I died in a suit. Yeah, we get buried in them, but that's beside the point.
Not exactly heroic. No glorious last stand. No tragic betrayal. Just a worn-out office drone, running on caffeine fumes and blind routine, stepping into the road like a sleepwalker. There was a horn. Lights. Then—
Nothing.
I didn't feel pain. Didn't get a slow-motion montage of my regrets. Just… blackout.
And then… I woke up.
The air was thick. Metallic. Wrong. It tasted of dust and something acrid, like burnt iron and old blood.
My eyes snapped open and I gasped—a high, breathy sound that didn't feel like mine. The ceiling above me was rough stone, flickering red with torchlight. Symbols glowed faintly beneath me, etched into a circle drawn in something that looked—and smelled—like congealed blood.
I sat up with a jolt.
Bodies. Hooded, lifeless forms slumped around the edge of the circle, some curled in agony, others staring blankly at nothing. A cult? A murder scene? Or some budget horror movie I didn't audition for? What the hell was I summoned into?
I tried to scream, but the sound that came out was soft, almost melodic. Definitely not my voice. My throat felt… open.
My hands, unnervingly small and pale, trembled as I lifted them. The skin was like porcelain, alien. A wave of ice hit my stomach, the horrifying realization building even before my eyes confirmed the delicate bones, the slender fingers. This wasn't my body.
I scrambled to my feet—unsteady, disoriented. A flash of white caught my eye. A linen sheet, thankfully clean, draped beside one of the corpses. I snatched it and wrapped it around me, hands shaking, trying not to look at the sticky crimson smears or the vacant eyes of the dead.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shattered shard of metal.
Silver-white hair. Skin like porcelain. Eyes wide and unnaturally bright—like a porcelain doll left out in the rain.
What the hell did I get summoned into?
I turned in a slow circle, taking in the ritual chamber. Rough stone walls, flickering candles casting dancing shadows, dried blood caked in every groove of the floor. The circle was still pulsing faintly beneath my feet, like it was alive, a low thrum resonating deep in my new bones.
I took a shaky step backward.
Thunk.
Footsteps.
Not mine.
Heavy boots on stone.
Voices—urgent, angry whispers that cut through the silence.
"No way… they actually pulled it off."
"What did they summon?"
"Get ready."
The massive doors to the chamber slammed open with a groan of ancient hinges. Five figures strode in—men and women clad in steel and leather, some bearing gleaming swords, others with arcane light shimmering around their fingertips.
One of them—a man in full plate with a crimson cloak billowing behind him—locked eyes with me and snarled.
"Witch. The cultists summoned a devil."
My throat went dry. "Hold on—I'm not—"
"She speaks!" one of the mages shouted, and a spear of crackling light coiled in his palm. "Get her before she casts!"
Cast?! I could barely breathe, let alone cast anything.
My legs were trembling, too weak to run. I took a single, shaky step back. A warning step. That was all.
"She's resisting or trying something!"
"No! I—"
Then—
[System Initialisation Complete.]
[User Interface Activated.]
[Choose Alignment: White | Black | Random]
A synthetic voice echoed in my head. It was clear. Female. Calm.
My vision flickered with translucent screens I couldn't touch—just floating there, unreal and surreal.
I barely had time to process it.
The knight lunged.
A blur of steel. My breath hitched, a desperate thought of move barely forming. Then, a sudden weightlessness as something cracked against my skull. The world spun sideways.
You have got to be joking…
Darkness, again.
----
[User Designation Confirmed: Random Alignment Selected.]
[Welcome, Host.]
[Initializing... Scholar's Mate Protocol.]