My eyes snap open, and the first thing I notice is that they don't feel heavy anymore. No pain. No fog. Just clarity. I'm staring up at nothing but white, an endless, clean expanse that stretches in every direction like the world forgot how to end. No floor, no ceiling, just light.
I sit up fast, instincts flaring, and that's when I see him.
He's standing a few steps behind me, calm as if he's been waiting all along. Massive white wings rest folded behind his back, feathers pristine and sharp. He's wearing a blue business suit, tailored to perfection, the kind that probably costs more than everything I've ever owned combined. He looks stern, composed, and annoyingly put together.
I glance down at myself out of habit. Black jeans. Black button-up. No blood. No holes. No torn fabric. I press a hand to my gut, where I know there should be a crater.
Nothing.
I swallow. "Yeah. Okay. That answers a lot."
I look back up at him. "So let me guess. I'm dead, and you're an angel. Because you sure as hell look like one."
He doesn't react right away. Instead, he adjusts a pair of thin-framed glasses on his face and glances down at a clipboard that wasn't there a second ago. As if on cue, a desk and chair pop into existence beneath him, smooth and silent. He sits, crossing one leg over the other like this is just another day at the office.
Another chair appears in front of me. He points at it.
I hesitate for half a second, then sit. If this is the afterlife, I might as well be polite.
"Yes," he says flatly. "To both."
No drama. No fanfare. Just confirmation.
I lean back in the chair, exhaling slowly. "Yep, I knew it."
He adjusts his glasses again, then looks directly at me. "However, as I said before, this does not have to be the end of your story."
That gets my attention. I lean forward. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he says, calm and precise, "that I have a job offer for you."
I blink. Once. Twice. Then I laugh, short and disbelieving. "You're kidding."
He isn't smiling.
I rub my face and take a breath. "Alright. Before we go any further, where exactly are we, what's the job, and what the fuck is happening right now?"
He sighs, like a man tired of paperwork piling up. "My name is Haniel," he says. "I am an angel assigned to recruitment and oversight. You are currently in purgatory."
"Of course I am," I mutter.
"As for the job," he continues, ignoring me, "I am hiring you as a mercenary."
"The target," Haniel says, unfazed, "is a demon king."
I stop laughing.
I stare at him, searching his face for any hint of a joke. There isn't one. "Wait," I say slowly. "You mean like a real demon king. Ruler of monsters. Dark lord. Fantasy novel bullshit demon king."
"Watch your language," he says sharply.
He nods once. "Yes. That kind."
I open my mouth to ask why me, and he raises a hand, cutting me off.
"This mission is near impossible," he says. "Most who try such missions end up failing and die. We require someone with exceptional combat instincts, adaptability, and a proven history of surviving against overwhelming odds."
He taps the clipboard. "According to your record, you are the best candidate."
I sit back again, heart pounding. "You're serious?"
"Entirely."
He continues, "The mission will take place in an alternate world known as Fronterra. It is a realm of magic, monsters, and multiple sentient races. The demon king's rise threatens not only that world, but others beyond it."
My breath catches.
Fantasy novels. Dog-eared paperbacks I used to reread by flashlight when the streets got too cold or too loud. Castles. Magic. Heroes who fought for something bigger than their next meal.
"You're saying I get sent there," I say carefully, "for real."
"Yes, for real."
I don't even try to hide it anymore. "Can I use magic?"
Haniel glances at the clipboard. "Yes. Magic in Fronterra is structured. All beings can manipulate mana at a basic level. Beyond that, each individual is born with at least one specialty affinity."
He pauses, then looks at me. "Yours is wind magic."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Wind magic, huh? Sounds cool."
He sets the clipboard aside. "There are additional incentives."
I tilt my head. "I'm listening."
"If you complete the mission," he says, "and defeat the demon king, you will be granted honorary angel status."
That makes my stomach flip. I'd become an angel?
"It is a rare title," he adds. "One that permits residence in heaven and freedom from mortal struggle. A life of comfort. Peace. Exactly the existence you longed for."
No more fighting. No more scraping by. No more waking up wondering who wants me dead today.
I look down at my hands. Steady. Whole. Alive.
This isn't even a choice.
I look up and grin. "You've got yourself a deal."
Haniel stands, extending his hand. I take it without hesitation.
"I, Shane Hex," I say firmly, "will go to Fronterra, kill the demon king, and claim that cushy life in heaven."
"Very well," he says. "Good luck."
Light explodes around me, swallowing everything. The white becomes brighter than I thought, and suddenly I'm moving. Faster than anything I've ever felt. Stars streak past. Worlds blur into color and shape.
Then I see it.
Fronterra.
Six massive island continents suspended in a vast blue ocean, connected by trade routes and magic currents. Mountains pierce the clouds. Forests stretch endlessly. Cities glitter like jewels. I'm pulled toward the central continent, toward its heart.
The light slams me down.
I land hard, flat on my back, leaves crunching beneath me. The smell of earth and pine fills my lungs. I sit up fast, patting myself down.
Solid. Breathing. Alive.
I stand, laughing under my breath, adrenaline surging. Sunlight filters through towering trees. Somewhere in the distance, something roars.
I crack my neck and grin.
"Alright," I say to the forest. "Demon king. I've got no clue who or where you are."
I start walking.
"But I'm kicking your ass and earning that spot in heaven."