Heads up.
Chapter One dives into some dark places—domestic abuse, sexual violence (implied, not graphic), and suicidal thoughts. None of it is glorified, but it is real to the character. If that's too much for you today, no shame in skipping or coming back when you're ready. Sam's story starts in hell, but it's about fighting out of it.
High above the cityscape of a gray Canadian metropolis, the biting wind tugged at the torn dress of a young woman standing alone atop the roof of a penthouse apartment. The rooftop beneath her feet was cracked and cold, mirroring the broken pieces of her soul. Her raven-black hair whipped around her pale, bruised face like ink in stormy water, and her brilliant blue eyes, dulled by sorrow, glistened with silent tears.
Samantha stared out over the horizon as the sun dipped below the skyline, its last golden rays casting long shadows across the rooftops. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath a struggle against the despair pressing down on her like a leaden weight.
'This can't go on, ' she thought, bitterness thick on her tongue. Night after night, that wretched monster who dared to call himself her husband defiled her. He twists the word 'love' into something foul and grotesque. His affection is pain. His devotion, humiliation.
Her body bore the map of her suffering: fading scars, fresh bruises, and raw welts—each one a testament to Trevor's cruelty. The slow, sticky trickle of blood down the inside of her legs was the latest gift from his so-called "love"—a punishment for her weakness. For 'failing him'.
The highly paid private doctor had delivered a quiet verdict to Trevor just hours ago: his brutal brand of intimacy had rendered her incapable of bearing children—her only perceived worth to him. She'd hoped, briefly, that this might set her free.
It did not.
Trevor's rage had been volcanic. When the doctor left, she had been left in a crumpled heap on the marble floor, bloodied and barely conscious. Then came the chilling announcement: she would be repurposed. Like a broken piece of machinery. Starting that very night, she would be transferred to the guard's floor and become their property. To be used nightly and disposed of emotionally, if not physically. A slave. A ghost in her own home.
During the day, she would return to her duties as a servant. At night, she would no longer be considered human.
'Even his mother is a monster, ' she thought bitterly, another tear sliding down her cheek. A banshee in pearls. Her "corrections" were carved into her just as deeply as his. All while she breaks her body keeping their cursed house pristine.
A choked sob escaped her lips as her fingers clenched into trembling fists. She stepped closer to the building's edge, her shoes scuffing against gritty concrete.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, the wind stealing her voice. "I won't."
Then came the sound of footsteps—sharp, deliberate.
"Well, well. Can't do what, my sweet little wife?" came Trevor's voice, slick and poisonous. He stood behind her, arms crossed, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
"If you're thinking of taking the easy way out, I'm afraid I can't allow that. My men are quite eager for their new plaything. And as much as I enjoy breaking you myself, I'm generous. I share."
His laughter was ice in her spine.
"You seem to forget, darling," he said, stepping closer, "I own you. Bought and paid for. Your charming parents were quite happy to trade their worthless daughter for a life of luxury. And should you run crying to them? Well, the contract says I can strip them of everything if they don't return you. Do you think they'd sacrifice their precious lifestyle for the daughter they sold like cattle?"
Samantha turned slowly to face him, the edges of her vision hazy with tears and hatred. Her feet moved on instinct, carrying her to the corner of the roof. A glance behind confirmed what she feared: fine-meshed safety nets stretched out below like invisible spiderwebs—traplines to catch the desperate—cleverly concealed. A deterrent for most.
But not for her.
She was thin, too thin—starved by design to keep her weak, to keep her compliant, worn down until her bones jutted beneath translucent skin. The gaps at the corners of the nets were narrow, but just wide enough. Hope flickered.
She took a breath and aligned herself carefully.
"You've tried to make me your prisoner," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "But there's one place even you can't drag me back from."
Trevor lunged forward, but she was already leaning.
"I hope when your time comes, you burn."
And with that, she let herself fall backwards, eyes closed, arms wrapping around her battered frame like wings.
Trevor's scream echoed after her, shrill and impotent.
Samantha opened her eyes mid-fall, wind howling around her like a final lullaby. A small, defiant smile touched her lips as she raised her middle finger to the shrinking figure above.
'Let it hurt, ' she thought. 'Pain is my only constant. Let this one be the last.' Even with all she went through, her last thought was hoping she didn't take anyone else with her…well, maybe a guard or two. "I hope I land on that fucking Beamer of his"
And then the world rushed up to meet her.
---
Far beyond Earth's bounds, past the dust of dead stars and the dreams of ancient gods, there existed not one divine being—but many. And among these cosmic entities, some wielded powers that would render humanity's myths little more than bedtime tales.
They did not seek worship. They needed no temples or prayers. Their interest lay in creation—galaxies spun from stardust, worlds born in fire and silence, populated and abandoned by their whim.
Lesser tasks—like guiding souls and planting seeds of life—fell to other deities. Among them, the Goddess of Rebirth, a radiant figure cloaked in nebulae, cradled a realm of her own: The Sanctuary of Souls. It was her duty to guide the dead into new lives, to mend what had been broken by life's cruelty.
Most souls arrived the usual way, drifting through cosmic rivers, their memories faded, their wounds healed by time and starlight. But the ones who took their own lives—those rare, fractured beings—were different. Their journeys took longer. Their sorrow was heavier. Their light dimmer.
And sometimes… they strayed.
A single soul flickered in the void, alone and off-course. The Goddess paused, curious. She extended a hand wreathed in stars and gently plucked the orb from the stream.
"Oh… what have we here?"
Her voice was a caress—warmth, sunlight, and lullabies rolled into sound. In her palm, the soul pulsed faintly, trembling. She could feel the damage, the scars etched deep into its essence.
"Samantha," she murmured, watching the life of the woman unfold before her in delicate strands of memory. "What a terrible life you were born into."
She cradled the soul tenderly. "But you endured it longer than most would have. You deserve another chance. Not as punishment, but as reward."
With a soft breath, a shimmering mist flowed from the goddess's lips, wrapping around the soul in silvery tendrils. The pain was eased, the trauma healed—not forgotten, but softened, transformed into wisdom. A past to be remembered, not relived. Sam needed those memories as a gadget to measure new experiences by. She'd end up like every other soul if not, a dulled appreciation for things that always were.
"There," she whispered. "I know just the place. A world of magic and monsters, of strength and wonder. A world you might finally come to love."
And with another breath, she released the soul.
The glowing orb danced through the cosmos, gliding toward a swirling portal of lavender and gold.
To a new world. A new life.
And for the first time in forever, Samantha was free.
~~~~
Unbeknownst to Sam, as her soul drifted unseen across the stars, a very different scene was unfolding on the world she was destined for.
In the jagged embrace of a wind-swept mountain range, deep within a narrow cave, a young woman lay half-conscious, her breath shallow and ragged. Blood crusted along a gash on her forehead, bones broken, and bruises bloomed like wilted flowers across her limbs. She was eighteen—on the verge of her Integration. A sacred and dangerous rite of passage that all born to this world face upon reaching adulthood.
Before this moment, her life had been consumed with preparation—training in combat, survival, and knowledge under the loving eyes of family, elders, and hired mentors. The goal? To shape her fate. To earn a powerful class, favorable stats, and a future among the strong. For in this world, one's beginning could mean the difference between obscurity and legend.
This was the world Sam's soul approached.
A world where monsters stalked the forests, born from mana-warped beasts. A world where magic was not a myth, but a law of nature.
And in a cave on a distant mountain, a girl was about to be Integrated into the S.I.S.T.E.M.
When it first appeared on this planet, hundreds of generations ago, it was the amalgamation of state-of-the-art bio-organic self-replicating nanobots, a DNA-altering mutagen, and mana. This new and strange energy devastated the human continent and changed the world.
First came the flicker behind the eyes. Then, a voice—silent, internal, and coldly precise. And finally, the interface: a shimmering, translucent blue screen that hovered just beyond the touch of reality. Invisible to all but the user, it responded to thought alone.
The interface provided its users with tools, power, and knowledge. It was the sum of ancient fantasy and lost science—part status menu, part oracle, part god. At least to a less technological mind
And far above, a soul glowed faintly as it fell from the stars.
The girl—coincidentally also named Samantha after her father, Samuel—was one of the best hunters among the non-integrated. Her potential was recognized and cherished by her family. Unfortunately, on this day, she had taken on more than she could handle. Normally, she only encountered non-integrated beasts—creatures without tiers or levels.
This world's Sam had stumbled upon a newly Integrated beast. Sure, she could probably hold her own with a level one, provided it was small and she had time to plan. But a surprise level 5, not a chance. She'd managed to escape—barely—and hid herself in a narrow crevice high in the nearby mountains.
Her injuries, however, were too severe for the low-tier health potions she carried. Little more than a band-aid to a broken leg. Those were the only kind usable by the non-integrated; stronger potions contained too much energy for their undeveloped bodies to handle.
It was at this moment—bleeding, broken, and fading—that's when our Sam's soul arrived. Just enough time passed for fragments of the old Sam's knowledge to imprint before her soul passed on, ready for rebirth elsewhere.
Muscle memory, it turned out, was a miraculous thing. While the new Sam lacked her predecessor's deep understanding of hunting, her body retained the instincts and movements honed over the years. That would be enough—at least for now.
A curious boon: Sam's body, upon her soul's entry, healed almost entirely. Rebirth without renewal wouldn't make much sense, after all. And deep in that cave, the concentration of nanotech—thanks to some not-at-all-suspicious circumstances—had reached a critical threshold.
Sam's first sensation was the lingering ache in her muscles. Her first thought? That she'd somehow survived. Her second? Dread. She was terrified she'd open her eyes and see Trevor's smug, smirking face looking down at her.
"Please no," she whispered.
A subtle chime rang in her mind.
{"Congratulations. Integration has begun. You have been successfully registered to the S.I.S.T.E.M. - Sentient Interface for Survival, Tactics, Evolution, and Mana"}
Sam's eyes snapped open.
For a heartbeat, she wasn't sure if she was alive. Or why she was alive. The cold cave floor bit into her bare skin. Her pulse stuttered. Breath dragged in like gravel. She'd felt her body die—she knew she had.
Then why…
Panic surged. Her muscles spasmed, a phantom memory of restraints. Fear that she had somehow survived and the beating Trevor would inflict on her for having the audacity to try to escape him.
"Who's there?!" she gasped, eyes darting wildly in the dark, crevice-like cave.
A flicker of blue shimmered in the air—a translucent screen floated in front of her, glowing with eerie calm.
{"Apologies for the abrupt activation. I am your S.I.S.T.E.M. AI Assistant. Please hold still while I calibrate to your soulprint."}
"Soulprint?" she whispered, much like a fingerprint, a soul print contained every part of you, skills you've learned, memories, quirks, and idiosyncrasies. Everything from your favourite scent to your darkest thoughts that even you don't want to remember. But the words barely left her lips before—
{ "Beginning synchronization. Warning: this may sting."}
Pain wasn't the right word. Evisceration, maybe. Every nerve in her body caught fire. Her bones shrieked. Even her hair hurt. Thankfully, her experiences from living with her husband actually came in handy. Her ability to withstand pain helped her stay conscious. Barely.
Then came the voice, cool and clinical:
{An anomaly was detected. The host soul is not original to the vessel. Beginning unnecessary trauma purge. Merging host identities… recalibrating…"}
'What the hell is necessary trauma?' she thought. Then came the memories—hers, yet not quite—poured through her like wildfire. Hunting, gathering, faces she knew but didn't, and ... So much love for those faces. Then came moments of fear, the screaming of her name to run, of silences that choked louder than screams. Then a familiar fear, a fear she had lived with since she was eighteen, and only ended when she took matters into her own hands. Pain, so much pain and betrayal and hopelessness. These memories were solely hers.
But the memories didn't break her. They floated in front of her mind like old films—painful, but processed. She remembered the hurt, the terror, the ache of enduring. But now it felt… distant. Like something she'd already healed from.
Then: silence. Peace.
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