I tried to turn toward the bedroom, but my feet wouldn't move no matter how much I struggled.
It was as if the expensive hardwood floor had turned into industrial glue, clinging to my soles. I tugged, my heart starting to thud against my ribs, but my legs were anchors. I struggled, twisting my body, but nothing happened.
Suddenly, a strange, violent pulling sensation wrapped around me, tugging from every direction at once.
My body went numb, as if I were being sucked into a vacuum by a force I couldn't see.
My head spun.
My vision smeared into a blur of light and shadow, and then a blinding white glare erupted beneath my feet. I barely had time to register the scream caught in my throat.
When I finally managed to open my eyes, I wasn't in my apartment anymore.
I was somewhere else entirely.
The room looked like a fever dream from a sci-fi movie. Everything—from the walls to the floor—shimmered with a faint, cold light.
Windows floated in mid-air, and strange symbols and lines of code pulsed around me like digital fireflies. A low, soft hum vibrated through the floorboards.
It looked exactly like the high-tech nonsense I'd only ever seen on TV.
"Where am I? Hello?!" I called out, my voice thin and high. I started circling the room out of instinct, hands out, searching for a door—a vent, a seam, anything.
Suddenly, a glowing blue interface snapped into existence. It hovered inches from my face, and no matter which way I turned, it followed me like a persistent ghost.
[System Initializing…]
[Initialization Complete]
"Welcome, Tester. You are one of the chosen participants selected by a divine being. You are now given the opportunity to serve a God! Under their supervision, you will accomplish a mission together!"
A robotic voice filled the space. It sounded weirdly, annoyingly optimistic—like a customer service rep for the apocalypse.
"Testers?" I whispered. The word from the news report finally clicked.
[You have been chosen by a God.]
[You have been assigned to the God of War.]
[Initializing communication…]
[The God of War welcomes your presence.]
"Wait! What the hell does this mean?!" I shouted, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and mounting fury. A sudden pain surge in my neck but I ignored it, numb by all of the weird things happening in front of me.
[The rules are simple. You have fifty chances. Complete a mission once, and you will be rewarded with powers beyond your understanding. Failure will result in the complete destruction of your soul.]
The robotic voice chimed again, answering me with the clinical coldness of a manual.
"Mission?! What mission?" I demanded.
[Your mission will be determined by the God who chooses you. It was selected at random with varying difficulties. That is all. Best of luck, Tester.]
[The God of War cheers you on.]
"What do you mean, 'best of luck'?! I don't want this! Put me back!" I lunged forward, trying to grab the floating interface, but my hands just swept through empty air.
"My dream was just beginning! This can't be happening! You can't do this to me!"
[The God of War says you can do it!]
My brain was short-circuiting. Before I could even process the fact that my life was being hijacked, a line of cards materialized in the air.
Each one bore an image of two crossed swords. They floated upward, spinning in a slow, hypnotic circle, until one card drifted down, separating from the rest like a death sentence.
[You have been assigned your first mission.]
I ran a hand over my face, dragging myself back to the present. I didn't want to remember that day. The memory always left a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.
I'd read about people who actually dreamed of becoming Testers. It became quite the sensation in the news when the story came out and the world realized that the increasing rate of missing people was because of this and not some elaborate human trafficking.
I heard of people who trained their whole lives, learning martial arts and survival tactics just to be "worthy" of selection. It always sounded like a video game fantasy for people with a death wish.
Good for them, I guess. Not for me!
Normally, since a God can only select one Tester per decade, they choose someone compatible with their domain.
A God of Wisdom picks a scholar; a God of the Hearth picks a builder. That would make sense, wouldn't it?
So why the hell had this God picked me?
Being pretty was literally the only thing I had going for me. It was my career. It was my brand.
This old man was either a total pervert or a reckless gambler with a serious lapse in judgment. There was no in-between.
A surge of fury bubbled in my gut, and my hand curled into a fist. If I could actually see the old man—this "God of War" who I'd pictured as a senile, meddling prick—I would punch him right in the jaw.
I'd spent forty-nine lives surviving—well, barely surviving—war zones and battlefields.
I had all this theoretical knowledge now, and I dreamed of the day I could finally use it to knock him off his high horse.
[Honestly, you're so bad at this!] The interface chimed, snapping me out of my thoughts.
[The God of War shakes his head in disbelief.]
I rolled my eyes so hard it actually hurt. "My first forty-eight failed missions should've told you that, you fossil," I snapped back.
If I had been any good at this, I'd already be back on Earth with some shiny new godly powers—probably something violent and unnecessary, given my patron.
Not that I wanted them. I had a thriving career and a Gaccini contract waiting for me.
Unless, of course, I planned to spend my weekends performing heroic deeds for the masses.
Spoiler alert: I didn't. Being a hero wasn't exactly my forte.
I hadn't always been this... crass. But dying forty-nine times changes a person.
Desperation is a hell of a teacher, and cursing? Cursing was the only friend I had left to keep me from going completely insane.
I flopped onto the sterile floor, crossing my legs and ignoring whatever snarky text the interface was currently generating. Behind that screen, the God of War was probably panicking. His "Chosen One" was down to her very last life.
I didn't feel a shred of guilt for him.
Yeah. Enjoy waiting another decade, pal. Maybe pick someone who actually knows how to use a sword next time or a gun, whatever suits you.
How could he expect me to win a war when I'd never had a day of military training? I'd never even held a kitchen knife, let alone a gun. My first five missions had ended before they even truly began.
Dropping a fashion model into the middle of World War III wasn't "trial by fire"—it was an execution. I hadn't even had time to activate my perks before a missile turned me into confetti.
If it wasn't for my face, why would he choose me?
I closed my eyes, crossing my arms tightly as my legs began to tremble with a slow, creeping anxiety.
I was waiting for the system to refresh for the final time. I might as well start saying my goodbyes.