Amara Fields couldn’t quite remember how she ended up on the cold asphalt, but she was painfully aware of the blood trickling from a gash on her forehead. Her shoulder-length bleach-blond hair lay plastered to her sun-tanned skin, and one lens of her glasses had cracked in the collision. She’d been heading home from her shift—just another ordinary day, or so she thought. Now, everything ached.

She blinked hard, trying to focus. The world around her grew hazy, lights from passing cars blinking in and out like distant stars. As she tried to draw a breath, each inhale felt tighter, shallower, and for the first time in her life, a whisper of true panic threaded through her mind. This can’t be the end…

Her eyelids fluttered, then closed. And when she opened them again, she wasn’t on the street. She found herself in a boundless void. Everything was dark, cold, and quiet—until a deep, resonant sound rippled through the space, like thunder in an oncoming storm.

A colossal form emerged, so vast Amara’s eyes couldn’t take it all in at once. It was as though a mountain of shifting flesh and shadow stood before her. In the brief moments she could make out details, she saw gnarled appendages twisting into tentacles, protrusions like jagged horns curving in impossible angles, and an array of dimly glowing eyes scattered across its surface. The creature’s presence was beyond monstrous; it was otherworldly, an ancient being that seemed to warp the very space around it.

There was a sense of immeasurable age to this entity—like it had existed long before humans could conceptualize gods or monsters. Its voice, when it spoke, was not a sound in her ears but a deep pulse in her mind.

“Your life… wanes,” it rumbled. “Mine… fades… faster. A bargain awaits.”

Amara knew she should be terrified. And I am, she told herself. Her heart hammered so loudly she was certain the being could sense it. But amid that crushing fear, a strange calm took hold of her. She had always been steady under pressure—even if she had to mentally cuss out everyone around her sometimes—and now, that trait was all that stood between her and complete terror.

Swallowing hard, she pushed herself to speak, voice shaky but determined. “What… are you?”

“I am… a god, one whose power… diminishes. I linger… dying.” The eyes that dotted its monstrous form flared brighter. “You… are dying as well.”

Something about the statement sparked a flicker of her usual composure, and she straightened. “Well, that’s rather obvious… sir?” She shook her head at the absurdity of addressing an eldritch abomination so politely. “But… yes. I’m dying.” She could feel the throb in her chest, the sense that her body was giving out.

“I offer… you… life. And power.” A faint, reverberating hum echoed through the airless space. “In return… you shall become… my vessel. A piece… of me… shall dwell within you.”

Amara tried to step backward, but there was no ground beneath her feet. She was adrift, pinned in place by that thunderous presence. Life and power? It was tempting, but also terrifying. She considered how often she’d wished for something extraordinary to happen in her life—yet had never imagined it would be like this.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to stay calm. Do I even have a choice?

“I… sense your fear. But hurry. Our time… is short.”

She thought of her family, her incomplete projects, how she hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to her loved ones. If there was a chance—any chance—she could continue living, maybe she had to take it.

“All right,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I’ll accept.”

Instantly, a surge of sensation coursed through her. The god’s form loomed closer, overwhelming her senses with its impossible scale. In that moment, she felt her body mended—ribs knitting back together, bruises fading, and the breath returning to her lungs. She could see more sharply than ever, the broken lenses of her glasses now irrelevant because her eyesight was… perfect.

But it went further: an old tattoo on her forearm that she’d once considered removing was now just gone, as though the god’s healing had erased any perceived imperfections from her body. The absence of the tattoo made her feel strangely bereft, a piece of her identity taken without her permission. A part of her wanted to protest, to yell at the being that it had no right to remove what she chose to keep. Yet all that came out was a strangled gasp.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

When she opened her eyes again, the void had vanished. She wasn’t on a hospital bed, nor was she lying in the street. Instead, she found herself sprawled on soft grass beneath a sky tinted with pastel shades of a dawn she didn’t recognize. The air smelled cleaner than any city air she had ever breathed. Distant birdcalls sounded foreign, like they belonged in a fantasy story.

Amara sat up slowly. Her glasses, cracked as they were, slid off her face, and she discovered she didn’t need them anymore. She rubbed her eyes, checking for any sign of the injuries from before. There were none—no scars, no bruises. Even the random aches from old accidents and pains had disappeared. Her once-inked forearm was smooth and unmarked.

All at once, a jolt of energy burned through her veins. She gasped, clasping her hands to her chest as a faint glow flickered from her fingertips. It felt like raw power coiled around her heart, thrumming with the same heavy pulse she’d heard from the dying god. She was keenly aware of a presence sitting at the back of her mind, silent but alive.

“So this is… what you gave me,” she murmured, uncertain whether to be grateful or terrified. Her voice was steady despite the swirl of emotions. It was in her nature to keep herself poised, to cling to composure when the world turned chaotic. Yet inside, she felt like she could scream.

She stood, shaky at first, and surveyed her surroundings. She appeared to be at the edge of a field, a broad meadow stretching out before her. In the far distance, she thought she saw the outline of a small village or settlement. It might be my best chance, she reasoned, inhaling deeply.

But before she could take a single step, the echoes of the god’s voice reverberated through her mind:

“Your life is now bound… to mine. Wield my power… or let it consume you.”

Amara shuddered. The weight of the pact pressed on her soul like a heavy cloak. She had never asked for unstoppable magic or a second lease on life at such a cost. But this was her reality now. Forcing her shoulders back, she squared her jaw. If this was some fantasy world, she would face it the way she faced everything else—calmly and respectfully, at least until someone gave her a reason to mentally curse them out.

She took a few tentative steps, practicing manipulating the energy surging through her. A faint shimmer danced around her hands, and she felt a primal thrill, a whisper of possibility that both thrilled and frightened her. Something told her she was capable of fearsome feats, but she had no idea how to control such raw magic.

She cast one more glance at her forearm, remembering the lost tattoo, and sighed. Guess that’s part of the price, she thought. “Let’s figure out what this place is,” she said quietly to herself, voice resolute. Then she began the long walk toward the horizon, wondering what awaited her in this new world—and whether she had truly made the right choice.

Thus began Amara Fields’s strange, isolated journey: reborn as a warlock, forever bound to an eldritch power that saved her life in exchange for her freedom. She did not know yet how this world worked, or who its people were. She did not know if she could trust this entity in her mind or if its monstrous nature would one day consume her. All she knew was that she was alive—and if she was to remain so, she had to learn how to live alongside the darkness within her.

Amara strolled through the clearing with the same careful poise she used to keep her thoughts in check. Morning light filtered through twisting branches overhead, illuminating patches of wildflowers as she passed. She was on edge but trying to settle her frazzled nerves. After all, it had been only a few days since she’d woken in this strange world, bound to a power that she barely comprehended. The very air tasted foreign—richer, almost charged with magic.

Her footsteps halted at the sight of a small creature nibbling on a lush vine. The animal looked like a cross between a deer and a fox, with delicate horns curling from its forehead and a tufted tail swishing in the breeze. Its fur shimmered in the sun, flecks of gold dotting its pale-blue coat. Amara caught her breath; it was the most beautiful animal she’d ever seen.

Slowly, she stepped forward, arms raised in a universal gesture of peace. “Hey there,” she murmured gently, voice soft. The creature’s ears twitched at the sound, and for a moment, it didn’t flee. Her heart pounded in excitement. She longed to stroke its soft fur and reassure it that she meant no harm.

Then, with a sudden jerk of its head, the creature locked eyes with her. A spark of fear reflected in its wide, dark irises—perhaps it sensed something in her aura, that faint hum of eldritch power always coiling in her chest.

“It’s okay,” Amara whispered, taking another tentative step. The creature shied away, hind legs tensing. There was a brief silence, still as a held breath. And then it sprang at her, frightened and desperate to drive off the perceived threat.

Before she had time to think, the familiar surge of energy tore through her limbs. A flaring pulse of black and violet light burst from her palms. She felt the jolt—an instinctive reflex, like yanking a hand away from a flame.

Too late, she tried to hold it back. The crackling power collided with the animal mid-leap. A second later, she stood in horrified silence, gazing at the sparkling ash drifting through the air. Where the beautiful creature had been, only flickers of purple energy remained.

Her breath caught in her throat. “No…” She dropped to her knees on the grass. Her mind raced with shock and guilt. I didn’t mean to… It was just a reaction…

Amara reached out a trembling hand, as if she could collect the glowing motes and stitch them back together. The remains vanished into the breeze, leaving nothing but an empty patch of dirt. Grief—and a sickening dread—churned inside her. If she had any illusions that she could rein in the eldritch power with ease, they vanished at that moment.

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She was more dangerous than she’d ever feared. And this world, beautiful as it was, might see her as a monster the moment she let down her guard.