The blanket formed a warm cave around him, lit only by the glow of his laptop. Outside, the winter chill pressed against the window, but under the covers, with a hot cofee and a pile of fries, Leo was perfectly happy. It was the first week of school holidays, and he was finally diving into Lucifer, just like his friends had told him to.
He took a sip of soda, engrossed in a scene. Then, a blinding, silent flash of white light filled his vision, wiping everything else away.
…
A dull, throbbing pain hammered at his temples. Leo groaned, his hand coming up to clutch his head as he pushed himself up against the headboard. The first thought was that he'd fallen asleep and his laptop had died.
But the bed felt different. Softer. The air smelled of lemon polish and old wood, not his familiar room's scent of chips and laundry.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting. This wasn't his room.
Panic shot through his gut. The walls were a pale blue, with heavy curtains framing a large window showing tall, unfamiliar trees. The furniture was dark, antique-looking. It looked like a set from one of those old shows his mom used to watch.
"What the hell?" he whispered, his voice rough.
He shoved the heavy blanket off. He was only wearing his pajama pants. He looked down at his chest, patting his skin. It was still him. Same lean body, same little scar from when he fell off his bike. He stumbled to the dresser, where a big mirror sat.
His own face looked back. Black hair, messy from sleep. Dark eyes wide with fear. It was him, seventeen-year-old Leo. But the room behind him in the mirror was all wrong.
Was he kidnapped? That made no sense. His family wasn't wealthy. Was this a super weird dream?
He gripped the dresser hard, his knuckles turning white. Then, a sudden pressure exploded behind his eyes. It wasn't a memory. It was like a door being forced open, and a flood of someone else's life poured into his head.
His name was still Leo. But his parents… they were dead. A car crash, just a month ago. A deep, empty hurt filled his own chest.They had left him everything. A huge amount of money. And a house. Their only property, which was why he had to move here.
He'd arrived yesterday. The town was called…
He said it out loud, his voice shaky. "Mystic Falls."
The name hung in the quiet air. A chill crawled down his back. Mystic Falls. He knew that name. Not from school or the news. He knew it from a TV show he watched years ago, one his mom liked.
A line from the show popped into his head, clear as day: Welcome to Mystic Falls.
He looked back at his own frightened reflection in the fancy mirror, in this house he'd supposedly inherited, in a town that shouldn't exist.
A shaky, disbelieving breath escaped him. The crazy idea, the one from all those online stories he'd secretly read, clicked into place with terrible clarity.
"Oh, no way," he muttered to the silent, waiting house. "Did I… did I just transmigrate?"
No. No, this has to be a dream, he thought, his mind scrambling. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe I'm still asleep under my blanket at home.
He pinched the skin on his arm, hard. It hurt. The cold wood under his feet felt solid and real. This was no dream. The panic started to rise again, a tight band around his chest. What am I supposed to do? What if I run into a vampire?
Then, a voice spoke.
It didn't come from the room. It wasn't in his ears. It came from somewhere deeper, a place behind his thoughts. It was clear, and quiet, and it felt ancient.
Now… you are the Devil.
Before he could think further, the pain hit.
It was deep, everywhere at once. A burning, tearing feeling in every part of his body, like his very cells were being ripped apart and put back together. He gasped, his legs giving out. He crashed to the wooden floor, his back arching.
A scream built in his throat. He wanted to let it out, to roar against the agony. But a louder, stronger thought shouted inside his head.
This is the transformation. After that voice. This has to be it. Don't scream. Just bear it.
He clamped his jaw shut so hard his teeth ached. He dug his fingernails into his palms, feeling the sharp sting. He focused on that smaller pain, using it as an anchor. The bigger pain was a fire in his veins, a pressure in his bones. He could feel things shifting, changing, under his skin. It was terrifying. But he held onto that one idea: this was the price. The voice said he was the Devil. This was the cost of that power.
He curled into a ball on the cold floor, shaking. Minutes felt like hours. He didn't scream. He just breathed in ragged, choked gasps, his face pressed against the wood. Just bear it. Just. Bear. It.
Finally, as suddenly as it came, the pain began to fade. It vanished away, leaving behind a throbbing ache in every muscle. He was too weak to move. He just lay there, limp, his chest heaving as he sucked in air.
He felt disgusting. A weird, sticky white film coated his skin, seeping from his pores. It stank. Like his body just pushed out all the garbage. He was exhausted, but underneath… he felt strange.Like his senses were dialed up.
After a long time, he slowly rolled onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing hard. The morning light was brighter now.
Well, I'm not dead, he thought, a sour laugh stuck in his throat. After all that, I'm still here.
The word echoed in his head. Devil. The last thing he saw before the white flash was Lucifer Morningstar on his screen. If it's like the show… if I have his kind of power…
His eyes scanned the room, landing on a small fruit basket on the side table. Next to it, a simple knife for cutting apples.
In the show, the Devil is immortal. Can't be killed. If that's true…
A crazy plan formed. He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting. He walked unsteadily to the table and picked up the knife. The handle was cool in his hand.
This is stupid. This is so stupid. But I have to know.
He took a deep breath, held out his left palm, and slashed.
A sharp, bright pain. Red blood welled up in a clean line.
"Ah, crap," he hissed.
He watched, heart pounding. The blood began to bead… and then stopped. The edges of the cut seemed to pull together. In less than a second, the skin smoothed over. A faint pink line remained, then faded to nothing. Like it never happened.
A slow smile spread across his face. It felt wild on his lips. A rush of pure relief and crazy excitement flooded him. It's true. It's all true.
This is it, he thought, his mind racing. This is the power. In a town full of vampires and werewolves and who knows what else, I can't be killed. I'm immortal.
Then another thought hit him, even bigger. Lucifer's wings. His wings! He can fly anywhere. To Heaven, to Hell. That's the real power.
He turned back to the big mirror, his heart thumping with new hope. He focused on his back, on the space between his shoulder blades. He remembered how Lucifer did it on the show.
Okay. Come on. Wings. I want my wings.
He tensed his back muscles, pushing with his mind. Come out!
Nothing.
Not even a tingle.
He frowned. Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Maybe I need to… let go? He tried to relax, to just want them to appear. He envisioned great, feathery shadows spreading behind him in the mirror.
Still nothing. Just his own bare back, reflected in the glass.
He tried again, gritting his teeth. A harder mental push. I am the Devil. I command the wings to appear!
Silence. Empty air.
The excitement curdled into frustration. "Why isn't it working?" he muttered to his reflection. The guy in the mirror just looked confused and a little desperate. "I healed. I'm supposed to have wings. That's the whole deal!"
He spent the next few minutes trying different ways—concentrating, yelling in his head, even making a dramatic gesture with his hands. Nothing changed. He was just a shirtless guy in a strange room, looking like an idiot.
Finally, he stopped, shoulders slumping. The letdown was heavy. He had the big prize—immortality—but the one thing he really, really wanted, the key to everything, was locked away.
Okay. Okay, think, he told himself, turning from the mirror. This isn't a game. Maybe powers don't just pop up all at once. Maybe you have to learn. Or… maybe something is missing.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the soft mattress sinking under him. He finally felt calm enough to really look at himself in the big mirror.
Whoa.
His face… it was his, but not. It was sharper, cleaner. Like someone had edited the real-life version of him. His black hair seemed thicker, his dark eyes brighter. He looked… charismatic. He glanced down. His previously lean stomach was now defined with clear, hard lines of muscle. Six-pack.
He poked his own abs. Solid. A weird laugh bubbled out of him. "So the Devil comes with a gym membership."
But the smile faded as the other part of the memory settled in. The rules. His parents—no, this body's parents—had been crazy strict. They'd left him all this money, this house, but with a giant condition. A clause in the will.
He had to finish high school. To get the full inheritance, he had to graduate from Mystic Falls High.
"Seriously?" he groaned out loud, dropping his head into his hands. "I dodged death and got superpowers, and I still have to do homework?" The unfairness of it was almost funny.
He flopped back onto the bed, staring at the fancy ceiling. So that was it. He had to go to school. Today. He'd just arrived in town, and according to the paperwork shoved in a drawer downstairs, enrollment was already set.
His mind, now weirdly clear, pulled up details of the show. Mystic Falls High. That's where everything happened. Elena Gilbert would be there, probably already dating the vampire, Stefan Salvatore. Or was it the brother, Damon, causing trouble now? He tried to remember the plot timeline. "If I'm here… the tomb with Katherine might not be open yet. Or maybe it just happened?" He cursed. His memories from the show were fuzzy, years old.
He sat up, a new kind of tension building. It wasn't just school. It was walking into a live minefield of supernatural world. Vampires who compelled people. Werewolves. Hunters. And now him. Whatever he was.
He stood and walked back to the mirror. The handsome guy staring back showed no trace of his earlier fear. His expression was calm, focused.
"I know things," he told his reflection, his voice low. "I know secrets they're all killing each other over. That's an advantage."
The plan formed slowly, simply. Step one:Go to school.Know where the plot is.Step two: find out how to get his damn wings.
He turned from the mirror, heading for the door he guessed led to a bathroom. "Okay, then," he muttered to the empty, wealthy room. "High school, round two. But this time, the class bully might be a 162-year-old bloodsucker."
He stepped into the lavish bathroom, turning on the shower. As steam began to fill the space, he peeled off the dirty pajama pants, watching the last of the weird white gunk swirl down the drain. The hot water felt amazing on his new skin.
He stood under the spray, letting the facts solidify in his mind. Mystic Falls. Vampires. The Devil. A dead family. A fortune he couldn't touch yet.
A slow, determined smirk touched his lips. It was insane. But it was his life now.
He turned off the water, grabbing a towel. As he roughly dried his hair, he looked at his confident, unfamiliar reflection in the foggy glass.
"Alright, Mystic Falls," he said, his voice firm, final. "Here I come."