[Author 2 has successfully fully overridden character – [Celeste Brakkendor]. Author 2 will now resume the role of character – [Celeste Brakkendor] with complete control of actions, thoughts, and future plot. You may enact any changes to the original story that you wish as Author 2. Good luck and please create a story with telling!]
The golden screen read the same thing no matter how many times I looked at it. Though it seemed so ridiculous that it shouldn’t be true, it would seem I really was in the novel “Becoming the Queen of Everything.”
If the floating screen wasn’t proof enough of this magical occurrence there was also the change in scenery. It was mostly dark, but grayish streams of light were starting to fill the room, letting me see the outlines of broken walls and busted windows. I was no longer in my college dorm room, but a collapsing house, huddled on a pile of moth-eaten blankets and grain sacks. The air smelled of mold and dirt, and every time I moved even a little more dust was sent up into the air around me. Just for good measure, I pinched my arm as hard as I could.
“Ouch-,” yeah that hurt. I carefully smoothed down the irritated skin, I still couldn’t see very clearly but I could already tell this wasn’t the body I was used too. It felt smaller and more confined. There was a restlessness in my bones, an urge to go and move, but even shifting slightly caused everything to ache.
With nothing better to do I sat there, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I should be worrying or freaking out or something. But everything hurt and I could almost feel the oppressive fear weighing my body down. It was too surreal, even though I could feel the slowly warming air and my hands moved when I told them too. It was still hard to grapple with the idea that everything had changed because of… wait. Where did the screen go?
I hadn’t noticed it had faded away but I did notice when it came back with a small “ding!”
Nothing in the box has changed, it still told me that I had become the character Celeste Brakkendor and that I should “create a story worth telling.” There was no saying what had brought me here, but I did recognize the name at least. Good thing my roommate liked to rant about this trash book series so much. Ezzy didn’t often use her name, but I had been told all about the adventures of Celeste Brakkendor lovingly called by my roommate as “that bitch”.
Yes, Celeste Brakkendor was a villain in “Becoming the Queen of Everything.” But not just any villain, she was the big bad, the ultimate villain, the final hurdle to the hero’s happiness. Ezzy hadn’t talked too much about Celeste’s early life, but she had mentioned off handily once about the author “trying to make her sympathetic by giving her a tragic backstory but we all still hate her.”
That tragic backstory had been roughly summarized to me in another rant. Celeste was the eldest daughter of the proud Brakkendor family, one of the single most powerful families in the whole continent. For they ruled a city-state that was extremely prosperous as a trading hub between two of the biggest nations, the Empire of Cardane and the Republic of Hazvar. But despite her affluent background Celeste was involved in an accident when she was very young, one that tore her whole family apart. She ended up alone on the streets in Winthelm, the most notorious lawless city in the world. Of course, such a town was rife with abandoned children who either learned how to steal, work, or kill to survive. Celeste was no different, and despite the cruel environment she was raised in she became ever crueler, earning herself a reputation far beyond the walls of Winthelm for her calculating and vindictive nature.
Celeste didn’t appear in the main story till around the halfway point of the third novel, though her evil deeds were talked about rather extensively before the reveal of who exactly was the leader of the mysterious organization “Nightingale”. And like any self-respecting big bad, she had a good gig going, with full control of Winthelm, mastery over unique magic abilities, and the leader of a powerful and very successful criminal empire she had built herself. That was the fearsome Celeste of the book, a power forged after years and years of villainy, the Celeste I had migrated into however, couldn’t have been older than 10.
But Celeste’s eventual role as an underground mastermind wasn’t the most pressing problem. Celeste Brakkendor was one of the most powerful characters for a very different reason than her money or fame, she was the most powerful mage in the world. Designed in a typical villain fashion to be the counter of the good justice-filled saint of peace and light that was the main character.
Like any normal high fantasy setting, different types of magic existed, each with different strengths and weaknesses and poorly explained rules of how the magic actually worked. Sadly, Ezzy didn’t really rant about how the magic system, much too busy complaining about which love interest was going to woo the female lead in the end. I vaguely recall there being different types of magic, but how or why they are different I have no idea, thankfully I do know what kind of magic the female lead and big bad have. The saint of peace was a divine caster, one who was blessed with magic by a god. Beloved by the god of life, she was given the ability to heal any wound, even to bring them back from the clutches of death.
Celeste, on the other hand, was the evil equivalent of the god-blessed saint. While the divine users gained power by playing to the rules, arcanists gained power by defying them. Even among the rare few who had arcane talent, Celeste was a special case, for she had access to a power beyond anyone else’s abilities, a power truly opposite to the female lead's ideals of saving everyone. Celeste Brakkendor was a necromancer.
A villain cheat if there ever was one, with a near limitless army of the undead who all followed her commands happily, even eagerly, no matter what she asked. Ezzy had talked about this fact extensively, going into way too much detail about how unnaturally fevered Celeste’s undead minions followed her. Ezzy was one of the few fans who held a semi-crazy theory that Celeste was some sort of reincarnation of the god of death and was being backed by the other evil gods so that death and destruction could once again ravage the lands unchained.
Now actually stuck in the body of the child Celeste Brakkendor I can confirm that there’s no weird godly magic going on. And if there is a god helping Celeste then they need to do a better job. If the main lead gets to be pampered and living rich, the god watching over Celeste needs to step up, because I don’t think “taking care of” normally means abandoned buildings and bruises.
Even moving the slightest bit causes pain to radiate and echo in my chest. Maybe the empathy was a side effect of becoming Celeste Brakkendor myself, but I suddenly found a serious problem with the cop-out answer of villains being born bad and not the product of their circumstances.
There wasn’t even a guarantee that wherever I was, is Winthelm. I only know that between the accident that separated Celeste from her family and when the female lead meets her 20 some years later, she’s taken over the town. But it’s hard to imagine a 7-year-old holding any social power. But had she awoken her magic yet?
Sadly, it would seem evil necromancer powers don’t come with an instruction manual. It’s possible I can’t even use magic, since my soul isn’t the same as the original’s, though whatever sent me here did say we that we were completely compatible with each other.
[It’s a match!] The screen had read happily, [Merge threshold exceeds 100%! Successful emerging guaranteed! Author 2 – [Invalid entry] will now take on role as [Celeste Brakkendor]. Please create a story worth telling!]
Now that I’m looking back on it, the system almost too strongly emphasized that part. But even if we are incredibly compatible and I can use her magic I have no way of knowing how to use it. That should be my primary goal for the moment, I can’t do anything until I know what I’m capable of. Because there is a large difference between the Celeste Brakkendor who can use magic and the one who can’t. The only reason Celeste was able to accomplish so much in the original was because she had her overpowered villain powers. It’s also probably why Celeste lived at all, given the horrible backstory she was given. A backstory I will now have to live through.
I take a steady breath, forcing down all thoughts of the original novel for now. First things first, I need to make sure that I’m safe.
From the broken windows and holes in the brickwork, golden light spills across the ground, Dawn had arrived sometime during my organizing of thoughts. The added light allows me to get my first real look at the shelter I’ve woken up in. The building is stylized in a normal classic middle-ages-ish style, made of uneven bricks, a hardwood floor, elegant metal framed windows, and ridiculously tall ceilings. Before it was destroyed this must have been a beautiful church, but now stain glass litters the floor and broken pews lay half buried under years of dirt. One side of the roof has caved in and from the pile of rubble below a rather tall tree grows, reaching up towards the opening in the ceiling. The whole wall to my right is just gone, leaving the structure open to the elements. This place has obviously been in disrepair for a long time, and the forest outside is working hard to reclaim it.
It takes more effort than I would like to get my feet, and even through the dirt and grim covering me, I can spot the bruises littering my skin, or rather I can feel them every time I move. Just what had Celeste been up to before I got here?
I take a tentative step and nearly fall back to the ground from the sharp pain in my ankle.
“Ow,” I hiss quickly moving my weight to my other foot and leaning against the moss-covered wall next to me. Taking a few steadying breaths to help stave off the pain I slowly move my foot, rotating my ankle and flexing my toes inside of my ill-fitting boots. Though it hurts, everything moves as it should, a sprain thankfully, I would have been in serious trouble had it been broken. This still greatly hinders my mission of scoping the surrounding area, but at least I can move at all.
“Alright, let’s look around,” I mutter using the wall next to me as a support. The numerous injuries littering my body make it hard, but slowly I move forward.
I stop at the broken stain-glass window, taking a moment to awkwardly stand on my tiptoes to peer over the glass. Trees as far as I can see, and now that I’m paying attention to it I can hear the buzzing of insects and birdsong. I lean back down, careful to not put weight on my ankle when I freeze, the face staring back at me from the warped blue glass isn’t one I recognize.
Despite the fact that I knew I had become Celeste Brakkendor it’s still jarring to see an unfamiliar face where I expect mine to be. I never knew what she looked like, thankfully my roommate’s rants didn’t come with a slideshow, but the gaunt sickly child I see in the glass isn’t what I imagined for a big bad villain. Long lilac purple hair that sits in a messy bird’s nest of knots and strings, wide sliver eyes that look less like a dagger’s silver and more like an empty moon, and… feathers?
I reach up towards my ears and watch my reflection do the same, and sure enough, I feel the distinct brushy texture of feathers towards the upper part of my ear. I stare in confusion for a moment as I give them a light tug and confirm with a painful hiss that they are indeed attached.
I had forgotten one of the most important aspects of this trashy novel, bloodlines. While humans were technically a thing, everyone was descended from a mix of monsters and therefore possessed special abilities and powers. The stronger the bloodline the more unnormal physical traits one would have. The female lead was of course a rare exception and was a mix of all four bloodlines, causing her to appear completely human, effectively hiding her strong abilities until plot important scenes demanded they be revealed. And Celeste in typically villain fashion was the exact opposite so only one bloodline, angel. Because nothing is as cliche in a bad teen romance as an evil angel. But I don’t remember her angel traits being obvious. It was a twist later in the series that caused my roommate to lose her mind for almost a week.
Then… did Celeste remove the symbols of her heritage to hide it like the female lead?
If her angel bloodline was half as strong as Ezzy ranted about the ear feathers wouldn’t be the only sign of her ancestry.
I start to examine Celeste’s or I guess my body a little closer. That’s when I start to notice my weight distribution feels a bit off and there’s something unusual about the texture of the fabric on my back.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“No,” I mutter in disbelief as I turn partly around to get a better look at my back in the broken window. Sure enough, there are two strange bumps on my back, well hidden beneath all the layers she’s wearing, but definitely there. I pull my shirts up a bit, and an uncomfortable shiver races down my back as I pull on something I shouldn’t, but sure enough, sticking out from beneath the layers is a buddle of ash-gray feathers.
I’m more careful the second time as I ease the fabric up my back until with a satisfying stretch two feathered wings unfurl from my back.
“Do they work like normal appendages?” I wonder out loud, startling a little at the raspy quality of my voice. Shaking myself out of it, I focus back on the wings, trying to imagine them spread fully. It takes a second and the wings stutter stop a few times, and a weird twinge goes up my left wing when fully extended, but they seem to work! It will definitely take some getting used to, but I had wings. Functional wings! They were a bit small, most likely a reflection of Celeste’s own poor health condition at this age.
It's uncomfortable to push them back under my tight shirt, now that I’ve gotten a taste of them being free. I can realize in retrospect that many of the aches I awoke feeling stemmed from the feeling of them being pinned to my back. It feels deeply unnatural to keep them bound and every time I shift too suddenly it pulls on my feathers and causes little lances of pain to race down my back. If I didn’t so strongly believe Celeste had a good reason for this, I wouldn’t willingly subject myself to this aching suffocating feeling.
Now that I’m a bit more aware of the body I’ve been transmigrated into (and the extra weight I need to calculate into my balance) it’s a bit easier to move the rest of the way to the door. I know there’s a gaping hole to my right, that I could just walk through, but I feel better having a wall I can lean on if my ankle acts up. The door opens with the barest touch, swinging outward with a low squeaking creak.
An overgrown road winding through the forest beyond and a badly broken cart are the only things visible. Definitely not Windhelm then, as the town was supposed to be nestled inside a mountain range, and last I checked there aren’t many large flat looking forests on top of mountains. But if not Windhelm then where am I? And why in the world is Celeste here all beaten up?
I do another quick scan of the area, but I don’t see any other living things, minus the squirrel in the nearby tree. So, I’m probably safe?
“Oi! You stupid brat!”
Or not.
“Yes, I’m talking to you, worthless mutt!”
It sounds like it’s coming from the backside of the crumbling house. Against my better judgment, I start slowly limping my way over, making sure to keep myself glued to the side of the building.
“I told you to keep an eye on the newbie didn’t I!?” the man’s voice growls.
“You sure did boss!” another voice chimes in with an uncomfortable edge of glee, “maybe we should teach him another lesson!”
Finally reaching the back of the building I glance around the corner.
The first thing I notice is the large man standing in the middle of the clearing behind the house. He couldn’t look more stereotypical cannon founder villain if he tried.
A large burly man with a square jaw and a face covered in scars, dressed in all black with shining rings and bracelets covering his hands. Two large swords crisscross on his back, and in typically cannon fodder villain style he’s smoking a cigar between his missing and blackened teeth. He’s even got an eyepatch and has a ring of loud jangly keys on his belt!
Next to him stands a tall spindly young man, who looks like the living equivalent of a “greasy rat”. A long nose, overly squinted eyes, slicked back dirty blond hair, unnaturally roughed clothes and a crooked grin. He’s even ringing his hands and eagerly staring at the man next to him, who must be his “boss”.
On the ground in front of the men is a boy who couldn’t be older than ten, with a mane of black hair and dull gray eyes. He’s covered in scars and bruises of his own, and unlike the men is dressed in mismatched and ill-fitting clothes.
“Do you want to explain where the other brat went off to?”
“Yeah, tell us or-,”
The sleazy man gets cut off as his boss smacks him right across the face with a deep frown, “shut up you stupid fool before I make you and brat match,” he growls.
His lackey nods quickly and takes a step back holding a hand to his cheek and avoiding eye contact, “Sorry boss,” he mumbles, but the man has already turned back around to the kid on the ground with a huff.
Wow this scene was so stereotypical it was almost impressive. Abusing your lackeys is the number one rule of low-life villains, a sure-fire way to paint them in a negative light, and on top of that he’s using child labor. This guy was covered in death flags, all he needs to do now is kick a puppy and he’ll have achieved complete stereotypical low-class villainy, and a sure-fire way to be being offed by the hero.
“I’ll ask again, in case it didn’t sink into your thick skull the first time,” the man growls leaning down towards the kid, “Where’s the annoying bird brat?”
Was Celeste some sort of lackey for these guys? Guess even future big bads need to work up the corporate food chain of villainy from the bottom. But this guy was really something, who did he think he was calling the future big bad an “annoying bird brat”, maybe the villain would kill him before the hero could. The original Celeste wouldn’t have taken that insult lying down, another factor that set her apart from the selfless hero, she had a lot more pride and was very keen on vengeance. She would have taken great offense to this “job” especially if he called her names like that. But seeing as who she was willingly working with these guys she probably hadn’t unlocked her powers yet. I can’t imagine any universe in which a necromancing Celeste let herself be ordered around by this lowlife.
The boy doesn’t react to the question at all, just levels his gaze into the forest, not looking at either of the men.
“You damn brat,” and the man scoops the kid up by the front of his shirt, “because of you we just lost a golden ticket. Do you know how much we could have sold that stupid girl for?”
Wait what? Sold?
These guys are slavers! Who the hell puts slavery into a bad teen romance novel?! What could having slavery do to help push the plot that something normal wouldn’t have?
“Get out of my sight you little filthy bastard,” and the man tosses the kid roughly back onto the ground. He hits hard, but doesn’t make a sound as the man scowls above him.
A shiver runs down my spine, as suddenly I’m reminded that I’m not watching some cheesy low-budget fantasy movie, nor am I listening to my roommate rant about this terrible trash book, I’m living it. This is real. He’s not talking about Celeste the character, he’s talking about me.
Only one thought rushes through my mind, ‘I need to leave’.
Slowly backing away from the corner I turn around to slip into the forest before they notice me.
“Maybe I should teach you another lesson,” the man laughs, “maybe you’ll take better care to remember next time.”
My steps falter, fear sliding down my back, but I force myself to keep walking. If they find me, it will be all over! I know what’s going to happen next, but I can’t-
“SNAP” the sickening sound of something breaking echoes from behind me along with a garbled cut-off moan.
I don’t want to look, I shouldn’t look, but morbid fearful curiosity causes me to turn around. I’m just in time to see the burly man drop the boy to the ground, where he cradles an arm bent at the wrong angle. Tears glisten in his eyes and he huddles himself into the dirt as the man scowls and storms past his lackey to head to a cart parked not far away.
“Bernard, grab the brat we’re leaving now.”
“Of course,” Bernard, the greasy man says as he bends down. The man hesitates for a second, looking over his shoulder to see the big boss man watching him, he forces out a laugh and grabs the boy from his broken arm. The boy cringes away, tears starting to spill down his face, as he fruitlessly pushes against the man to let him go.
It’s by pure chance that he looks up, and our eyes meet. Tears stream from his eyes and pain twists his face. He freezes in place at the sight of me, face twisting in confusion.
“Move it,” Bernard hisses, giving the boy another sharp tug forward, he lurches a few feet, before glancing back at me.
My knuckles are white from how tightly I’m holding onto the side of the building, my brain and heart are torn in two different directions. The logical part of my brain is urging me to run while the men are distracted, that this is my chance to be free, to slip away from the rules of the plot and live my life. But my heart disagrees, it looks at the tear-filled face of that child and rages inside that I must do something to fix it. That I can’t just stand here while a child is suffering. But neither of them win as my fear overrides everything, causing me to remain frozen to the spot.
The boy’s confused look soon vanishes, and he sends a sad little smile my way, he mouths something I can’t make out, I’ve always been bad at reading lips, but by the resigned furrow of his brow and the way his letting himself be dragged away, it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s trying to say even if I don’t know the exact words he uses.
“Run,” he whispers, “go, leave. I’ll be okay.”
It’s a lie, one we both seem to know, but neither of us correct it.
“Excuse me?” a voice calls from the front of the house. The sleazy man turns and before I’m aware of it I drop to the ground and back up into one of the bushes lining the house.
“Who’s there?” Bernard asks, pushing the boy behind him but still keeping a hold on him.
“Oh, someone is here!” and hurried footsteps race towards me.
Appearing around the front of the trashed church is a young girl, elementary age. Dressed in a beautiful pink sundress decorated with frills and lace, a noticeable tear in the bottom hem. A matching hat with a large white ribbon sits atop her spun gold hair that’s elaborately braided and matching heeled dress shoes adorn her stocking-clad feet. Obviously, this girl is someone important, and someone with money. A noble? There were nobles in this stupid trash novel right?
“What are you doing here?” Bernard asks confusion clearly painted across his face.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” the girl says coming right up to Bernard without a flicker of fear, obviously someone was never taught stranger danger. “I was out with my father and brother on a picnic but got lost while picking flowers,” she holds up a fistful of blooming weeds to prove this point, mostly crushed and wilted, “do you think you could help me get back home. Or-or just meet back up with them?”
“i-uh-no I don’t-,” Bernard starts glancing nervously behind him towards the wagon, “I think you should-,”
“Why didn’t you tell me we had a little guest Bernard?” the burly man asks with an edge of anger, Bernard stumbles over himself moving out of the way as the man leans down towards the girl. “Hello little girl,” he greets, with a large fake smile, that turns real as he spots the glittering jewels on her necklace.
“You’re lost?”
The girl nods with a smile, “Yes! I was with my father and brother before I got separated.”
“Hmm, we can probably help you. I’m Nathan by the way little miss, and that fool behind me is Bernard.”
The girl quickly hurries into a practiced cruise, “And I’m Melody Everheart, sir.”
Wait.
Melody Everheart? There’s no way I could mistake that name, I had heard my roommate say it thousands of times. The only daughter and beloved child of the only Duke in the Empire of Cardane. The future saint of the god of life, hero of legend, but better known as Melody Everheart, the female lead of the trashy romance novel series, “Queen of Everything.”
What the hell was the female lead doing here!?
She and Celeste never meet in the book, did they? No Ezzy would have mentioned a scene between the two leads meeting as children. Would have gone on at least three rants about how Celeste was evil even at the tender age of 7, and how Melody was so good for helping her. And that Celeste was so evil for biting the hand that had helped her all those years ago.
Did that mean I had already changed the plot?
I had been here less than an hour, how had the plot derailed so much?!
“Oh, Miss Everheart?” Nathan asks, eyes clouded by greed, there was no way he didn’t know who she was, even if he didn’t know Melody by her name, he certainly knew her last name. How could anyone not know Duke Everheart, a war friend of the current king and military hero. And one of the richest men in Cardane Empire.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir Nathan!” the clueless female lead greets. I knew the female lead was dumb, I just apparently never knew she was this dumb.
The boy tries waving at her, clearly telling her to go, as Bernard fidgets in place, obviously unsure what to do, looking at Melody in worry, though probably most likely not for him. He at least seems free of the stupidity inherent in cannon fodder villains and knows that kidnapping the female lead will be a very bad idea.
Melody finally notices the boy gesturing towards her, she smiles and waves at him, not a care in the world, “Hello to you too little sir!”
Nathan narrows his eyes and sends both the boy and Bernard a hard look, they both flinch away under his stare as he gently grabs Melody around the shoulders, “Now little miss Everheart, don’t mind them. Let’s get you into the cart and you can tell me where you need to go.”
Without a second thought she nods, “Thank you very much, sir,” and she reaches out and hands him the silently crushed bouquet of wildflowers, “You can have this as a token of my thanks!”
Nathan smiles and nods even as he looks at the flowers in disgust, “Yes of course little miss, thank you so much for the gift, I shall treasure it always.”
Melody giggles, face flushing in happiness, “You don’t need to keep it forever, and I should be thanking you for helping me!”
Can a human be this stupid? I know she’s a sheltered noble’s daughter and all, but her overprotective dad and brothers never once told her to avoid strange men in the forest? Not once? No one looked at this kid, and went “oh hey she’s a bit clueless maybe we should make extra sure the precious young miss knows what to do in the outside world.” No one?
Thankfully I don’t seem to be alone as both Bernard and the boy look equally as confused by the encounter, even going so far as to share a confused look between them, their animosity for each other set aside in the sheer face of bewilderment at the scene. But Nathan rolls with it like the professional cheesy cannon fonder villain he is.
“Well still thank you, Miss Everheart, let me help you into the wagon,” and he easily lifts Melody up and places her in the back of the wagon.
“Thank you sir!” she says again, practically radiating happiness as she straightens out her sundress on the seat.
“Bernard!” Nathan snaps walking around to the front of the wagon, “you and the bra-boy,” he quickly corrects, “get in the back with Miss Everheart. Don’t be rude to our company.” Melody can’t see the threatening gesture Nathan makes, but she should still be able to hear the obvious threat in his voice.
For a second Melody’s face scrunches up and she looks around her in the back of the wagon, where hastily covered cages glint under the sun and stained sacks and crates pile into corners, but she turns back around with a soft smile, “there’s plenty of room back here I don’t mind sharing!”
I should really stop hoping the female lead will suddenly grow a brain cell.