"Jensen, pick up the slack."
"Jensen, unclog the printer."
"Mr. Jensen, please report to the CEO's office."
Why was his life so fraught with worry? Carl Jensen had never really done anything that made it seem as though he deserved what he went though every day. He was always the go-to guy for everything, from a cup of coffee to being a goddamn valet. The constant barrage of noise trained his ears to filter out all but the most important parts, which was a handy skill indeed. Without it, he was sure he would have gone insane years ago. As it was, though, he required a couple cans of beer to wind down after work, or he wouldn't be able to sleep. In the rare cases that he didn't have beer to drink, he stayed up watching anime, letting the colorful lights lull his mind to sleep. He never really paid attention to the plot- most anime were generic money-grabs designed to appeal to pedophiles- but he had built up a small collection of favorites, mainly consisting of more serious anime like Ghost in the Shell, Serial Experiments Lain and Ergo Proxy. Watching anime did no favors for his reputation, of course. But he no longer cared; his wife had divorced him years prior, taking their baby daughter with her. After that, he had simply let himself go, sinking into worldly comforts to drown his sorrows.
In appearance, he wasn't too out of place. 173cm tall, with a slight beer belly, and a face lined with far too many wrinkles for a 36-year-old like Carl. A dirty mop of reddish brown hair sat on his head, a freak of nature that completely disregarded the fact that he most likely had no ancestors with red hair. He had no mustache, as he kept the area under his nose immaculately clear, but he sported a slight beard, that was not quite long enough to count as one yet thick enough to be more than just stubble. His blue eyes had a defeated, jaded look to them, and there were dark bags under his eyes, a testament to his stress.
He walked into an alley, and opened the vinyl bag containing the six-pack of beer he had just bought. He didn't read the brand name- he never did. Beer was beer, an alcoholic respite from reality. He popped a can open, and took a long drink from it, reveling in the coolness of the liquid rushing down his throat. Drinking in an alley like this was dangerous, he knew, but he had needed the beer so badly he had been willing to overlook some risks. He took another swig, put his head against the brick wall and closed his eyes. He imagined a world without companies, or CEOs, or annoying landlords. If only he possessed the power to mold the world to his desires, like a child playing with clay.
And then, something brushed against the toe of his left sneaker. He looked down, expecting to see a small rodent of some kind, and instead saw a black orb.
It was a magic 8 ball, the kind one normally saw sold in souvenir stores and held no value whatsoever. Carl laughed at the coincidence, and picked up the cheap plastic toy. He stared at it for a moment, then rattled it, listening to the fluids slosh around inside it. He put the tiny screen to his eye to read what it said.
He was very, very surprised.
Since when did magic 8 balls dispense such precise advice? He wondered, but had no time to expand on that thought before consciousness faded away.
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He was being squeezed. It was tight enough to hurt, but he couldn't locate the source of the grip he felt. It was truly an odd sensation- the tight grip on his body rippled, loosening and tightening at periodic intervals. And then, suddenly, he was blinded by light. His eyes hurt, so he closed them again, unwilling to move. Then he felt a knife on a part of him in front of his abdomen, and he panicked, thinking that someone was going to chop off his penis. He screamed with all his might, but his attempts at calling for help were somehow drowned out by the crying of a baby. He stopped screaming, and so did the baby. It was all rather odd. How did the baby know exactly when he would stop screaming?
And then he was lifted by giant hands, firm yet gentle, and was pressed against a mound of flesh, with a hard protrusion at the end, poking at the corner of his mouth. Annoyed, he bit at it, and was surprised when a fluid gushed out of it, filling his mouth with a strangely nostalgic taste. He could hear voices, but he couldn't understand them, so he let the gentle rocking motions of whoever was holding him continue. Soon, he began to feel drowsy, and fell into a deep sleep.
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He had been reborn, he was sure of it. At first he had been very confused- and understandably so, for the transition from an adult man's brain to that of a baby was undoubtedly rather uncomfortable, and the size difference made thinking harder. But he still managed to figure out a couple of things during his time as a baby:
1. He was not on Earth. The telltale signs were all there, but the most serious one he had found was magic. Carl had almost jumped out of his skin when he had fallen down and scraped his knees while trying to walk, and his new mother had come to him and simply healed him, glowing hands included.
2. He wasn't a guy anymore. Whoever had forced him to be reborn was probably having a good laugh at his- her- expense, because Carl had been born into the body of a girl. This caused more complications than you might imagine, because her new body's personality was threatening to take over his. She- named Athelin by her parents- found herself often thinking in a stereotypically girly way, even if he tried his best to keep his brain the way it was.
3. This definitely was not a hallucination. The sensations she felt were far too real for that, and no hallucination lasted this long. One explanation was that his alcoholism had landed him in a coma, but again, it was far too real to be just imagination.
She had spent most of her first year as Athelin trying to figure out where she was, why she was there and how she could get back, with varying degrees of success. The first and third questions were utterly unanswerable, and the only conclusion she reached about the second was that the strange 8 ball was involved in this somehow.
The language her parents spoke was like nothing she had ever heard on Earth, with far too many vowels and consonants. Unfortunately, she would have to learn the language from scratch. Athelin supposed it was a good thing she was born as a baby, for being a middle-aged man who didn't know the language of wherever he was would be incredibly embarrassing.
The spoken language had grammar close enough to English that she didn't have too much trouble stringing words together- that is, the few words she knew so far- but the written language was a problem. It was an intricate blend of Egyptian hieroglyphics and Chinese characters, and while sentences had a pleasing aesthetic quality to them, actually understanding what they said was a completely different matter. Still, with the aid of picture books, she managed to make a fair bit of progress.
Her new family seemed to be completely average financially. There were no visible signs of poverty, and they were never lacking for food.
Athelin's family consisted of her parents and an older brother who had left 5 years ago, and they were all ordinary humans. This might not seem like a big deal, but from Athelin's experience watching anime, a different world, especially one with magic, would undoubtedly have more than one main humanoid race.
One of the things that had shocked her about this world was the lack of technological advancements. The presence of magic might have made quick leaps and bounds in progress unnecessary, but that was no reason to completely ignore innovation. By technological standards, she estimated that this world was around the Middle Ages of Earth. She had yet to confirm whether the societal structure was similar, as she had not been allowed to leave the house.
Since the first time she said a word, she had carefully devised a plan to hide her rapid learning pace. She didn't want a repeat of the experience- she had almost suffocated in her mother's voluminous chest while she praised Athelin. It was certainly enough to induce a trauma based around large mammaries.
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Athelin looked up from the patch of herbs she had been carefully weeding. Her mother was the resident healer, which meant that she occasionally made strange-smelling potions from the herbs she grew in the garden behind the house. Her father wasn't home- most likely participating in a patrol around the village, which was known as Vold. He was a town guardsman, and thus was not home very often, but when he was around he was an excellent father.
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At 4 years old, it was obvious Athelin took after her mother in terms of looks, with sharp green eyes and black hair. Her nose she considered rather too long for her own taste, but nobody else seemed to mind.
As soon as she had become reasonably fluent in the language of this kingdom, Denthian- which was apparently shared by all human kingdoms- she had inquired the villagers about what the kingdom was like. She had learned that it was a stereotypical fantasy country, run by corrupt nobles and held up by the downtrodden masses. The royalty themselves were of no importance, as they were assassinated and replaced at the drop of a hat. The only reason the people of Vold village cared at all was because they needed to know the right names to curse whenever the tax collectors rode by, accompanied by a small group of knights to stop the villagers from attacking them.
Athelin had also tried to get her mother to teach her how to use magic, but she herself had insufficient knowledge to do much other than give simple pointers that turned out to be of no use at all. Then she turned to her father for lessons in swordsmanship, but was turned down due to her age and small stature. This frustrated her to no end, and so she was forced to read through her mother's thick tomes on the usage of herbs to pass the time.
On her third birthday, the magic 8 ball had reappeared. She had avoided shaking it, afraid that something truly horrifying would happen this time. She had also concealed it from her parents, scared that it would be confiscated. After all, it was the only thing from Earth she had, although she wasn't very sure if it had really been manufactured there, considering the fact that it seemingly had magical powers.
Unfortunately for her, she had failed at making friends with the little boys and girls around her age. Being a mature adult stuck in a child's body, it was hard for her to get along with the other children, and vice versa. She stayed away from the other children, and the other children stayed away from her, which she was perfectly fine with, even if it did worry her parents.
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A 7-year-old Athelin lay on the ground, exhausted after a short lesson from her father. After she underwent a growth spurt when she was 6 years old, she had finally been given her father's approval to start training. She was no master duelist yet, but considering the fact that she had never even touched a sword in the 43 years of her- and his- life, she was pretty satisfied with her progress. Why was she doing this? She didn't have a definite reason. Was it just because swinging a sword is cool? No, that wasn't it. Was it because she wanted to become an adventurer and help fight the droves of monsters that inhabited this world? That wasn't it, either. She would like to live a comfortable, if rather boring life in one place, without having to move around too much. Then why was she so insistent about learning the way of the sword? Well, whatever the reason, there was no denying that it would be a useful skill to have in the future.
Speaking of skills, Athelin had been disappointed that she didn't get a game-like status screen. It would have made it incredibly easy to track her own progress if there were numerical indicators.
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, pollution-free air. After a few moments, she stood up and headed back into the house.
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It had been a day like any other. She had been sorting piles of herbs in the kitchen- getting them mixed up could be disastrous, causing side effects from mild itching to bloody diarrhea- when her father had burst into the house numerous cuts littering his body, a bloody sword in his hands.
"Run, Athelin! The Bandit King is here!"
The Bandit King was not a true king. However, he did lead multiple small armies of bandits, so nobody dared refute his self-assumed moniker. He was infamous for pillaging any town he came across in his wanderings, and Vold was clearly no exception.
"But what about Ma?"
Her mother had gone to the market to sell some of her herbs and potions. The market was right in front of the town walls, which would mean-
Her face paled as her father's mouth tightened into a thin-lipped grimace. She resisted the urge to break down and cry, and rushed into her room to find the 8 ball. She had put the black orb under one of the loose floorboards, and she regretted doing so, knowing that every second she spent trying to lift the boards could cost her life. Closely shadowed by her father, she ran, away from the village, towards the forest. It was a good thing her home had been located at the edge of Vold, meaning she would have a shorter distance to run. On the way, she saw familiar faces on the ground, impaled with arrows. There was Darren, the good-natured blacksmith, Helen, the proprietor of The Laughing Pig, the only inn in Vold, Sammy, a fruit vendor who always had an apple for her. She averted her eyes and focused on the ground as she ran. Soon, she was halfway to the forest. She could make it. She and her father would escape to some other village and start a new life there.
And then her father let out an agonized cry as an arrow suddenly sprouted from his back. He stumbled, then fell, three more impaling his torso. Tears streaming from her eyes, Athelin ran, even as an arrow tore through her left arm. And then an arrow lodged in her right thigh and she went down as well, dropping the 8 ball in the process. Even so, she frantically tried to crawl away from the jeering laughs of the bandits, but failed. As darkness enveloped her vision, she weakly reached out for the 8 ball, and shook it.
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The two bandits surrounded the fallen girl and dismounted from their horses. One of them spoke.
"You reckon she'll fetch a good price?"
The other spat a gob of spittle on the ground.
"Mebbe. Lots of demand for little girls these days."
The first one suddenly grinned.
"D'you think the boss will mind if we try her out a little?"
"Don't feel like it. Too much blood."
"Aw, don't be such a pussy. The first time's always a little bloody, what difference does a little more blood make? Besides, if she bleeds out nobody will know anyway."
"If you say so."
As the two men hurriedly loosened their belts, a cold, furious voice came from behind them.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
The speaker was what looked to be an old man dressed in rags with numerous scars on his face and grey hair. However, those weren't his most striking features. On top of his head were two long, triangular vulpine ears, and behind him were an array of nine grey tails, identical in color to his hair. This fox-man had just been about to bite into a plump roast pheasant when someone had violated the 'never-disturb-a-beastman-while-he-eats' law and pulled him here, where two men, quite obviously bandits, were frozen in the act of attempting to rape an injured little girl. If that wasn't enough, they were all humans, which meant he had been transported over an incredibly long distance, as he had made sure he wasn't anywhere near human kingdoms.
One of the bandits stammered while stumbling backwards, then tripped on his own trousers and fell. The other charged him with a yell, loose belt still hanging from his waist. The fox-man didn't even react to the charging man until he was within striking distance, at which point the bandit suddenly found himself unarmed. The fox-man, now with an appropriated dagger, stabbed the bandit through the heart, and then in a couple of other places for good measure. After he fell to the ground, lifeblood forming a puddle under him, the fox-man web over to the other bandit and killed him as well. That way none would know of his involvement- it would be passed off as the two bandits simply killing each other. He had even refrained from using magic, as that might give his pursuers a lead on his location.
He turned to leave, when he realize he forgot about one loose end. The girl would bleed out on her own if left alone, and he wouldn't- couldn't- interfere, even if it left a bad taste in his mouth. He looked at the girl, feeling slightly apologetic, when he saw the black orb in her hands. All thoughts of leaving her behind gone, he approached her body and examined the strange artifact. It was made of a material he had never seen before, and when he tried to take it from the girl's hands he found to his surprise that he couldn't. Rather, the orb was actively rejecting him. The fox-man sighed. He would have to take her with him after all. He picked the girl up, slung her over his shoulder, not caring about the blood making its way to his rags, and walked away.