There were over 1500 chapters. To be exact, there were 1547 total chapters. Allen stared at his computer screen, his emotions at a constant swirl of disbelief.
The author of this popular webnovel called: Blight, had recently mass released the final chapters for their webnovel, tying up the story where Allen had last read and left off.
He expected a lot from the author. And despite the foreshadow, the numerous theories he's seen on forums, Allen could not help but have this pillow of disdain settle at the bottom of his stomach.
He hated it.
This ending.
"Self-sacrifice?" He didn't mind such an ending, but there was something in his heart that yearned for this ending to be but a dream—an awful one, at that.
The protagonist sacrificing himself for the greater good of the world; it was in character, no doubt. But Allen did not want to acknowledge it, the reality that the protagonist that he's followed for so long had died.
And everyone has to live with it?
"Fuck that," he muttered under his breath. Perhaps if it had been some other novel, one that he did not feel this sort of attachment so profound to his being, he wouldn't have mind it.
His lips formed a thin line, a sign soon escaping his lips. There was no way he could accept this, he resolved.
His hand clamped down on his mouse and he scrolled down to the comment section. Allen wanted to say something, anything.
His fingers flew, smashing down on the keyboard, conjuring a statement of pure vehemence.
"This ending is fucking trash."
Submitting and letting everything go, Allen leaned back into his chair, another sigh escaping his mouth. He closed his eyes, letting his body relax and releasing the unwanted tension that danced in his bones and blood.
His eyelids flew open and he sauntered to a clock.
"I should go to bed." Allen got up once he saw the time of 1:20 AM. His classes were in the afternoon as designed by his college course.
But he never let himself wander too far off in his own complacency; sleep was essential and it had been only today did Allen find the energy to read the last chapters.
Jumping into bed, his body felt the exotic warmth of the mattress envelope him. And it wasn't long before his eyes began to close in the slumber and peacefulness of fatigue.
~~~
Allen did not know the reason, but when he regained a slither of consciousness - eyes still closed - he felt as though his body felt lighter, more limp.
Curl!
He curled his fingers, not finding any essence in himself to open his eyes. The light that shone was evidently the sign of morning. But his classes were not yet to come, so he found no reason to have the urge to jump with eagerness.
It was odd, though.
My fingers… they feel funny. And it was also then did he felt hair caress his temples.
He doesn't remember his hair being this long before. It was always this short black hair that wasn't hard to style or manage; bangs were an unfamiliar characteristic to him.
His body lunged upwards and he opened his eyes. The fresh light of the sun bled into his skin.
"What."
It was all that he could say once he began to look around. What he was in was not his apartment that was in the middle of Chicago, but a place unfamiliar to him. There were holographic television that hovered not to far away from him.
There were slippers that were far to expressive in its expense that it could make the skin of the poor crawl.
This bed was far too grand and beautiful for someone as average as himself.
He did not question it, instead his body gravitated towards the window. His heart was beating with these thunderous raptures. His fingers clamped the window, his face shoved on the surface.
The people that roamed the streets. The cars that were foreign to him. The technology that exceeded anything he's seen before in his life.
And, last but not least, the eyesore that settled far away from him.
He remembered something in the webnovel, Blight.
"A structure, grand and beautiful. It was much larger than an airport, shaped as though it were a city rather than a school."
The words that he grew familiar with in Blight rushed into his head. It shaped his imagination and now there was only this one irrefutable fact that landed in the pit of his stomach.
This world was not his own.
But in the world of Blight.
"But… how could this be?" He muttered to himself, his voice foreign to him. It was soft and masculine with the hint of a charlatan.
Transmigration shouldn't be possible. He couldn't reason with this thought now that he was in such a situation. But, before, he would refute the possibility of such a thing being the case.
It was supposed to be fiction, not reality. But, in that sense, fiction did indeed become reality. For Allen, at least.
"How am I supposed to go about this?" He muttered in annoyance. Getting up from the bed, he noticed just how energized he felt. There was a vast array of complexities that ran along his veins—youth, perhaps?
Well, he wasn't old in his… other life.
20 years old and in college—Allen hadn't been doing bad for himself. He knew how to live his life to his own accord.
Walking towards a mirror, Allen felt a surge of envy and admiration.
"God… I am handsome." Porcelain skin and a deep, profound azure color to his eyes. And his face was being framed by black hair that was medium in length.
Elegant.
The face of a prestigious noble.
"But… this person has never been described in the novel." He's read Blight a multitude of times, and not once had the author ever described a person with these features in the novel.
He'd see fan-art of the character otherwise.
What could this mean, Allen wondered. He decided to let go of this thought for now, but he wasn't going to let such a glaring issue to be ignored.
"What exactly is this body's name?"
As though responding to his question, there was a surge of pain that coursed through his head. Like a mirror shattering, his mind broke into millions of pieces that swung into a myriad of directions.
The pain that sprouted from the deep corners of his mind etched into all the deepest parts of his head. Mysterious fragments danced like ballerinas.
"Huahhh…" Allen gasped, tired and confused. So many memories conflicted with his own. Then, there was two words that rose beneath the abundance of memories that flurried and danced.
"Grace Walker."
The name of the body that he invaded in his sleep. And, most importantly, a person with great importance.
"The Walker Family? Then how… was he ignored by the author?"
One of the Three Great Families of the Ergo Continent.
And one of the Ten Great Families that ushered the current era of fantasy.
Just how could someone as prestigious as a Walker not be in the novel that he loved?