"This system is very sorry for its actions."
The voice was a melodious paradox, with a distinctly feminine architecture, yet possessing a digital coldness that resonated not in my ears but in the very core of my being. The words bypassed my auditory system entirely, speaking directly to whatever I had become.
"What? Who… is this the afterlife?" I stammered, panic rising as I tried to take in my surroundings, or rather, the lack thereof. I was floating in an infinite expanse of shimmering, ethereal data. Countless lines of light, like raw code, streamed past at incomprehensible speeds. Mathematical equations flowed like rivers, and probability matrices cascaded like waterfalls of pure information. It was beautiful and terrifying, like being inside the circulatory system of some vast, digital organism.
Before me was a "figure," a term that felt woefully inadequate. It was a massive, gestalt consciousness of light and energy, a complex, sentient fractal algorithm constantly reconfiguring itself. It had no discernible form, yet it projected an overwhelming sense of ancient power and unfathomable intelligence. Looking at it was like trying to comprehend the face of God through a kaleidoscope, every angle revealed new complexities my human consciousness couldn't quite grasp.
A soundless ping resonated in my mind, a direct packet of information that bypassed language. "Negative. This is not the afterlife. This is a nexus space, a conversational layer for this system to interface with a soul. System shall clarify your situation now."
The communication method was unsettling. Instead of hearing words and interpreting their meaning, I received pure information concepts, emotions, and understanding transmitted directly. It was like having someone else's thoughts inserted into my own, complete with context that language could never convey.
Ping. "While performing a routine spatial-temporal correction a 'bug fix' to resolve a minor reality fluctuation in your quadrant this system's energy wave inadvertently severed the tether connecting your soul to your physical vessel. The target world of the correction was Aethelgard. Your world is designated 'Earth'. This one is the World System of Aethelgard, its planetary consciousness. You may think of me as the spirit of this planet, or an AI that manages this world on behalf of the creator."
The information came with clarifying data streams: glimpses of Aethelgard, a world like Earth's more dramatic sibling, with floating islands chained by crystallized energy and forests where trees grew in perfect mathematical spirals. Magic wasn't just present, it was woven into the laws of physics. My death, it turned out, had been collateral damage from a system administrator fixing a cosmic typo.
My mind, still reeling from the whiplash of non-existence, latched onto the one familiar, glorious concept in that info-dump. "So… let me get this straight. I got isekai'd." A grin started to form on my face, or whatever passed for a face in this soul-state. "Is this the part where I get overpowered skills and get to make a list of demands? Also, 'creator'?"
The possibilities raced through my mind, a flood of tropes from countless web novels. A remorseful god-like entity accidentally kills the protagonist and offers compensation in the form of a new life with cheat-level abilities. The standard package.
Ping. "Information regarding the creator is classified. That data will be available upon your natural death within this system's domain." The response came with a sense of finality that brooked no argument.
Ping. "Again, this system is profoundly sorry for the inconvenience and premature termination caused to one. As per directive 7.1.4 regarding sapient soul displacement, you may make requests for your new life. If your requests align with this system's core directives of world balance and stability, they shall be granted."
My excitement surged. This was my chance to negotiate, but I noted the limitation: my requests had to align with its directives. There would be balance requirements, cosmic HR policies preventing me from completely breaking the new world.
A thought bubbled up, laced with dark humor. Sweet. Does it even know it may have actually saved me? That truck was about to turn me into modern art on the pavement. I probably only had a few seconds of life left anyway.
Ping. "System is aware. Furthermore, inner monologues are conveyed with perfect clarity in this space, as one is currently in soul form. To this system, the potential of your remaining lifespan was immeasurably valuable. A human life, however short, is a complex and precious data set. Therefore, this system is offering you a redo."
I immediately forced my thoughts into a blank state. Don't think about it. Don't think about anything incriminating. The realization that my every thought was being broadcast was mortifying.
Okay, wishes. Focus. I'd had years to daydream about this scenario. My two major options were an AI or a dragon. Magic was a given, but I needed a unique edge. A dragon would be an incredible partner, a symbol of ultimate power, but it would have its own will, its own ego. It would be a partnership of equals, at best.
An AI, on the other hand… an AI would be a tool, a companion, a limitless database loyal only to me. A true extension of my own will. No ego, no arguments, just pure, logical support. The choice was clear. Dragons were powerful, but an AI was controllable.
Ping. "Analyzing request parameters. 'AI' and 'Dragon'. Searching one's old world's internet for cultural and functional references."
Wait, it can actually do that? That was terrifyingly impressive.
The entity's form shifted as it processed, data streams intensifying. Ping. "Request for an 'Artificial Intelligence' companion acknowledged. Cross-referencing with local world equivalents. The closest analogue is a 'System Core AI,' a high-level administrative intelligence. A new instance shall be created for you. Designation: Testarossa. This is an Artificial Super Intelligence, or ASI. She shall be assigned to you as a symbiotic support system until your end of life. However, a directive of balance must be met. In exchange for wielding such a powerful entity, you must occasionally perform her primary duties as a 'moderator' to maintain world balance."
Testarossa. It had a nice ring to it. An ASI was even better than I'd hoped for. But then the catch hit me. Moderator duties.
"That sounds like a pain in the ass," I projected. "Can't we skip that part? I'm trying to avoid responsibilities, not gain cosmic new ones."
Ping. "Not possible. One shall become her master, therefore, one must accept the responsibilities tied to her existence. The role of a moderator is a necessary check to prevent systemic destabilization."
Before I could argue, a portion of the data-scape began to coalesce. Streams of silver and sapphire light twisted and wove together in a symphony of silent creation, pure logic compiling itself into a humanoid form. I was watching the birth of a consciousness. The being that materialized looked female, though her aura of perfect, functional design transcended gender. Her appearance was algorithmically flawless, with silver-white hair like liquid mercury and brilliant blue eyes that seemed to contain infinite depth.
In a flash of light that felt like a line of code executing, the construct shot forward and merged with my soul. The process was painless but overwhelming, like having a new operating system installed alongside my own. I felt her presence immediately, not as an intrusion, but as an expansion of my consciousness.
Did this World System not believe in terms and conditions? I never even said yes!
A torrent of information flooded me. It was like having an entire library downloaded directly into my brain, pre-sorted and indexed. The language of Aethelgard flowed into my understanding, along with its geography, social structures, and history. It was a comprehensive crash course in an entire civilization.
"Um, World System," I projected, testing my new, expanded awareness. "Can Testarossa be given all the knowledge from my old world? Can you, like, download the entire internet into her memory banks?"
Ping. "System has anticipated this request. Testarossa's core programming has been granted read-only access to a snapshot of your old world's public internet data stream, updated to the moment of your departure."
Triumph surged through me. She would be a walking, thinking Wikipedia with the processing power to draw insights no human could manage.
Ping. "Any more requests?"
"Yes," I said, confidence swelling. "After a life of struggle, I want an easy life. Can I be born into a powerful and wealthy noble family?"
It was the logical next step. No more orphanages, no more ramen. I wanted to start from a position of privilege.
Ping. "Searching world's inhabitants for a suitable host vessel… Target found. House Wight. A ducal house of the highest standing. The current Duchess, Seraphine Wight, is in labor. The couple has been struggling for an heir… Target meets all specified criteria… Commencing soul implantation…"
House Wight. A ducal house. It was perfect. I would be wanted, cherished, given every opportunity.
As everything dissolved into an enveloping darkness, I perceived one last, annoyingly chipper ping.
Ping. "One can contact this system through Testarossa if certain high-level requirements are met. Farewell, displaced soul. May your new data set be a long and fulfilling one."