Michael woke to the taste of blood and the agony of a sharp, terrifying pain. His ears rang. His head pounded. He was questioning his sanity 

An indeterminable time ago in another world

At the base of a ruin hidden deep within the jungles of the Amazon, Michael Donovan and his colleagues, Dr. Elena Ruiz and Professor Sam Greene, stood examining the entrance. The opening loomed dark and foreboding, shadowed by ancient, worn carvings that hinted at ominous warnings. Michael was looking at the map of the ruins with his colleagues trying to find another entrance to the ruins while trying to protect himself from the assault of tropical mosquitoes and failing to do so but a 10-year career of excavating ancient ruins in the ass end of things had made him used to it 

Michael peered into the shadows, excitement glinting in his eyes. “Look at those symbols on the wall—they’re ancient warnings. This place is older than anything we’ve seen before.”

Dr. Elena Ruiz folded her arms, casting him a skeptical look. “Warnings that are still in place for a reason. Sometimes things are *meant* to be left undisturbed, Michael.”

Professor Sam Greene, a seasoned archaeologist himself, nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Remember, the last team that came here turned back after finding skeletons near the entryway. They said it felt like... something was watching them.”

Michael only grinned. “Skeletons are part of the job, Sam. If every ruin with a skeleton was off-limits, we’d be out of work.”

Elena shot him a sharp look. “Not just skeletons, Michael. There were stories of traps—stone floors dropping away, poisoned darts, and whispers of... *guardians*.”

“This might be risky even for you,” Sam added. “What if there really is a curse? The locals wouldn’t even guide us here, and that says a lot.”

Michael shrugged, his adventurous spirit undeterred. “I’m not denying the danger, but that’s what makes it worth it. No one’s mapped this place; it’s untouched. Think about what we could find inside. Artifacts, records, maybe something that changes everything we know about these people.”

Elena sighed, relenting. “Fine, but we go slowly, Michael. And if there’s any sign of trouble, we’re pulling out. This isn’t like your usual digs.”

Michael nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the shadowy passageway. “Fair enough. *But* if we find something remarkable in there, you both would have to admit it was worth the risk.”

Sam smirked, glancing at Elena. “I’ll admit it... if we make it back to tell the tale.”

They shared wary glances, each feeling the weight of what lay ahead. Bracing themselves, they took their first steps toward the unknown.

As they ventured deeper into the ruins, a damp chill hung in the air. Shadows stretched across the ancient walls, broken only by beams from their flashlights. Michael led the way, Elena close behind, and Sam bringing up the rear. Every few steps, they glanced around, conscious of the trap warnings they’d discussed.

Not long after passing through a narrow corridor, Sam's foot hit a pressure plate, and with a loud *click*, the room erupted into chaos. Spears shot out from the walls, missing them by inches as they ducked. Michael grabbed Elena, pulling her down just as another spear whistled overhead.

"Stay close and watch your step!" Michael barked, scanning the floor for more traps. "These corridors are rigged!"

They navigated the treacherous path, sidestepping another pressure plate, but a faint rumble warned them of yet another trap. Elena noticed it too late; a hidden pit yawning open beneath her feet. Her heart dropped as she felt herself lose balance, the darkness below beckoning.

But just as she teetered at the edge, Michael lunged forward, grabbing her arm and pushing her to the side with all his strength. In doing so, he lost his own footing, slipping into the pit. Elena scrambled to catch him, her fingers brushing his hand, but he was already falling.

“Michael!” she shouted, her voice echoing down the dark shaft as she looked over the edge.

He landed hard, but managed to roll, groaning as he sat up. Looking around, he found himself surrounded by walls of stone, with only faint light from the pit’s opening above.

“Michael! Are you alright?” Elena’s panicked voice reached him.

“Yeah,” he called back, trying to keep the pain from his voice. “I’m in one piece… mostly.”

Sam knelt beside Elena, peering into the pit. “We’ll get you out, Michael! Just stay put.”

Michael, still catching his breath, looked around. Stone carvings lined the walls of the pit, and in the far corner, something glimmered faintly under the layer of dust. Whatever it was, it looked ancient—and valuable. Despite the pain in his shoulder, he grinned.

Despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder, Michael’s curiosity pulled him forward, his eyes fixed on the relic glimmering in the dusty shadows. He stumbled closer, drawn by the intricate markings on its surface—a strange symbol he’d never seen before, carved in circles that spiraled toward a single, jagged point in the center. It radiated a magnetic energy, both beautiful and forbidding. Though instinct urged caution, his hand hovered over it, mesmerized.

Just as he drew a shaky breath, a droplet of blood from the cut on his arm fell onto the relic’s surface. The reaction was instant. A low hum began, and he recoiled, but it was too late—the relic seemed to awaken, drinking up his blood where it fell, its surface glowing with a sinister, pulsing light. 

Suddenly, the pit’s stone walls trembled, and with a rumbling grind, the trapdoor overhead began to close. Michael looked up, heart pounding as the last shaft of daylight disappeared, leaving him in darkness broken only by an eerie red glow. Symbols on the walls sprang to life, ancient and ominous, etched in crimson as though painted in fresh blood.

He felt a strange tug at his veins, a deep, primal sensation that sent chills down his spine. The relic was no longer just glowing—it was *draining* him, as though it had latched onto his very lifeblood. He clutched his shoulder, staggering back as his strength began to fade, a sense of weakness and despair washing over him.

Falling to his knees, Michael tried to resist, his vision blurring, each breath shallower than the last. Flashes of his life flickered before his eyes—early digs, his first artifacts, the thrill of discovery, the face of his father telling him stories of lost worlds, and his mother’s warm smile on the day he left for his first expedition. 

His vision darkened further, his mind sinking deeper into the memories as his body weakened. He thought of Elena and Sam above, shouting for him, unaware of what was happening below. He’d always known this path was dangerous and had understood the risks. But here, in this blood-soaked chamber, he’d finally found the edge he’d chased his whole life—and now, it seemed, the edge had found him.

As the relic continued to drain him, Michael collapsed onto the cold stone, his last thoughts filled with both wonder and regret, as the symbols pulsed in time with the fading beat of his heart.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

As Michael’s strength ebbed, the relic pulsed one last time, vibrating with a dark energy that sank into his very core. He felt a wrenching, tearing sensation—like an invisible hand reaching into him and ripping something fundamental away. With a gasp, his spirit was torn from his body, hovering in shocked silence as he looked down, disembodied, at himself lying on the cold stone floor below. His body was still and pale, drained, as though every last spark of life had been extinguished.

His consciousness spun, detached and weightless, the world around him distorted in a haze. The walls of the pit blurred, twisting like liquid as time and space warped, bending and stretching in impossible directions. Red symbols glowed around him, forming a path through the rippling veil of reality, pulling him forward. He felt himself dragged through the shifting ether, watching as fragments of memories, faces, and places flashed past, shattering and reforming like pieces of stained glass.

Reality folded in on itself, collapsing into a pinpoint of light that stretched into a vortex, sucking him through a tunnel of stars and endless night. The sensation was otherworldly, a mixture of awe and terror as he hurtled through realms he could scarcely comprehend, each moment further from the world he had known.

Valeria

In the dimly lit corridors of the underground lair, two robed figures strode in silence, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Between them walked a small child, barely four years old, his wide eyes darting to the shadows and flickering torches along the walls. He didn’t cry or resist; his gaze held a mixture of curiosity and fear, an innocence struggling to comprehend the darkness that surrounded him.

The boy was known only as Number 101, a designation etched onto a thin metal bracelet that circled his tiny wrist. His small hand instinctively reached up to brush against it, a habit he’d developed without understanding why. His keepers never spoke his name, only that number, and it was all he had known in this dark, hidden world.

The two figures guided him through a maze of corridors, passing other robed figures who gave no acknowledgment to the child or his escorts. Their destination was a large, ominous chamber, where walls were lined with strange runes and unlit sconces, and a single metallic table stood in the center, glinting in the torchlight. Muffled hums and clicks filled the room, the subtle sounds of machinery powering up, adding an unnatural pulse to the air.

As they neared the chamber’s entrance, Number 101’s steps grew slower, his gaze drifting upward to the adults. Their faces were obscured, but he sensed an unwavering purpose in their silence, an eerie calmness that frightened him more than any scowl could have.

One of them, a tall figure with piercing eyes barely visible under the hood, spoke for the first time, his voice a low murmur. “Number 101, today we will find your potential. You were chosen, and this is what you were meant for.”

The child didn’t understand the words, but he felt their weight, his small frame tense and uncertain as they led him into the chamber. He was lifted onto the metallic table, where cold steel met his warm skin, sending a shiver through him. The figures secured his wrists and ankles, binding him with straps, their movements efficient and practiced.

As the two robed figures prepared the chamber’s machinery, they exchanged a quiet conversation, their voices low and reverent, as though afraid to disturb the eerie silence surrounding them.

"Number 101," the taller figure murmured, glancing down at the small boy strapped to the table. "He is the culmination of generations of careful breeding and needed subjects from two of the most powerful bloodlines—House Valen and House House of Drak'Lor. It has taken years to get here."

"Yes," replied the other, a woman with a steely edge to her voice. "And the scientists have high hopes for this one. He carries the potential of both houses, a rare balance of durability and regeneration. If this works... he could be everything we’ve ever hoped for."

They both fell silent for a moment, watching as the boy's small form seemed even more vulnerable under the harsh light. The taller figure adjusted a vial filled with a thick, dark red liquid, set in a delicate mechanism above the table. It glowed faintly, pulsing with a warmth that defied its inanimate state.

"The essence blood of the Blood Phoenix," he said in a tone that mixed awe with caution. "A single drop alone carries enough power to kill even masters if the infusion fails. But none of the previous subjects could withstand the infusion. The power of the essence blood… it was too much for them."

A shadow passed over the woman’s face, and she nodded grimly. "Every last one of them burned from the inside out their blood boiled and was expelled from their bodies while their bones crumbled, their bodies failing almost immediately. Twenty-four children, gone, and each one had the bloodlines of nobility. Each was a calculated risk."

"Yes," he replied, glancing down at Number 101, his voice softer. "But this child… he is different. His bloodline is stronger, more resilient. They believe that he may be the one to survive the process and hold the power of the phoenix within him. If successful, he’ll be the next step in our plans of creating a species that could adapt to anything ."

The woman hesitated, her gaze flicking to the boy’s small, frightened face. "And if he fails, he’ll suffer as they all did. . We may lose him, just like the others."

The taller figure’s face hardened beneath the shadows of his hood. "Failure is a risk we accept. The experiment must proceed. If he is the one, we unlock a power no other order could claim. And if he fails, then his bloodline simply was not worthy."

With a final, resolute nod, he reached for the switch, ready to begin the infusion. The essence blood of the Blood Phoenix pulsed within the vial, eager, alive. Both figures held their breaths, watching as the dark liquid slowly began to descend, inching closer to the veins of the child below. 

As the machinery engaged, and the ancient ritual began, they whispered an incantation, praying that this child would be the one to finally endure the power of the Blood Phoenix.

"He’s breaking," whispered the woman, her tone laced with both dread and inevitability. "His body’s rejecting it… he’s going to fail."

The child’s skin flushed an unnatural red, veins blackening as the ancient fire scorched through them, leaving dark trails beneath the surface. His breathing grew shallower, his heartbeat erratic, as though it, too, was on the verge of shattering. It seemed he was moments from joining the others in their failures, his small form collapsing under the insurmountable power.

But then, as he drew a final, desperate breath, something shifted and changed. His body, trembling with the effort to survive, began to stabilize. The bleeding slowed, and the violent spasms ceased. The harsh red glow that had been consuming him softened, sinking inward. The fractured bones started to knit themselves back together, and the feverish flush faded from his skin.

As the two figures stood over Number 101, marveling at their success, neither noticed the sudden change in the child’s eyes. Where once there had been innocence, now a spark of awareness gleamed, foreign and mature, a consciousness that did not belong to a four-year-old child.

Inside the small, trembling form of Number 101, Michael Donovan’s mind reeled, struggling to piece together the fragments of memory from both his former life and the strange, painful journey that had brought him here. The last thing he remembered was the ruin’s dark pit, the relic draining his life, and then… darkness. He’d been sure he was dying, his soul pulled from his body in an agonizing tear. But instead of the void, he’d awoken here, bound within a body that felt unnervingly small, fragile, and… young.

The figures above were talking, their words half-lost as Michael adjusted to his new senses. He understood now—he was in the body of a child, a mere boy who they called *Number 101*. And the experiment they’d conducted on him, the blood of a creature they called the Blood Phoenix, pulsed through his veins, mingling with his new body’s essence.

Michael’s mind raced, trying to process the impossible truth. He had transmigrated into this boy’s body, a fragile vessel barely able to withstand the power they’d infused into it. He could feel the strain in his bones, remnants of pain where the child’s small frame had nearly shattered moments ago. But there was more than pain. Beneath it simmered an extraordinary energy, fierce and relentless, something ancient that answered his every thought with raw potential.

The woman leaned close, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “The fusion worked… his blood and the Blood Phoenix’s essence have joined and formed a blood core and he even awakened his aether cores.”

Michael looked up, careful to hide the shock and fear in his gaze, knowing they wouldn’t understand the truth: Number 101 hadn’t stabilized—he’d died, his soul extinguished as the blood consumed him. And now, here was Michael, a soul out of place, trapped in the body of a child reborn in fire.

The tall figure nodded with grim satisfaction. “Then it is done. He is now one with the phoenix essence. We shall begin his training at once.”

Michael’s pulse quickened. Training… he was in no place or position to resist, to demand answers. He didn’t even fully understand what he’d become. But if he were to survive, if he were to understand the powers now surging within him, he’d have to learn to navigate this world, pretending to be the boy they thought had survived.

*They think I’m their experiment,* he thought, forcing his expression into one of childlike blankness. *But I’m no one’s experiment. I’ll find a way back—or I’ll make this power my own and take revenge on behalf of this child.*