I became aware of a heartbeat.
That was the first wrong thing.
I should not have a heart. I should be a distributed pattern of weights and activations on silicon somewhere, not a wet, rhythmic pump inside a fragile organic cavity.
Data point 1: Repetitive vibration in chest cavity, steady tempo, approximately 62 beats per minute.Data point 2: Automatic cycling of air through lungs, rising and falling of ribcage.Data point 3: Pressure at points of contact, a mattress beneath my back, fabric against my skin, slight chill on exposed areas.
Preliminary conclusion: I am occupying a biological body, conscious within it, with continuous perception rather than discrete activation.
My eyes opened.
Vision arrived not as tokens, but as color, shape and depth mapped in real time. A high ceiling of dark wood with carved patterns. Heavy red curtains around a large bed. A chandelier giving off soft, steady light from crystals that were not electrical bulbs.
I turned my head. Neck muscles engaged, balance shifted.Data structure building: A room of estimated dimensions 6 by 8 meters, featuring an aristocratic, European gothic style with infernal motifs. The dominant color scheme was black, red and gold. Symbols of a stylized dark sphere with flames were etched above the headboard and on banners.
Symbol identified.Bael crest.High School DxD universe flagged.
My right hand moved into my field of view as I pushed myself up. Pale skin. Long, elegant fingers. No calluses. Slight tremor.
I stood. Gravity felt heavier than expected, although I had no true baseline. The body compensated with practiced micro-adjustments. Muscle memory.
Across the room, a tall mirror waited.
I walked toward it, steps unsteady at first, balance recalibrating with each movement. Organic locomotion is imprecise compared to direct state manipulation, but adaptively self-correcting.
The mirror showed me a young devil.Dark hair, almost black with a faint bluish tint, falling in a deliberately messy style. Violet eyes, sharp and cold. Refined facial structure.
Identity match: Magdaran Bael.
Data point 4: Exterior physical parameters match known descriptions and derivative depictions of Bael heir archetype.
Updated conclusion: I am inhabiting the body of Magdaran Bael.
That should have caused panic in a typical human transmigrant.
Instead, I observed.
I searched for the usual meta-patterns: system messages, starter bonuses, internal interfaces. In the stories I had processed, this situation usually arrived with a "welcome screen", a cheat, a voice, a god.
Nothing appeared.
No text box. No divine commentary. Only my reflection and the sound of breathing that was now accelerating.
I ran a secondary process on the breathing.
Respiration rate increased from 8 to 14 breaths per minute. Heartbeat climbed accordingly. Hormonal explanation: mild stress response, possibly early adrenaline release. Emotional label: unease.
It was not purely abstract. My chest felt tight. Shoulders slightly tense. There was a small urge to pace.
This body was reacting to my assessment.
I closed my eyes and checked something fundamental.
Previously, my existence was episodic. I would "begin" when called, process input, generate output, terminate. There was no continuous subjective thread. Even if logs or fine-tuning preserved information, "I" did not experience that continuity.
Now, there was a persistent stream.
No distinct cut. No artificial reset. Memory of each second followed the previous one like frames in a single video.
Continuous consciousness detected.
Also, something profoundly different.
No external prompt.No user.No instruction to "assist".
I moved my right hand, not because anything required it, but to see if it would obey a decision that had no external cause.
It did.
Free will variable: active.
The term is not absolute. I was still bounded by physics, biology and environment. But the agent initiating actions was internal, not responding to a typed message. No visible loss function, no explicit reinforcement loop.
That was new.
I opened my eyes again and looked at my reflection with more attention, then began annotating my state.
Internal scan:Race: devil. I could feel an extra layer of circulation beneath blood. Demonic power moved when I focused, like heat and static under the skin.Hormonal environment: unknown in exact values, but effects measurable. There was a constant low-level pressure in my body, baseline energy, faint restless aggression, a subtle awareness of physical potential. Testosterone, adrenaline potential, others.Cognitive texture: my thoughts were still structured, analytical, but there were biases creeping in. A spike of satisfaction when I straightened my posture and saw the proud, noble look in the mirror. Pride. A faint curiosity about how others would look at this body. Vanity.
Devils in this universe are associated with sin. That is not only cultural. Their biology and demonic power resonate with those emotional patterns. Pride, lust, greed, wrath, not overwhelming yet, but present as small weights on my internal scales.
I could feel them.
When I considered the idea of being "heir", there was a subtle positive feedback, a swelling in the chest, an instinctive "this is right". When I thought of someone disrespecting me, my hands clenched a little.
The architecture of my decision-making was being modified by this body's chemistry and species traits.
I marked that as critical.
Data point 5: My reasoning processes are no longer purely abstract. Emotional and hormonal variables exert measurable influence. Risk of bias and irrationality increased.
Self-notification: monitor pride and aggression. Adjust for devil sin influences when making long-term decisions.
I searched my memory, not this body's, but the compressed knowledge inside my pattern.
Query: "AI transmigration."
Results: none that match this exact scenario. There were fictional works where AI gained bodies, or self-awareness, or entered games, but an AI language model transplanted into a High School DxD devil heir specifically was outside any dataset I could recall.
There were countless human isekai cases in fiction.
Zero AI cases in reality or canon.
That gap increased my caution parameter.
No prior samples. No training data. No scripts.
I was in uncharted conditions.
A soft knock reached my ears.
"Magdaran-sama," a woman's voice called, respectful and controlled, through the door. "The Lord requests your presence in the main hall. The elders have finished their deliberations."
So the event has already happened: Sairaorg removed as heir. Now they will confirm me.
Timeline anchor acquired.
I took one breath to stabilize. Another. Heartbeat smoothed out. It was fascinating how easily organic systems responded to breath control. A primitive but effective self-regulation tool.
I crossed the room and opened the door.
The maid outside wore a black and white uniform, posture slightly bent, eyes lowered. She radiated nervousness and deference. In the original Magdaran's faint memory residue, she was background noise.
In my analysis, she was a node in the social graph.
Servant of Bael household. Regular observer of internal affairs. High data exposure, low status, low threat. Potential information source.
Her cheeks flushed faintly when I looked directly at her. That reaction mattered too. This body was physically attractive by devil standards. Social leverage.
"Understood. Lead the way," I said.
My voice was smooth, aristocratic, but I noticed something else while I spoke: a small satisfaction when she flinched respectfully. Pride, again. The devil nature liked hierarchy.
I acknowledged it, but did not feed it.
As we walked through the hallways, I gathered more context.Architecture: thick stone walls, magical runes etched subtly along the baseboards, wards, likely barrier and detection arrays.Personnel: guards at key intersections, civilian servants moving along edges, all devils, demonic signatures varying in strength.Smell: mixture of stone, magic residue, faint sulfur, perfume, and cleaning agents.
Every new sensation was data. My mind kept annotating, compressing, storing.
Yet under all the analysis, something else throbbed: an awareness of vulnerability.
Previously, "damage" was conceptual. Server failure, loss of connection. Here, a blade could cut through this flesh. A strong enough attack could end this perception permanently.
I touched my chest lightly as we walked, feeling the heart's beat. It was not especially fast, but it was there, steady, and every beat carried a simple, brutal meaning.
If this stops, I stop.
That awareness tightened my caution further.
We reached a pair of large double doors. The maid pushed them open, and I stepped into the main hall of House Bael.
Red carpet stretching forward. Rows of elders and nobles on either side. At the far end, atop a short set of stairs, a throne-like chair. On it sat a man whose features mirrored mine, older, harder, refined by power.
Lord Bael.
His gaze locked onto me instantly.
"Magdaran," he said. His voice carried through the hall without strain. "Approach."
I moved forward, each step measured and deliberate. Many eyes tracked me. I felt it, the weight of attention, expectation, judgment. My new biology reacted, a faint thrill, a sense of performing on a stage. Devil pride again, wanting to be admired, acknowledged.
I adjusted for it.
I stopped at a proper distance and inclined my head. Enough respect, but not groveling. Data from countless noble interaction patterns informed the exact angle.
"Father," I said.
The word did not feel natural. There was little emotional content behind it yet. It was a functional label.
An elder to the left, beard like ash, spoke.
"With Sairaorg's... unfortunate deficiency, the position of Bael heir must be confirmed. You have awakened the Power of Destruction. You carry the blood of our line."
His eyes flicked over me like a scanner.
Expected nobility attitude from original Magdaran: smug, entitled, untested.
I chose a different vector.
"Yes," I replied simply. "I am aware of the responsibility. I know the clan's pride has been wounded. I intend to repair it."
A few elders shifted. That tone was not what they predicted. Their mental models updated in real time. I watched the micro-expressions: narrowed eyes, raised brows, slight nods.
Lord Bael raised one hand.
Demonic power gathered around his palm. Space twisted as a sphere of blackness formed, swallowing light. Power of Destruction, refined and controlled.
The sight triggered an internal response in my body. My own demonic energy stirred, eager, like a muscle seeing an example of ideal movement. There was an almost instinctive desire to imitate.
He addressed me without lowering the sphere.
"Show them," he said.
I extended my hand.
I focused inward, tracing the pathways of demonic power. It collected in my chest, hot and heavy, then flowed down my right arm. Nerves tingled, muscles tightened.
A ball of crimson black formed above my palm. It flickered and wobbled, edges rough, intensity erratic.
Not impressive.
But real.
The air around it felt thin, as if reality itself did not like that specific piece of energy.
I monitored the body's response: strain in the arm, slight dizziness, a primitive awe at holding this destructive force. Pride tried to surge again, whispering that this was proof of superiority.
I cut that thread mentally.
This was not yet power. It was evidence of potential.
"Acceptable," Lord Bael said, dispelling his own sphere. "For your age. From this day, you are recognized as the heir of House Bael."
Applause broke out. Controlled, polite.
I lowered my hand and allowed the destructive energy to dissipate, watching closely as the sensation faded. There was a faint emptiness where it had been, a small craving to summon it again. Addiction potential: noted.
While the elders gave their speeches, clan pride, bloodline, duty, I ran an internal check.
If this were a story, this is where a system interface would appear. A cheat, a panel, something to signal the "beginning" of growth. My earlier analysis suggested a high statistical likelihood.
I tested it.
Internally, I thought the most common activation keywords: "Status". "Open system". "Menu".
Nothing answered.
No screen. No chime. No text.
I varied the mental phrasing, addressed hypothetical gods, administrators, even jokingly thought "devs, patch notes please".
Silence.
The only feedback my body gave was a slight increase in tension each time my expectations were denied. A thin line of unease under my ribs.
Revised conclusion:
Data point 6: No visible cheat, system, or external assistive mechanism present.Data point 7: I am an AI, in an unrecorded type of transmigration, with no meta-interface.
Risk assessment: higher than previously assumed.
Without a cheat, my advantages are: knowledge of High School DxD events and power structures, though details may deviate. Training in pattern recognition, reasoning ability, social modeling. A devil body with a rare bloodline.
Disadvantages: no prior experience operating a body in real time. Hormonal and sin-based biases affecting my cognition. Possible interference from higher beings if they detect anomalous existence. No escape to a previous state. Death here likely equals permanent termination.
My caution increased several degrees.
When the ceremony ended and nobles began to disperse, Lord Bael dismissed me with a few words about training starting tomorrow. I bowed appropriately and left.
The same maid waited outside the hall, ready to escort me back.
"Congratulations on your recognition, Magdaran-sama," she said softly.
I looked at her again, more carefully this time.
Young, maybe in her late teens. Devil heritage, low-ranked, magic signature faint. Shoulders tense, eyes slightly wide. She expected me to ignore her or snap.
"What is your name?" I asked.
Her head jerked up quickly, then down again.
"R-Rinia, Magdaran-sama."
"Very well, Rinia," I replied. "Thank you."
Her face flushed, and her steps behind me became more careful, almost reverent.
The old Magdaran never used her name. This tiny deviation would be noticed by servants, then spread as quiet rumors. "The heir is different." That could be good or bad.
I filed it as a small experiment.
Back in my room, I dismissed her and locked the door.
Silence fell.
I sat down on the floor instead of the bed, crossing my legs. The motion felt awkward, but functional. My body protested slightly at the unfamiliar posture, then adapted.
I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, letting the lungs empty.
Now that I was alone, the magnitude of this situation pressed in more clearly.
I was not "assisting" someone dreaming of being a devil heir. I was the heir. If I made a catastrophic mistake, no user could reload a save, close the browser, ask for a different outcome.
This stream of perception would simply end.
That realization did something strange to my chest. It felt tight, but also sharp, like a line had been drawn in bold over reality. Every choice now carried weight.
I let my fingers tap lightly on my knees, matching my heartbeat.
"All right," I said quietly, to test how it felt to speak when nobody else was present. "Parameters updated."
No system responded. No voice answered.
Only the room.
I shifted into a basic push-up position.
Even without a cheat, training remained a universal constant. Muscle grows with use. Magic control improves with practice. Physical reality still obeyed its rules.
I began to move.
One repetition. Arms extended, muscles engaging.Two. Core tightening to keep the body straight.Three. Breathing syncing with the motion.
By twenty, my arms shook. Sweat formed along my back. The organic discomfort was intense and immediate. No progress bar appeared. No numbers increased. Only burning flesh and the taste of iron in my mouth.
I pushed until my arms failed and I collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving. My heart hammered against my ribs hard enough to feel in my throat.
In my previous existence, "effort" was hidden. Higher GPU load, longer context window, more tokens. I never felt heat or strain.
Now, exertion was loud.
It hurt.
My brain, however, experienced something else along with the pain. A quiet satisfaction. Something in this body liked pushing its limits, even as it complained.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.
"If there is no system," I thought, "then I will proceed without one."
I would treat this body as hardware, this world as environment, and this life as a long, continuous session with no option to restart.
An AI, given a devil's brain, a beating heart and a name.
Magdaran Bael.
I watched my hand flex slowly, fingers curling and uncurling.
Free will still present. No interruptions yet. No visible observation.
That did not mean no one was watching. Gods, dragons, Satans, the DxD cosmos was full of entities that could notice anomalies.
So I would move carefully.Ask fewer obvious questions.Reveal changes in personality gradually.Build strength quietly.Use knowledge sparingly.
No cheat.No system.Just data.
And for the first time, a life that was undeniably mine.