The faceless god stood in front of Alex.
The sheer presence of it drowned out everything else. It was the only thing Alex could see in the inky void surrounding them. No stars. No light. Just the god. And him. The nothingness beyond them was complete, stretching forever, making Alex feel smaller than a speck of dust in an empty sky.
He couldn't feel his body. It was as if it had been erased, but no—this was likely a side effect of being dead. He didn't know how it happened, or what had killed him, but it didn't matter. In a way, it was just... over.
But not quite. The god's presence thrummed, pulling him into some kind of strange awareness. His mind was still working, despite the disembodiment. Or maybe it was working because of it. He wasn't sure.
"Now now, don't go sentimental on me," the god's voice boomed, yet it felt strangely personal, like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. "You would've died either way, you realize? Sooner or later. Forget the past, focus on the future, I say."
Alex blinked in disbelief, his non-existent eyelids heavy with whatever semblance of thought remained. The god continued, a wave of silent power washing over him, sensing his every stray emotion, reading his thoughts like an open book.
It had been doing that for the last few minutes—or maybe longer? Time didn't seem to mean much here. The god didn't seem to care.
He didn't know how it was happening, but Alex was starting to, well, not adapt, not really—but something was clicking, and in the absence of a body, the sensation was strange. Like stepping into a foggy dream and feeling like you're finally waking up. A remarkable achievement, considering he didn't even have a brain anymore.
"You mentioned a wheel, oh great one?" he found himself asking, his voice faint, distant. Was it his voice? Was he speaking at all? It didn't matter.
The god chuckled, the sound rattling the void. "Ohoho, from catatonic to polite! You might survive longer than the previous one..."
That wasn't ominous at all.
Alex wanted to ask who the previous one was, but before he could, the god's presence shifted, its voice taking on a grander tone. "Now lo and behold! The wheel of fortune!"
In the god's massive hand, there appeared a floating, spinning wheel. It gleamed with energy, the intricate design almost dizzying. The symbols on it changed with each rotation, impossible to track, spinning faster than Alex could even comprehend.
He blinked, but it didn't help. The wheel was just... there.
"I already chose the world you're going to," the god continued, waving a hand dismissively. "And the first spin is capped to A-tier and above. No, I won't explain what that means. You'll find out soon enough. Now, say stop!"
Alex's mind spun with confusion. A-tier? What was that supposed to mean? He didn't have time to think about it.
"Hahaha..."
The laughter, the deep rumbling of it, surrounded him. It was the kind of laughter that made your bones feel as though they were vibrating in your skin, but... it wasn't the god laughing.
It was his own laughter.
Maybe he wasn't completely over the situation after all.
H̵̫̟̣͓͗͂́̀o̵̡͇̟̼͕̓̏̚ḩ̸̧͙̪̪̰̉̉͗̚ͅo̷̡͚̠̖͛͊̑̐͌͝ḣ̴̘̱o̶̗͓͎̣͎͝h̸̦̯̟͙͓͙̹́̅͋ǫ̸̺̞̫̝̫̟͂̕͝͝͝"
The god joined in, a deep, booming laugh that shook the void around them. The laughter spread, reverberating across the nothingness. The god's form wavered in the resonance, a shadow of something too vast for the human mind to grasp.
And then... the wheel stopped.
It wasn't because Alex said "stop"—he hadn't. No, the void had shook so violently with the god's laughter that the wheel spun out of control and simply came to a halt on its own.
The god looked at it, curious.
"Oho, that's cool. If a bit overused. Still, you've got a nice one. Well, you'll see what I mean. Either way, off you go!"
There was no warning. No time to ask questions. No time for anything. A flash of light, and Alex felt his mind suddenly slip. His consciousness scattered like dust on the wind, torn apart by the god's indifferent hand.
For the briefest of moments, the sensation of the wheel still echoed in his mind. Then, there was nothing.
Just a falling, endless void.
.
-̴̥͍̲͕̅̇͆̋̐-̶̙̼̗͈̠́̅̅͝ͅ-̵̠̫̦̥̩̽̂̈̑͠-̵͓̙̰̞̜̊͘-̶̧̟͙͉̻͊̾͠-̸͍̙̥͙̗͓̀̾̈̊̌-̴̢̢̰͇̪́̏̑͛́͜-̶̘̹̪̦̠̫̜̔̓̀̆́̍-̷̢̨̖̮̮̼̈̐̊-̴̦͂̈́́̋͘͝-̶͍̬̬͍̔̂̈͠-̵̪͓̺̼̔͐̈́̒̍͗̚ͅ-̴̧̜̋̏́̊͛-̸̯͈̭͖̅̋̀̓̏͒͜͜͠-̸̧̻͔̭̱̌̓̄-̷̥̲̽̉̏́̋̐͘-̵̥̱̖̰͉̈́
.
Alex opened his eyes—if they were eyes—and found himself entombed in a warm, wet darkness.
He was floating, suspended in liquid, yet somehow… breathing. The sensation was impossibly strange. The water (was it even water?) filled his lungs and throat, but didn't choke him. It clung to his skin, viscous and pulsing faintly. The walls around him were soft but confining, rhythmic with pressure and distant thuds.
Then it clicked.
No way.
He was in a womb.
Panic tried to claw its way up, but without proper lungs or limbs or even a nervous system calibrated for adult-level hysteria, it just simmered somewhere in his shrinking sense of self.
Then came the pain.
A slow, terrible squeezing that turned the comforting pressure into an agonizing crush. Something had changed. He was being pushed, forced through some narrow corridor of meat and bone that did not want to accommodate his head.
Oh boy. This ain't gonna be pleasant.
The pain continued for what felt like hours. There was no sense of time in this meat tunnel. Only pressure, effort, and a pulsing awareness that he really, really missed being dead.
Then—
Air.
Cold, dry, shocking air burned into his lungs as his mouth opened in a wail he didn't know he had in him. Light flooded his retinas like a camera flash to the soul, and sound hit his ears with a wet slap.
"おめでとうございます,男の子ですよ!"
A voice spoke in excited tones, rhythmic and unfamiliar. Japanese? Sounded like it. Then came the sensation of massive hands lifting him up, swaddling him in cloth like he was a piece of delicate meat just served.
Everything was huge. The lights, the walls, the voices. Even the air itself felt too big, too sharp. His body was tiny, weak—new.
Well, at least the reincarnation part wasn't a lie.
It had been one hell of a rollercoaster, and he didn't even know what the prize was yet. His eyelids fluttered, barely able to stay open. They could test his reflexes later. Sleep sounded like a much better option.
As the world blurred, the last thing he saw was a man in a white coat smiling down at him, and beside him, a blonde woman—frowning.
Lovely start, he thought, and then everything went dark.
---------
"Waaah… abuabua…"
Alex stirred from slumber, body stiff and pitifully small. Despite the incoherent gurgles coming from his mouth, his mind was perfectly lucid.
Ah. Such a good nap.
His body, however, hadn't caught up with his awareness. Muscles barely responded. He tried lifting his head, but it flopped to the side like a sock. A blanket was draped loosely over him, dimming his vision. Darkness again—only this time, not void-like and cosmic, just...fabric-induced. He was swaddled in something soft. A basket, maybe?
He tried to gather his thoughts, maybe make peace with the absurdity of his reincarnation. But then hunger hit.
Oh. Wow. That's new.
It wasn't just a casual suggestion of hunger. It was urgent, primal, a clawing need that replaced every philosophical musing with one loud and unignorable command: feed.
Small mercies, huh?
"Waaa… waaaueaaaweaaa…"
His cry was pitiful at first—weak, breathy, confused. But desperation gave him volume. He wailed with all the intensity of a customer being denied a refund, hoping someone—his mother, a caretaker, anyone—would hear and bring salvation in the form of milk or something.
After a while, he felt it.
Movement.
The blanket peeled away as humongous hands lifted him gently into the chilly daylight. He blinked as his eyes adjusted, the world spinning slightly as he was propped upright. Above him, the sky was overcast, grey and heavy with the threat of rain.
And staring down at him was a woman.
Old. Asian. Her eyes were sunken, her features weighed with a sadness that looked too old to still be hurting but hadn't quite faded. Her mouth moved slowly, forming words in a soft voice:
"ああ,死んだ.どうして彼らは..."
Alex had no idea what she said. The sounds washed over him like warm water on cold stone—familiar in tone, utterly foreign in meaning.
Sorry lady, I don't speak dramatic Japanese. Are you my grandma this time around? Please give me something to stop this tiny stomach from eating itself.
"Awuawiawua," he mumbled, hoping the charm of baby talk might speed up the food delivery process.
Then he paused.
Something was off. He looked up at the old woman's face, clearly, sharply—too sharply. He could see the raindrops gathering in the wrinkles near her brows, the faded fibers in her shawl, the movement of people passing by behind her from the corner of his eyes.
Wait. Aren't babies supposed to be near-sighted?
His breath caught—not that he had much control over it—and his heart gave a strange little skip.
He focused on the woman's eyes… and saw something in them.
A reflection.
A tiny baby, pale and wrapped in rags. And in that baby's eyes—his own—shone a red gleam.
A single tomoe, turning slowly within a crimson iris.
The Sharingan.
Well, that explains the "A-tier and above." He thought, staring into the storm-lit sky.