I had felt from having all my bones crushed by the Orc Lord, and being killed by Fen can’t be more than this. Right.

And if I want to get stronger, if I want to survive, I couldn’t afford to hesitate.

"Do I have a choice?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

"There is always a choice," the Spectator said. "But choices have consequences. If you wish to grow, to become stronger, this is the path you must take. The question is, do you want it enough?"

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

"I do," I said, my voice firm. "I want to get stronger. I want to... to be the strongest."

"Then do it," the Spectator said. "Summon the gun. Begin the binding."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

I focused again, imagining the gun in my hands.

This time, I felt its weight, its cold metal against my skin.

When I opened my eyes, it was there, resting in my palms.

It looked the same as always, sleek, deadly, and utterly indifferent to me.

I stared at it for a long moment, then raised my hand to my mouth.

I hesitated again, my teeth hovering over the skin of my thumb.

This was insane.

I was about to bite myself, to draw blood, all for the sake of a gun.

But then I thought about my goal, about the pain and sacrifice required to grow.

If this was what it took, then so be it.

I bit down hard, wincing as the sharp pain shot through my hand.

Blood welled up, dark and metallic, and I quickly pressed my thumb to the gun’s surface.

The blood smeared against the metal, and for a moment, nothing happened.

Then the pain hit.

It was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

It started in my hand, where the blood had touched the gun, and then it spread, burning through my veins like fire.

I dropped to my knees, clutching the gun as the pain consumed me.

It wasn’t just physical, it was like my very soul was being torn apart and put back together.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

I wanted to let go of the gun, but my hands wouldn’t obey.

The void around me seemed to warp and twist, the emptiness closing in.

I could feel the gun’s presence now, not just in my hands but in my mind.

It was cold, unyielding, and vast, like a storm raging inside me.

It didn’t want me.

It resisted me, pushing back against my will.

But I held on, gritting my teeth against the pain.

"After all... this suffering and... you refuse to recognize... me... hah... haha," I said, my voice barely audible. "You must recognize me!, I refuse to suffer for waste."

The pain intensified, and for a moment, I thought I would black out.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

The void was still again, the gun resting quietly in my hands.

I was drenched in sweat, my body trembling, but the pain was gone.

The screen flickered back into view, the text updating before my eyes.

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Name: Doom

Rank: Null

Owner: Sky

Abilities:

- Ash of Negation (Undefinable): The ability to negate anything and everything.

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I stared at the screen, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

It had worked.

I’m it owner now.

The gun is mine now.

"I did it... Doom is now mine" I said, still trying to catch my breath.

"Congratulations," the Spectator said, its voice softer now, almost approving. "You have taken the first step toward true mastery. But remember, The gun is yours, but you must still learn to wield it correctly. To understand it. And to understand yourself."

I nodded, too exhausted to speak.

"Thanks again, Spectator" I said.

But for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of hope.

I had faced the pain, the fear, and I had come out stronger.

And if I could do that, then maybe, just maybe, I could face whatever came next.