POV Narrator
For the citizens of Orario, this dawn is no different from any other.
The sun unfolds over the city walls like a magnanimous king, bathing the towers in gold, igniting the rooftops, waking up the taverns with warm light, and sparking glimmers from the forges where hammers are already ringing. The markets simmer with negotiating voices, children fill the streets with laughter that lasts for a blink, and the Churches raise hymns that perhaps the gods only listen to for their amusement.
The city lives.
The city chews.
The city swallows.
But not everything can be bathed in that shine. There is a place where light never dares to enter. The Dungeon. A pit that breathes, that pulses, that extends underground like a sick body.
There, every step is a condemned echo.
There, fangs split steel and blood mixes with rock until it becomes part of it.
Some descend for glory. Others, for strength. Many, because there is no alternative.
The Dungeon doesn't distinguish. It doesn't ask. It just devours.
And its dark corridors hold laments that will never find ears.
Yes. For everyone else, today is just another day in Orario.
One more day that hooks onto the endless chain.
But no.
Today is not what it seems.
Because this day… has already happened.
Neither the proud first-class adventurers, nor the gods who are so eternal they play with mortals' lives like they're coins, have perceived the crack in time.
No one imagines that an impossible power, an aberration that should never have existed, has shattered the laws that even divinity cannot break.
Gabriel Drakensoul.
That is the name of the man who performed such a feat.
The bearer of the paradox.
For him, every dawn is not a welcome.
It's a sentence.
Today he will not wake up to live.
Today he will wake up to die.
Over and over again.
Until he's sick of it.
Into infinity.
A genocide dedicated to a single man.
A hell that will repeat until time itself shatters against his skin.
Today isn't just another dawn.
Today is the first of too many endings.
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POV Gabriel
Definitely… it's much better to open your eyes in a bed than in that dump of an alley.
A groan escaped me as I stretched, my bones protesting as if they hadn't moved in centuries. The cracked ceiling was the first thing I saw; the dawn light streamed through the window and hit me squarely in the face, warm, almost gentle.
And there was the irony.
To be greeted by a new dawn after having died.
The memories hit me immediately. Yesterday? Today? This is already starting to get weird. The only thing that's clear is that I died. I let myself be killed. And yet, here I am. Alive. Fucking alive. I don't need three days to resurrect, which technically makes me better than Jesus. Gabriel 1, Jesus 0. Not that it matters, but someone has to keep score.
I got up awkwardly and went straight to the bathroom. If you could even call it a bathroom. A poor cubicle, with walls that seemed to be apologizing for existing. And there it was: a square, dirty mirror, barely hanging.
I saw myself reflected.
That face.
The definition of beauty. Hegemony made flesh. What I always envied in others, what was always so far away, now belonged to me.
—I still think this is crazy —I muttered, bringing a hand to my cheek. Heat, skin, muscle. Real. Alive.— But hey… at least now I'm disgustingly handsome. It's better than still looking like, well… me.
The reflection gave me a tired smile back. I could get used to this. Maybe.
But it wasn't the time to get depressed about my previous ugliness or to think about the new and growing feeling of narcissism I was having. There was something more important. Something that made my chest pound with an emotion that was too big for me. **Magic**.
—*Cinder Ella*… —I tried the name out loud. It sounded unreal, like a secret too big to be spoken.
I took a deep breath. It's a transformation magic. I had to visualize it clearly. A precise image, nothing half-assed. I concentrated. I was nervous and anxious. I think I'm going to transform into a chienthrope, the demi-human race. In my short journey through Orario, it's the race I've seen the most.
Golden ears, long, soft, like a golden retriever's. A fluffy tail wagging behind me. Sharp canines. A nose that could separate every scent, ears capable of hearing even what should remain in silence.
I shivered. I remembered well that if I failed or the chant was interrupted, things could go wrong. Yes, I have infinite lives… but I still feel pain like anyone else. And I didn't want my first test to end with my head exploding, or for me to be some Muslim with a "BOOM BOOM" complex... Bad sense of humor aside, it was time to try this magic.
—"Your wound is mine, my wound is mine, the echo is the signal of midnight" [Cinder Ella]
The air vibrated. An invisible pressure coursed through my veins, rising from my chest to my temples. And then it happened.
Golden ears sprouted from the top of my head with a burning tingle. A tail of the same color wagged nervously behind me. My fangs grazed my lips.
I opened my eyes in front of the mirror.
There I was… and yet not. A hybrid. A different version, but still me.
The world exploded all at once.
The smell of dampness ingrained in the walls. The cheap wine soaking into the wood. The old sweat on the floorboards. And the sounds… God, the sounds: the constant drip of a pipe, the tiny paws of a rat in the walls, even the flapping of a pigeon's wings outside. Everything came at me at once, crushing me.
—… Does this make me a furry? —I whispered to myself. That fleeting thought made me laugh.— Even with canine features, I look good, I'd even say adorable, this is weird.
But the laughter didn't last.
The warmth inside me turned to fire. My muscles contracted, my senses blurred, and the transformation dissolved into golden smoke. The ears disappeared. The tail too.
I grabbed the sink, trembling. My breath was short, my arms heavy as lead.
—Oh, shit… —I mumbled, out of breath.— What did they call this state? Ah, yes, Mind Zero.
The mirror showed me my perfect face again. Beautiful, unattainable… and tired.
I ran a trembling hand over my face. It was real. All of this was real.
The magic worked. I just couldn't maintain it. My miserable I0 magic stats didn't help... I could only keep the transformation for ten seconds, fifteen at best. Unfortunately, there's no other word to describe it… maybe pathetic as well. At least it's a problem with a solution.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to control the after-effects of going "mind zero." It feels like shit. And when I opened them again, I saw it. The open drawer. The metallic shine waiting for me.
A knife.
I picked it up. It weighed more than it should have. Or maybe it was something more psychological and it represented the weight of the decisions I was making... Nah, I don't think so.
There was a moment of silence, as if it was inviting me to reflect and talk to myself like an idiot. I think dying is bad for your psyche.
The knife moved through my fingers with a certain skill—one of the few, if not the only, thing I was good at. The entity in charge of distributing talents failed me greatly.
—Is all this... Is it so necessary? Is it really? —I said it in a tired tone, a sigh even escaped my lips, there was a small lapse of silence.— Haha, I must be crazy, yesterday I died and now I'm thinking about killing myself, dozens of times so that a 14-year-old boy can kill me, copy his ability, and kill myself hundreds of times… How ridiculous does that sound?
—I don't know how far I'm willing to go —at some point I stood up with my arms resting on the window.— And I don't know if I want to know... My only way out, not ironically, is to kill myself, go back before my predecessor became an alcoholic, before he joined this disgusting familia, before he ruined his life... If it weren't for the most convenient ability possible, he would have ruined my life too... Holy God. Don't abilities in this world arise from all that stuff about the desires of the soul?... My envy and what I suppose is my fear of dying being who I am manifested in possibly the two most absurdly broken abilities in this world... Ha. —A small chuckle escaped at the end.
Well, well, I went off on a tangent, too much monologue, not enough suicide.
I gripped the knife firmly with my two trembling hands—despite everything, I'm still human, I'm afraid of death, and there's nothing more human than that. With my arms stretched out and the tip of the knife pointing straight at my heart…
—¡ARRRGGHHH, FUCK!
And that was the last thing I said before I died.
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The first thing wasn't opening my eyes.
It was the heat.
Not that summer heat that crushes you against the bed, no. This was different: alive, sticky, as if another skin was breathing with mine.
I opened my eyes slowly. The gloom greeted me: a paper lantern cast an amber glow, the red-tinted walls seemed to burn softly, and the air was saturated with cheap perfume, consumed incense, and sweat. A dense, intimate air.
And then I felt it.
A weight resting against my arm. Another one curled up at my side.
Curved. Warm skin. Even breaths.
I wasn't alone.
I swallowed and barely turned my face.
On the left side, long black hair like a raven's wing cascaded over the pillow, thick, shiny, framing an impeccable tanned skin that seemed made to catch the light. She had a voluptuous figure, with a curvy waist and long legs that extended under the sheet like sculpted columns. Her generous, firm bust rose and fell with a slow, confident rhythm, as if even in sleep she was marking her territory. Her lips, slightly parted and moist, let out a faint breath, and a golden hoop in her ear jingled with a barely perceptible movement.
On the right side, the contrast was obvious.
A smaller, youthful body, with slender and thin arms and legs, coppery skin that shone with a youthful glow. One leg was clinging to mine brazenly, an arm was hanging on my chest, and her warm breath brushed against my collarbone. Her hair, also black, was pulled back in a thick ponytail that had lost the battle against the night, leaving loose strands scattered over her face. Even in her sleep she was smiling, a naive and brazen gesture at the same time, with her lips barely stained red, as if she still carried a trace of mischief on them.
Both were women of great beauty, and both were pressed against my body, skin to skin in constant contact.
My heart sped up a little.
Two naked women, of great beauty, in the same bed as me... I'm a man, I'm not going to deny that I enjoy—and quite a bit—the beautiful sight. Although of course, the logical part predominates over everything, and it makes me wonder: WHY?
Naked. Them. Me.
The sheet barely covered enough to make me damnably aware of every detail that was exposed.
I stayed still for a moment, watching. The softness of their breathing, the texture of the skin against my arm, the smell of their sweat mixed with cheap perfume.
You don't have to be a genius to know what happened here. Obviously, the previous Gabriel had a good time last night. A very good time, apparently. A threesome. A fucking threesome. I deduce from their skin tone that they are Amazons. I didn't remember many races with dark skin: either Amazons or Dark Elves. And without pointy ears, the conclusion was obvious.
Now I was in bed with what were possibly two Amazons…
My eyebrow twitched.
That bastard, damned alcoholic.
I got sidetracked a bit. Weren't Amazons super strong warriors? I remembered something about an entertainment district, where there was… well, that kind of entertainment. He was probably there. In a brothel. I think it was the goddess Ishtar who governed the whole district, and these Amazons must be level 2 or 3. Basically, capable of turning me into minced meat with a single blow. Not very encouraging.
But putting that aside, the big question was still there:
HOW THE HELL DID THIS LEVEL 1 BODY WITH ALL STATS AT ZERO HAVE A THREESOME WITH TWO AMAZONS?
My own body had the answer: everything hurt. Literally everything. Cramped arms, stiff fingers, heavy arms, my pelvis in pieces. Even my tongue was burning. I can get an idea of everything he had to do to satisfy them...
A bitter snort of laughter escaped me, quietly.
It was so ridiculous it almost hurt.
I dropped back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
The silence didn't last long.
—How did the little stud-angel wake up? —the little one's voice bounced cheerfully in my ears.
—…Excuse me? —I blinked, incredulous.
—Come on, angelito-kun, don't play innocent now… hehehe. —She poked my chest with the tip of her finger, as if I were a toy.
I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or start praying.
The long-haired one yawned and stretched, her bust almost brushing my face as she did so.
—Last night you were a beast. With that good-boy face, I thought I'd have to explain how to put on a condom, but… oh my god… —she smiled, ferociously, with a satisfied glint in her eyes.— You gave me the best night of my life.
My face was halfway between tomato red and a deathly white.
Me? A beast? I can barely do push-ups, ma'am…
—Aisha, do you remember when angelito-kun grabbed both of us and…? —the little one started to say with enthusiasm. I just heard the biggest barbarity of my life.
—Please, stop —I wanted to stop her.
But she continued:
—Or when he used his tongue and…
I take it back: the previous thing was the second biggest barbarity I've ever heard. This is the first.
I covered my face with a hand, but they kept going as if nothing had happened.
The long-haired one let out a husky laugh.
—You know what? I almost feel bad for charging you. With all you did, I should be paying you. Mmm… for next time, I'll give you a discount, how does that sound, angelito-kun? —she winked at me brazenly.
—At first I thought all the others were exaggerating… —the little one added, with a mischievous giggle.
I frowned.
—What do you mean, all the others?
—Exactly! —she replied, amused.— It was to be expected that someone like you wouldn't keep track of how many women you've slept with. At least half the courtesans in the Red-Light District know about that cute little mole you have hidden away… HAHA! —Aisha burst into laughter, slapping the bed.
I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.
Perfect. I'm not even the one with that reputation, and yet I'm embarrassed for him.
When I think my life can't get any weirder, life makes sure to remind me I'm wrong.
I'm talking to two prostitutes who, apparently, had the best night of their lives with me… and I just found out their names.
Aisha Belka. Lena Tally.
Two characters I had seen in the anime. And now they're naked, beside me, laughing at me.
In other news: I discovered my predecessor was a gigolo.
—…And Maria told me you charged her 25,000 valis for one night. —Aisha stared at me, amused.— I can't say it wasn't worth it.
Yes. Gigolo. Prostitute.
This body is dirty.
I can't get married anymore.
Well… not that much. But it still makes me uncomfortable to think about everything this damned body must have gone through before I got here.
I got up abruptly, grabbed what I assumed were my pants from the floor, and started to get dressed at top speed.
—Well, girls, I… I have to go now. It was all very nice, really. Let's do it again another day.
My shirt was put on wrong, a button out of place, the collar crooked. I didn't care. I just wanted to get out of that room before I heard the next outrageous thing.
I opened the door clumsily, still fighting with the last button of my shirt, when a burst of laughter exploded behind me.
—Look at angelito-kun, running away like a virgin on his first time! —Lena's singing voice pierced my back.
I stopped for a second. Don't listen to her, Gabriel, just keep walking…
—Hey, Aisha! Did you see how his butt shows through in those badly-put-on pants? —she added between laughs.
A slight blush rose to my ears.
Perfect. Now I'm a free comedy show.
The other's deep voice joined in, slower, more malicious:
—If you run as fast as you did last night, we'll catch you in a second.
I barely turned around, and there they were: both leaning on the bed, the sheets falling just enough to expose too much. Accomplice smiles. Bright eyes.
—Come on, angelito-kun —Aisha said, tilting her head—, did you already forget about us? You're so quick to disown two Amazons who almost left you without a pelvis… how cruel.
—So cruel! —Lena added, puffing out her cheeks as if she were offended, although she was still laughing.— Not even a goodbye kiss!
I covered my face with a hand.
This is hell. Literally.
—Don't worry, angelito —Aisha's voice dropped a tone, becoming more dangerous.— The District is always hungry. And sooner or later… you'll be back.
The wink she gave me was the final blow.
I slammed the door shut, almost tripping down the hallway, while behind me the laughter echoed like a condemnation.
Great. I just became the morning comedy for two Amazon prostitutes.
My life definitely can't sink any lower.
I slammed the door shut, almost stumbling as I tried to button the last button of my shirt. My pants barely held up on my hips, my hair was a mess, and my dignity… well, I left that on the bed with them.
But of course, silence wasn't going to be my ally.
—Angelito-kun, you forgot your favorite mole! —Lena shrieked from inside, her voice so clear it bounced throughout the hallway.
I heard Aisha's laughter, deep, taunting.
—Let him go, Lena. Let him run… although if he runs like he did last night, he'll probably trip on the stairs.
More laughter.
I covered my face with my hand and quickened my pace.
God… can the earth just open up and swallow me already?
But no. The universe decided it could still humiliate me a little more. Just as I reached the end of the hallway, a window opened behind me with a dry thud.
—THANK YOU FOR THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE, ANGELITO-KUN! —Lena shouted, leaning half her body out, waving the sheet like a flag.
I felt every gaze on me. Early-bird adventurers, courtesans chatting in doorways, even a couple of drunk clients who could barely stand. They all looked at me. Everyone.
And as if that weren't enough, Aisha joined in, leaning on the window frame with a feline smile.
—Next time… don't forget to bring condoms, angelito!
The chorus of laughter erupted in the street.
I lowered my head, gritted my teeth, and kept walking as if nothing had happened.
It's not me, it's not me… I'm just a poor bastard in the body of a pretty gigolo.
The Red District enveloped me with its suffocating atmosphere: lanterns lit in broad daylight, sweet and heavy scents, naked skin peeking out from balconies, low, suggestive music that seemed to seep through every crack. The air vibrated with whispers, muffled moans, and the clinking of coins changing hands.
Every step was a reminder: I was in the epicenter of pleasure and vice.
And, to top it all off, with the invisible label of "the angelito-kun" stuck to my forehead.
Great. Absolutely great.
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I ended up returning to the Soma Familia headquarters. The poor image I had of the previous Gabriel was shattered, left in tatters—a gigolo and an alcoholic...
I've never felt so embarrassed as I did with those Amazons.
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Hello everyone, how are you all doing? Everything good?
It's been a long time since I last updated, a thousand apologies.
I don't think anyone is very interested in what I've been doing in the span of a month, so well, I'm going to try to update more often.
Thoughts on the chapter?
The next chapter (which I've already started writing, by the way) I will try to do today, if laziness doesn't get the best of me.
That's all for now, bye.
Started writing on 02/09/25
Published on 13/09/25