"Now it begins."
That was the last thing I heard before the void swallowed me whole.
Yeah, I know—dramatic. But it's not like I had a say in it. One second, I was standing in the middle of a crowd, probably thinking about lunch or my overdue bills, and the next—bam. Void. Like someone pulled the plug on reality.
Look, I'm not gonna pretend I was some great gift to humanity. If life were a game of chess, I'd be that pawn who somehow trips, knocks over the king, and sets the board on fire. A walking disaster. But still—twenty-four isn't ancient, right? Couldn't the universe have given me, like, a few more years? A proper warning? Maybe a farewell pizza?
I mean, come on—I died a virgin. That's gotta be worth a cosmic do-over. A pity checkpoint, at least.
But nope. Void.
And that voice… I heard it earlier, didn't I? In the crowd. Whispering something just before the lights went out. I can't remember what it said. It was too faint—like a dream you almost remember but lose the second you wake up.
So yeah, I guess I'm dead. What happens now? Heaven? Hell? Honestly, with my luck, I'm probably headed straight for the customer complaint department of Hell. No trial, no appeal. Just eternal fire and maybe a roommate who chews loudly.
But where is everyone? No tunnel of light. No angels with clipboards. No demons in business casual. Not even elevator music.
Just me. Alone. Floating in the world's most boring screensaver.
Then—
My body lit up.
A deep crimson glow wrapped around me like someone turned on a devilish nightlight. Not warm. Not cold. Just... there. Buzzing quietly under my skin.
I blinked. My eyes were blurry.
I rubbed them. Slowly. Like I'd just woken up from a ten-hour nap and somehow still felt tired.
"Where… am I?"
No clouds. No harp music. Just… a bedroom?
Weirdly familiar. Roughly the size of my old crap-hole apartment, sure—but this place didn't smell like instant noodles, loneliness, and poor life choices. In fact, it smelled… expensive. Like polished wood and fresh linen. A scent that screamed, 'you can't afford this.'
The room was dark. Like, really dark. So dark I wouldn't have noticed the mirror if it hadn't caught the last flicker of that crimson glow.
And yet—I could feel the luxury. Even in the shadows, the textures stood out. Velvet curtains swayed gently where the wind crept through partly open windows. The floor beneath me was smooth and cold—marble, maybe? A faint glint from what looked like gold-trimmed furniture peeked through the gloom. I even spotted a chandelier. A freakin' chandelier. Who even has those outside of vampire movies?
But then—
The mirror.
Big. At least seven feet tall. Framed in something that looked like silver carved by someone who hated minimalism. Fixed to the wall, directly across from the massive, ridiculously soft bed I was sitting on.
I stared into it.
And my heart stopped.
That... wasn't me.
I stood up, legs shaky—like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. I stumbled toward the mirror, eyes locked on the stranger staring back.
He looked fifteen, maybe sixteen. Black hair—messy, but in that anime protagonist who woke up late for magic school kind of way.
Smooth skin. Lightly tanned. Not a pimple in sight. Basically, the anti-me.
And the eyes…
Crimson.
Not brown. Not hazel. Crimson. Like molten embers. Alive. Dangerous. Like they belonged to someone who either had a tragic backstory or was the tragic backstory.
I raised my hand. So did he.
I touched my face—his face.
Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. Eyebrows slightly furrowed, like the guy was always doing complicated math or plotting revenge. He looked like someone who had a plan. I barely had breakfast.
The body? Lean. Built for speed. Strength. Precision. Not bulky, but efficient. Like the kind of body designed for dramatic anime fight scenes in the rain.
He wore a black nightshirt. Simple. Clean. Intimidatingly crisp. Like it belonged to someone who could kill you and fold your laundry at the same time.
I stared. Into the mirror. Into those burning red eyes.
That wasn't my face. That wasn't my body.
But it was mine now.
And I had no idea what the hell was going on.
"Is this a dream?" I muttered, voice shaking.
And just to check—I did the dumbest thing imaginable.
I punched myself in the face.
Not hard. Just a little jab. Like, "Hey buddy, wake up."
Spoiler: didn't work.
So I upped the ante. I turned to the mirror and went full psycho-mode.
Drew my fist back—and punched the mirror.
Bad idea.
The mirror shattered. Glass exploded everywhere like a glitter bomb from hell.
My hand? Yeah. It instantly regretted its life choices.
"AAAAARGH!" I screamed. Like a baby. A very manly, courageous baby. With blood.
Scratches lined my knuckles. Blood trickled down my wrist. The pain was real. Very, very real.
The crash echoed through the room, loud enough to wake the dead. Somewhere, I thought I heard a dog bark in confusion.
I looked at the broken mirror. In the blood. At my unfamiliar reflection, now fractured into a dozen crimson-eyed strangers.
This wasn't a dream.
This was real.
And I was so, so screwed.