He awoke to an oppressive blackness unlike anything he had ever experienced.
The darkness was total and absolute. Timeless. As if he'd been hurled back to an era predating the birth of the cosmos itself. No light pierced the eternal void. No sound disturbed its primordial stillness. There was no form, no substance, no boundary. Only an unfathomable abyss stretching endlessly in every direction.
Then came the pain.
It struck like a lightning bolt—sudden, searing, relentless, and utterly unforgiving. It hurt. Gods, did it hurt. And by it, he meant everything.
Every fibre of his being felt as though it were being shredded into dust, only to be painstakingly stitched back together, piece by agonising piece. The torment was so all-consuming that he blacked out once. Then again. And again. Eventually, he lost track of how many times he slipped under, each plunge into oblivion a fleeting mercy before he was dragged back, clawing, into the agony of awareness.
How long did the purgatory last? He had no idea. All he knew was that the pain finally ebbed, just enough to allow coherent thought to seep through.
Where… am… I?
The question drifted sluggishly across his mind, the only part of him remotely free from anguish. He latched onto it desperately, clinging to the fragile thread of sanity it offered.
Fragments of memory stirred. A tall woman in her twenties, with glossy silver hair. Even now, he wasn't sure if the colour had been natural or simply a product of whim. Ascendants these days were nothing if not eccentric. Bits and pieces of their brief encounter resurfaced. Then the flash of a blade—cold, merciless.
And then nothing.
Right. I was stabbed in the heart, Kyro Malarc thought, sorrow and disbelief crashing over him like a tidal wave.
He'd finally gotten his shit together. Life was finally straightening out. Naturally, fate chose that moment to kick him in the teeth.
Out of all the shacks in the Ashen District—literally hundreds of thousands—a wanted fugitive had chosen his to break into. The odds should have been microscopic. Borderline impossible.
And yet, for reasons known only to the gods, Nia Soren had slipped inside and turned his world inside out. Regrettably, he had failed to hide the fact that he recognised her, triggering the calamitous chain reaction that ended with a twelve-inch dagger buried in his chest.
I don't remember much after that, Kyro mused. At least, nothing that explained where he was now, or why his body felt as though it had been crushed beneath a mountain. Not that he could feel his limbs to begin with.
Wait.
A small, insidious thought—one that had been scratching at the back of his mind since he first woke—finally surfaced.
This… isn't the afterlife, is it?
The prospect hit like a sledgehammer, leaving horror, panic, and confusion in its wake. Kyro wanted to scream. At someone, something, anything. But instinct told him the surrounding void would make for a lousy conversation partner.
Besides, screaming required a voice.
He had none.
I need to get the hell out of here! he screamed anyway, inside the confines of his skull.
Off the top of his head, he could name at least half a dozen doctrines preaching resurrection, reincarnation, or some other flavour of life after death. He only needed one of them to be right. Anything was better than another second in this endless, lightless hell.
Never mind an eternity.
Calming his panic, Kyro stretched out his awareness. The goal was simple: to feel something, anything other than excruciating pain.
At first, there was nothing. His existence felt singular and isolated, like a lone star flickering in a dead galaxy.
Then, faint and fleeting, he sensed it.
A connection. Muted and distant, so subtle he nearly missed it. Metaphorical heart pounding, Kyro shut out everything else and focused on the anomaly. Even if this didn't turn out to be the lifeline he was hoping for, he had nothing left to lose by trying.
The moment he reinforced the thread, his sense of self returned. Vague at first, then gradually sharper, his proprioception blossomed like feeling rushing back into a numbed limb.
Speaking of feeling, a rough, uneven surface pressed against his back. And in his torso, a deep, throbbing pain.
So. Not dead. Alive. Somehow.
Relief washed through him, followed swiftly by bitterness.
What kind of backwoods Restoration Sanctuary doesn't use basic anaesthesia?!
He had no voice to shout with, but the indignation landed all the same.
Screw it.
He was alive.
For now, that was enough.
Step one complete, Kyro set his mind on the next logical objective: regaining control of his body. He started small—fingers, toes, ankles—before working up to larger limbs. Each small victory hurt like hell, but progress was progress. Time passed—how much, he couldn't guess—before he felt vaguely human again. Groggy, disoriented, but undeniably alive.
Soon after, the world sharpened into focus.
A tin roof. Sparse, threadbare furniture.
This is…
His shack.
He was still in his shack! Still lying where Nia Soren had stabbed him.
Which made no sense at all.
A sliver of dim light filtering through cracked boards suggested it was early morning. Four, maybe five A.M. But what day was it? How long had he been out? What awaited him outside?
Too many questions. Not nearly enough answers.
Also—
Why the hell am I in my boxers?
He didn't have time to dwell on it. A horrific, acrid stench slammed into him without warning. A revolting mix of sweat, blood, and something deeper. Older. Primal.
He scanned the room for the source.
Then it hit him.
No.
His stomach churned.
Is that… me?
He slowly lifted his arm and sniffed.
By the gods.
He smelled awful. Like a corpse marinated in sewage and left out as a buffet for maggots.
Okay. New plan. First, I need a bath. Scratch that, fifty baths.
The thought didn't feel excessive. If anything, it might not be enough.
Resolved, Kyro pressed his palms to the floor, ready to get up. One more minute in this filth, and he might actually die for real.
I'll figure everything else out later, he told himself. Once I stop smelling like a rotting corpse.
Fate, however, had other plans.
[S Genome (Type A Cells) Assimilation: Complete]
Huh? He froze, blinking.
[Symbiogenesis: Successful]
"…"
[Initiate System Integration?]
[Yes / No]