Background song: This thing called Love; Stephen Sanchez
A white-hot agony spiked through Ren's skull, twin throbs of pain like iron stakes hammered through his temples. He groaned, the sound raw in his throat. He didn't dare open his eyes. Even in the darkness behind his lids, the universe spun on a nauseating axis. He was lying on something soft, but it felt like he was balanced on a precipice. It reminded him of being a kid, spinning wildly until he fell, the fight between his will and his reeling brain—a profoundly sickening feeling.
"Argh," a whimper escaped him, as he barely held back a scream.
Stupid truck. Why didn't it just kill me? The thought surfaced from the murk. An accident. He had to be in a hospital.
For what felt like an eternity, he lay like a corpse, terrified that any movement would worsen the pain. To anchor himself, he tried to claw for a happy memory, but his mind offered up only the dregs. The old, familiar ache of betrayal bloomed in his chest, words etched into his soul playing on the canvas of his mind.
"There's no place for people like you in this world..."
"You're just a dirty orphan leeching on resources!"
So he had climbed. From nothing, with no backing, he had built a business empire. Not the wealthiest, but impressive enough that they predicted he would one day overshadow the most prominent billionaires. It was growing like a virus.
But just as quick as he rose, he was taken down. Betrayed. His doors in the corporate world were forever closed and burned. It was a regret he had carried to the grave.
At last, the pain and dizziness subsided to a dull, manageable throb. He could risk a look.
His eyelids were heavy. The light was a blinding assault. He raised an arm to block it, and that's when he felt it—the cold, unyielding touch of metal wrapped around his forearm, paired with the distinct clink of chains.
"Am I being imprisoned right now?" His voice was a bare whisper, a dark feeling settling in his gut.
But it wasn't that. As his vision cleared, he saw they were just decorative chains, worn like macabre jewelry. They didn't restrict him.
Then he realized;
Wait. This isn't a hospital room! This isn't my room either!
He sat up quickly, his head giving a final, protesting throb. His eyes swept the opulent, unfamiliar room and caught sight of a full-length mirror.
The face staring back was not his own.
Long black hair framed a face of perfect, jade-sculpted delicacy. Deep blue eyes, like frozen lakes, stared back. He was shocked, but the face was a cold, expressionless mask, utterly betraying the turmoil inside him. He was bare-chested, with the lean, toned muscles of an athlete. This wasn't his body.
"Heck, who am I!?"
Just as he blurted out the words, a voice answered in his mind, a resonance that hummed with ancient superiority.
"An excellent question. I do not know who you were. But I will tell you what you are now. You are Ren Vaelthorn, a prince of the Fourth Kingdom. You are a Mortal Reaper. And you are my avatar."
A psychic pause, heavy with implication.
"I am known by many names. The one that will matter most to you is Soul Devourer. Nemesis of the reaper organization you now belong to. A pleasure."
The words were cloaked in politeness, but Ren's instincts, honed in boardrooms of smiling sharks, screamed a single truth: Predator.
Ren blinked, his mind latching onto the key points with ruthless efficiency.
One: Reincarnation. Confirmed.
Two: It appears I'm being I'm sharing a body with a spirit.
Three: Royal status. Asset, with major liabilities.
Four: Entity's nature: Soul Devourer. Primary threat. Probably a god because he says I'm his avatar. I've watched enough mythology movies to know what that is.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He distilled the situation into one stark word: Catastrophic.
His mind shifted into high gear, analyzing variables and plotting exits—the same acumen that once built an empire from dust. Data was insufficient, but the entity was bold in his revelations. The only move was to probe for more.
"You said I'm a mortal reaper…. what's that?"
"Where have you been living?" The voice dripped with condescension. "Did your parents not tell you bedtime stories? As a mortal reaper, you are a remnant of the Grim Reaper, existing to fulfill his duties. You cannot die by any physical means… unless your body is destroyed beyond redemption. But you can die as easily as any mortal if another mortal reaper kills you and devours your soul...."
Ren's heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs as the voice laid out the rules of this brutal new world. The silence that followed was thick, the mythical knowledge settling like a lead weight in his gut. This was his reality now, whether it defied all logic or not.
The silence also gave him space to consider the terrifying tools now at his disposal. His lips curled into a faint, calculating smile. Oh, the possibilities. The—
And then it hit him. Not as a memory, but as a fundamental truth unlocking from the deepest part of his soul. A final, forgotten piece of the puzzle snapped into place, and a dangerous, sharp-edged smirk carved itself onto his new, perfect face.
He thinks he summoned me.
But he doesn't know I hijacked the process. I wasn't reincarnated.
I transmigrated myself.