I blinked groggily, my world spinning like I'd chugged a bad batch of expired energy drinks, upside down, naturally, because why wake up from a coma any other way? Below me? Nothing but fluffy clouds and speck-sized villages that screamed "budget fantasy sequel." My heart did a somersault into my throat as I clocked it: I was dangling hundreds of meters up, my left ankle chained to some rusty links that looped up to... a flying carpet? And chilling on it like she was at a spa was this curvaceous bombshell, legs crossed in full zen mode, eyes shut like she was ignoring the world's dumbest alarm clock, me.
"How the hell did I get here?" I muttered, flailing my arms like a drunk trying to hail a cab in zero gravity.
I grabbed for the chain, but my biceps were on vacation, and my abs? Let's just say they were more "beer gut" than "battle-ready."
After ten failed pull-ups that left me huffing like an overweight asthmatic, I quit, swinging there like a rejected trapeze artist.
"Where the fuck am I? I was just crossing the road when that truck..." My eyes popped wide like I'd mainlined caffeine.
Oh shit. I'd doom-scrolled enough isekai forums to know this trope: Truck-kun, the interdimensional Uber of doom! Hitting rule-following pedestrians since forever, yeeting them into magic worlds with cheat powers and waifu armies. But this setup? Total crapshoot. No fancy portal, no tutorial from a sassy goddess. Just me, playing aerial bait off a knockoff magic rug.
"No! But isn't this the worst spawn point ever? I mean, I've read worse—like that dude who got reborn as a slime or a damn spider, but c'mon! At least plop me on terra firma, not dangling like a piñata at a dragon's quinceañera!" I yelled, my voice echoing into the void.
The lady didn't even flutter an eyelash.
Was she deep in trance, or just ghosting me harder than my last date?
Twisting my neck for a better peek, I eyed the carpet, frayed edges, like it'd been through a genie's divorce sale.
And her? Drop-dead gorgeous, with curves that could crash a server farm, but her getup was pure "villainess vibe": swirling robes, glowy tattoos, and a staff that screamed "zap first, ask questions never."
"Hey! Carpet Boss Lady! Mind unchaining me? Or at least rotating this mess? My head's turning into a blood balloon, and I'm brainstorming escape plans in limericks!"
Zilch.
Nada.
Great, transmigrated into a silent treatment simulator.
Then the carpet nosedived like it hit an air pocket, slinging me around like a yo-yo on steroids. "Whoa, turbulence much? I get motion sick, wait, is that a dragon? False alarm, just a jumbo pigeon. Or... oh crap, please not a roc. I didn't pack my anti-bird mace!"
As wind turned my hair into a tornado mop, I replayed my life fails: All those Netflix binges instead of grinding Duolingo for Elvish or whatever.
If this was my new gig, I'd better grind levels quick, or unlock the "scream for help" emote. "Mental note," I wheezed, "next crossing, dodge the plot device on wheels."
Finally, she cracked one eye, smirking like she'd eavesdropped on my inner monologue. "Pathetic mortal. You prattle endlessly."
I flashed an inverted grin, face flushing like a tomato. "Hey, we call that 'personality' where I'm from. Got any starter packs? Like, infinite mana or something?"
She clammed up again, going full radio silence.
For fuck's sake, lady, throw a guy a bone, or at least a parachute! I begged like a telemarketer on commission, but nope, she ignored me harder than a spam filter.
After dangling upside down long enough for my brain to turn into a blood-soaked sponge, the rushing winds finally lulled me into blackout mode.
Sweet, inverted mercy.
When I peeled my eyelids open next, I was sprawled in... a graveyard? The actual fuck? Tombstones everywhere, looking like they'd been copy-pasted from a Halloween store catalog.
And there was the bombshell, standing next to me, staring at this massive grave with eyes so somber she could've been auditioning for a goth music video.
She muttered some gibberish spell, sounded like "Open Sesame" meets pig Latin, and boom, the grave cracked open like a budget trapdoor, revealing a staircase spiraling down into who-knows-where. Spooky chic, I guess.
"Uhm... Excuse me, miss? But can you tell me where the fuck I am? And why'd you drag me to this undead Airbnb?" I croaked, rubbing my sore ankle.
She whipped her head around, eyeing me like I was the village idiot who'd just asked if water was wet.
And hey, maybe I was. "Have you forgotten already? Your father sold you to me. For ten measly gold coins. He said I could run as many experiments on you as I pleased, and you agreed like a good little lab rat."
"No, the hell I did not! Experiments? What are you, some evil scientist with a PhD in mad cackling?" I yelped, my brain short-circuiting on the plot twist.
"I am a mage," she snapped, like that explained everything. "Shut up and let's go." She flicked her finger at me, and suddenly my lips zipped together, literally stitched shut with invisible thread. I tried to yell, but all that came out was muffled "mmphs" like a cartoon character with a mouth full of marbles.
Then she snatched my collar and hoisted me up like I weighed less than a feather pillow.
Damn, she was strong for a lady, must be all that spell-slinging CrossFit. I flailed and kicked like a toddler in a tantrum, but one sharp slap later, and I went limp as overcooked spaghetti.
Note to self: Do not piss off the hot mage with super strength.
My cheek burned like it'd been high-fived by a fireball, and just like that, I was her docile sidekick, stumbling down the creepy stairs into whatever fresh hell awaited.
Great, from isekai noob to human guinea pig in record time. Where's the reset button when you need it?
Down those creepy stairs we went, and let me tell you, it wasn't Narnia waiting at the bottom.
Nope, it was a massive hall straight out of a torture porn flick, think less "mad scientist lab," more "medieval dungeon designed by a sadist with a Home Depot gift card." Racks, spikes, and some freaky contraptions that looked like they'd give the Spanish Inquisition an inferiority complex.
The mage lady, still unfairly hot, still terrifying, hauled me onto a cold steel table like I was a slab of discount meat.
Before I could process, she strapped my wrists and ankles down tight.
Then, with a knife that gleamed like it had a personal grudge, she started shredding my clothes.
Now, under normal circumstances, a bombshell ripping my shirt off might've gotten me... excited. And, okay, fine, I did pop a boner, because apparently my body's a traitor even when I'm about to be a lab rat.
She glanced at my, ahem, situation and sneered. "Small."
Excuse me?! Lady, it's at least average, probably top 50th percentile on a good day! I wanted to yell, but my lips were still stitched shut, so all I could do was glare and mumble incoherently like a pissed-off Muppet.
"Let the first test begin," she said, her face splitting into a grin so wicked it could've starred in a horror movie.
She pulled out a bottle of bubbling green goo that looked like it was brewed in a radioactive swamp. "I made this potion years ago," she muttered, scribbling in a notebook like a nerdy serial killer. "Supposed to increase strength. First human trial."
I thrashed against the chains, yo, I did not sign up to be a guinea pig for your fantasy Red Bull! But did she care? Nope.
She dipped a dagger, because of course it's a dagger, not a syringe like a civilized psycho, into the green sludge and, without so much as a "this might sting," plunged it into my heart.
Lady, ever heard of bedside manner? Maybe use a needle next time, not a friggin' medieval shiv! I screamed in my head, my stitched mouth useless.
Then, holy shit, pain exploded from my chest like I'd been tasered by a lightning bolt. It clawed through every nerve, and I blacked out faster than you can say "bad isekai plot."
But nope, no sweet escape for me.
I snapped awake almost instantly, thanks to her shoving some stinky white root under my nose. "This Kreaken Fungus will keep you conscious," she said, her devilish smile practically glowing. "You need to be *fully aware* for the experiments."
Fully aware?! Lady, I'd rather be fully dead! She dipped that cursed dagger back into the goo and, yep, stabbed my heart again.
And that was just the warm-up. What followed was a never-ending torture montage.
She ran hundreds of experiments, potions, spells, some weird-ass crystal that made my toes glow purple.
Every time I teetered on the edge of sweet, sweet death, she'd slap a healing spell on me like a sadistic paramedic.
Years passed, maybe decades.
I stopped counting after the first few dozen stabs, burns, and one particularly weird test involving a singing toad and my left armpit.
She loved it, too, grinning like a kid torturing ants with a magnifying glass.
I was her personal misery piñata, and she wasn't running out of swings.
If this was my isekai glow-up, someone needed to fire the game dev, because this respawn point was absolute garbage.