That time I got reincarnated as a prophet (A second chance)

ANNOUNCEMENT (RE-WRITING THE STORY)

So, yeah. I'm rewriting the story. 

If you need reasons, then:

1 - The current story is shallow. 

Kira starts off with divine magicules at the start, leaving no room for improvement and character development. She's also given a quest system, (I admit I didn't think this story though a lot) which greatly limits her independence in the long run (As it is shown that it can and will take her life if she doesn't do what's told. Again, I didn't think this through) and makes her look like a shallow puppet of the World Tree (the one who issues the quests). 

I admit, I was going for this feel, but I think I overdid it a little. 

You see, I was gonna make a whole arc about Kira becoming independent from the World Tree, but now I realize it would've been better to just cut the quest system off for good.

2 - Writing is terrible.

I'd say the writing isn't THAT bad for my first fanfic, but after getting exposed to good fan fiction writing I realize that the characters don't express much and the only way to tell if they're expressing emotion is through dialogue, something I realize is terrible in fan fiction writing.

3 - Kira Diel, the oc herself.

I put too much on her plate at the start, (her parent's death, the suicide, reincarnating to another world, knowing which world she reincarnated into, finding her dead parents, immediately heading for combat, etc.) and it's pretty obvious to me that I was trying to rush these important events just to try and make her extremely OP without any regard to writing her emotional state.

4 - My bad attempt at world building.

No, I- just, no. 

It's a super ugly attempt at world building and I totally botched it.

All in all, I'd say the concept was good, but the writing and execution was just plain terrible.

BUT! like I said, I'm rewriting it so the story won't be gone forever! I'll post the first chapter when I'm done writing it, but I'm currently half-way there! (Just click my profile in the author section and you'll see all my available stories, of which the new one will be posted there.)

I'm going all out with the re-writing here, from changing the name of the oc to the circumstances leading up to her death.

Here's a sneak peak:

"It's been a weird day today, banker lady," Rory starts, taking one look at the name tag that reads "Eleanor" and deciding it's not worth the effort to correct herself. She's usually a bit nicer than this, but being in a bank always ruins her mood.

She doesn't even know why she has this.... fear of banks. The thought of going to one doesn't set her off, but as soon as she's inside the building her senses are assaulted with that distinctive eeriness that welcomes its doors for her, like the sole guest of an empty hotel lobby. It's weirdly creepy and sets her off and she'd rather use this thing called mobile banking to avoid that sense of eeriness as much as she can.

The banker lady in question pauses whatever she was doing, lifting her head up to stare at Rory for a beat, then two, before resuming doing whatever it is that bank people do and deciding she couldn't be bothered with the lack of courtesy a VVIP shows her.

"The homeless fortune teller I've been giving food and water to told me I was going to die today," she easily complains, as if telling a total stranger about her day is natural.

"It is natural..." is what she would say if someone was bold enough to ask, but the reality is she can't bear the unnatural silence being in banks entail, hushed conversations from nearby customers adding to the creepiness of the atmosphere instead of the intended opposite.

She must stick out like a sore thumb here, she supposes, pratling on and on about the most mundane of things in a voice loud enough for her neighboring customers to clearly hear. Not like anyone will stop her, anyway; people have better, more important things to do at a bank than tell a woman in her late twenties to shut up for speaking a bit louder than what's considered normal at a bank.

So here she is, complaining to poor ole' Eleanor.

"And I'm pretty sure he didn't mean it as a threat, because he usually says great things about my future, but he really believes I'm gonna die today." she does a little slit throat gesture with her hands for emphasis, and the banker lady does a tiny little nod to show that she's listening.

Seeing this, Rory glances at her position with pity.

'It must be so hard working a customer service job at a bank, being required to be polite to rude VVIPs.' Then she thinks about all the money she's making the bank by buying their collection of shitty properties above market price, and reconsiders.

'Well, she does work at a bank, so they probably pay her more for putting up with annoying customers such as myself,' she spares a glance through the glass door of the bank and catches a glimpse of a middle-aged man screaming at one of the security guards on-duty. She looks away before they can make eye-contact and thinks,

'They've probably had worse anyway. I'm sure they can handle a little chit-chat.'

"But anyways, I asked the guy what he meant when he told me I was gonna die, but then he ran away before I could get any answers from him! He's been pretty accurate with whatever fortune telling he gives me, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and went to a clinic for a check-up. I then saw this gorgeous building up for sale nearby, which led me—"

She was interrupted by the sound of papers sliding over the counter, and as Rory lowers her head she sees the banker lady extending her arm out, paper in hand and face apathetic.

"The purchase has been processed," she says politely, "Thank you for choosing Sprout Banking, Ms. Amaya."

With her fear of physical banks, she'd only go to them when it's unavoidable. For example, when picking up the deed and title of a $10,000,000 retirement mansion for her old, anemic father. Hopefully he'll let her stay with him, because she's reached her limit of bank trips for the next three years.

"Ms. Amaya" gives a snort, feeling giddy about finally being able to leave this god-awful place. Taking away the papers and skimming through the contents, she makes her way out. Satisfied, she folds it neatly, then shoves it down her $20,00 sling bag with the ease of someone who's done it a million times.

It's a miracle that half the stuff she shoves inside actually fits, really, opting to stick to this particular bag when there are bigger ones she could just as easily carry with her.

As Rory exits the building, satisfaction radiating off her in waves, she idly notices the man who's still screaming at the unmoving security guard. They make eye-contact, and as she looks away she sees this crazed look in his eye, and something feels wrong about that expression that makes her want to run away—

puchik*

Except, there's no time to consider how she feels, because what she feels is a painful sting of something going through her abdomen, the twist of it as she instinctively goes to feel where it hurts and she feels blood—so much blood—and as she looks down she sees a knife imbeded inside her.

She panics.