I, the All-Class Magus, All My Awakening Skills are LvMax

John fell into a deep slumber, and he saw a vision of himself at birth, without the system.

He lived an ordinary life, with no exceptional talents or advantages, no fortunate encounters, and no friends.

He was just a regular person, even considered among the lowest.

In this vision, he saw himself tested and found to have the lowest grade of talent, and he was brutally humiliated by Alex.

Even Scarlett, upon seeing him, looked at him with utter disdain, as if seeing a rat in the sewer.

"Someone like you thinks you can have a fleeting romance with me? Keep dreaming," Scarlett sneered.

Alex's face flashed repeatedly before him, mocking him.

"People like you belong in the sewers; you're a rat in the gutter. How can you not feel ashamed to walk under the sun?"

Rean's face appeared, taunting and derisive.

"Your mere existence pollutes the air of this world. You should just die; dying now would be the greatest relief for this world."

One after another, the figures kept flashing in his mind, all with the same mocking expressions.

They seemed to be saying something else, but he couldn't hear them clearly anymore.

These voices kept surfacing and vanishing in his mind.

Countless faces flickered before him like a carousel of memories.

He closed his eyes, trying to wave his hands and disperse them all, but it was futile.

They were like fixtures in his brain, and he couldn't forget their faces.

In this dream, he was indeed as those people said, utterly powerless to resist.

He sank into despair.

After experiencing many hardships, he truly became a vagabond living in sewers and under bridges.

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During those days, anyone who passed by would spit on him, as if there was no reason to even acknowledge his existence.

Everyone saw him as a source of bad luck, wondering why they had to see something so disgusting.

He lay quietly in the sewer, curled up like a rat.

But there was a voice within him, faintly telling him:

No, this isn't your life.

You are not this person.

You are not a rat in the gutter, nor are you sewer sludge!

You are supposed to be the most proud person in this world, walking under the sunlight, drawing everyone's attention!

You are meant to be a figure admired by all!

He forced his eyes open, staring at the black mist before him, which resembled writhing tentacles.

His throat felt dry and constricted, as if a stone were lodged in it, preventing him from uttering a word.

But he bit down hard on his tongue!

The intense pain brought him to full awareness in an instant.

He fixed his gaze on the black mist, a fierce determination evident in his eyes.

"I..."

John summoned all his strength to utter that single word.

As he did, he felt a sudden alleviation of the pressure weighing on him, as if a massive burden had been lifted from his chest, making it easier to breathe.

"do..."

After the first word, the next came more easily.

"not..."

"believe!"

John shouted, clenching his fist tightly and punching the black mist before him.

He expected to hit nothing but empty air, but instead, it felt like striking a solid surface, like a wall of jelly.

It was moist and sticky, and it repulsed him.

It felt as if countless eels were writhing over his hand, or as if mud was wrapping around his wrist.

But John showed no signs of fear, his gaze resolute as he stared at the black mist before him.

"To hell with fate! I don't believe in destiny."

"I am the master of my own fate; no one can dictate my life!"

"Who do you think you are to be so presumptuous in my presence? I won't believe it. I am in control of my own life!"

With great effort, John pulled back his hands and punched the mist again.

The figure seemed amused, summoning more black mist around John.

In that instant, the pressure became almost unbearable, but John couldn't move.

This human is interesting, thought the figure.

It wasn't a waste to send a fragment of its consciousness to this backward planet.

Though it was only one ten-thousandth of its divine sense, it was enough to overwhelm John.

Even someone like Vincent would have fainted in this temple.

If not for John's divine power, he would have already become sustenance for the dark god.

Despair and sorrow were what the dark god thrived on.

But John clenched his fists, punching the mist repeatedly.

"Damn your dark god! My life, my survival, is my own doing. I don't need you to tell me how to live, nor do I need your judgment. How I live is my business, not yours."

The dark god found this human intriguing; it hadn't expected such determination in this place.

Moreover, there was something about this human that was displeasing—an aura that suggested he had been chosen by another deity.

Such a promising individual should have become its follower.

"You truly refuse to give up? Abandon everything you currently possess, and I can grant you everything you desire, if only you become mine."

The dark god's voice grew even more alluring, steeped in mystery, embodying boundless ambition.

John heard various voices echoing in his mind, including the so-called voice of this world's god, yet it was extremely dangerous.

Had John been able to see his mind sea, he would have realized that his spirit had turned pitch black.

A typical person would have already lost control by now, but John didn't care.

He despised being controlled and loathed these so-called high and mighty gods.

All gods seemed to be lofty, dictating their needs and teaching others what to do.

But John had an unyielding nature.

Why should he follow their idea of what was right? Why should he have to act according to their plans?

To hell with that! He would live his own way.

He would never change for anyone.

"I want to live as I choose. I will not change for anyone," John declared, defying the dark god's temptation.

John stared at the black mist before him, his eyes filled with blood, which flowed continuously down his face, making him look terrifying.

But he didn't stop; he kept punching the black mist with all his strength.

Each time he withdrew his hand, it felt excruciatingly difficult.

Yet, he never gave up.

He kept punching, one blow after another, with unwavering determination.

Who said the gods could dictate everything about me?

I don't need any of this; it's all bullshit!

I decide how I live my life!

Boom!

With another powerful punch, the black mist before him was instantly dispersed.