I stared at the "See More" button, my hand hovering in the air. My fingers wavered, trembling so badly I thought the screen might actually recoil from my touch.
I hesitated for a long, suspended moment, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, before I finally forced myself to press it.
[Welcome to Temporary Reclusion! This space is an exact replica of the Tester's comfort place—a sanctuary where a tired soul seeking respite may rest until chosen by a New God.]
The words hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. The air in the room seemed to turn to ice, thinning in my lungs until I couldn't catch a full breath.
That fragile, beautiful hope I'd been cradling? It collapsed in an instant, shattering into jagged pieces.
I dragged my palms down my face, pressing hard against my skin as if I could steady the world by force. I tried to take a step forward, but as soon as I shifted my weight, my knees turned to water. I stumbled, catching myself clumsily on the edge of the sofa before I could hit the floor.
The realization was brutal, sudden, and unavoidable.
No. I hadn't escaped. I wasn't home.
My body finally gave out, and I sank to the floor, my shoulders slumping as the last of my strength drained away.
A heavy, suffocating despair settled over me, pressing down on my chest until even the act of breathing felt like a chore.
I stared blankly at the floor, my gaze tracing the wood grain without really seeing it. My thoughts felt distant, sluggish—like they were mired in tar.
I wanted to cry. I could feel my throat tightening, the desperate need for some kind of release. But my eyes remained stubbornly dry. They burned, stinging with the weight of everything I was feeling, but not a single tear fell.
Maybe I'd used them all up during those first thirty deaths.
I bit my lower lip, pressing down until a sharp sting cut through the numbness and the metallic taste of blood spread across my tongue. In past lives, I had pleaded, begged, and screamed until my voice broke. I had endured pain so intense it had scorched my soul. Now? There was only a hollow, ringing quiet.
"STOP PLAYING WITH ME!" I suddenly screamed. My voice cracked as it tore from my chest, echoing off the walls of my "apartment."
My breaths came too fast, my chest aching with the effort.
I tried to push myself up, but my legs were shaking too violently. I barely managed to lift myself an inch before I sank right back down.
Slowly, the pieces started to click. That was why the God of War had conceded. Even if it meant he had to wait another fifteen years for a new Tester instead of ten, he'd done it. I remembered skimming over a section in the Tester's Guidebook about "Concession"—my finger had passed over the words without ever thinking they'd apply to me.
He did it for me. So I wouldn't perish on the fiftieth try.
It was a single act of mercy. A gift, maybe.
But what good is it now?
Sure, I could stay here "indefinitely." But "indefinitely" felt like a hallway with no end. I was a prisoner in a silk-lined cell. This room would be where I took my final breath—if dying of old age was even allowed in this hellscape.
I exhaled shakily and ran a hand through my hair. Wait until another God picked me? I let out a quiet, disbelieving scoff. My odds were less than zero.
I was a Tester with only one life left. My jaw tightened. Even if I'd had half my lives remaining, no rational God would look at my track record and think, 'Yes, she's the one.'
I took a few slow, uneven steps across the room, using the sofa as an anchor.
No one on Earth had ever spoken of a Reclusion Room. If that was because no one survived long enough to reach it, or because no one ever escaped it, I didn't know which was worse.
Why would a God pick me when they could have someone with fifty fresh chances?
They'd have to wait a decade for a new cycle anyway! Those prideful, power-hungry creatures wouldn't sacrifice their own ascent just to save a failing model. Pity was the last thing I expected from them. They were the ones who turned mortal lives into a board game.
Every ounce of lingering hope finally left my body. I dragged my feet toward my bedroom, my steps unstable. It took everything I had just to reach the bed. I face-planted into the mattress, surrendering to the weight of it all.
Great. Just great. I'm not free. I'm just in a cosmic time-out, waiting to be pawned off to some other divine weirdo. What incredible luck.
I screamed into my pillow, my voice muffled, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the sheets. Just as I felt myself starting to drift into an exhausted, hollow sleep, the interface pinged.
Ding!
[Congrats Tester! You have been chosen by a new God!]
My eyes snapped open. I sat up, staring at the glowing screen with a deep, suspicious frown.
No way. No freaking way.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I read the next line.
[You have been assigned to a New God – the God of Fertility!]
[Initializing communication…]
The interface chimed again.
[Heyo!]
I blinked, failing to process the casual greeting. "Who are you?" I asked, my voice laced with more wariness than curiosity.
Suddenly, a searing pain erupted around my neck. I gasped, my hands flying to my throat as a flare of heat pressed against my skin, like a red-hot iron. I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw tightening as the sigil etched itself into my flesh.
A faint pink glow pulsed, then settled into a dull throb.
The sigil—the brand of my new patron. It was the "direct line" that allowed a God to bypass the clunky system interface and speak directly into my mind. I tapped the spot on my neck, trying to soothe the burning. It faded quickly, leaving only a lingering prickle.
I'd had the mark of two crossed swords when I served the God of War, but that had vanished the moment he conceded. I crawled off the bed and looked in the vanity mirror.
The new symbol was different. Very different. It was a full moon in the center, framed by two crescent shapes curving outward.
"So, this is the symbol of Fertility?"
[Bingo!]
The voice rang out in my head, so sudden and clear I nearly fell backward onto the bed.
[Ah. Ah. Mic test! Mic test!]
I winced. Hearing a voice inside my skull was incredibly unsettling, but this was... loud. My previous God had been a stoic prick who strictly used the text interface, which had been a massive pain. This was a whole different vibe.
[Oi. Human! Heaven to human! Can you hear me?]
I rolled my eyes. Of course. My new God was going to be just as problematic as the last one. What was it about me that attracted the cosmic eccentrics?
"I can hear you just fine," I replied dryly, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling.
[Oh? I thought it was malfunctioning since you asked who I am. Pretty sure the name flashed on the screen, you know.]
Well, it did exactly that, genius.
The first thing I noticed was his voice. It was smooth—dangerously smooth. I'd expected a God of Fertility to be a woman; I definitely hadn't expected a man. Is this what they call a gender stereotype? If so, I was guilty.
But that voice... it should be illegal for someone to sound that silk-wrapped while being that sarcastic. It was like being stabbed with a dagger wrapped in velvet.
It hurts just the same, but it sounds better in paper.
No wonder he's the God of Fertility, I thought bitterly. That voice alone could probably do the job.
Except for me, obviously. Given that my mental health was currently in the gutter, I wasn't even sure I could still feel a pulse, let alone anything else.
"That was my bad," I muttered, unimpressed.
I'd learned long ago not to argue with the "divine." Patience honed by forty-nine deaths was my only real skill. Besides, he'd actually picked me. I should be grateful, even if I was terrified.
Honestly, I'd rather die on a mission than rot in this room. If left in this "reclusion" indefinitely, I'd eventually snap and try to eat the interface.
[Oh? That's good.]
His tone was casual, almost amused. I could practically hear the shrug in his voice, picturing a smirk curling on a mouth I'd never see.
"So," I asked, settling into the mattress and rolling onto my side as if I were on a FaceTime call. "Why did you pick me?"
At least talking in bed was more comfortable than that soul-crushing white void.
[Obviously, because you're incredibly pretty.]