Cold, dreary, gray, and overall dull blood.
That's what I thought when I saw it pour from me. With it came the sirens—ambulances, firetrucks, the whole shebang—blaring like a terribly mixed orchestra. Very dramatic. Over-the-top even.
I rated the whole thing a 6.7 out of 10. Would've given it higher, but the blinding pain coming from my severed hand knocked the score down a peg or two. Gotta account for immersion-breaking moments, after all.
I watched the scene unfold—flames dancing, people screaming, the symphony of chaos reaching its crescendo. It was all very... repetitive. Very last-season finale. If death was a playwright, this one was phoning it in.
The curtains fell.
My vision faded. My ears rang.
And then came the epilogue.
It wasn't gray this time. It was white. And blue. Hospital colors. Unimaginative, sterile. The kind of aesthetic that screams "we ran out of budget for the afterlife". The pain was dulled now—either drugs or shock. Probably both. Improvement? Sure.
There were railings next to me. I reached for them, only to remember—oh right—I didn't have a hand anymore. Just a stub wrapped in gauze that looked like it was crafted by an underpaid intern. The original rating now felt far too generous. I adjusted it to a firm 5 out of 10. Can't reward mediocrity.
Even with pain wracking what remained of my nerves and blood dribbling down like poorly timed ketchup, everything still felt... fake. Like the blood wasn't real, like the pain was just part of a cutscene. Was I hallucinating? Delirious? Or just having a very meta episode?
Had I gone mad?
I mean, I did just survive (barely) an explosion. So probably.
But surely not...
Right?
I, a middle-aged connoisseur of simple pleasures and instant noodles, was now being operated on by what looked like the entire surgical department of a major hospital. Five surgeons, minimum. What, did they think I was a secret prince?
Completely ruined the immersion.
I was just a glorified accountant for a dying company. I'd spent the last decade arguing with Excel spreadsheets and passive-aggressive emails. And now? Now I was getting emergency treatment that even royalty would side-eye as excessive.
Truly incorrigible.
I turned my head—well, twitched it slightly—to the left, observing the chaos around me with the detached fascination of a man who had long since run out of craps to give. Then I whispered—not to the surgeons, not to anyone human—but to Death, who stood patiently at the edge of my vision like a bored usher at a dying theater.
"This act... this play... has, in my opinion, been the worst of all that I've seen. Please end it now."
Death narrowed their eyes.
I narrowed mine back.
You looked at us both.
Then Death nodded. No words. Just a tilt of the head like they were finally willing to hear feedback.
A concession was offered. A way to make up for this incredibly dull and disappointing demise.
I squinted at Death's offer. "Cultivation? What the hell do I know about cultivation?" I snapped. "Lazing! Dead fish roleplay! That's my thing! Qi? Dantian? What does that evn—"
Death didn't respond. Male? Female? Irrelevant. They just stared at me like I was a mildly annoying hiccup in their cosmic schedule.
Which grated on me, honestly.
But what could I do?
I took a metaphorical breath and braced for the transmigration. Whether it was going to be euphoric or excruciating, I wasn't sure.
My consciousness faded.
The Epilogue of My Life Concluded.
The Prologue of My Second Life... had just begun.
Darkness.
Not the normal kind. The kind that breathes. That presses against you like velvet soaked in molasses. It was thick and heavy, and yet I floated in it. Adrift.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't scream. Not that I wanted to.
I heard voices. Not mine. Strange ones. Muffled. As if I was underwater and someone was trying to read Shakespeare to me through a fan.
It felt like... being in the ocean, but weirder. This wasn't amniotic fluid—I was convinced I'd landed in some kind of primordial soup. Or worse, the leftover stock of a cosmic hotpot.
Was I in the body of a divine beast? Some ancient, godlike entity?
Would make sense. A soul as refined as mine would never be stuffed into a regular ol' mortal baby.
I took that as a compliment to myself and waited. Calmly. Like a sage.
...I waited.
...Still waiting.
I waited less calmly.
Turns out patience isn't a virtue I possess. You say it's only been three seconds? Hmph. It's been at least three months. Time dilation, probably. You high-dimensional entities always talk like clocks are optional.
Regardless, I wasn't idle. Unlike certain audiences, I actually did something in these "three seconds." I felt something through my skin—or whatever I had at the moment. It was like tasting a lemon... with my kneecaps. You try explaining that.
Invasive. Tingling. Empowering.
And I welcomed it.
After all, change is an art form only the powerful can draw.
So I absorbed it. Whether it was qi, mana, life essence, or primordial gatorade—I didn't care. It was mine now.
Eventually, I felt the space around me compress. Or maybe I expanded. Did I just grow into a planet-sized fetus?
Then the pressure started. One force pushing me. Another pulling me. It felt like I was being juiced.
Light.
I saw light.
Finally.
I metaphorically closed my eyes and prepared for the Big Bang of my new existence.
I opened them.
Primordial giants stood above me.
They held me in their huge hands.
I gazed in awe.
They slapped me on the butt.
Rude.
Clearly, these "giants" were just tall humans. Which was slightly less cool than I imagined. Still, there was something... familiar. Humanity. Yeah, this tracks.
Before I could finish my existential symposium, the ugliest elder I've ever seen—and I used to paint on buses—raised me up like Simba.
"Madam, Lord," he declared, "the Young Master has been born healthy. All phenomena during his awakening will be sealed within the secret realms, as planned."
Wait, what?
So not a god? Not a planet-sized soul?
Just... a baby?
Honestly, that might be worse.
Still, I was passed to someone new.
If beauty were measurable, she'd break the scale. In my past life, I used to scoff at the idea of "true beauty." I said anyone who tried to describe it didn't understand it.
Now?
Now I understood.
Her hair was like ink poured over silk. Her skin, porcelain smooth. Eyes regal. Posture unyielding. She didn't look delicate. She looked royal. Divine.
And despite all that majesty, she cradled me with warmth that somehow melted away every sarcastic comment I had lined up.
"You are excused, Elder Ann. We appreciate your efforts," she said calmly.
A deeper voice answered from my right. My father, I assumed. Couldn't see his face, but the tone had that masculine gravitas that demanded respect. Or a drink.
"Are you ready for the awakening?" she asked.
"No father ever is," he replied. "But it must be done."
Before I could ask for subtitles, golden and violet light exploded around me.
And then—surprise—I was yanked out of my body again.
Soul travel? Death 2.0? Beta test mode?
I now floated above the room, looking down at my tiny baby body. Around me, a massive formation lit up—runes glowing jade green and dark gray. They pulsed in time with my heartbeat. My very soul.
My parents looked shocked. Or terrified. Or maybe just stunned by how ridiculously cute I was. Hard to say.
The formation rotated, faster and faster, becoming a cyclone of pure energy. And then—naturally—it summoned a hurricane and blew off the entire ceiling.
Turns out we were in a mountain fortress.
Below, workers on floating farms didn't even flinch.
What kind of family did I reincarnate into?
"What physique has our son awakened for the Heavens to act like this?" my mother exclaimed. "This isn't a blessing. This feels hostile!"
"We need to maintain the separation between soul and body!" my father barked, drawing sigils. "Even a Golden Immortal couldn't endure this!"
And then...
Nine bolts of purple lightning dropped from the sky like judgment.
A low, ancient voice growled:
"Arrogant."
Boom.
The clouds parted. The winds died. The world fell still.
I fell too—straight into my father's arms.
"What did he awaken, William?" my mother asked.
My father stared at me, deeply, as if peering into my soul. I did not like that.
Then he smiled. Wide. Joyous. Slightly deranged.
"All-Heaven Celestial Eyes," he whispered. "He's awakened the top-tier Celestial Physique!"
"There were two lights," my mother reminded him. "What was the other?"
He paused. Touched my forehead.
Then his expression crumbled.
"Omni-Punishing Conceptual Physique."
The ancient voice returned, muttered something I couldn't catch, and suddenly shouted:
"All-Heaven Subterfuge!"
A rush of power slammed into me. I knew—without knowing how—that something inside me had just been hidden.
"William. Scarlet," the voice said. "I will contact the Upper Realms. As of now, your son only has one physique."
Silence.
My mother sighed. "That was... eventful."
"At least it's over," my father said, chuckling as he handed me back.
"He passed the talent requirement," she said, eyes softening. "It's time you gave him a name."
My father leaned close, grinning far too smugly for someone who just watched his infant son survive divine electrocution.
"Cloud," he said. "His name will be Cloud Everlast."