They say the worst way a person can die is by fire.
When your skin blisters, your lungs burn, and the air you breathe feels like knives carving their way down your throat.
I used to think that wouldn't be me.
I wasn't a saint, but I wasn't unlucky either. I got what I wanted. Money. Freedom. Women. Comfort. I always figured I'd go out peacefully—old, rich, maybe in a hospital bed with some hot nurse pretending to care.
Maybe a wife. Maybe a few brats running around.
Then lights out.
This? This wasn't part of the plan.
"OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR, MICHEAL! THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE!"
The heat clawed at my back, devouring the room inch by inch. The vault walls glowed orange, radiating a pressure that made my chest tighten. The air shimmered, warping with the intensity.
On the other side of the reinforced glass, he stood.
Watching.
Keys to the vault of money I had inherited from my deceased parents dangling lazily from his fingers.
Known the guy since birth.
So much for family friends.
"That's just the way the world works, Dom," Micheal said quietly through the intercom. "I'm sorry."
Sorry.
I slammed my fists against the steel door. Pain lanced up my arms as skin split and blood smeared the metal. My nails dug into the edges, leaving shallow gouges.
"You don't have to do this!" I shouted.
"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!!"
But he had already turned away.
The flames roared, licking closer. Smoke thickened, curling down my throat like a living thing. Every breath felt like I was swallowing razors. My knees wobbled under the heat. My vision blurred.
Damn it. I was so naive.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my throat as my skin blistered.
Pretty mediocre life at best.
Gee, thanks, universe.
Darkness swallowed me whole before I could stop it.
—
Thwack.
Something smacked my face.
I gasped, jerking upright. The air was cool and sweet, and my lungs greedily sucked it in, catching on every breath as though it had been absent for years.
A rubber ball rolled across the bed, bouncing once off the floor before coming to rest.
A bed.
I sat up fully and stared at my hands. Smooth. Unburned. Slimmer. Not mine.
Didn't I just die?
"V??? What's going on in there, honey?"
A voice from beyond a door.
My legs swung off the bed, my muscles trembling. The unrecognizable room was small, walls metal-paneled, a narrow window framing towers of a sprawling city. Distant spacecraft streaked across the sky, leaving trails of light like miniature comets.
Spacecraft?
This was a dream. It had to be.
I froze. My gaze snapped to a mirror.
Deep blue eyes stared back. Dark, silky hair. Sharp jawline. Handsome… definitely not me.
"What the hell…"
Pain exploded in my skull. Memories poured in unbidden—foreign, intrusive, violent in their clarity. Colony sectors. Poverty lines. Imperial broadcasts. Conquerors of Worlds. Academy quotas. Noble bloodlines.
A name surfaced. Vale December.
"…what is this?" I whispered.
[Your debriefing.]
The voice vibrated inside my skull, something that felt like it had always been there. I pressed two fingers to my forehead, eyes wide.
"Who the hell are you? Is this some post-death hallucination?"
[Negative. This is real. You have been transmigrated.]
I froze. No. No way.
[I am Sunday. Overseer of your personal system.]
"Vale! Are you talking to yourself again?" the voice outside the door called.
"Give me a second!" I snapped instinctively. My pulse was hammering in my ears.
Sunday continued, calm and clinical.
[Dominic Mourning is deceased. Irreversible. This body belongs to Vale December. You now inhabit it.]
I swallowed hard, my stomach knotting. Sunday's voice softened.
[You exist in a future iteration of Earth. Year 3000. Humanity has expanded beyond its cradle. Only nobles possess the means to undergo physical modifications required to become Conquerors of Worlds.]
Images flashed in my mind: genetically modified soldiers, armored exoskeletons, starships eclipsing suns. The scale made my chest tighten.
[Vale December is a commoner. No inheritance. No implants. No prospects.]
I laughed weakly. "So this is just another screw you from the universe, huh?"
[You did not allow me to finish.]
A holographic interface unfolded before my eyes, crystalline and alien.
##
Name: Vale December
Current Title: Voidbearer
Current Abilities: Adaptive Physiology
Traits: Ambitious, hotheaded
Worlds conquered: None
My throat went dry. "Voidbearer?"
[An anomaly classification.]
The word pulsed, resonating through my bones.
I flexed my fingers—and the slightest tremor of my hand sent a jolt up my arm. A flicker of unease ran down my spine. My curiosity outweighed caution.
I took a letter opener from the table beside me and cut my skin. Pain shot up my arm like wildfire.
"Ah—fuck!" I hissed, gripping my wrist. A shallow cut opened, bleeding thin streams.
[Observe.] Sunday's voice sounded calm, almost clinical, echoing inside my skull.
I blinked. The pain flared—then died down. My wrist throbbed, but the skin was already tightening unnaturally.
"Would you look at that…?" I muttered, flexing my fingers. The pain was gone. Almost ticklish.
[Adaptive Physiology: Physical stress accelerates cellular reinforcement. Observation of environmental factors allows rapid adjustment. Limitation is temporary; your body recalibrates to overcome it.]
My pulse quickened. Heat crawled up my neck.
I almost laughed, breathing hard as I staggered slightly. "Holy—this is insane."
[It is the cornerstone of your survival. Properly utilized, you may surpass nobles who paid fortunes for modifications.]
My pulse raced. A grin spread across my face. "So, basically… I'm a commoner who can cheat the system?"
Sunday's voice lowered.
[This system originates from an alien sovereign designation: The Alien King Protocol.]
Alien. King.
"If this is real…" I muttered, leaning closer to the mirror. My new eyes stared back at me.
[If utilized correctly, you may surpass this world's nobility. This time—not through inheritance.]
That stung. Because it was true.
[Alternatively, you may choose to remain dormant. Acquire moderate employment. Find a woman. Perhaps multiple. Produce offspring. Die peacefully.]
The words hit me like a slap. That life… it sounded like the one I had dreamed of before the flames. My jaw tightened.
Sunday's voice softened, almost inviting.
[Choose progression… and I will assist. Your first step: pass the Interstellar Trials. Only those who survive these trials may enter the Generation 1 Academy.]
Interstellar Trials. Generation 1 Academy. The words dug into my brain and refused to let go.
I smirked. That sounded fun. In a twisted, galaxy-conquering kind of way.
[I see you may be confused. Your memory may still be hazy. I will be more than happy to—]
"No thanks. I think I got the gist of it all."
Use this system thing. Smack anyone in your way—that's the plan. Whatever these Interstellar Trials are? I'm going in hot.
[Well, Dominic—or is it Vale now? What will it be?]
Outside the window, a warship streaked across the sky, engines blazing.
Conqueror of Worlds.
Nobles.
Pay to win.
Last time, I died begging at a door.
This time?
I turned from the mirror.
"Yeah… I think I'll play whatever this is."