I died with my dick in my hand and a corporate merger on my mind.
Not literally, of course—the dick part, I mean. I was fully clothed, sitting at my desk, reviewing acquisition paperwork for a company I was about to gut like a fish. One second I was initialing page forty-seven of the Henderson takeover, the next—nothing. Just darkness, pressure in my chest, and the fleeting thought: Thirty-six is too fucking young to have a heart attack.
Then I was gone.
No white light. No life flashing before my eyes. No heavenly choir or hellish flames. Just... nothing.
Until I wasn't.
I woke up gasping, sheets tangled around unfamiliar legs, morning light stabbing through unfamiliar blinds. And sporting the most painful morning wood I'd ever experienced.
"What the fuck?" I muttered, my voice cracking on the last word. Not my voice. Higher. Younger.
I sat up, heart racing, and looked down at hands that weren't mine. Smooth, unscarred, no Rolex, no signet ring. I flexed them, watching unfamiliar tendons move under the skin.
This wasn't my body.
I threw back the covers and stared at the evidence. Lean, muscular frame. No chest hair. And a cock that was definitely not the one I'd been born with—bigger, harder, and apparently ready for action despite my existential crisis.
"Am I high? Dreaming?" I touched my face, feeling sharp cheekbones, smooth skin. No stubble. "What the actual fuck is happening?"
(Welcome to your second chance, asshole.)
I froze. The voice wasn't external—it resonated inside my skull, amused and slightly bored.
"Great. I'm schizophrenic now." I looked around the room—posters of Arena fighters on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor, a gaming setup in the corner. A teenager's room. "Or I've finally lost my mind."
(Nope. You're dead. Or rather, Thomas is dead. You're Kelvin now. Congratulations on the upgrade.)
"Kelvin?" The name triggered a flood of memories—not mine, but suddenly accessible. Foster home. Adoption. New family. New school. "What the fuck is happening to me?"
(Short version? It's 2050. You died in your world and got picked for a special role in this one. You're welcome.)
"2050? Special role?" I stood up, stumbling slightly as I adjusted to the new body's center of gravity. "Who the fuck are you?"
(I'm your assistant. Think of me as Loki's gift—a guide to your new life. And before you ask, yes, that Loki. The god of mischief has plans for you.)
I laughed, the sound strange in this new throat. "Right. Norse gods are real, and I'm their chosen one. I must be on some serious drugs."
(Believe what you want. But you might want to hide that tent in your shorts. Your foster mom is about to knock.)
As if on cue, a soft knock sounded at the door.
"Kelvin? Are you awake, honey? Breakfast in fifteen."
Before I could answer, the door cracked open, and I got my first look at Sarah Harrison.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She leaned against the doorframe, her silk robe clinging to curves. Chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders, framing a face that belonged in a MILF fantasy—full lips, high cheekbones. When she shifted, the robe gaped just enough to show her breasts, full and defying gravity.
My new body reacted instantly, my already hard cock throbbing painfully. I grabbed a pillow and held it over my lap, trying to look normal, nah just kidding I failed.
"Uh, yeah. I'm up." My voice cracked again, and I cleared my throat. "I'll be down in a minute."
Her eyes flicked down to the pillow in my lap, lingering just a second too long. A slight smile curved those perfect lips before she caught herself.
"Who were you talking to?" she asked, her voice husky from sleep or something else entirely.
"Just... practicing. For school." The lie sounded pathetic even to me.
She nodded, not believing me for a second. "Well, don't be too long. David's making his famous pancakes."
As she turned to leave, the robe clung to her ass, the silk outlining every curve as she walked away. My cock twitched against the pillow, and I bit back a groan.
(Enjoying the view?) The voice in my head sounded amused.
"Shut up," I muttered once she was gone. "That's my foster mother? Jesus Christ."
(That's Sarah Harrison. Forty-two, Light element user, specializes in healing. And yes, she's hot as fuck. You should see her daughters.)
More memories surfaced—glimpses of two girls. Maya, the younger one with lightning powers. And Lila, the older one who...
"Wait, I have foster sisters too?"
(Two of them. Maya's eighteen, sweet and innocent. Lila's twenty, and let's just say she makes her mother look like a nun.)
I sat back on the bed, trying to process everything. "So I'm in a teenager's body, living with a MILF and her two hot daughters? What kind of fucked-up afterlife is this?"
(Not the afterlife. A second chance. You've been chosen to shake things up in this world. You have powers now—real ones.)
"Powers? Like superpowers?" I looked at my hands again. "What, am I supposed to be a superhero or something?"
The voice actually laughed. (Not exactly. This world has plenty of heroes. What it needs is a wildcard. Someone who doesn't play by the rules. Someone who takes what he wants.)
I felt a grin spreading across my face. "And that's me?"
(That's you. Officially, you're a B-tier Sonic element user. Good but not great. But your real power? You're Loki's chosen. Deception. Chaos. Illusion. Manipulation. The power to be whoever and whatever you need to be to get what you want.)
I stood up again, feeling a surge of excitement. "Show me."
(Focus on that glass on your nightstand. Imagine it vibrating.)
I stared at the water glass, concentrating. For a second, nothing happened. Then it began to tremble, water rippling in concentric circles. The vibration increased until the glass hummed audibly.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
(That's just the surface. Your true power is much deeper. But you need to be careful. Tomorrow you'll be tested at the Hero Association. They'll measure your abilities, assign you an official rank. You need to hold back, show them only the Sonic powers, nothing more.)
"Why?"
(Because gods don't reveal themselves to mortals until they're ready to be worshipped.)
A text alert chimed from a phone on the nightstand. I picked it up, seeing a message from "Zero":
Dude, you ready for testing tomorrow? I'm so fucked. They're gonna confirm I'm F-rank trash. Meanwhile you'll probably jump to A-tier and get all the hot chicks. Life is so unfair.
(That's Zack. Your best friend. Goes by "Zero" because of his barely-there telekinesis. Loyal, horny, and completely hopeless with women.)
I texted back: We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll throw the test so you don't look so bad.
The response was immediate: Fuck you. But also, did you see Amber's new Arena pics? I think I'm in love. Again.
I grinned, already planning how I'd use this friendship. A sidekick could be useful, especially one who knew the social landscape.
I stood up and headed to the bathroom, examining my new face in the mirror. Young, handsome, with a dangerous glint in the eyes that probably wasn't there before I arrived. I ran a hand through dark hair, admiring the overall package.
"Not bad," I murmured. "Not bad at all."
I could hear voices downstairs—a deep male voice that must be David, my foster father. Female laughter that sounded younger than Sarah's. My new "family," waiting for me to join them.
(Ready to meet the rest of the Harrisons? Try not to stare at their tits too obviously.)
"I'm a professional," I muttered. "I know how to play a role."
Before I could open my bedroom door, it swung open without a knock. And there she was—Lila Harrison in the flesh.
If Sarah was a MILF fantasy, Lila was pure sin. Tall, with curves that her tight tank top and sleep shorts did nothing to hide. Her nipples pressed against the thin fabric as she leaned against my doorframe.
"Talking to yourself again, little brother?" she asked. "That's the third time this week."
I forced myself to meet her eyes instead of staring at the expanse of smooth skin between her shorts and top. "Just thinking out loud."
Her gaze dropped deliberately to my crotch, lingering there with zero subtlety. "Thinking about something... interesting, I see."
Fuck. I was still hard, and these basketball shorts hid nothing.
She pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer—too close—the scent of her shampoo and something uniquely female filling my senses.
"Better take care of that before breakfast," she whispered. "Or don't. Mom's pancakes aren't the only thing that's hot downstairs."
She brushed past me, her breast grazing my arm in a touch that was definitely intentional. At the door, she looked back over her shoulder, eyes dropping to my obvious erection one more time.
"Little brother. This is going to be fun."
As she sauntered away, hips swaying in those tiny shorts, I felt a predatory grin spread across my face.
"Oh, you have no idea how much fun we're going to have."