"Hmm."
I rolled over onto my stomach to escape the sunlight pouring through the curtains. For a few minutes, there was peace.
Then my phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Then repeatedly.
I picked it up.
Five messages from Noah.
All urging me to arrive at the meeting with our new team.
Right.
I had been reassigned.
Noah had been ordered to accompany me as well. A monitoring measure, I assumed. He was too useful as a guide to waste, so I had no intention of resisting his presence.
Another notification arrived.
Less than thirty minutes until you're considered late.
"I see…"
I exhaled and pushed myself upright.
A long stretch followed. My body felt heavier than it should have. Sleep had become… inconsistent in this world.
Dressing, hygiene, preparation—all of it felt unnecessarily time-consuming the moment I woke.
In the bathroom, I stared at the toothbrush for a moment.
Then I raised my hand slightly.
Mana responded.
The brush lifted into the air.
Telekinesis was a basic application of energy manipulation. A minor spell that didn't require verbal spell casting.
The toothpaste cap opened on its own. A measured amount was squeezed onto the bristles.
The brush moved toward my mouth.
Left.
Right.
Controlled motion.
No effort required.
Humanity had built an entire existence around tasks that could be automated so easily.
I rinsed and stepped into the shower.
The water poured down over me, warm and steady.
And yet I still felt tired.
Not physical exhaustion.
Something else.
A heaviness I could not quite name.
Perhaps this was what humans referred to as trauma.
I had read about it online.
They recommended therapy.
Needles.
Questions.
Long silences filled with probing stares and unsatisfactory conclusions.
Hard pass.
I stepped out of the shower and brushed back my blond hair with gel, attempting to control its curl.
I had grown accustomed to it.
The initial instinct to reject it—to call it blasphemy—had faded.
In my home world, gold was reserved for divine association. Red symbolized me, the lord's second son and first angel. Perhaps my brother was envious of that fact, for he bore a color similar to the regular civilians: black.
Here, it was merely genetics.
My brother would have found that amusing.
Or insulting.
I stopped that thought before it deepened.
I dressed in a black formal suit and left.
The conference room was already occupied when I arrived.
Six agents.
Spaced evenly along a long table, each maintaining distance from the others.
Noah waved at me briefly before sitting upright again.
The man at the front stood near a projector.
Charles Knight.
Green-eyed. Late thirties. Level Seven agent according to my file. Team leader.
He cleared his throat and began the briefing.
I listened for approximately thirty seconds before my attention drifted.
Not due to disrespect.
Merely efficiency.
When it became relevant, I would respond.
Names were introduced.
Backgrounds explained.
Roles assigned.
Two scientists.
Four combat operatives.
When my turn arrived, I stated my name and level.
Several eyes lingered on me afterward.
Curiosity.
Rumor recognition.
Expectation.
People always reacted that way when they had heard something but lacked confirmation.
Eventually, the mission was displayed on the screen.
A photograph of a young man appeared.
Latino. Early twenties. Intelligent eyes. Calm expression.
A "genius-level engineering student," according to the file. Desired for recruitment.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had already tried to make contact and was still negotiating the terms. Apparently, a prominent gang in his area had caught wind of his talent and had been harassing him ever since he turned them down.
"Locate him," Charles said, pointing at the image. "Ensure his safety. Escort him back to base."
A simple extraction mission.
Irina Shayk, a blonde Russian agent, tilted her head slightly.
"Last known location?"
"His home," Charles replied. "He lives with his mother. She reported him missing three days ago."
He tapped the screen.
"Local police found nothing. So we're handling it."
A faint grin appeared on his face.
"Easy first mission. We leave for Detroit immediately."
Dismissal followed shortly after.
The room emptied.
Noah fell into step beside me as we exited.
"You know what to pack, right?"
"Yes."
"Good. We leave in an hour. Jet B-48."
He paused as if to emphasize it.
Then he left.
He took his handler role seriously. Persistent, yes, but useful for now.
My assigned quarters were sparse.
I packed minimally.
Two sets of clothing.
Essential items.
The suit I was already wearing.
Everything else could be acquired if necessary.
Currency held no true meaning to me yet, but S.H.I.E.L.D. compensated agents generously.
I also carried weapons.
Always.
Under the suit jacket: concealed sidearms.
Under the shirt: thin forearm blades.
Leg holsters. Backup knives.
Excessive by human standards, perhaps.
But I was no longer immortal.
A single wound could end me.
That truth remained… inconvenient.
My original body had been forged for war.
This one was fragile.
Breakable.
Killing a god had once required divine-grade weapons.
Here, a simple blade could end a life.
For now, I would compensate with caution.
Until my mana capacity improved.
That, too, had limits in this vessel.
Magic circles above the third grade caused instability. The body rejected them.
A restriction I had never faced before.
I was forced back into fundamentals.
Basic spells.
Tier one and two constructs.
Like a novice relearning prayer.
And yet—
I still retained knowledge.
That alone was an advantage.
I would adapt.
I always did.