For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The scratching of pens on paper stopped.
The bell rang, its shrill cry echoing through the cavernous exam hall. David Myers stretched, a wince twisting his face. The calculus midterm had been a 'sledgehammer to his skull,' and he was just glad it was over. He handed in the 'rumpled sheet' of equations, a silent prayer for partial credit, and joined the flood of students spilling out into the bright afternoon.
His friends, Mark and Sarah, were already by the door, dissecting the questions. "Man, number four was a 'killer'," Mark said, running a hand through his hair.
David just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. He remembered he wasn't going back to the dorm. "Hey, I gotta run," he said, cutting them off. "Got some... work to do back home."
"On a Friday? Lame," Sarah replied, but she smiled.
David grinned, packed his bag, and shoved in his earphones. "See you guys Monday."
He jogged down the stone steps of the university library, and the music 'exploded in his mind.' It was a 'chemical reaction' of good-day pop, the sun was shining, and the 'burning' stress of the exam was already 'fading.' He was 'vibing,' lost in the rhythm, a 'joyful day' unfolding. He was just a 'normal kid,' 'living in the moment.'
He reached the crosswalk at the edge of campus. He was so lost in the music, he barely registered the 'frantic movement' to his left.
A red ball. A small kid, maybe five, chasing it.
The kid darted 'in and out' of the parked cars, right onto the busy street.
A 'thunderclap' of a horn 'erupted.' A massive Mack truck, 'pounding' the asphalt, was 'bearing down.'
David didn't 'think.' There was no 'analysis,' no time for fear. It was a 'desperate craving' to act, an instinct he never knew he possessed. He lunged.
He 'pushed' the kid. A small, light weight. He felt the child 'tumble' safely onto the far curb, scraping his knees but alive.
David, however, was not so lucky.
The 'sledgehammer' of the truck's grill 'collided' with his body. It wasn't a clean hit. It was a 'brutal, abrasive scrape.' He was under it. He felt the 'crazy movement' of the wheels, the 'burning' 'climax' of impossible, searing pain as he was 'dragged.' The world became a 'blur' of hot asphalt, the smell of 'burning' rubber, and his own blood.
His last conscious thought was a 'fading' whisper, 'pounding' in his own mangled ears: "Did I save the kid?"
Then... nothing.
When I 'woke up,' it wasn't like in the movies. There was no tunnel, no angels. I just... was. I was in a room, if you could call it that. It was white. Infinitely white, sterile, and silent. It was a 'rumpled sheet' of an existence, and I was a stain on it.
"David Myers. Age 20. Deceased."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. In front of me sat a... being. He looked like an impossibly tired accountant in a rumpled suit, sipping a cosmic coffee from a "Best Dad in the Multiverse" mug.
"Who... what...?" My voice was gone. "Did I... save the kid?"
"Oh, the kid's fine," the being said, waving a hand. "Scraped knee. He'll be terrified of trucks for a while, but he's fine." He squinted at a glowing, ethereal tablet in his hand. "You, however... David Myers. Cause of death... ah, yes. Mack Truck. Nasty. Okay, sign here and we'll get you processed for the good-"
"Processed?" The 'fury' started, a 'desperate craving' for an explanation. "What the hell? I saved him!"
"Yes, well, this is... awkward." The being, God, wouldn't meet my eyes. He tapped his screen. "It says here, 'David Meyer.' M-E-Y-E-R. Truck. Destiny." He looked up at me. "You're M-Y-E-R-S. Myers."
The silence in the white room was 'pounding like a jackhammer.'
"You... you... you killed the wrong David?"
"A clerical error!" God said, defensive. "Do you have any idea the paperwork down here? The multiverse is expanding! I'm overworked! It's an honest mistake!"
"'SORRY?'" I 'erupted,' the word 'radiating' pure rage. "You're God! You don't get to make 'honest mistakes' that turn me into roadkill! My 'whole night'—my whole life—is over! All because of a typo!"
"Okay, okay! Yelling! We're yelling," God said, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid, I messed up. You're right. You weren't supposed to die for another sixty-three years. You were supposed to be... an orthodontist. Huh. Good for you."
"I don't want to be an orthodontist!" I shrieked. "I want to be alive!"
"Yes, well, that's not an option. The 're-stocking' fee on a soul is... look, it's a nightmare. The body's ruined. But, I can offer you the compensation package. A 'New Game Plus,' if you will."
My 'vision blurred' with angry tears. "What are you talking about?"
"A new life. Another world. And, because I'm a nice guy and you're really loud, I'll give you a 'boon.' A power-up."
Three images appeared in the white void.
One was a shining, circular shield. "The Super-Soldier. Peak human condition, unbreakable will, a heart of gold. The 'Captain America' package."
The second was a black, bat-shaped cowl. "The Dark Knight. Peak human intellect, limitless wealth, a master of fear. The 'Batman' package."
The third... the third was a horned, golden helmet.
"The Trickster God. Asgardian physiology, magic of the highest order, a silver tongue, and a mind that sees a thousand steps ahead. The 'Loki' package."
I stared at the choices. I was just David. A 'normal kid.' I wasn't a hero, and I wasn't a genius. I was the guy who got run over by a truck by mistake. The 'shame' of being so... disposable... 'crashed over me.'
I never wanted to be a victim again.
"I... I want..." I felt a new 'burning with desire,' a 'shameless' need for the power I'd never had. "I want to be the one in control. I want the magic."
"The Loki package?" God raised an eyebrow. "Kid, that one comes with... baggage. It's chaotic. Dangerous."
"I want that one," I 'responded' forcefully. "I want to be the one who makes the 'honest mistakes' from now on."
God sighed. "Fine. Your funeral... again. But this time, you'll be harder to kill."
He snapped his fingers.
It was not a 'soft' feeling. It was an 'incredible climax' of pure, green-gold energy. It was Loki's entire life, his memories, his power, 'entering me' all at once. I felt his mother's love. I felt his brother's shadow. I felt the 'burning' rage of his jealousy, the 'crazy movements' of his magic, the 'pounding' of his ambition.
My ambition.
David Myers's fear and Loki's arrogance 'collided.' I wasn't David anymore. I wasn't Loki. I was... both. A college kid with the mind and magic of a God of Mischief.
"Now, for the destination," God said, spinning a massive, cosmic wheel of worlds. It 'blurred' with a thousand images. "Let's see where the 'Loki' package is most... entertaining."
The wheel spun, 'in and out' of view, a 'frantic' spin that slowed... slowed... and stopped.
On a world of dragons and ice. A world of thrones.
"Ah, Westeros," God said, looking at his tablet. "Lots of... 'potential,' there." He looked at me, his expression flat. "Well. Off you go."
He snapped his fingers. The 'fabric of reality tore open' behind me, a 'black hole' of pure chaos. I didn't get to say anything. The world 'went blank.' I was 'falling.'
I felt nothing, and then I felt everything as I opened my eyes...
...and crashed into this new world with all the grace of a mortal brick. The landing was a brutal, 'abrasive scrape' that tore at my new, 'fine leather' armor. I tumbled through sand, grit, and… ash.
My head was 'pounding,' not from a truck, but from the transition. The air here was wrong. It was thick, choked with smoke, and carried the acrid, gut-turning smell of burning meat. Human meat.
My new 'Loki' senses were screaming. This world's magic was muted, coarse, and tasted of blood. My own Seidr was a 'burning' ember, 'drained' from the fall. I was weakened, but I was alive.
I was on the outskirts of a camp, under a sky of bruised purple and alien stars. In the center, a funeral pyre was 'rumpled' into a mountain of ash and 'glowing embers.'
And I saw her.
She was sitting in the center of the cinders, naked. Her silver-gold hair was gone, burned away. Her skin, which should have been charred, was flawless. Pale, luminous, and covered in soot.
She was Unburnt.
My new memories, Loki's memories, of a thousand realms, of goddesses and sorceresses, slammed into David's 20-year-old libido. My breath hitched.
This... this was new.
My gaze, our gaze, 'drank her in.' She was 'so incredible.' She was small-framed, but her body was a 'sledgehammer' to my senses. It was a woman's, with the soft, high curves of youth. Her 'soft boobs' were full and round, pale as milk even under the grey ash, her 'light nipples' a delicate, sensitive pink, pebbled from the morning chill. She made no move to cover herself, her nakedness as 'shameless' as the fire she had commanded. Her form was 'heaven on earth,' a perfect, pale sculpture in the dawn light.
Who is she? The question 'pounded' in my mind, a blend of David's awe and Loki's strategic curiosity. A survivor? A witch? Something else entirely?
She was looking down, cooing at something in her lap.
My gaze was ripped from her form to what she held.
Three creatures. Scaled. Impossible. Dragons.
My mind, which had been 'blurring' with weakness, was suddenly 'razor-sharp.' This changed everything.
I stepped forward, my boot crunching on the cooled embers.
A knight saw me, drawing his sword with a weary cry. "Stay back, demon!"
Before the knight could lunge, my eyes darted to the side. A young woman, one of the handmaidens perhaps, was huddled nearby, her face streaked with tears but her eyes wide with awe at the scene. Perfect.
A flicker of Seidr, barely a 'whisper,' brushed against her mind – not a command, just a gentle nudge, a suggestion of calm trust aimed at her fear. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second.
"Who is she?" I murmured, my voice low but carrying, nodding towards the woman in the ashes.
The handmaiden startled, then whispered back, her voice trembling but compelled by the subtle magic. "She is... Daenerys Stormborn. The Khaleesi. Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys Stormborn. The name resonated, regal and tragic. Khaleesi.Mother of Dragons. Titles earned in fire and ash. Interesting. Very interesting.
The knight took another step forward, shouting something in the harsh Dothraki tongue.
My attention snapped back to the main event. Daenerys's head snapped up. Her lilac eyes met mine. They were not empty. They were blazing.
She stood.
She was 'really amazing.' She rose from the ashes, completely naked, her 'body aching' but triumphant, and faced me without an ounce of fear.
One of the dragons, the black one, hissed at me.
A slow smile—Loki's smile—spread across my face. David's heart 'hammered against his ribs,' but Loki's ambition 'pulsed' in his veins. A lost queen with three living gods, and a lost god with no throne. The irony was 'delicious.'
"My apologies for interrupting," I said, my voice a smooth, silken baritone that was pure Loki. I dipped my head. "I seem to be lost." My green eyes flickered to the dragons, then back to her naked form. "And you, Daenerys Stormborn, seem to have found something."
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The scratching of pens on paper stopped.
The bell rang, its shrill cry echoing through the cavernous exam hall. David Myers stretched, a wince twisting his face. The calculus midterm had been a 'sledgehammer to his skull,' and he was just glad it was over. He handed in the 'rumpled sheet' of equations, a silent prayer for partial credit, and joined the flood of students spilling out into the bright afternoon.
His friends, Mark and Sarah, were already by the door, dissecting the questions. "Man, number four was a 'killer'," Mark said, running a hand through his hair.
David just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. He remembered he wasn't going back to the dorm. "Hey, I gotta run," he said, cutting them off. "Got some... work to do back home."
"On a Friday? Lame," Sarah replied, but she smiled.
David grinned, packed his bag, and shoved in his earphones. "See you guys Monday."
He jogged down the stone steps of the university library, and the music 'exploded in his mind.' It was a 'chemical reaction' of good-day pop, the sun was shining, and the 'burning' stress of the exam was already 'fading.' He was 'vibing,' lost in the rhythm, a 'joyful day' unfolding. He was just a 'normal kid,' 'living in the moment.'
He reached the crosswalk at the edge of campus. He was so lost in the music, he barely registered the 'frantic movement' to his left.
A red ball. A small kid, maybe five, chasing it.
The kid darted 'in and out' of the parked cars, right onto the busy street.
A 'thunderclap' of a horn 'erupted.' A massive Mack truck, 'pounding' the asphalt, was 'bearing down.'
David didn't 'think.' There was no 'analysis,' no time for fear. It was a 'desperate craving' to act, an instinct he never knew he possessed. He lunged.
He 'pushed' the kid. A small, light weight. He felt the child 'tumble' safely onto the far curb, scraping his knees but alive.
David, however, was not so lucky.
The 'sledgehammer' of the truck's grill 'collided' with his body. It wasn't a clean hit. It was a 'brutal, abrasive scrape.' He was under it. He felt the 'crazy movement' of the wheels, the 'burning' 'climax' of impossible, searing pain as he was 'dragged.' The world became a 'blur' of hot asphalt, the smell of 'burning' rubber, and his own blood.
His last conscious thought was a 'fading' whisper, 'pounding' in his own mangled ears: "Did I save the kid?"
Then... nothing.
When I 'woke up,' it wasn't like in the movies. There was no tunnel, no angels. I just... was. I was in a room, if you could call it that. It was white. Infinitely white, sterile, and silent. It was a 'rumpled sheet' of an existence, and I was a stain on it.
"David Myers. Age 20. Deceased."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. In front of me sat a... being. He looked like an impossibly tired accountant in a rumpled suit, sipping a cosmic coffee from a "Best Dad in the Multiverse" mug.
"Who... what...?" My voice was gone. "Did I... save the kid?"
"Oh, the kid's fine," the being said, waving a hand. "Scraped knee. He'll be terrified of trucks for a while, but he's fine." He squinted at a glowing, ethereal tablet in his hand. "You, however... David Myers. Cause of death... ah, yes. Mack Truck. Nasty. Okay, sign here and we'll get you processed for the good-"
"Processed?" The 'fury' started, a 'desperate craving' for an explanation. "What the hell? I saved him!"
"Yes, well, this is... awkward." The being, God, wouldn't meet my eyes. He tapped his screen. "It says here, 'David Meyer.' M-E-Y-E-R. Truck. Destiny." He looked up at me. "You're M-Y-E-R-S. Myers."
The silence in the white room was 'pounding like a jackhammer.'
"You... you... you killed the wrong David?"
"A clerical error!" God said, defensive. "Do you have any idea the paperwork down here? The multiverse is expanding! I'm overworked! It's an honest mistake!"
"'SORRY?'" I 'erupted,' the word 'radiating' pure rage. "You're God! You don't get to make 'honest mistakes' that turn me into roadkill! My 'whole night'—my whole life—is over! All because of a typo!"
"Okay, okay! Yelling! We're yelling," God said, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid, I messed up. You're right. You weren't supposed to die for another sixty-three years. You were supposed to be... an orthodontist. Huh. Good for you."
"I don't want to be an orthodontist!" I shrieked. "I want to be alive!"
"Yes, well, that's not an option. The 're-stocking' fee on a soul is... look, it's a nightmare. The body's ruined. But, I can offer you the compensation package. A 'New Game Plus,' if you will."
My 'vision blurred' with angry tears. "What are you talking about?"
"A new life. Another world. And, because I'm a nice guy and you're really loud, I'll give you a 'boon.' A power-up."
Three images appeared in the white void.
One was a shining, circular shield. "The Super-Soldier. Peak human condition, unbreakable will, a heart of gold. The 'Captain America' package."
The second was a black, bat-shaped cowl. "The Dark Knight. Peak human intellect, limitless wealth, a master of fear. The 'Batman' package."
The third... the third was a horned, golden helmet.
"The Trickster God. Asgardian physiology, magic of the highest order, a silver tongue, and a mind that sees a thousand steps ahead. The 'Loki' package."
I stared at the choices. I was just David. A 'normal kid.' I wasn't a hero, and I wasn't a genius. I was the guy who got run over by a truck by mistake. The 'shame' of being so... disposable... 'crashed over me.'
I never wanted to be a victim again.
"I... I want..." I felt a new 'burning with desire,' a 'shameless' need for the power I'd never had. "I want to be the one in control. I want the magic."
"The Loki package?" God raised an eyebrow. "Kid, that one comes with... baggage. It's chaotic. Dangerous."
"I want that one," I 'responded' forcefully. "I want to be the one who makes the 'honest mistakes' from now on."
God sighed. "Fine. Your funeral... again. But this time, you'll be harder to kill."
He snapped his fingers.
It was not a 'soft' feeling. It was an 'incredible climax' of pure, green-gold energy. It was Loki's entire life, his memories, his power, 'entering me' all at once. I felt his mother's love. I felt his brother's shadow. I felt the 'burning' rage of his jealousy, the 'crazy movements' of his magic, the 'pounding' of his ambition.
My ambition.
David Myers's fear and Loki's arrogance 'collided.' I wasn't David anymore. I wasn't Loki. I was... both. A college kid with the mind and magic of a God of Mischief.
"Now, for the destination," God said, spinning a massive, cosmic wheel of worlds. It 'blurred' with a thousand images. "Let's see where the 'Loki' package is most... entertaining."
The wheel spun, 'in and out' of view, a 'frantic' spin that slowed... slowed... and stopped.
On a world of dragons and ice. A world of thrones.
"Ah, Westeros," God said, looking at his tablet. "Lots of... 'potential,' there." He looked at me, his expression flat. "Well. Off you go."
He snapped his fingers. The 'fabric of reality tore open' behind me, a 'black hole' of pure chaos. I didn't get to say anything. The world 'went blank.' I was 'falling.'
I felt nothing, and then I felt everything as I opened my eyes...
...and crashed into this new world with all the grace of a mortal brick. The landing was a brutal, 'abrasive scrape' that tore at my new, 'fine leather' armor. I tumbled through sand, grit, and… ash.
My head was 'pounding,' not from a truck, but from the transition. The air here was wrong. It was thick, choked with smoke, and carried the acrid, gut-turning smell of burning meat. Human meat.
My new 'Loki' senses were screaming. This world's magic was muted, coarse, and tasted of blood. My own Seidr was a 'burning' ember, 'drained' from the fall. I was weakened, but I was alive.
I was on the outskirts of a camp, under a sky of bruised purple and alien stars. In the center, a funeral pyre was 'rumpled' into a mountain of ash and 'glowing embers.'
And I saw her.
She was sitting in the center of the cinders, naked. Her silver-gold hair was gone, burned away. Her skin, which should have been charred, was flawless. Pale, luminous, and covered in soot.
She was Unburnt.
My new memories, Loki's memories, of a thousand realms, of goddesses and sorceresses, slammed into David's 20-year-old libido. My breath hitched.
This... this was new.
My gaze, our gaze, 'drank her in.' She was 'so incredible.' She was small-framed, but her body was a 'sledgehammer' to my senses. It was a woman's, with the soft, high curves of youth. Her 'soft boobs' were full and round, pale as milk even under the grey ash, her 'light nipples' a delicate, sensitive pink, pebbled from the morning chill. She made no move to cover herself, her nakedness as 'shameless' as the fire she had commanded. Her form was 'heaven on earth,' a perfect, pale sculpture in the dawn light.
Who is she? The question 'pounded' in my mind, a blend of David's awe and Loki's strategic curiosity. A survivor? A witch? Something else entirely?
She was looking down, cooing at something in her lap.
My gaze was ripped from her form to what she held.
Three creatures. Scaled. Impossible. Dragons.
My mind, which had been 'blurring' with weakness, was suddenly 'razor-sharp.' This changed everything.
I stepped forward, my boot crunching on the cooled embers.
A knight saw me, drawing his sword with a weary cry. "Stay back, demon!"
Before the knight could lunge, my eyes darted to the side. A young woman, one of the handmaidens perhaps, was huddled nearby, her face streaked with tears but her eyes wide with awe at the scene. Perfect.
A flicker of Seidr, barely a 'whisper,' brushed against her mind – not a command, just a gentle nudge, a suggestion of calm trust aimed at her fear. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second.
"Who is she?" I murmured, my voice low but carrying, nodding towards the woman in the ashes.
The handmaiden startled, then whispered back, her voice trembling but compelled by the subtle magic. "She is... Daenerys Stormborn. The Khaleesi. Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys Stormborn. The name resonated, regal and tragic. Khaleesi.Mother of Dragons. Titles earned in fire and ash. Interesting. Very interesting.
The knight took another step forward, shouting something in the harsh Dothraki tongue.
My attention snapped back to the main event. Daenerys's head snapped up. Her lilac eyes met mine. They were not empty. They were blazing.
She stood.
She was 'really amazing.' She rose from the ashes, completely naked, her 'body aching' but triumphant, and faced me without an ounce of fear.
One of the dragons, the black one, hissed at me.
A slow smile—Loki's smile—spread across my face. David's heart 'hammered against his ribs,' but Loki's ambition 'pulsed' in his veins. A lost queen with three living gods, and a lost god with no throne. The irony was 'delicious.'
"My apologies for interrupting," I said, my voice a smooth, silken baritone that was pure Loki. I dipped my head. "I seem to be lost." My green eyes flickered to the dragons, then back to her naked form. "And you, Daenerys Stormborn, seem to have found something."
The scratching of pens on paper stopped.
The bell rang, its shrill cry echoing through the cavernous exam hall. David Myers stretched, a wince twisting his face. The calculus midterm had been a 'sledgehammer to his skull,' and he was just glad it was over. He handed in the 'rumpled sheet' of equations, a silent prayer for partial credit, and joined the flood of students spilling out into the bright afternoon.
His friends, Mark and Sarah, were already by the door, dissecting the questions. "Man, number four was a 'killer'," Mark said, running a hand through his hair.
David just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. He remembered he wasn't going back to the dorm. "Hey, I gotta run," he said, cutting them off. "Got some... work to do back home."
"On a Friday? Lame," Sarah replied, but she smiled.
David grinned, packed his bag, and shoved in his earphones. "See you guys Monday."
He jogged down the stone steps of the university library, and the music 'exploded in his mind.' It was a 'chemical reaction' of good-day pop, the sun was shining, and the 'burning' stress of the exam was already 'fading.' He was 'vibing,' lost in the rhythm, a 'joyful day' unfolding. He was just a 'normal kid,' 'living in the moment.'
He reached the crosswalk at the edge of campus. He was so lost in the music, he barely registered the 'frantic movement' to his left.
A red ball. A small kid, maybe five, chasing it.
The kid darted 'in and out' of the parked cars, right onto the busy street.
A 'thunderclap' of a horn 'erupted.' A massive Mack truck, 'pounding' the asphalt, was 'bearing down.'
David didn't 'think.' There was no 'analysis,' no time for fear. It was a 'desperate craving' to act, an instinct he never knew he possessed. He lunged.
He 'pushed' the kid. A small, light weight. He felt the child 'tumble' safely onto the far curb, scraping his knees but alive.
David, however, was not so lucky.
The 'sledgehammer' of the truck's grill 'collided' with his body. It wasn't a clean hit. It was a 'brutal, abrasive scrape.' He was under it. He felt the 'crazy movement' of the wheels, the 'burning' 'climax' of impossible, searing pain as he was 'dragged.' The world became a 'blur' of hot asphalt, the smell of 'burning' rubber, and his own blood.
His last conscious thought was a 'fading' whisper, 'pounding' in his own mangled ears: "Did I save the kid?"
Then... nothing.
When I 'woke up,' it wasn't like in the movies. There was no tunnel, no angels. I just... was. I was in a room, if you could call it that. It was white. Infinitely white, sterile, and silent. It was a 'rumpled sheet' of an existence, and I was a stain on it.
"David Myers. Age 20. Deceased."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. In front of me sat a... being. He looked like an impossibly tired accountant in a rumpled suit, sipping a cosmic coffee from a "Best Dad in the Multiverse" mug.
"Who... what...?" My voice was gone. "Did I... save the kid?"
"Oh, the kid's fine," the being said, waving a hand. "Scraped knee. He'll be terrified of trucks for a while, but he's fine." He squinted at a glowing, ethereal tablet in his hand. "You, however... David Myers. Cause of death... ah, yes. Mack Truck. Nasty. Okay, sign here and we'll get you processed for the good-"
"Processed?" The 'fury' started, a 'desperate craving' for an explanation. "What the hell? I saved him!"
"Yes, well, this is... awkward." The being, God, wouldn't meet my eyes. He tapped his screen. "It says here, 'David Meyer.' M-E-Y-E-R. Truck. Destiny." He looked up at me. "You're M-Y-E-R-S. Myers."
The silence in the white room was 'pounding like a jackhammer.'
"You... you... you killed the wrong David?"
"A clerical error!" God said, defensive. "Do you have any idea the paperwork down here? The multiverse is expanding! I'm overworked! It's an honest mistake!"
"'SORRY?'" I 'erupted,' the word 'radiating' pure rage. "You're God! You don't get to make 'honest mistakes' that turn me into roadkill! My 'whole night'—my whole life—is over! All because of a typo!"
"Okay, okay! Yelling! We're yelling," God said, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid, I messed up. You're right. You weren't supposed to die for another sixty-three years. You were supposed to be... an orthodontist. Huh. Good for you."
"I don't want to be an orthodontist!" I shrieked. "I want to be alive!"
"Yes, well, that's not an option. The 're-stocking' fee on a soul is... look, it's a nightmare. The body's ruined. But, I can offer you the compensation package. A 'New Game Plus,' if you will."
My 'vision blurred' with angry tears. "What are you talking about?"
"A new life. Another world. And, because I'm a nice guy and you're really loud, I'll give you a 'boon.' A power-up."
Three images appeared in the white void.
One was a shining, circular shield. "The Super-Soldier. Peak human condition, unbreakable will, a heart of gold. The 'Captain America' package."
The second was a black, bat-shaped cowl. "The Dark Knight. Peak human intellect, limitless wealth, a master of fear. The 'Batman' package."
The third... the third was a horned, golden helmet.
"The Trickster God. Asgardian physiology, magic of the highest order, a silver tongue, and a mind that sees a thousand steps ahead. The 'Loki' package."
I stared at the choices. I was just David. A 'normal kid.' I wasn't a hero, and I wasn't a genius. I was the guy who got run over by a truck by mistake. The 'shame' of being so... disposable... 'crashed over me.'
I never wanted to be a victim again.
"I... I want..." I felt a new 'burning with desire,' a 'shameless' need for the power I'd never had. "I want to be the one in control. I want the magic."
"The Loki package?" God raised an eyebrow. "Kid, that one comes with... baggage. It's chaotic. Dangerous."
"I want that one," I 'responded' forcefully. "I want to be the one who makes the 'honest mistakes' from now on."
God sighed. "Fine. Your funeral... again. But this time, you'll be harder to kill."
He snapped his fingers.
It was not a 'soft' feeling. It was an 'incredible climax' of pure, green-gold energy. It was Loki's entire life, his memories, his power, 'entering me' all at once. I felt his mother's love. I felt his brother's shadow. I felt the 'burning' rage of his jealousy, the 'crazy movements' of his magic, the 'pounding' of his ambition.
My ambition.
David Myers's fear and Loki's arrogance 'collided.' I wasn't David anymore. I wasn't Loki. I was... both. A college kid with the mind and magic of a God of Mischief.
"Now, for the destination," God said, spinning a massive, cosmic wheel of worlds. It 'blurred' with a thousand images. "Let's see where the 'Loki' package is most... entertaining."
The wheel spun, 'in and out' of view, a 'frantic' spin that slowed... slowed... and stopped.
On a world of dragons and ice. A world of thrones.
"Ah, Westeros," God said, looking at his tablet. "Lots of... 'potential,' there." He looked at me, his expression flat. "Well. Off you go."
He snapped his fingers. The 'fabric of reality tore open' behind me, a 'black hole' of pure chaos. I didn't get to say anything. The world 'went blank.' I was 'falling.'
I felt nothing, and then I felt everything as I opened my eyes...
...and crashed into this new world with all the grace of a mortal brick. The landing was a brutal, 'abrasive scrape' that tore at my new, 'fine leather' armor. I tumbled through sand, grit, and… ash.
My head was 'pounding,' not from a truck, but from the transition. The air here was wrong. It was thick, choked with smoke, and carried the acrid, gut-turning smell of burning meat. Human meat.
My new 'Loki' senses were screaming. This world's magic was muted, coarse, and tasted of blood. My own Seidr was a 'burning' ember, 'drained' from the fall. I was weakened, but I was alive.
I was on the outskirts of a camp, under a sky of bruised purple and alien stars. In the center, a funeral pyre was 'rumpled' into a mountain of ash and 'glowing embers.'
And I saw her.
She was sitting in the center of the cinders, naked. Her silver-gold hair was gone, burned away. Her skin, which should have been charred, was flawless. Pale, luminous, and covered in soot.
She was Unburnt.
My new memories, Loki's memories, of a thousand realms, of goddesses and sorceresses, slammed into David's 20-year-old libido. My breath hitched.
This... this was new.
My gaze, our gaze, 'drank her in.' She was 'so incredible.' She was small-framed, but her body was a 'sledgehammer' to my senses. It was a woman's, with the soft, high curves of youth. Her 'soft boobs' were full and round, pale as milk even under the grey ash, her 'light nipples' a delicate, sensitive pink, pebbled from the morning chill. She made no move to cover herself, her nakedness as 'shameless' as the fire she had commanded. Her form was 'heaven on earth,' a perfect, pale sculpture in the dawn light.
Who is she? The question 'pounded' in my mind, a blend of David's awe and Loki's strategic curiosity. A survivor? A witch? Something else entirely?
She was looking down, cooing at something in her lap.
My gaze was ripped from her form to what she held.
Three creatures. Scaled. Impossible. Dragons.
My mind, which had been 'blurring' with weakness, was suddenly 'razor-sharp.' This changed everything.
I stepped forward, my boot crunching on the cooled embers.
A knight saw me, drawing his sword with a weary cry. "Stay back, demon!"
Before the knight could lunge, my eyes darted to the side. A young woman, one of the handmaidens perhaps, was huddled nearby, her face streaked with tears but her eyes wide with awe at the scene. Perfect.
A flicker of Seidr, barely a 'whisper,' brushed against her mind – not a command, just a gentle nudge, a suggestion of calm trust aimed at her fear. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second.
"Who is she?" I murmured, my voice low but carrying, nodding towards the woman in the ashes.
The handmaiden startled, then whispered back, her voice trembling but compelled by the subtle magic. "She is... Daenerys Stormborn. The Khaleesi. Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys Stormborn. The name resonated, regal and tragic. Khaleesi.Mother of Dragons. Titles earned in fire and ash. Interesting. Very interesting.
The knight took another step forward, shouting something in the harsh Dothraki tongue.
My attention snapped back to the main event. Daenerys's head snapped up. Her lilac eyes met mine. They were not empty. They were blazing.
She stood.
She was 'really amazing.' She rose from the ashes, completely naked, her 'body aching' but triumphant, and faced me without an ounce of fear.
One of the dragons, the black one, hissed at me.
A slow smile—Loki's smile—spread across my face. David's heart 'hammered against his ribs,' but Loki's ambition 'pulsed' in his veins. A lost queen with three living gods, and a lost god with no throne. The irony was 'delicious.'
"My apologies for interrupting," I said, my voice a smooth, silken baritone that was pure Loki. I dipped my head. "I seem to be lost." My green eyes flickered to the dragons, then back to her naked form. "And you, Daenerys Stormborn, seem to have found something."
The scratching of pens on paper stopped.
The bell rang, its shrill cry echoing through the cavernous exam hall. David Myers stretched, a wince twisting his face. The calculus midterm had been a 'sledgehammer to his skull,' and he was just glad it was over. He handed in the 'rumpled sheet' of equations, a silent prayer for partial credit, and joined the flood of students spilling out into the bright afternoon.
His friends, Mark and Sarah, were already by the door, dissecting the questions. "Man, number four was a 'killer'," Mark said, running a hand through his hair.
David just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. He remembered he wasn't going back to the dorm. "Hey, I gotta run," he said, cutting them off. "Got some... work to do back home."
"On a Friday? Lame," Sarah replied, but she smiled.
David grinned, packed his bag, and shoved in his earphones. "See you guys Monday."
He jogged down the stone steps of the university library, and the music 'exploded in his mind.' It was a 'chemical reaction' of good-day pop, the sun was shining, and the 'burning' stress of the exam was already 'fading.' He was 'vibing,' lost in the rhythm, a 'joyful day' unfolding. He was just a 'normal kid,' 'living in the moment.'
He reached the crosswalk at the edge of campus. He was so lost in the music, he barely registered the 'frantic movement' to his left.
A red ball. A small kid, maybe five, chasing it.
The kid darted 'in and out' of the parked cars, right onto the busy street.
A 'thunderclap' of a horn 'erupted.' A massive Mack truck, 'pounding' the asphalt, was 'bearing down.'
David didn't 'think.' There was no 'analysis,' no time for fear. It was a 'desperate craving' to act, an instinct he never knew he possessed. He lunged.
He 'pushed' the kid. A small, light weight. He felt the child 'tumble' safely onto the far curb, scraping his knees but alive.
David, however, was not so lucky.
The 'sledgehammer' of the truck's grill 'collided' with his body. It wasn't a clean hit. It was a 'brutal, abrasive scrape.' He was under it. He felt the 'crazy movement' of the wheels, the 'burning' 'climax' of impossible, searing pain as he was 'dragged.' The world became a 'blur' of hot asphalt, the smell of 'burning' rubber, and his own blood.
His last conscious thought was a 'fading' whisper, 'pounding' in his own mangled ears: "Did I save the kid?"
Then... nothing.
When I 'woke up,' it wasn't like in the movies. There was no tunnel, no angels. I just... was. I was in a room, if you could call it that. It was white. Infinitely white, sterile, and silent. It was a 'rumpled sheet' of an existence, and I was a stain on it.
"David Myers. Age 20. Deceased."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. In front of me sat a... being. He looked like an impossibly tired accountant in a rumpled suit, sipping a cosmic coffee from a "Best Dad in the Multiverse" mug.
"Who... what...?" My voice was gone. "Did I... save the kid?"
"Oh, the kid's fine," the being said, waving a hand. "Scraped knee. He'll be terrified of trucks for a while, but he's fine." He squinted at a glowing, ethereal tablet in his hand. "You, however... David Myers. Cause of death... ah, yes. Mack Truck. Nasty. Okay, sign here and we'll get you processed for the good-"
"Processed?" The 'fury' started, a 'desperate craving' for an explanation. "What the hell? I saved him!"
"Yes, well, this is... awkward." The being, God, wouldn't meet my eyes. He tapped his screen. "It says here, 'David Meyer.' M-E-Y-E-R. Truck. Destiny." He looked up at me. "You're M-Y-E-R-S. Myers."
The silence in the white room was 'pounding like a jackhammer.'
"You... you... you killed the wrong David?"
"A clerical error!" God said, defensive. "Do you have any idea the paperwork down here? The multiverse is expanding! I'm overworked! It's an honest mistake!"
"'SORRY?'" I 'erupted,' the word 'radiating' pure rage. "You're God! You don't get to make 'honest mistakes' that turn me into roadkill! My 'whole night'—my whole life—is over! All because of a typo!"
"Okay, okay! Yelling! We're yelling," God said, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid, I messed up. You're right. You weren't supposed to die for another sixty-three years. You were supposed to be... an orthodontist. Huh. Good for you."
"I don't want to be an orthodontist!" I shrieked. "I want to be alive!"
"Yes, well, that's not an option. The 're-stocking' fee on a soul is... look, it's a nightmare. The body's ruined. But, I can offer you the compensation package. A 'New Game Plus,' if you will."
My 'vision blurred' with angry tears. "What are you talking about?"
"A new life. Another world. And, because I'm a nice guy and you're really loud, I'll give you a 'boon.' A power-up."
Three images appeared in the white void.
One was a shining, circular shield. "The Super-Soldier. Peak human condition, unbreakable will, a heart of gold. The 'Captain America' package."
The second was a black, bat-shaped cowl. "The Dark Knight. Peak human intellect, limitless wealth, a master of fear. The 'Batman' package."
The third... the third was a horned, golden helmet.
"The Trickster God. Asgardian physiology, magic of the highest order, a silver tongue, and a mind that sees a thousand steps ahead. The 'Loki' package."
I stared at the choices. I was just David. A 'normal kid.' I wasn't a hero, and I wasn't a genius. I was the guy who got run over by a truck by mistake. The 'shame' of being so... disposable... 'crashed over me.'
I never wanted to be a victim again.
"I... I want..." I felt a new 'burning with desire,' a 'shameless' need for the power I'd never had. "I want to be the one in control. I want the magic."
"The Loki package?" God raised an eyebrow. "Kid, that one comes with... baggage. It's chaotic. Dangerous."
"I want that one," I 'responded' forcefully. "I want to be the one who makes the 'honest mistakes' from now on."
God sighed. "Fine. Your funeral... again. But this time, you'll be harder to kill."
He snapped his fingers.
It was not a 'soft' feeling. It was an 'incredible climax' of pure, green-gold energy. It was Loki's entire life, his memories, his power, 'entering me' all at once. I felt his mother's love. I felt his brother's shadow. I felt the 'burning' rage of his jealousy, the 'crazy movements' of his magic, the 'pounding' of his ambition.
My ambition.
David Myers's fear and Loki's arrogance 'collided.' I wasn't David anymore. I wasn't Loki. I was... both. A college kid with the mind and magic of a God of Mischief.
"Now, for the destination," God said, spinning a massive, cosmic wheel of worlds. It 'blurred' with a thousand images. "Let's see where the 'Loki' package is most... entertaining."
The wheel spun, 'in and out' of view, a 'frantic' spin that slowed... slowed... and stopped.
On a world of dragons and ice. A world of thrones.
"Ah, Westeros," God said, looking at his tablet. "Lots of... 'potential,' there." He looked at me, his expression flat. "Well. Off you go."
He snapped his fingers. The 'fabric of reality tore open' behind me, a 'black hole' of pure chaos. I didn't get to say anything. The world 'went blank.' I was 'falling.'
I felt nothing, and then I felt everything as I opened my eyes...
...and crashed into this new world with all the grace of a mortal brick. The landing was a brutal, 'abrasive scrape' that tore at my new, 'fine leather' armor. I tumbled through sand, grit, and… ash.
My head was 'pounding,' not from a truck, but from the transition. The air here was wrong. It was thick, choked with smoke, and carried the acrid, gut-turning smell of burning meat. Human meat.
My new 'Loki' senses were screaming. This world's magic was muted, coarse, and tasted of blood. My own Seidr was a 'burning' ember, 'drained' from the fall. I was weakened, but I was alive.
I was on the outskirts of a camp, under a sky of bruised purple and alien stars. In the center, a funeral pyre was 'rumpled' into a mountain of ash and 'glowing embers.'
And I saw her.
She was sitting in the center of the cinders, naked. Her silver-gold hair was gone, burned away. Her skin, which should have been charred, was flawless. Pale, luminous, and covered in soot.
She was Unburnt.
My new memories, Loki's memories, of a thousand realms, of goddesses and sorceresses, slammed into David's 20-year-old libido. My breath hitched.
This... this was new.
My gaze, our gaze, 'drank her in.' She was 'so incredible.' She was small-framed, but her body was a 'sledgehammer' to my senses. It was a woman's, with the soft, high curves of youth. Her 'soft boobs' were full and round, pale as milk even under the grey ash, her 'light nipples' a delicate, sensitive pink, pebbled from the morning chill. She made no move to cover herself, her nakedness as 'shameless' as the fire she had commanded. Her form was 'heaven on earth,' a perfect, pale sculpture in the dawn light.
Who is she? The question 'pounded' in my mind, a blend of David's awe and Loki's strategic curiosity. A survivor? A witch? Something else entirely?
She was looking down, cooing at something in her lap.
My gaze was ripped from her form to what she held.
Three creatures. Scaled. Impossible. Dragons.
My mind, which had been 'blurring' with weakness, was suddenly 'razor-sharp.' This changed everything.
I stepped forward, my boot crunching on the cooled embers.
A knight saw me, drawing his sword with a weary cry. "Stay back, demon!"
Before the knight could lunge, my eyes darted to the side. A young woman, one of the handmaidens perhaps, was huddled nearby, her face streaked with tears but her eyes wide with awe at the scene. Perfect.
A flicker of Seidr, barely a 'whisper,' brushed against her mind – not a command, just a gentle nudge, a suggestion of calm trust aimed at her fear. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second.
"Who is she?" I murmured, my voice low but carrying, nodding towards the woman in the ashes.
The handmaiden startled, then whispered back, her voice trembling but compelled by the subtle magic. "She is... Daenerys Stormborn. The Khaleesi. Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys Stormborn. The name resonated, regal and tragic. Khaleesi.Mother of Dragons. Titles earned in fire and ash. Interesting. Very interesting.
The knight took another step forward, shouting something in the harsh Dothraki tongue.
My attention snapped back to the main event. Daenerys's head snapped up. Her lilac eyes met mine. They were not empty. They were blazing.
She stood.
She was 'really amazing.' She rose from the ashes, completely naked, her 'body aching' but triumphant, and faced me without an ounce of fear.
One of the dragons, the black one, hissed at me.
A slow smile—Loki's smile—spread across my face. David's heart 'hammered against his ribs,' but Loki's ambition 'pulsed' in his veins. A lost queen with three living gods, and a lost god with no throne. The irony was 'delicious.'
"My apologies for interrupting," I said, my voice a smooth, silken baritone that was pure Loki. I dipped my head. "I seem to be lost." My green eyes flickered to the dragons, then back to her naked form. "And you, Daenerys Stormborn, seem to have found something."
The scratching of pens on paper stopped.
The bell rang, its shrill cry echoing through the cavernous exam hall. David Myers stretched, a wince twisting his face. The calculus midterm had been a 'sledgehammer to his skull,' and he was just glad it was over. He handed in the 'rumpled sheet' of equations, a silent prayer for partial credit, and joined the flood of students spilling out into the bright afternoon.
His friends, Mark and Sarah, were already by the door, dissecting the questions. "Man, number four was a 'killer'," Mark said, running a hand through his hair.
David just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. He remembered he wasn't going back to the dorm. "Hey, I gotta run," he said, cutting them off. "Got some... work to do back home."
"On a Friday? Lame," Sarah replied, but she smiled.
David grinned, packed his bag, and shoved in his earphones. "See you guys Monday."
He jogged down the stone steps of the university library, and the music 'exploded in his mind.' It was a 'chemical reaction' of good-day pop, the sun was shining, and the 'burning' stress of the exam was already 'fading.' He was 'vibing,' lost in the rhythm, a 'joyful day' unfolding. He was just a 'normal kid,' 'living in the moment.'
He reached the crosswalk at the edge of campus. He was so lost in the music, he barely registered the 'frantic movement' to his left.
A red ball. A small kid, maybe five, chasing it.
The kid darted 'in and out' of the parked cars, right onto the busy street.
A 'thunderclap' of a horn 'erupted.' A massive Mack truck, 'pounding' the asphalt, was 'bearing down.'
David didn't 'think.' There was no 'analysis,' no time for fear. It was a 'desperate craving' to act, an instinct he never knew he possessed. He lunged.
He 'pushed' the kid. A small, light weight. He felt the child 'tumble' safely onto the far curb, scraping his knees but alive.
David, however, was not so lucky.
The 'sledgehammer' of the truck's grill 'collided' with his body. It wasn't a clean hit. It was a 'brutal, abrasive scrape.' He was under it. He felt the 'crazy movement' of the wheels, the 'burning' 'climax' of impossible, searing pain as he was 'dragged.' The world became a 'blur' of hot asphalt, the smell of 'burning' rubber, and his own blood.
His last conscious thought was a 'fading' whisper, 'pounding' in his own mangled ears: "Did I save the kid?"
Then... nothing.
When I 'woke up,' it wasn't like in the movies. There was no tunnel, no angels. I just... was. I was in a room, if you could call it that. It was white. Infinitely white, sterile, and silent. It was a 'rumpled sheet' of an existence, and I was a stain on it.
"David Myers. Age 20. Deceased."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. In front of me sat a... being. He looked like an impossibly tired accountant in a rumpled suit, sipping a cosmic coffee from a "Best Dad in the Multiverse" mug.
"Who... what...?" My voice was gone. "Did I... save the kid?"
"Oh, the kid's fine," the being said, waving a hand. "Scraped knee. He'll be terrified of trucks for a while, but he's fine." He squinted at a glowing, ethereal tablet in his hand. "You, however... David Myers. Cause of death... ah, yes. Mack Truck. Nasty. Okay, sign here and we'll get you processed for the good-"
"Processed?" The 'fury' started, a 'desperate craving' for an explanation. "What the hell? I saved him!"
"Yes, well, this is... awkward." The being, God, wouldn't meet my eyes. He tapped his screen. "It says here, 'David Meyer.' M-E-Y-E-R. Truck. Destiny." He looked up at me. "You're M-Y-E-R-S. Myers."
The silence in the white room was 'pounding like a jackhammer.'
"You... you... you killed the wrong David?"
"A clerical error!" God said, defensive. "Do you have any idea the paperwork down here? The multiverse is expanding! I'm overworked! It's an honest mistake!"
"'SORRY?'" I 'erupted,' the word 'radiating' pure rage. "You're God! You don't get to make 'honest mistakes' that turn me into roadkill! My 'whole night'—my whole life—is over! All because of a typo!"
"Okay, okay! Yelling! We're yelling," God said, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid, I messed up. You're right. You weren't supposed to die for another sixty-three years. You were supposed to be... an orthodontist. Huh. Good for you."
"I don't want to be an orthodontist!" I shrieked. "I want to be alive!"
"Yes, well, that's not an option. The 're-stocking' fee on a soul is... look, it's a nightmare. The body's ruined. But, I can offer you the compensation package. A 'New Game Plus,' if you will."
My 'vision blurred' with angry tears. "What are you talking about?"
"A new life. Another world. And, because I'm a nice guy and you're really loud, I'll give you a 'boon.' A power-up."
Three images appeared in the white void.
One was a shining, circular shield. "The Super-Soldier. Peak human condition, unbreakable will, a heart of gold. The 'Captain America' package."
The second was a black, bat-shaped cowl. "The Dark Knight. Peak human intellect, limitless wealth, a master of fear. The 'Batman' package."
The third... the third was a horned, golden helmet.
"The Trickster God. Asgardian physiology, magic of the highest order, a silver tongue, and a mind that sees a thousand steps ahead. The 'Loki' package."
I stared at the choices. I was just David. A 'normal kid.' I wasn't a hero, and I wasn't a genius. I was the guy who got run over by a truck by mistake. The 'shame' of being so... disposable... 'crashed over me.'
I never wanted to be a victim again.
"I... I want..." I felt a new 'burning with desire,' a 'shameless' need for the power I'd never had. "I want to be the one in control. I want the magic."
"The Loki package?" God raised an eyebrow. "Kid, that one comes with... baggage. It's chaotic. Dangerous."
"I want that one," I 'responded' forcefully. "I want to be the one who makes the 'honest mistakes' from now on."
God sighed. "Fine. Your funeral... again. But this time, you'll be harder to kill."
He snapped his fingers.
It was not a 'soft' feeling. It was an 'incredible climax' of pure, green-gold energy. It was Loki's entire life, his memories, his power, 'entering me' all at once. I felt his mother's love. I felt his brother's shadow. I felt the 'burning' rage of his jealousy, the 'crazy movements' of his magic, the 'pounding' of his ambition.
My ambition.
David Myers's fear and Loki's arrogance 'collided.' I wasn't David anymore. I wasn't Loki. I was... both. A college kid with the mind and magic of a God of Mischief.
"Now, for the destination," God said, spinning a massive, cosmic wheel of worlds. It 'blurred' with a thousand images. "Let's see where the 'Loki' package is most... entertaining."
The wheel spun, 'in and out' of view, a 'frantic' spin that slowed... slowed... and stopped.
On a world of dragons and ice. A world of thrones.
"Ah, Westeros," God said, looking at his tablet. "Lots of... 'potential,' there." He looked at me, his expression flat. "Well. Off you go."
He snapped his fingers. The 'fabric of reality tore open' behind me, a 'black hole' of pure chaos. I didn't get to say anything. The world 'went blank.' I was 'falling.'
I felt nothing, and then I felt everything as I opened my eyes...
...and crashed into this new world with all the grace of a mortal brick. The landing was a brutal, 'abrasive scrape' that tore at my new, 'fine leather' armor. I tumbled through sand, grit, and… ash.
My head was 'pounding,' not from a truck, but from the transition. The air here was wrong. It was thick, choked with smoke, and carried the acrid, gut-turning smell of burning meat. Human meat.
My new 'Loki' senses were screaming. This world's magic was muted, coarse, and tasted of blood. My own Seidr was a 'burning' ember, 'drained' from the fall. I was weakened, but I was alive.
I was on the outskirts of a camp, under a sky of bruised purple and alien stars. In the center, a funeral pyre was 'rumpled' into a mountain of ash and 'glowing embers.'
And I saw her.
She was sitting in the center of the cinders, naked. Her silver-gold hair was gone, burned away. Her skin, which should have been charred, was flawless. Pale, luminous, and covered in soot.
She was Unburnt.
My new memories, Loki's memories, of a thousand realms, of goddesses and sorceresses, slammed into David's 20-year-old libido. My breath hitched.
This... this was new.
My gaze, our gaze, 'drank her in.' She was 'so incredible.' She was small-framed, but her body was a 'sledgehammer' to my senses. It was a woman's, with the soft, high curves of youth. Her 'soft boobs' were full and round, pale as milk even under the grey ash, her 'light nipples' a delicate, sensitive pink, pebbled from the morning chill. She made no move to cover herself, her nakedness as 'shameless' as the fire she had commanded. Her form was 'heaven on earth,' a perfect, pale sculpture in the dawn light.
Who is she? The question 'pounded' in my mind, a blend of David's awe and Loki's strategic curiosity. A survivor? A witch? Something else entirely?
She was looking down, cooing at something in her lap.
My gaze was ripped from her form to what she held.
Three creatures. Scaled. Impossible. Dragons.
My mind, which had been 'blurring' with weakness, was suddenly 'razor-sharp.' This changed everything.
I stepped forward, my boot crunching on the cooled embers.
A knight saw me, drawing his sword with a weary cry. "Stay back, demon!"
Before the knight could lunge, my eyes darted to the side. A young woman, one of the handmaidens perhaps, was huddled nearby, her face streaked with tears but her eyes wide with awe at the scene. Perfect.
A flicker of Seidr, barely a 'whisper,' brushed against her mind – not a command, just a gentle nudge, a suggestion of calm trust aimed at her fear. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second.
"Who is she?" I murmured, my voice low but carrying, nodding towards the woman in the ashes.
The handmaiden startled, then whispered back, her voice trembling but compelled by the subtle magic. "She is... Daenerys Stormborn. The Khaleesi. Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys Stormborn. The name resonated, regal and tragic. Khaleesi.Mother of Dragons. Titles earned in fire and ash. Interesting. Very interesting.
The knight took another step forward, shouting something in the harsh Dothraki tongue.
My attention snapped back to the main event. Daenerys's head snapped up. Her lilac eyes met mine. They were not empty. They were blazing.
She stood.
She was 'really amazing.' She rose from the ashes, completely naked, her 'body aching' but triumphant, and faced me without an ounce of fear.
One of the dragons, the black one, hissed at me.
A slow smile—Loki's smile—spread across my face. David's heart 'hammered against his ribs,' but Loki's ambition 'pulsed' in his veins. A lost queen with three living gods, and a lost god with no throne. The irony was 'delicious.'
"My apologies for interrupting," I said, my voice a smooth, silken baritone that was pure Loki. I dipped my head. "I seem to be lost." My green eyes flickered to the dragons, then back to her naked form. "And you, Daenerys Stormborn, seem to have found something."
The scratching of pens on paper stopped.
The bell rang, its shrill cry echoing through the cavernous exam hall. David Myers stretched, a wince twisting his face. The calculus midterm had been a 'sledgehammer to his skull,' and he was just glad it was over. He handed in the 'rumpled sheet' of equations, a silent prayer for partial credit, and joined the flood of students spilling out into the bright afternoon.
His friends, Mark and Sarah, were already by the door, dissecting the questions. "Man, number four was a 'killer'," Mark said, running a hand through his hair.
David just nodded, his mind already elsewhere. He remembered he wasn't going back to the dorm. "Hey, I gotta run," he said, cutting them off. "Got some... work to do back home."
"On a Friday? Lame," Sarah replied, but she smiled.
David grinned, packed his bag, and shoved in his earphones. "See you guys Monday."
He jogged down the stone steps of the university library, and the music 'exploded in his mind.' It was a 'chemical reaction' of good-day pop, the sun was shining, and the 'burning' stress of the exam was already 'fading.' He was 'vibing,' lost in the rhythm, a 'joyful day' unfolding. He was just a 'normal kid,' 'living in the moment.'
He reached the crosswalk at the edge of campus. He was so lost in the music, he barely registered the 'frantic movement' to his left.
A red ball. A small kid, maybe five, chasing it.
The kid darted 'in and out' of the parked cars, right onto the busy street.
A 'thunderclap' of a horn 'erupted.' A massive Mack truck, 'pounding' the asphalt, was 'bearing down.'
David didn't 'think.' There was no 'analysis,' no time for fear. It was a 'desperate craving' to act, an instinct he never knew he possessed. He lunged.
He 'pushed' the kid. A small, light weight. He felt the child 'tumble' safely onto the far curb, scraping his knees but alive.
David, however, was not so lucky.
The 'sledgehammer' of the truck's grill 'collided' with his body. It wasn't a clean hit. It was a 'brutal, abrasive scrape.' He was under it. He felt the 'crazy movement' of the wheels, the 'burning' 'climax' of impossible, searing pain as he was 'dragged.' The world became a 'blur' of hot asphalt, the smell of 'burning' rubber, and his own blood.
His last conscious thought was a 'fading' whisper, 'pounding' in his own mangled ears: "Did I save the kid?"
Then... nothing.
When I 'woke up,' it wasn't like in the movies. There was no tunnel, no angels. I just... was. I was in a room, if you could call it that. It was white. Infinitely white, sterile, and silent. It was a 'rumpled sheet' of an existence, and I was a stain on it.
"David Myers. Age 20. Deceased."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. In front of me sat a... being. He looked like an impossibly tired accountant in a rumpled suit, sipping a cosmic coffee from a "Best Dad in the Multiverse" mug.
"Who... what...?" My voice was gone. "Did I... save the kid?"
"Oh, the kid's fine," the being said, waving a hand. "Scraped knee. He'll be terrified of trucks for a while, but he's fine." He squinted at a glowing, ethereal tablet in his hand. "You, however... David Myers. Cause of death... ah, yes. Mack Truck. Nasty. Okay, sign here and we'll get you processed for the good-"
"Processed?" The 'fury' started, a 'desperate craving' for an explanation. "What the hell? I saved him!"
"Yes, well, this is... awkward." The being, God, wouldn't meet my eyes. He tapped his screen. "It says here, 'David Meyer.' M-E-Y-E-R. Truck. Destiny." He looked up at me. "You're M-Y-E-R-S. Myers."
The silence in the white room was 'pounding like a jackhammer.'
"You... you... you killed the wrong David?"
"A clerical error!" God said, defensive. "Do you have any idea the paperwork down here? The multiverse is expanding! I'm overworked! It's an honest mistake!"
"'SORRY?'" I 'erupted,' the word 'radiating' pure rage. "You're God! You don't get to make 'honest mistakes' that turn me into roadkill! My 'whole night'—my whole life—is over! All because of a typo!"
"Okay, okay! Yelling! We're yelling," God said, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid, I messed up. You're right. You weren't supposed to die for another sixty-three years. You were supposed to be... an orthodontist. Huh. Good for you."
"I don't want to be an orthodontist!" I shrieked. "I want to be alive!"
"Yes, well, that's not an option. The 're-stocking' fee on a soul is... look, it's a nightmare. The body's ruined. But, I can offer you the compensation package. A 'New Game Plus,' if you will."
My 'vision blurred' with angry tears. "What are you talking about?"
"A new life. Another world. And, because I'm a nice guy and you're really loud, I'll give you a 'boon.' A power-up."
Three images appeared in the white void.
One was a shining, circular shield. "The Super-Soldier. Peak human condition, unbreakable will, a heart of gold. The 'Captain America' package."
The second was a black, bat-shaped cowl. "The Dark Knight. Peak human intellect, limitless wealth, a master of fear. The 'Batman' package."
The third... the third was a horned, golden helmet.
"The Trickster God. Asgardian physiology, magic of the highest order, a silver tongue, and a mind that sees a thousand steps ahead. The 'Loki' package."
I stared at the choices. I was just David. A 'normal kid.' I wasn't a hero, and I wasn't a genius. I was the guy who got run over by a truck by mistake. The 'shame' of being so... disposable... 'crashed over me.'
I never wanted to be a victim again.
"I... I want..." I felt a new 'burning with desire,' a 'shameless' need for the power I'd never had. "I want to be the one in control. I want the magic."
"The Loki package?" God raised an eyebrow. "Kid, that one comes with... baggage. It's chaotic. Dangerous."
"I want that one," I 'responded' forcefully. "I want to be the one who makes the 'honest mistakes' from now on."
God sighed. "Fine. Your funeral... again. But this time, you'll be harder to kill."
He snapped his fingers.
It was not a 'soft' feeling. It was an 'incredible climax' of pure, green-gold energy. It was Loki's entire life, his memories, his power, 'entering me' all at once. I felt his mother's love. I felt his brother's shadow. I felt the 'burning' rage of his jealousy, the 'crazy movements' of his magic, the 'pounding' of his ambition.
My ambition.
David Myers's fear and Loki's arrogance 'collided.' I wasn't David anymore. I wasn't Loki. I was... both. A college kid with the mind and magic of a God of Mischief.
"Now, for the destination," God said, spinning a massive, cosmic wheel of worlds. It 'blurred' with a thousand images. "Let's see where the 'Loki' package is most... entertaining."
The wheel spun, 'in and out' of view, a 'frantic' spin that slowed... slowed... and stopped.
On a world of dragons and ice. A world of thrones.
"Ah, Westeros," God said, looking at his tablet. "Lots of... 'potential,' there." He looked at me, his expression flat. "Well. Off you go."
He snapped his fingers. The 'fabric of reality tore open' behind me, a 'black hole' of pure chaos. I didn't get to say anything. The world 'went blank.' I was 'falling.'
I felt nothing, and then I felt everything as I opened my eyes...
...and crashed into this new world with all the grace of a mortal brick. The landing was a brutal, 'abrasive scrape' that tore at my new, 'fine leather' armor. I tumbled through sand, grit, and… ash.
My head was 'pounding,' not from a truck, but from the transition. The air here was wrong. It was thick, choked with smoke, and carried the acrid, gut-turning smell of burning meat. Human meat.
My new 'Loki' senses were screaming. This world's magic was muted, coarse, and tasted of blood. My own Seidr was a 'burning' ember, 'drained' from the fall. I was weakened, but I was alive.
I was on the outskirts of a camp, under a sky of bruised purple and alien stars. In the center, a funeral pyre was 'rumpled' into a mountain of ash and 'glowing embers.'
And I saw her.
She was sitting in the center of the cinders, naked. Her silver-gold hair was gone, burned away. Her skin, which should have been charred, was flawless. Pale, luminous, and covered in soot.
She was Unburnt.
My new memories, Loki's memories, of a thousand realms, of goddesses and sorceresses, slammed into David's 20-year-old libido. My breath hitched.
This... this was new.
My gaze, our gaze, 'drank her in.' She was 'so incredible.' She was small-framed, but her body was a 'sledgehammer' to my senses. It was a woman's, with the soft, high curves of youth. Her 'soft boobs' were full and round, pale as milk even under the grey ash, her 'light nipples' a delicate, sensitive pink, pebbled from the morning chill. She made no move to cover herself, her nakedness as 'shameless' as the fire she had commanded. Her form was 'heaven on earth,' a perfect, pale sculpture in the dawn light.
Who is she? The question 'pounded' in my mind, a blend of David's awe and Loki's strategic curiosity. A survivor? A witch? Something else entirely?
She was looking down, cooing at something in her lap.
My gaze was ripped from her form to what she held.
Three creatures. Scaled. Impossible. Dragons.
My mind, which had been 'blurring' with weakness, was suddenly 'razor-sharp.' This changed everything.
I stepped forward, my boot crunching on the cooled embers.
A knight saw me, drawing his sword with a weary cry. "Stay back, demon!"
Before the knight could lunge, my eyes darted to the side. A young woman, one of the handmaidens perhaps, was huddled nearby, her face streaked with tears but her eyes wide with awe at the scene. Perfect.
A flicker of Seidr, barely a 'whisper,' brushed against her mind – not a command, just a gentle nudge, a suggestion of calm trust aimed at her fear. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second.
"Who is she?" I murmured, my voice low but carrying, nodding towards the woman in the ashes.
The handmaiden startled, then whispered back, her voice trembling but compelled by the subtle magic. "She is... Daenerys Stormborn. The Khaleesi. Mother of Dragons."
Daenerys Stormborn. The name resonated, regal and tragic. Khaleesi.Mother of Dragons. Titles earned in fire and ash. Interesting. Very interesting.
The knight took another step forward, shouting something in the harsh Dothraki tongue.
My attention snapped back to the main event. Daenerys's head snapped up. Her lilac eyes met mine. They were not empty. They were blazing.
She stood.
She was 'really amazing.' She rose from the ashes, completely naked, her 'body aching' but triumphant, and faced me without an ounce of fear.
One of the dragons, the black one, hissed at me.
A slow smile—Loki's smile—spread across my face. David's heart 'hammered against his ribs,' but Loki's ambition 'pulsed' in his veins. A lost queen with three living gods, and a lost god with no throne. The irony was 'delicious.'
"My apologies for interrupting," I said, my voice a smooth, silken baritone that was pure Loki. I dipped my head. "I seem to be lost." My green eyes flickered to the dragons, then back to her naked form. "And you, Daenerys Stormborn, seem to have found something."