Chapter 1 Where did you come from?
"My lord… I still don't understand."
"Makado, this is necessary. We need a preliminary trial to minimize catastrophic error."
In a secluded laboratory nestled deep beneath the Himalayas, two figures stood in silence before a translucent nutrient tank. Inside floated an infant—pale, serene, wrapped in faintly glowing filaments, suspended in amber fluid like a jewel in its cradle.
What the hell? Why is everything so… sticky?
Yuki groaned. Her head throbbed—not from alcohol (she'd barely had two glasses at the office mixer), but from something deeper, stranger. She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt heavy, coated in a slick, gelatinous film. Did I throw up in my sleep? Ugh… disgusting.
She forced her eyes open.
And froze.
Staring back at her was a face of impossible beauty: silken white hair spilling over narrow shoulders, skin luminous as moonlight, lips the soft red of cherry blossoms, and eyes—purple, clear and depthless as polished amethyst. For a heartbeat, Yuki thought she was hallucinating an angel.
Then reality crashed in.
"Wait—who are you?!" she blurted, scrambling backward. "I live alone! How did you get in my apartment?!"
The figure mirrored her shock—same wide eyes, same parted lips. Yuki reached out instinctively… and met only cold, smooth resistance.
Glass.
Her breath hitched. She wasn't looking at a stranger. She was staring at her own reflection—inside a cylindrical pod.
Panic flared. She twisted, taking in her surroundings: a vast, opulent chamber bathed in golden light, lined with humming consoles, coiled conduits, and strange instruments that pulsed with violet energy. The pod sat at the center like an altar. Outside, the world was alien, sterile, and undeniably real.
"No… no way. This has to be a dream," she muttered, pressing her palms against the curved wall. But the stickiness on her skin, the chill of the glass, the ache in her lungs—they were all too vivid.
"Okay, fine," she whispered. "Not a dream. So… transmigration? Reincarnation? Lab experiment gone wrong?" She glanced down. Her body was swathed in a thin, pearlescent membrane that clung like wet silk. Not slender, but undeniably shapely—long legs, defined waist, strong shoulders. "Damn… these legs could model."
As she shifted, something brushed against her back—soft, weighty. She tried to turn, but the pod was too narrow. Wings? The thought sent a jolt through her.
"Hello? Anyone? System? Guide? Anya? Sawandika?" Her voice came out hoarse, delicate—like wind chimes after rain. No response.
She sighed. "Right. No cheat system. Classic."
After scanning the interior for controls and finding none, she made a decision. If there was no door, she'd make one.
Bracing herself in the cramped space, she drew a breath—and punched.
CRACK!
The reinforced glass shattered like spun sugar. Shards exploded outward in a glittering arc, yet her knuckles remained unmarked, unbroken. She stared at her fist, stunned.
"…Guess I'm not human anymore."
Stepping out onto cool marble, she finally saw them: three pairs of pure white wings unfurling behind her, feathers shimmering with an inner light. Ethereal. Powerful. Angel-tier.
But the room? Not heaven. More like a billionaire's mad-scientist lair crossed with a Byzantine cathedral—gold leaf everywhere, marble pillars, flickering holograms, and ominous machinery snaking into the floor.
"This is definitely not divine," she muttered, sidestepping a puddle of viscous fluid pooling beneath the pod.
She approached the far door—massive, metallic, carved with intricate glyphs she couldn't read. To her surprise, it swung open with a whisper at her touch.
Beyond lay a corridor stretching into shadow, flanked by towering columns, its ceiling lost in gloom. At the far end: another door, this one sealed with a digital keypad glowing faintly blue.
She tried pushing. Nothing. She tapped random numbers—then froze. A primal warning prickled her spine: Wrong code = bad news.
"Great. Trapped with angel wings and zero Wi-Fi."
She sank to the floor, cross-legged, wings folding awkwardly around her. "Do angels even sleep? Or use bathrooms? What if I have to pee—do I just… levitate over a cloud?"
Just then—a presence.
Not sound. Not movement. A knowing. Deep in her marrow, a resonance like a tuning fork struck in her soul.
Someone is coming.
Someone who… made me.
The final door slid open without a sound.
Golden light flooded the corridor.
On the left: an ancient man in a flowing obsidian cloak, silver hair framing a face lined with wisdom. In his hand, a scepter crowned with living flame. He barely reached her waist.
On the right: a titan in gleaming gold armor, skin sun-kissed, black hair cascading past his shoulders, eyes blazing like twin suns. A crown of interlocking rings rested upon his brow. He radiated power—not just authority, but creation itself.
Yuki's mind short-circuited. Left. Right. Left again. Her vision tunneled.
And then—darkness.
Silence.
The armored figure looked down at the unconscious girl sprawled on the marble. His voice, when it came, was low, resonant, laced with something almost like… hurt.
"…Am I truly that terrifying?"
Beside him, Makado chuckled, adjusting his spectacles.
"Oh, I doubt it's you she's afraid of, Your Majesty.
It's what you represent."