People imagine death in many different ways. For some, it is merely a new beginning; for others, it may be the pearly gates or a raging inferno.
But never in his wildest delusions did Marcin imagine death would manifest as a simple office building. It was both unsettling and hilarious to him at the same time, yet his curiosity held back his laughter.
He needed to understand what in the afterlife he was doing in such a bureaucratic setting and how he could be assigned somewhere far removed from this.
The line in front of him moved painfully slowly. It almost felt like he was back on Earth, waiting to pick up a new ID or something.
After what felt like actual centuries of waiting, it was finally his turn to engage in the timeless tradition of Eastern Europeans: making a mess of the establishment.
"Name and surname," the clerk drawled, clearly bored out of his mind.
"Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz," Marcin replied, the name rolling off his tongue as if he had been preparing for this moment his entire, albeit short, life.
The clerk looked up slowly, his eyes glazed over, clearly struggling to comprehend what he had just heard.
"Brzęczyszczykiewicz," Marcin repeated, his grin widening as he tried to enjoy the moment.
The clerk was clearly struggling, muttering the name to himself multiple times, each attempt inaccurate.
"No, no. It's Brzęczyszczykiewicz," Marcin corrected him quickly.
"Shut up!" the clerk yelled, his voice laced with rage and embarrassment. He crumpled the paper and attempted to calm himself.
"Oi! John, we have a horrendous case of eldritch language. Can you punch him into the system?" His voice was on the verge of cracking; he was barely holding it together.
The much younger guy behind him, who hadn't been paying attention to the exchange, shrugged and waved for Marcin to come over. He entered through a small door next to the counter, where the clerk was now downing a shot of something clearly alcoholic.
"So, name and surname?" the new clerk asked, his voice as monotone as the first clerk's as he began typing on his computer.
Marcin's grin grew even wider as he happily stated: "Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz."
The sound of typing halted as the young clerk looked at Marcin like he was an alien.
"Huh?" was the rather intelligent response Marcin received, so he simply repeated his name again.
It was a very entertaining fifteen minutes for Marcin as he watched the clerk struggle repeatedly to spell suchbeautiful name. Finally, it was done, and Marcin made sure to check that it was correct in the system.
"Alright... place of birth?" the clerk asked, relieved that the name was finally behind him. A spark of hope returned to his eyes, only to be brutally extinguished by Marcin's next words.
"Chrząszczyżewoszyce, powiat Łękołody," he said, maintaining a serious expression as he barely contained the mischievous grin threatening to break free.
The last flicker of hope completely faded from the clerk's eyes; his vacant stare trying to send Marcin straight into the deepest pits of hell.
"Alright, fine. I'm just fucking with you, my guy. Name's Marcin Nowak, born in Wrocław." He finally relented, causing the clerk at the counter to whip his head around, nearly falling from his chair in the process.
"You what?! This is the Ministry of Death, not some circus for you to run!" he yelled, his face turning a very unhealthy shade of red.
The entire lobby was now staring in Marcin's direction, but it was too late. The fun had been had, and the memes had been memed.
"I'm pretty sure that just having the word 'Ministry' in your name already makes it a bigger clusterfuck than I could ever hope to cause," Marcin shrugged, glancing at the poor younger clerk who was now deleting the painstakingly written letters.
Before the situation could descend any further into chaos, another voice broke the tension.
"I'll take it from here, guys." It was another clerk, dressed in a classic two-piece suit. He had shoulder-length black hair and equally black eyes. But this one's eyes still had some life in them; he had to be a higher-up. No way a clerk in this place looked like a living being.
The short walk to the office was silent; the only sounds were the occasional sigh or murmur from the other employees in the building. However, they arrived in a small office that some might even call cozy.
The new clerk barely closed the door before bursting out laughing, his loud guffaw felt oddly contagious, and soon enough, Marcin was struggling to stand as he joined in on the unrestrained laughter.
"Pfffft... Marcin... that had to be the weirdest way to mess with them I've ever seen. Pffft, hmhm," he said, still trying unsuccessfully to suppress his laughter.
"Uhh. Thanks?" Marcin replied, confused but pleased that he had made a decent first impression on the apparent boss of this place.
"I guess some introductions are in order. I have too many names to choose from, but you've probably heard of the Grim Reaper or some variation of it. Basically, I'm one of the managers of the afterlife," he explained, finally managing to calm down, though an amused expression still lingered on his face.
"Anyways, the point is you made this dull day a little more enjoyable. And so, by the power of divine irresponsibility granted to me by... myself, I'll give you a chance to live again." He gestured wildly, as if trying to sell Marcin a used car recently involved in a vehicular manslaughter.
"Like... a standard Isekai deal or the 'suffer eternally' Isekai deal?" Marcin asked, intrigued by the offer, his eyes sparkling with hope.
"The funny Isekai deal." The death god grinned, sending a shiver down Marcin's spine. "I send people to worlds they know, to worlds they love—"
"Can I eliminate a few of those worlds from your list?" Marcin cut him off, his voice cracking with fear and his face turning ashen.
The death god merely smirked.
"Grimdark isn't really my thing, so you don't have to worry too much," he explained while shuffling through papers on his desk. Before long, he was done, a triumphant smile on his face.
Aha! This one is perfect," he exclaimed, starting to write on it.
"Uh... what world is it?" Marcin asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.
"No spoilers, kid. That would be no fun," the very cheerful-looking god said, his tone gaining a teasing edge.
"Do I get... anything to take with me?" Marcin asked cautiously, not wanting to piss offthe deity before him.
"No systems, no cheat powers, just you and your noggin. But I'll give you something nice. The world you're heading to does have special powers, so having one won't be too weird, and we can't leave you defenseless, can we?" The manager explained casually, shrugging his shoulders as if he's done it many times already.
"Huh. I guess that's fine... more than fine, actually," Marcin thought aloud.
"Getting to live again and a superpower on top? That's a pretty good deal." He thought, already starting to plan his first exploits before snapping back to reality.
"Wait!" Marcin called out, almost hesitant to speak. "Can I keep my good drinking genes?" he asked in a low voice.
"You..." The death god paused, unsure how to react. "You want to keep the ability to drink over three liters of vodka and still get home on your own two legs?" he asked, torn between laughter and the urge to smite the mortal.
"I mean, it's a good party trick, right? You know... guzzle enough alcohol to kill two men and still look completely fine," Marcin explained, though his shifting gaze betrayed his true motive.
"Bullshit. You just want to drink people under the table... I swear, you Slavs… But I'll allow it." The death god chuckled and added an additional line of text to the paper.
"Well, everything looks to be in order..." He trailed off, scanning the paper once more before standing up.
He walked toward Marcin, extending his hand.
"Good luck out there, enjoy your new life, and remember to have fun," the manager said, gently pushing Marcin's chest and making him fall backward into the darkness.
If you asked Marcin what the best feeling in the world was, he would undoubtedly tell you it was the moment he was finally old enough to go take a shit instead of wearing a diaper.
Those who claim it's sex clearly haven't been reincarnated as a newborn yet.
His name wasn't even Marcin anymore. In this new life, he had been reincarnated in Japan, near Kyoto, and was now named Sora. Overall, it wasn't all that bad, even though he was scared shitless at first upon discovering that his family name was Inoue.
Fortunately for him, he could rule out Bleach as a potential world he had been placed into. There was no Karakura Town on the outskirts of Tokyo, or anywhere else, really.
He was slightly disappointed at first, but ultimately relieved he wouldn't have to deal with Aizen.
As he continued to grow, he quickly realized he was indeed in some kind of anime world. His first major clue being his own appearance.
His hair was pitch black, seemingly drawing in light, and his eyes were a deep red.
"The perfect anime edgelord look. Now I just need vampire teeth to complete it…" he chuckled to himself. "I'm Ebony Darkness Dementia Ravenway now."
His red eyes were not all that strange; at least not as strange as he expected. He had seen people with naturally green hair and orange eyes, so in his mind, he got off easy compared to the rest of his new world.
If there was a hell, it had to be going back to school for the second time, especially in Japan, where apparently, you can't skip grades, not really.
The educational system was heavily focused on ensuring everyone fit in, punishing excellence almost as harshly as laziness or falling behind.
Sora recognized this early on and decided to go along with the system, even though it was incredibly dull and he already knew the material.
At least he would learn the Japanese language properly, which was the only subject he really needed to focus on.
Shortly after turning ten, his 'superpower' finally manifested. He could now spawn exploding bubbles from his skin.
He found it pretty neat, perhaps not the most immediately useful thing, but still interesting nonetheless.
Fortunately, he had various pieces of media to draw inspiration from, and he would do so without shame to make these bubbles the best they could become.
It was a normal Friday afternoon. Deep in thought, he played with the bubbles in his room, attempting to find a way to progress. The advancement wasn't as fast as he would have liked, but it was steady.
Suddenly, there was a hesitant knock at the door.
He quickly got up, hearing his parents open the door and yelp. Rounding the corner, he found a girl around his age, who looked like she hadn't eaten properly in days.
Her long black hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and her violet eyes struggled to remain open. She stumbled into the house, barely managing to stay on her feet.
She promptly collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep, not giving Sora a chance to introduce himself.
She remained there for almost the entire afternoon, only waking up later at night, still looking as lifeless as before, but at least rested.
She spoke very little, not even giving her name, which made Sora highly suspicious. Why his parent's didn't call the police was completely beyond his understanding.
"The anime logic is strong with this world..." Sora thought silently as he tried unsuccessfully to make the girl talk. AT least she let him introduce himself.
The verdict was simple: the Inoue family would let her stay for the weekend, but then she had to go back home.
She visibly flinched at the word home.
Clearly, she had none, yet she lied to Sora's parents almost expertly, claiming she was lost and that her family would pick her up later.
Sora, obviously, did not believe a single word she said, but for some unholy reason, his parents did.
"Did they feel bad for her and want to at least give her some food and new clothes to wear?" he pondered quietly.
Whatever the reason, Sora would have to share his room for a few days, which made him slightly grumpy. He wouldn't be able to train at all with someone else in the room.
The night between Saturday and Sunday was quiet, too quiet for the part of town Sora lived in. It was as if the air itself distorted any sound made beyond the Inoue family property.
The girl seemed to feel the same. Her body tensed, and her eyes shifted around the room.
"I-I have to go," she said, speaking for the first time in a full sentence as she scrambled to put the few items Sora's parents bought her into a small bag.
Sora looked at her; she was clearly scared. Sadness and guilt were etched all over her face.
The doorbell rang, and Sora got up.
"Then you should run fast. Whatever it is you're running from just rang the doorbell," he said, opening a window for her to climb through.
"Don't-" He was cut off by a loud crash from the living room.
He didn't wait for her to say anything; his small legs carried him down the stairs by the time the young girl started fleeing.
He rounded the corner into the living room only to see two men, dressed in formal attire and clearly unhappy.
His parents were sprawled on the floor, unmoving among the wrecked furniture.
"Well fu-" Sora couldn't even finish the thought as one of the men immediately sent a small paper talisman flying his way.
Sora rolled to the ground on instinct, taking cover behind the singed couch and barely managing to dodge. The talisman connected with a wall behind him, scorching it black in a small explosion of flames.
Sora quickly jumped to his feet and conjured a bubble, keeping it hidden from the attackers behind the couch.
"Oi, Kazuo, stop blowing things up! We need answers first!" an angry voice shouted from the man who was nonchalantly standing near the broken table.
"You said no names, Takeshi, remember?" came the swift reply, echoing through the wrecked living room and creating a few seconds of silence.
Sora seized the moment, knowing he most likely couldn't beat a single adult, much less two.
It was time for a distraction.
"You two aren't the sharpest knives in Caesar, are you?" he said almost reflexively, not bothering to hide his biting sarcasm.
"You calling us stupid, brat?!" the now-identified Kazuo yelled, his face turning an impressive shade of red.
"All I'm saying is that your last two brain cells are competing for third place," Sora shrugged.
Kazuo's eyebrow twitched angrily before he rushed to grab Sora. He never reached his target.
As Kazuo jumped over the couch, he came into a contact with the hidden bubble, popping it. His body twisted and contorted in impossible ways as he vanished, letting out a short cry of unimaginable pain.
The barrier of silence seemed to lift itself with Kazuo's death, the sounds of a busy night returning to Sora's senses.
Sora turned to Takeshi, who was suddenly on guard, ready to jump at the first sign of danger.
"I didn't know the emo community started outsourcing self-harm..." Sora muttered, his eyes never leaving Takeshi, who reached for another one of those paper talismans.
"Just what in the hell did you do, brat?! Who even are you?" Takeshi asked, his talisman starting to glow fiery orange as he spoke.
"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die," Sora responded without a hint of hesitation. a bubble formed at his fingertip and flied off, disintegrating the talisman Takeshi was about to throw along with his arm.
A scream of intense pain rippled through the house as Takeshi fell to his knees. His arm looked like it was twisted off just below his elbow, blood pouring from his misshapen stump like a fountain.
"Now that you've been... disarmed," Sora said with a murderous look in his crimson eyes, "mind telling me why? Why do this?" He approached the downed man, but he didn't get an answer.
Takeshi was in shock, staring at his missing hand and the blood oozing out.
"Look, I really don't want to interrupt your bleeding session, but I'd really appreciate some answers here," Sora said, gripping Takeshi's chin and forcing him to look up.
"A-A girl... We're looking for… a girl. We didn't-" He was interrupted by a knee to the solar plexus.
"So not only did you kill my family, but you're also after little girls? What's next? Are you with the IRS too?" Sora snarked, his barely contained anger bubbling to the surface.
There was no answer. Takeshi was too busy trying to stem the bleeding. "Whatever... Once you're in hell, tell your boss that I'll never pay taxes, no matter how many times he asks." Sora growled and sent another bubble at Takeshi, completely erasing his existence in a silent explosion.
He turned to the sight of his parents, reaching down to them, hoping for a pulse, no matter how faint it might be, but found nothing.
Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sat in the partially demolished living room, taking in the devastation around him.
"I guess I really am an Isekai protagonist now..." he thought bitterly as he sat next to his parents. The sound of police sirens echoed in the distance as he lost consciousness.