My death on Earth was undramatic.
No trailer truck, no lightning strike, no heroic fight against thugs. Just a packet of stale mixed rice, given to me by a grandmother who probably took pity on me scavenging for vegetable scraps in the trash behind the food stall.
Food poisoning. My body, already weakened by hunger and despair, simply gave up in a slum.
I, Wa Lang, died with the same inglorious and forgotten name on Earth. Then I woke up. And this new hell was far, far more painful. The first pain was the smell. Pungent ammonia mixed with the scent of rusted metal and something sweet that made me nauseous—like rotting meat soaked in honey.
The smell pierced straight to my brain. The second was the sound. A rhythmic, resonant metallic thud, punctuated by groans and, occasionally, short, abruptly cut-off screams. The third was the taste.
Dust and dirt filling my mouth. I lay face down on the damp, rocky ground. With great effort, I pushed my unfamiliar body—younger, but so weak—up to a sitting position.
My surroundings were dark, illuminated only by the faint reddish glow of strange crystals embedded in the walls of the stone cave.
The air felt heavy and filled with fine dust particles that shimmered red. "Hey, is this one awake?" a rough voice echoed. A large man, dressed in rags and covered in sweat, stood in front of an iron door. Not a guard. He was a slave, like us, but his demeanor was like that of an executioner. His hand held an iron rod. "You lazy bastard. He fainted after just a day's work," he grumbled, approaching.
He wasn't speaking to me, but to another, older slave, whose face was blank and his eyes were blank. "Old Bangka, take care of him. If he can't work tomorrow, report him to the Overseer. So he can be used as fertilizer early." The man called Old Bangka only nodded slowly, expressionless.
The Head Slave left, leaving us. I tried to stand, but my legs were shaking. My body felt like it wasn't my own.
Old Bangka came over and handed me a glass of murky water. "Drink," he said, his voice hoarse like stones grinding against each other. "Where... is this?" I asked, my voice hoarse. My modern knowledge—physics, chemistry, all those theories—felt utterly useless in the face of this primitive and torturous reality. The old man stared at me blankly. "Bloody Soul Mine, Sector 9. Satan's Servant Clan." He spoke as if he were pronouncing a death sentence. "We are fertilizer." "F-Fertilizer?" He didn't answer. Instead, he pointed to a tunnel across the room where we were gathered.
From there emerged two slaves pulling a wooden cart. On the cart lay a young man. His body was intact, but something was terribly wrong. His face was waxy, his eyes wide and blank.
There was no light of life in them. But most terrifyingly, from the pores of his skin, a faint golden light emanated, like a thin mist blown by the wind toward the roots of strange plants that crawled along the cave walls.
The plants, as they absorbed the golden mist, seemed to pulsate and radiate a brighter light. "His soul and spirituality were absorbed to nourish the 'Nirnroot,'" the old man whispered, his voice flat. "He's dried up. Now his body will be taken to the Lower Chamber, to be used as another raw material." I sat paralyzed, the nausea I'd been suppressing flooding back.
They were using people as fertilizer! My modern mind rebelled. This was beyond any cruelty I'd ever imagined. "Why... why didn't we fight back?" I hissed, the despairing voice of my old life creeping back. The old man turned his wrinkled face toward me.
For the first time, there was a hint of emotion in his eyes: bitter irony. "Fight back?" He touched his own chest, right at the pit of his stomach. "You haven't felt it, have you? The 'seed.'" As he mentioned it, I became aware of a strange sensation in my stomach. A cold spot, like burning ice, nestled just below my navel. It felt foreign, parasitic, and... hungry. "It's the 'Seed of Darkness' the Clan planted in our dantian," the old man explained. "It will grow, consuming our spirituality bit by bit. In ten days, if we don't receive 'Nutrition' from the Overseer, it will begin to consume our souls. And when we die, or are deemed useless, the Seed is harvested. It is the ripe fruit, full of the energy it has stolen from us." My chest tightened. This wasn't just slavery. This was a farm. We were livestock being raised for a harvest.
Suddenly, the Head Slave returned, this time with two others. His face contorted as he looked at me. "You piece of trash. Get up, get up! There's dirty work to do!"