The Soul Transference device shook in Asher's hand as he fought to clear his vision. Dim lantern light cast shadows about the stall as his target mucked, her skin glistening with sweat.
His free hand shot out to brace against the wall of the barn as the world spun. The nausea, one of his newest symptoms, kept getting worse.
It was this, or four more months of suffering. Six if he was lucky, the doctors had said.
He said a silent prayer to a god he didn't believe in that the woman, Lorena, would go peacefully. It was a habit he'd started toward the end of his career, a clear sign he'd been in the job too long.
The button depressed under his thumb, like a knife in her spine.
Something tugged deep within him as a stream of ghastly blue wisps flowed from the device toward Lorena. Her back arched, arms went rigid, fingers spread wide. A breathless gasp escaped her lips.
It happened slowly, then all at once. The tugging sensation turned ravenous, tearing and ripping. Cold sweat dripped. A stinging numbness spread from his chest to his limbs as the device claimed its territory, his knees buckling as a spike of pain shot through his skull.
His consciousness flickered as an endless void of frozen blackness crept in around him. All sensations dulled to nothingness, his sense of self slipping away. The space between his heartbeats stretched into forever.
A shrill scream. A sob.
Why? The voice was panicked. I—I don't want to die.
The voice faded, replaced by a thud he knew all too well. The sound of a corpse hitting the ground. He turned and stumbled, vertigo knocking him off balance as his perception of the world shifted down a foot and a half. His arm darted out toward the wall but came up short, sending him crashing down in a dizzy heap.
His vision blurred and his throat burned from bile rising up. The nausea was worse than anything the chemo had ever caused.
Colton and his team of techs at Aetheron Corporation had assured him that souls transferred cleanly during body "acquisitions." They'd tested it.
None of them mentioned it felt worse than actually dying.
Asher forced himself to breathe. This was his way out. His only choice. His second chance.
His eyes fluttered open, lingering on the source of the thump: his old body. Broken and mangled, it didn't look at peace even in death. He stared as his corpse slowly disintegrated, the System erasing any trace that Asher had ever existed.
Was Lorena's soul in there? He realized he had no idea. He hadn't asked many questions. The fewer uncomfortable details the better, but a small part of him was regretting that.
He pressed a hand to his chest, desperate to calm his thrashing heart. Slender fingers met unfamiliar curves.
He opened his—her—eyes. Asher, now Lorena, rolled the thought in her mind. That would take some getting used to. He had assumed many aliases over his career and always committed to them deeply, but never had one changed him—her—in this way.
She rolled her new shoulder, wincing in anticipation of the pain from metal grinding against bone.
Nothing. Just smooth, painless movement.
Standing came next. Her chest heaved with shallow, unfamiliar breaths, but the fire she expected in her knees never ignited. They simply worked, itching to run.
The ankle, that was the real test. She scrunched her face as the joint slowly rolled left. She pressed her lips as she rolled it to the right. It always hitched on the right.
The movement was smooth. No ticking of stubborn ligaments. No grinding of bone. She tipped her head back, her mouth falling open, and pointed her toes. No tightness from scarred skin refusing to stretch. Her ankle hadn't moved this far in years.
Laughter bubbled up. She clamped her hand against her mouth.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the lantern, her sunken cheeks and hollow eyes bringing to light something she had known from the start but refused to admit. This girl didn't need saving. She needed a meal and some rest. Lorena resisted the urge to crack her knuckles, terrified that the lack of pain would bring another bout of guilt.
Another sound escaped her, this one more of a sob than a laugh. Manic. Broken.
Her head snapped up.
Footsteps. From the farmhouse.
Lorena grabbed the pitchfork, straining slightly at the weight. Doubt swirled in her stomach but her legs were already carrying her out of the barn.
She ran through the fields, her new ankle singing with the movement when a chill ran up her spine.
Something stirred inside her. A rustling, like fingers brushing against her soul.
Then a groan.
The breeze rocked the trees, branches creaking and shaking. It must have been the trees.
Her legs kept running.
After an hour she made it far enough that she could no longer see the barn. She stepped off the road and into the forest. She wanted to be somewhere a late night traveler wouldn't stumble upon her.
Another groan, this one wet.
Another brush, this one firm.
Lorena glanced around, shoulders tense. There was nothing but creeping darkness and thick forest. And the breeze. It must have been the breeze.
She ignored the sensation. It was probably just a symptom of the transfer, and pushed further into the forest until she was hidden from the road. She put her back to a tree as she opened her stats page, her interface blocking out her surroundings.
Lorena, Level 9 Human
Health: 140/140
Armor: 35
Power: 10%
Critical Strike Chance: 0%
Experience: 98%
She had a Power rating of 10%, whatever that meant. Back home she could bench press her body weight, even in her failing body. Could her new arms throw a meaningful punch?
It was weird seeing an entire person reduced to a set of attributes. The girl she stole this body from had probably fought for each and every level, mucking out stalls and barely scraping by. Now she had stolen them, and the break that old Lorena had desperately needed. She tried to push the feelings back into their corner and opened her map. She needed to get to Darnathal—
Alert: Combat Initiated
Piercing hot pain shot through her calf.
She dismissed her interface and saw a spider the size of a small dog clamped to her leg. Her brain screamed one word: predator.
She kicked. Wild. Stupid. The spider's weight barely shifted as its fangs just dug deeper, scraping the hard curve of her tibia.
Warm blood seeped from the wound as a notification flashed.
Poison
Her veins burned. Her health plummeted.
Adapt or die. Her old mantra rang through her mind as instincts kicked in, muscle memory from a body that no longer existed.
She scrambled for the pitchfork in her inventory and stabbed. The prongs bent.
She leaned all her weight into the next strike. The pitchfork hit something soft and vital, black liquid sputtering out from the beast.
The spider sagged, then detached its fang from her skewered leg.
It leapt for her face.
Shift weight back.
Pitchfork up.
Protect the throat.
Don't fucking die.
Her arms strained under the weight. Her gouged calf gave out and she slipped on her own blood.
She landed with a thud and gasped. Her lungs burned worse than the poison.
The spider crawled up her chest.
Sharp points bit into her skin.
She dropped the pitchfork and swung.
Bone hit tough meat. Knuckles shattered and pain bloomed. A bloody scream ripped from her throat.
Fangs pierced skin. Scraped bone.
The world narrowed. Slowed.
Numbness settled in. Heavy.
This was it. The end.
The spider's hiss taunted. The fangs cracked.
Instincts took over. Her hand shot out, fingers like knives.
Her nails bit into something soft. Gelatinous. The eyes.
She pushed past the resistance, something wet giving way. The spider shrieked. Released.
She heaved it off. Too heavy. Her arms screamed.
She lunged for the pitchfork and stabbed, driving the prongs deep into the remaining eyes. Black ichor pooled by her feet as a mix of grunts and sobs echoed through the forest.
Lorena stood, panting, her whole body trembling. Blood. Too much blood. Her fingers were covered in a sticky black substance that made her want to gag.
A soft chime cut through her sobs.
Alert: Combat Ended
A cascasde of notifications filled her interface and she dismissed them all. She needed to focus on surviving. Escaping.
The poison debuff counter ticked down to zero, her health circling the drain. She stumbled over reaching roots and jutting rocks on legs that felt like rubber. The fence was just on the other side of the trees. She was so close. She'd be safe on the road.
Her legs carried her another twenty feet before they gave out. She collapsed against a fallen tree at the road's edge, back pressed against the rough bark.
She stared down at her hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Her right hand was swelling rapidly. She had enough experience with broken bones to know it was ruined.
Black gore caked under her nails, the juxtaposition against the light blue nail polish causing her hands to shake harder. You only painted nails if you had hope, and she had stolen all of that and more just to get away from some pain.
She scrubbed furiously at the nails, desperate to remove the black gore. Pain bloomed in her hand and she gave up in a silent scream of rage.
Her health bar pulsed red at the edge of her vision.
Current Health: 18/140
A wave of dizziness swept over her. She had lost a lot of blood. She was going to die on this road, alone and in the dark, in a body that wasn't hers. A quiet voice finally grew loud enough to hear over the panic clouding her mind. Maybe the spider was fate, correcting an act so wrong even a mindless beast knew it needed to be scrubbed from existence.
A growl rippled through her.
Less than an hour in my body and you've almost killed us both. Pathetic.
The voice wasn't external. It erupted from inside. Intimate. Furious.
Lorena's breath caught. "Who—"
Who do you think? The words dripped with contempt. I'm Lorena. The real Lorena. And you stole my body.
"That's—that's not," Lorena's voice cracked. "You're dead. The System—"
I belong to Goddess Tevra. She decides when I die, not the System, and definitely not you.
Lorena's skin went ice cold, sweat pooling in her lower back. Her heart pounded against her ribs. This couldn't be happening.
So here's the deal. You're going to get us to a healer. Or I'll make sure Goddess Tevra takes you too.
There was a pause, thick and angry. Lorena's mind spun trying to wrap her head around what was happening.
Don't waste time thinking. You have eighteen minutes until we bleed out. Get moving.