Dead-Eaten

"Another fanfic?! Where is your creativity?"

"In the gutter."

"Fix your attitude!"

"It can't be fixed. It's intangible."

"You know what?! Fuck you!"

"Fuck your dad sideways."

"I am an orphan, fucking pleb."

"Oh, congratulations."

Alfir can feel the seething hatred beyond his screen. It is not every day he meets trolls like this, but Alfir is doing very well to cope with this certain reader. And honestly, Alfir's way is inadvisable given that 1)it is unhealthy and 2)it is bad for business.

This is just how much he loves the numerous fictions he consumed for the past decade of his youth. As a self-proclaimed professional writer, he should have some pride in his work.

It is not Alfir is a bad writer. He is just born mean.

"What matters is that I enjoyed the process..." Alfir whispered to himself as he type words of gratitude to the readers who gave constructive comments and time to read his works. It immensely improved his writing skills. With Alfir's last chapter and post-author notes, he drank a can of beer.

"Ah~ That hits the spot."

[Email Received: Unknown]

Now, that is foreboding. But Alfir is not afraid of whatever death threat this is. Click.

Oh, it was a cute puppy with adorable eyes---

Fuck!

Alfir's monitor screen glowed blue, white, and green. The puppy with a guttural howl lunged piercing beyond the glassy screen that separated Alfir from the zeros and ones. The puppy was no more. In its place is a ferocious wolf the size of a fucking truck. Alfir was in an internet cafe at that time, and oh lord...it was quite the sight!

"Monster! RUn FoR YoUR lives!"

"Call DA SECurity!"

"HEEEEeeeelp!"

Black fur and white teeth. Its eyes gleamed with savage glee.

"I am dead."

Not just dead, but dead-eaten.

Within the gaps of the wolf’s savage teeth are Alfir’s blood, bones, and meat. And in the beast’s stomach is the soul of the one called Alfir.

...

Alfir woke up in an unfamiliar place. It is dark, cramped, and gloomy. He received memories foreign to what he knows. It was the memories of a commoner working for the evil organization, Zentury.

'I just knew it...'

Alfir felt his weak limbs. It is painful, torn, and bloody. Because of the flailing, the cleaner noticed his struggle.

"Oh boy, there is still someone alive."

The slaughterhouse, as Zentury calls it, is the resting place of the countless mobs that sacrificed themselves for the organization. It is a meat blender used to extract various important ingredients in alchemy, artifice, and experimentation. Alfir is intimately familiar with this world given that he created it. It was his sole unpublished work, an original, which Alfir dedicated his whole youth~ Mutagenic Medieval.

Alfir tried to call for help, only to hear his own dying groans. His memories are a little vague, confounded by foreign memories that don't seem to belong to him.

The Cleaner, a miscellaneous position in the organization that is responsible for the different facilities, watched the bloody mess that is Alfir.

"Don't worry, young man. I hear you, let me help you."

All Alfir can hear are vague words that seem to elude his ears.

...

“Flames, scattered everywhere. The world burns with the fury of the devil's irresistible flames. What is happening? Where am I?!”

Alfir was jolted awake by his own perspiration. He felt as if he was drowning in a sea of flames. It was a very unrelatable nightmare.

Minion#12193? Slowly, memories of a nameless young man started to flow in synchrony with Alfir's tired mind. At first, there was some discomfort, but after some breathing exercises, Alfir was able to find his reason.

It is unbelievable, but Alfir could only think of one reason, why this is happening to him. TRANSMIGRATION! OH HOLLY MOLLY!

Alfir tried to make sense of his jumbled memories, and it looks like there was only bad news for him one after another. A vague memory of Minion#12193's death flashed in his mind. There were flames and death! It was Flamecore, a figure that Alfir knows quite a lot.

Flamecore is one of the few most significant heroes among the many heroes that fill the many kingdoms in this world. Alfir's head still hurts like hell, but slowly, he is making recovery.

"I am so lucky, Zentury has very good insurance policies." Alfir jokingly said, appreciative of the silver lining in the midst of his suffering.

"Yes, they sure do. This is why even with the high death rates, we never lacked minions. It took me a decade of minion service before I am able to have this relatively safe job. You are very fortunate that I saw you. Anyway, what happened to you?" A middle aged man wearing a white cap and white uniform typical of Zentury's Cleaners, can't help himself but interject at Alfir's words.

"Hehehe, Flamecore got my team. I guess I am the only survivor." Alfir scratched his head, still confused about what happened. His joking tone came naturally unaware of how much out of place he actually was… in his choice of words, subtle gestures, and even the fluidity of how much he is adapting within the hospital's unfamiliar walls.

However, the kind Cleaner didn’t mind it as he show Alfir his most amiable smile.

The only thing Alfir is sure of is that Minion#12193 was on a mission when… Minion#12193 died himself.

After that, Alfir found himself in Minion#12193’s body.

"Now that is nasty. He is a top hero sought by multiple nations for his abilities... Sheesh, that's bad luck. It is a good talk, but I still have a job to do, so I gotta go. See you." The friendly Cleaner bid his farewell as he walks off, and give space to the recovering Alfir.

"Thanks for the visit..." Alfir weakly said, relieved that the stranger is gone. Alfir wants time for himself, to make sense of what is happening to him.

Alfir waved his hand to bid his farewell to the cleaner that saved his life.

Time passed, as Alfir continue with his idle recovery. Slowly, he was able to fix the dissonance he is feeling from Minion#12193's memories. The last that Alfir wants is to suddenly gain a split personality.

It has been a month since Alfir came to this world, and he's recovering perfectly fine thanks to the insanely advanced technology of this world. Even his handsome outside is returning to its former glory.

No, scratch that. There is nothing handsome about Alfir.

"The heavens must hate me. Even in this life, my looks remain un-striking. It screams mob..."

Alfir looked at the mirror only to be disappointed by its cruel truth,

Un-striking is not even a word, but that doesn't stop Alfir for having the time of his life. This is too perfect! In a world where he knows the future, Alfir thought of the many opportunities ahead of him. It is like a playground, especially with Alfir's unclear desire to make a mess of EVERYTHING!

“Hmmm… Perhaps, am I the God of this world? And this world is my plaything?” Alfir mistakenly thought of these words as his own thoughts as a vague shadow of doubt slithered into his mind. “Wait… Isn’t living an easy life should be my priority right now?”

However, the moment Alfir thought that there is something wrong with his train of thought, a surge of calmness invaded his mind. It suppressed both his doubt and reasoning leaving him in a trance.

“What? What was I thinking again? Oh, world domination, right? The harem route sounds fun but meh… It'll come to that naturally if I were to own this world...”

The world of Mutagenic Medieval is an alternate reality where the mutant-kind thrived during the medieval age as they become the messiahs that shaped the world according to their will. This gave birth to the Hero System that desires to regulate such unprecedented messiahs... Alfir is no messiah, but an apocalypse waiting to be triggered.

"Ooooh, of the fun I shall make..."

***

I know this crazy guy. More than a screw loose, he is unhinged...dangerously unhinged...He told me that he's discovered the secret to transmigration. The next day, he was gone.

Not dead-gone, but just gone.

Guess what? At some point in time and space, fiction and facts somehow miraculously intersected. Now I, am also whisked away to a different universe, one that I wrote. I couldn't wait to experience it firsthand.

"A new world awaits me! Kekekeke... After writing this masterpiece, it is only right I experience it, right?"

This will be a blast!

RANT: Masterpiece!? SINCE WHEN!?

"Meanest Mob my ass, Manic Mister is more fitting, don't you think so? No? Why Meanest Mob? What!? Go and read it yourself!? That's rude!!"

What I didn't know was that between my ambition to take over the world I had created and the transmigration process, my mind somehow became corrupted with lunacy.