"Am I getting crazy? Or what?"
Delvin's voice cracked in the suffocating silence of his room. His pulse hammered against his temples, each beat a frantic drum.
Sweat slicked his palms as he paced—three steps to the window, pivot, three steps to the door. The floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet, a rhythm that matched his ragged breathing.
"I heard a voice. I know I did. It woke me up."
The words tasted like copper on his tongue, desperate and raw.
'You are not crazy, Delvin.'
He froze mid-step. The voice resonated inside his skull—not through his ears, but deeper, as if someone had pressed their lips directly against his brain.
'My name is Andy, and I will be your assistant.'
"Acrymonta the other day and now Andy?" Delvin's hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening. Heat flooded his chest, part terror, part fury. "What is going on? 'Please'—tell me what the hell is going on!"
His shout echoed off the bare walls of his cramped apartment. The single bulb overhead flickered, casting jittering shadows across the water-stained ceiling. His eyes burned with exhaustion, gritty and swollen.
Without warning, light exploded behind his eyelids.
A translucent display materialized in his mind's eye—crisp blue text hovering in the darkness like something out of a fever dream:
'ANCRYNOID SYSTEM WOULD LIKE TO SYNC WITH YOUR BODY. DO YOU ACCEPT?'
Two words pulsed below: *YES* or *NO*
Delvin stumbled backward, his spine hitting the edge of his desk. An empty coffee mug clattered to the floor.
Andy's voice returned, calm and measured, a stark contrast to the chaos rioting through Delvin's veins.
'"Ancrynoid" is a system created by an unknown person in the universe. Its main purpose is to help the human race. You already carry it within you. If you accept, you will become a new species—the first in human history. If you refuse, Acrymonta and I will disappear from your life. We will never bother you again.'
Delvin's breath came in shallow gasps. His chest tightened, ribs constricting around lungs that refused to fill. None of this made sense.
And now this.
His reflection stared back at him from the cracked mirror across the room—disheveled dark hair, hollow cheeks, eyes ringed with purple bruises of sleeplessness. He looked like a ghost already.
'Take your time. The effects are irreversible.'
Andy's words hung in the air, heavy as a death sentence.
Delvin's mind raced. The hunt in Combroidan couldn't be a coincidence. Whatever was inside him, they wanted it. And if he said no? If this... thing... disappeared?
What did he have to lose? He currently did not have money. Only job promises and he wasn't sure if he could succeed at any of them.
The landlord wanted his money. He did not have water, no food with just two coins in his V-card.
His heart slowed. The decision crystallized, cold and clear.
"Yes."
'Are you sure?'
"I'm positive."
The word barely left his lips before sound erupted—a metallic *CLANG* that reverberated through his bones.
'SYNCHRONIZATION IN PROGRESS.'
Pain.
Not pain—*agony*. His body convulsed, muscles seizing as if electricity coursed through every nerve. The world tilted. His knees slammed into the floor, the impact distant, meaningless compared to the storm detonating inside his skull.
Thunder. Thunder in his head, behind his eyes, in the hollows of his teeth. His brain was splitting, tearing itself apart cell by cell. He tried to scream but nothing came out—his throat had locked, his jaw clenched so tight he tasted blood.
The floor rushed up.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
Consciousness returned in fragments.
First, the cold: tile pressing against his cheek, seeping through his skin into his bones.
Second, the smell: copper and salt—blood, his blood.
Third, the voice.
'Congratulations, Delvin. You are the first humanoid cherubim.'
His eyelids fluttered. The ceiling swam into focus, water stains forming continents in the cracked plaster.
"Cherubim?" His voice was gravel, each word scraping raw. "What is that?"
Silence. Then, a new voice—sterile, mechanical, devoid of warmth:
'ATTRIBUTES:'
'INTELLECT: 5.5'
'EYESIGHT: 2.5'
'STAMINA: 0.5'
'AGILITY: 0.5'
'STRENGTH: 2.5'
'RACE: HUMANOID CHERUBIM'
'INITIATING TRANSFORMATION PHASE.'
His back *exploded*.
Delvin's scream finally tore free—a raw, animal sound that rattled the windows. His spine felt like it was ripping in half, vertebrae cracking open like eggshells. Fabric shredded. His t-shirt fell away in tatters.
Something was *growing*.
He writhed on the floor, fingernails clawing at the linoleum as pressure built beneath his shoulder blades. The skin stretched, burned, then *split*—a wet, tearing sound that made his stomach heave.
Blood. Hot and viscous, it poured down his back in rivers, pooling beneath him, spreading across the floor in a dark crimson lake. The smell filled the room—metallic, overwhelming, making the air thick and coppery.
Every fiber of his being was on fire. His muscles spasmed, his bones ached, his skin crawled as if a thousand ants burrowed beneath the surface.
The itching merged with the pain until he couldn't distinguish one from the other—just an endless ocean of suffering threatening to drown him.
'No', he thought through the haze. 'If I'd known—God, if I'd known—I would have chosen NO.'
Five minutes. Five eternities. Time lost meaning, measured only in waves of torment that crested and crashed, each one threatening to pull him under for good.
Then, slowly—so slowly—the pain began to ebb.
The fire cooled to burning coals. The tearing sensation dulled to a throb. His muscles unclenched, his jaw released, and he could finally breathe without feeling like shards of glass filled his lungs.
'TRANSFORMATION PHASE COMPLETE.'
Delvin lay still, chest heaving. His entire body trembled with aftershocks. But something was different. He could *feel* them—foreign yet familiar, like discovering he'd always had a third arm.
Wings.
He twisted his neck, ignoring the protest of strained muscles. His eyes widened until they burned.
Two massive wings arched from his back, each one easily six feet in span. They weren't feathered like a bird's—they were something else entirely.
Gray-gold-white membrane stretched between elegant bone structures, shot through with veins that pulsed with faint silver light. The surface shimmered, iridescent, catching the dim bulb overhead and fracturing it into a thousand glittering stars.
'This isn't real.'
He blinked hard, once, twice. The wings remained.
'I'm dreaming. This only happens in dreams. In movies.'
But the blood soaking his jeans was real. The ache in his back was real. The cool draft against the open wounds where the wings emerged—*that* was devastatingly real.
He staggered to his feet, legs shaking, and lurched toward the mirror.
The reflection that greeted him stole his breath.
The wings caught the light, each subtle movement sending ripples of luminescence across their surface. They were beautiful—heartbreakingly, impossibly beautiful. The most exquisite things he'd ever witnessed.
"Wow." The word came out hushed, reverent. "These wings are incredible. I bet... humans will call me angel Gabriel."
A laugh bubbled up—half-hysteria, half-wonder. His chest felt light, expansive, as if his ribcage had been rebuilt to house something grander than a merely human heart.
Joy. Pure, electric joy flooded through him, washing away the lingering pain. He didn't feel human anymore. He felt *more*.
"Can I fly?"
Andy's presence returned, warm with amusement. 'Yes, Delvin. That is one of the benefits of becoming a cherub.'
"Are there more benefits?"
'Many. But patience—you'll discover them in time. Most importantly, you'll have to earn them.'
Delvin focused on the wings. Without conscious thought, they responded—flexing, extending, the membrane pulling taut. The reflexes came naturally, as instinctive as breathing. He didn't have to learn how to move them any more than he'd had to learn how to blink.
'You can retract them using the wing lock command on the display, or simply speak the words.'
Andy's tone shifted, gentler now. 'Your life will never be the same, Delvin. This is your new normal.'
"Wing lock."
The words felt strange on his tongue. Immediately, the wings folded inward—not shrinking, but *withdrawing*, sinking back into his body as if they'd never been. The wounds sealed, skin knitting together with only the faintest tingle.
Delvin stood before the mirror, whole. Human.
He pinched his forearm. Pain bloomed—sharp, ordinary.
"So not invincible," he murmured. "But I like this version of myself."
His reflection smiled back.