"You heartless bitch!"
"Tut tut. Language, my dear. Better heartless than hurt like you, don't you think?"
Ruxin thought she would live to the maximum lifespan but who knew a moment of thrill seeking would result in her demise?
But the dice of fate...
A yowl ripped its way out her throat; it felt like she was sliced, diced, juiced, then frozen solid again. You'd think some pain resistance was built with the aftermath of that grand fall, but it turned out pain couldn't be resisted, only tolerated.
\Still alive?\
The schadenfreude in that tone would have her gritting her teeth had she not been so addled. After the blinding light faded, all that was in sight was blue ice that wouldn't last a second in the warm, tropical land she grew up in. It took a lot of effort to press down the urge to do a 'Where is this? Who am I?' routine.
"You... are...?" she rasped.
Yes, she was finally convinced this Voice in her head was more than a figment of imagination. Unless death came with a gift of creativity, there was no way her mind could give birth to such a realistic, dank cave.
Her body was also somehow intact, with nothing visible broken or bleeding... The maroon tank and enveloping black crop top that ended at her upper waist were undamaged, the yoga pants that hugged her legs was unmarred and her favourite pair of white sneakers still fitted snugly around her odd sized feet. And here she thought one of them slipped off when she tried to gain traction against the rocky wall. But then again she couldn't tell; she'd lost all feeling waist down by the time her body slammed onto the ground.
She wasn't sure where it would place on her Weird Shit Today ranking—so much had happened in such a short span of time that this next bit could easily be at the bottom—but she was also kind of... see through. Not just the skin (biologists would have a field day). It was the entire body and the garments embosoming it.
Now, if she weren't practically soaked in an inexplicable f*cking pain, she could come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation for all these, but right then all she knew was:
This is no dream. Probably not heaven either.
\Of course! Of course you are curious about the great me!\
The Voice continued nonchalantly when they didn't get a response.
\I'm a system entrusted with the fate of the multiverse, and you were lucky enough to be selected as my slave! How is it? Don't you feel like groveling before me?\
"... All I got out of that was, YOU SOULNAPPER!"
She barely held back some, more colorful words. To her benefit, because that burst of emotion had served to make her more disoriented.
"System", "fate", "multiverse"? Definitely rang some bells...
\Anyway, if you enjoy losing yourself and feeling your current pain multiplied many times over, I won't stop you from staying here.\
A shudder ran through her. Even now, there was the constant sensation of someone pounding at her like mochi and the tips of her fingers and toes stung as though a long pin was boring its way through the digits. Had this been her original, opaque body, she'd have long fainted from agony. Unfortunately, she couldn't even turn to the reaper for release.
\Death of the soul is incomparable to that of the flesh.\
I can only assume this Voice doesn't want me dead, at least not so soon. Not when they went through the trouble of kidnapping me... or what seems to be my soul.
"How do I leave this place?"
\... The transfer was successful, but you don't have control of the body, in other w—\
"Wait, I can't let that slide. Am I a parasite now?"
\More of a guest, and this time you came with invitation. We call you Placeholders.\
\In any case, it seems that the host's mental defenses trapped you here. I don't sense a killing intent so there's a way out... maybe.\
"Gee, that answered so much!" Ah, why couldn't this Voice be one of those big mouths who were easy to prod? Then again, maybe they didn't know much more than her. Don't ask her why a harsh, robotic voice sounded so expressive, but uncertainty was evident in it.
A hand ran through her short, black hair. She wasn't so naive as to think that all tunnels ended in light. Nothing might come out of this. A dead end might be awaiting her. Or worse: more pain, more uncertainty.
But couldn't the same be said for everything in life? The gamble had begun since the first cry. All that was left was to throw the dice.
A thorough look-over of the small, empty space turned up a strange symbol on one of its walls she made sure to memorise.
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Three straight lines cut through each other, forming a non-equilateral triangle in their centre. Like a badly-carved 'A', with parts of the lines sticking out of each end of the triangle and the middle bridge between the other two strokes starting much lower on the left than the right.
Unable to make heads or tails out of it, she turned to the only exit after some light stretching. An opening on the same wall as the symbol, about 3 heads wide and 2 heads taller than her. The bright glare emitting from it—or whatever was on the other side—impossible to ignore.
