1 Ch1. Void? Or not…
'Where am I?' A soul asks no one in particular.
Space in which it apparently awoke was as black as night without even a shred of light penetrating the surrounding darkness. A huge amount of horror swept through the soul and coldness gripped its heart.
'What's going on? Where am I? Is this the void? The last thing I remember is…' The soul stilled as memories flashed through its eyes.
Wet blood dripping, pooling under his body.
His bones creaking, slowly but painfully cracking under the pressure.
Ligaments snapping from being stretched too much.
Meat squeezing from the unsurmountable load pressed on his body.
Eyes bit by bit popping out of their sockets.
Teeth gripped so hard they shattered and cut their way out of his mouth.
His conscience slowly fading from an inability to breathe.
Lungs collapsing on themselves in crushing pain.
Spine snapping in multiple places, permanently immobilizing him.
Blood seeping out of every possible opening.
The soul's eyes gained a haunted look as it was unable to cease shuddering from its last memories. Its death was not a clean one. And it was definitely not a fast one. That the soul remembered clearly.
The amount of agony.
The amount of pain.
The amount of despair.
And the amount of sweet, oh so sweet reprieve when the mind finally realized it's over as his body gave in.
Then… blackness. Nothing. Blank.
And here it was. In darkness. Completely alone, trembling like a loony drug addict in a fit.
'If somebody saw me now I would probably earn a one-way ticket into a mental ward.' The soul mused, trying to distract itself from the phantom pain of the memory.
It tried to remember more. Something hopefully brighter. Better. Encouraging!
Something that won't send its collapsing persona into a deeper pit of the abyss. Something distracting enough for the time needed to pull itself together again.
The soul pushed and pushed until its mental boundaries stopped feeling foggy and what previously seemed as distant, unimportant memories were now clearly rememberable.
In a way, it would be a mercy to not remember.
The soul understood the reason for its early demise.
It was no elaborate ploy. Nor was it a robbery. No envious family members trying to kill him for whatever they want from him. Heck! It was not even a drunk Truck-kun!
No, being offed by Bus-san, Car-chan or Truck-kun was an enviable reason for death in the eyes of the soul.
The soul simply died because the postman misplaced the mail!
Arguably, seeing a letter that could serve as a confession of crimes of one of the worst mafia bosses in the city probably should have indicated an immediate need for relocation to the soul. Alas, the soul was but a young man, not experienced in the ways of darker society.
There was no interrogation. Nobody tried to reason with him. They didn't even ask him if he read the damn letter at all!
What they did though, was that they chucked him into a car with a blindfold. He expected to be dragged to some basement, maybe even being shot dead.
What he did not expect however was the car being uncaringly tossed under a hydraulic car press machine set on the slowest setting possible.
The pressure came out of nowhere. The pain and feeling of being crushed followed right afterward. The worst of it all was that it took a full half-hour for his body to completely give in, finally dying.
There was no heroism in his death. No little girls saved. No charity given to orphans. Nothing even worth mentioning. Just another meaningless death. He at least hoped his body would be found and properly buried. Not like it mattered to him anymore but it would be nice knowing somebody cared enough to bury him.
He released a soft sigh and frowned. Staring into the darkness in front of him, his frown started to ever so slowly twist. All the way, until it was a full-blown scowl.
Say what you will but he was NOT impressed. If the holy grail of knowledge of the afterlife called fanfiction was to be trusted, he was probably in the void, waiting for some either illustrious or completely ridiculous god to show up and tell him how impossible him being here is any yadda, yadda, yadda.
Alas, he had no other choice but to wait. His body stiff and unresponsive, he was glad he could at least blink. There was nothing to do but review his memories further. He did it all. From repeating the timelines of a few of his famous stories to devising what three wishes to choose. Listing powers and reasons why it should be either discarded or given more contemplation. And contemplate he did.
10 commandements from Nanatsu no Taizai.
Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan
Word Soul Magic
Dragon Slayer Magic
And many more. The more he thought upon the topic, the more depressed he became. The more depressed he became, the clearer were his thoughts. It didn't take long for him to sport an imaginary blush after he realized how foolish it all sounded.
Reincarnation. Being granted powers for literally nothing. Really now.
He might not have been the sharpest tool in the proverbial shed called Earth but even he knew nothing in the world is free and everything has various prices, depending on who is the seller.
And 'buying' from beings called 'gods' suddenly didn't seem like such a lovely idea anymore.
He sighed and tightly shut his tired eyes.
'I am such a fool. Having reincarnation nerdgasm and Otaku-seizure in a situation like this.'
He knew well he is going through these scenarios in a blind hope he is not actually waiting for whatever kind of afterlife he got into. His inability to move and the darkness around him didn't do much to assure him of his afterlife prospects though.
In his life, he was an average Otaku.
Lazy. Selfish. Lazy. Petty. Lazy. Lazy. …
You get the picture.
His only redeeming quality being a keen mind that was used more for remembering the plot of his favorite stories than anything else. But still! That doesn't mean he should end up in hell! Or... does it?
Before he could contemplate further he heard a loud thump. Suddenly a lot of noise could be heard from somewhere. It was as if a herd of elephants marched through the middle of the city with the sole intention of being heard.
His body abruptly spasmed out of nowhere. He widened his eyes and sucked in a cold breath. His entire body felt as if thousands of ants continuously bit him. It was not really that painful as it was uncomfortable. With gritted teeth he champed through it, instinctively knowing it means nothing bad. His eyes started to burn and itch yet he could not move to scratch them. His bones subtly cracked and snapped, shifting slightly, making his body relax as if they were meant to be this way from the start. His muscles filled in, not really making him strong but definitely fixing any problem there was with them.
He felt it clearly. The mysterious energy pouring into him, fixing, repairing, and resetting anything wrong. The energy as if provided by the world itself. Invigorating his entire being, filling a deep emptiness he didn't even know existed until it was filled.
As the energy did its wonders, his body's suffering receded into a slight pleasurable ache and he could finally move. The first thing he did was to soothe the insufferable itch in his eyes and his hand shot up to rub them.
He finally pulled his arm back and opened his shiny emerald eyes wide.
'I see.' He mused to himself and saw that the darkness around him was actually a small room without any windows.
He was so vested in his musings and new findings he completely disregarded the increasing noise of elephant charge coming closer to him. Not that he would care otherwise anyway but he was still caught unprepared.
Doors suddenly slammed open as a violet…
'Walrus?' He thought in a passing thought as he stared blankly at the hulking fat-filled mountain of purple-skinned thing peering right at him in contempt with its beady eyes.
'It would actually be quite menacing.' He dryly stated in his mind. 'Of course, only if the guy in all of his purple glory was not so ridiculously hilarious.'
"Freak! Why is breakfast not ready yet!?" The Walrus yelled at him in rage.
He, the freak, suddenly understood everything.
Biting his tongue to not utter a loud 'Shit!' in evident self-pity.
Everything clicked. Small windowless room, barely enough for a small child. Mysterious energy coursing through this world. His inability to move. The sudden 'healing' of his body.
The freak, Harry Potter was dead. Either suffering one too much hit or his magic being one magnitude too less to heal him before his body collapsed.
That did not matter. Even the why's and how's he was here did not really matter. What really mattered though was…
He, the new freak, was a freaking Harry Potter now!
He transmigrated! Without actually getting any power, wish, or ability from the divine entity that most likely used him for entertainment!
Heck! He didn't even get Harry's own memories or his hard-working, hardship-immune personality!
There was only one reaction to that.
'I WANT A REFUND!'
