"It's never too late to start something new." Words you don't expect on your deathbed. Sounded way too optimistic under a blanket weighed by the warm stench of decay. "Yeah, my bad. Sorry."
And who the hell was that? Pupils, darker than black. Wings. Porcelain skin.
"Pick a world, and I send you there with your memories intact. That'd make up for this, right?"
"Make up for wha—" A cough rattled his lungs. "Who are—"
Nope, it was over.
Blood speckled his palms. The lack of oxygen made him see an angel, wiping raven feathers in disgust. Every move wafted incense in his face. What an odd thing to hallucinate.
"I'm not—" the creature groaned, then let out a sigh. "Let's start over. I'm your guardian, Lu."
Well, it was already sad to die alone, but to also lose his mind?
He wasn't even religious—would he get a proper burial? Who'd find his corpse? It'd be next to the Pink Slip coming with the pandemic after thirty years of overtime for an arrogant prick.
Wait, if he was aware, then—
"You know what? I'll show you what happens if you refuse."
The angel snapped a finger, and the hallucination became much stranger.
A portal swirled open in his wall into—uh, nothing.
No colors. No boundaries. An endless void so vast, his head spun.
"Behold the purgatory," Lu boomed. "For people like you, achieving nothing of note. A place where you can wallow in regrets until you forget. A thousand years, give or take."
Regrets. He had many of those.
Like picking up that dead-end job behind the desk. Dropping out of school. Falling in love. One glance at that chaotic beauty with freckles for days, hair like fire, and—
Shit. That's a lot of wallowing for a millennium. Is that how it would end?
Life was so easy before they met. Full of hope. But three months, and it was all gone with her.
The angel's feathers shivered, eyes rolling back.
From pain? Joy? He couldn't tell, but the portal faded away.
"So either this—you forget your mistakes to make them again in your next life. Or take my sincere apology, and I'll reincarnate you right now, with your memories intact. More or less."
Lu snapped again, offering him endless possibilities.
Words from the future. Civilisations of the past. Advanced technology. Ancient magic.
Monsters to slay. Nobility. Women. Power.
"Oh, I see," the angel smirked, bringing back the last image. "A medieval world with princesses to save—or enslave? You want a harem, huh? I can set that up."
It did flash through his mind, courtesy of an old fantasy show he watched with—
No, he refused to think of her on his deathbed.
But if he had to start again, he wouldn't fall for a single girl to have his heart broken, for sure. Why not break dozens of hearts instead? And he won't be a puppet of a corrupt boss, either.
"Control," he wheezed. "Give me a life—where I'm in control."
The angel's face contorted into an eerie grin.
"That's a lot. I can give you noble blood, but you have to figure out the rest. Ready?"
He asked without giving him time to consider.
A scream split the heavens as he arrived—a sound so agonizing, as if the world itself were in pain. Pressure mounted in the darkness, threatening to crush his tiny body.
Yes. Tiny. It felt more fragile than ever before. But the angel was still by his side.
"Transfers are rough," Lu's words tore through reality. Memories of a wasted life poured across the cracks with him. "You'd think birth's better than dying, but go figure."
The pressure peaked, and he broke another barrier between worlds.
Shapes and colors replaced the darkness, all blurred.
The agonizing screams were no longer muffled, his cries soon joining the cacophony.
Cold air rushed into his lungs, whole again, painful and liberating after all that time.
His first breath in another world.
"Boy's strong," voices became garbled, hay's smell invading his nose. "Devil's little singer."
Everything seemed—poor, broken.
Lu's gorgeous silhouette was in sharp contrast with this ugly reality.
But a second shape soon overshadowed him, too.
"Lucifer, you meanie," a complaint, a voice all too familiar. It came with freckles for days and hair like fire. "You knew I had a claim on his soul, and still took it from me."
The girl—the woman?—scratched at the base of her horns.
Long, black, turning red at the tips. Like a dragon or a demoness.
"Lilith," his guardian gasped, facing the newcomer. "Now I can rewrite his memories again."
"You had the nerve," Lilith scoffed as she skipped closer. "After I have ruined him for you."
The newborn—he—cried even louder. She was so beautiful, it hurt.
"Did you think I'd wait thousands of years to feel his suffering again?!" Lu wrung his hands.
"But I wanted to seduce him again," she pouted, booping the baby's nose, who forgot how to cry. "And I call dibs if he starts a harem. He got that idea from an anime we watched together."
"Is that all?" the angel sighed. "Be my guest. Might want to wait a bit, though."
"Eighteen years, not a day more," Lilith said, smashing his back with the force of a truck. "But be aware, your sister is already onto you. Which is not my problem, but I'm nice and told you."
Lu paled, struggling to regain his composure.
"Why is that archangel always pestering me about my hobbies?" he moaned. "She sent a girl to that world to become a martyr, too, so why can't I—"
"Not. My. Problem," Lilith repeated, waving him off. "Reset his memories, or whatever."
One last boop, her fiery locks bouncing as she threw him a kiss, then—
"Konrad, call him Konrad," a woman whispered with her last breath.
Coppery smell from a pool of blood. Itchy straw soaked with her fluids. Hands cold and rigid.
The midwife had to pry him out of them.
His mother? Her eyes lost their light fast. But she wore rags.
Was this how noble blood looked in this world? And his memories—what was his name again?
"May the spirits guide her." The midwife folded the eyes of the dead. "And the other boy, too."
The world was a blur. Every sound was new and strange, scents and textures telling a story he didn't understand. A stable, not a palace. Straw below and rain above.
Then—nothing. A cracked basket and a storm-washed sky were all he could see.
Alone. Abandoned. How was this different from his deathbed moments ago?
Darkness crept in, and he shivered, powerless.
No banners, no maids lining up to pamper him.
All he had was his voice, raw and wailing, but he made the most of it.
"A loud one, this basket," a woman scooped him up once the rain stopped. The stars were bright, but he didn't recognize them. "What's on this scrap, Father? Can't read tribal script."
There was some rustling. Then a new voice.
"That can't be." It was out of breath, and soon a shocked face hovered over him. "The saints may forgive me. Bring my ledger and write: on autumn's first day, Konrad Ostfeld arrived."
And that was how his new life began.
As Konrad Ostfeld, who, in a few years, became known as the Prodigy of Haiten.