Resonation: Reincarnated as the Main Character?!

Prologue: My New Life?

EVERYTHING HAS BEEN DOCUMENTED since the day we learnt to manipulate our thoughts and cultivate them into achievements of art and writing. It's unsure which came first or if our primitive selves evolved both skills simultaneously. Understanding that you cannot have one without the other, however, is paramount. Art and writing are like the yin to Yang, the black to its white or even the story to its pictures. But with evolution came conflict. Stories and fables taught by mouth became descriptive words on paper, and marks splashed across caves transformed into artistic compositions hung on plastered walls. There became an eternal cycle of small-minded individuals who would always try to outdo the other, no matter the comeuppance of their rectified ideals. It became known that no matter the century, artists and writers would always be at odds.

I found bitter humour in that. While they can have their ritualistic squabbles, the less fortunate, such as myself, will simply live a life without meaning. In this world, everything is the same. You'd work for yourself to live by yourself. You'd drive home by yourself to watch TV by yourself. Perhaps it was cloying to be so intertwined with routine sociability. But for all that time, I've learnt one thing: to survive.

Being a woman, you have to learn how to survive, and although the means were distant to mediaeval times, you still have to deal with the opposite sex. We still get paid less than men and are expected to have children and a husband before we turn thirty. Misogyny is considered widespread, and when spoken about, we're regarded as being too uptight, severe or cold. That won't ever change. What on earth did Emmeline Parkhurst or Alice Paul even fight for?

It doesn't matter what I think. There are twenty-five years of my life already down the drain and nothing to show for it. What do I know?

Now, if Resonation existed, I would actually have a chance at being someone important or with enough power to make men cower just at my name being spoken. I'm allowed to dream; it's what I've been called most of my life, anyway. Perhaps it keeps me sane.

=============

The curtains haven't opened in weeks. It's a sweet, greying cover that blankets me from the outside. The only light in my room is the artificial shimmer of my computer screen. Chrisp coral packets of chips and noodle pots lay empty in disarrayed piles on my floor. The carpet was once a horrible shade of brown; now, I can't see it at all. A settled essence of old musty smells wafts around like curlicues of smoke off a cigarette and sends inglorious reminders of what I've eaten in the last few days.

Two weeks is how much holiday I've accrued, giving me ample time to acclimatise back into my shut-in lifestyle, equally preparing me for when I have to return to the death scenes of my office.

Resonation is one of the best things about my time off; the web novel was written by an unknown author with 0-views other than myself. Writr123 is a symphonious genius capable of creating a world that is perfect in my eyes. Having a main character as cunning and powerful as the cursed Ray won't belong to anything but a masterpiece. Even though I've been the sole reader for five years, Writr123 still takes the time to upload twice a week. It's always been a mystery as to why it doesn't get the recognition it deserves. I would share their work, but my only friends are long-distance family members I haven't spoken to since I left high school. They wouldn't even remember my face.

Feeling my eyelids becoming heavy, I felt like checking the chapter list one last time. They haven't uploaded today, so the refresh button has been a recent friend. The dulcet clicking of the mouse travelled on the screen, scrolling its way through pages of artistic and written work alike. As I saw the homepage of Resonation, an unexpected issue caught my eye. In bold red letters stretched out over their timeline, read:

PROLONGED HIATUS DUE TO CREATIVE DIFFERENCES

A bitter smile spread against my lips, only opening wide enough for a gasp. A tingling followed in my chest with anger that didn't know where to direct its fury. I felt like collapsing in on myself like a superfluous dying star, but I knew that this had to be a joke. It had to be.

I hit the refresh button. And again. And again.

Nothing new changed except those damning red letters demanding that I listen to its truth. More than a million questions were ribboning off my stress and bouncing inside my thoughts. Why? How? For one, it wasn't good enough.

It was immoral to be left alone with my thoughts for too long. My anger was soon directed to a private message straight to Writr123 themselves. My emotions will not go unnoticed.

Time seemed to move with haste as the light began to slide in through the gaps in the curtains, and the birds swooped in to tweet their morning greetings, but all I could hear was the furious typing of my fingers slapping against the keyboard. Then I sent it, a three-thousand-word essay detailing how much grief this has caused me and how I cannot live without it. Sad? Isn't it?

'They'll get a piece of my mind,' is what I thought. Perhaps even getting more. I felt myself grin with the gleam in my eye reflecting off the screen, blasting my confidence. My hands trembled as I ran them through my hair, greasy and long from the weeks of not showering. I awaited their reply and waited and waited.

I felt like my breath had been held for far too long in anticipation, but as I attempted to free it, my upper body violently jolted. My action lost its clarity, and instead, I clutched for my chest, which throbbed with a pain biting into the extremities of my insides. I gasped for the precious air that I needed, remembering the mustiness of the room and how good fresh air would've done me. One can only last so long without it, and my body slumped atop the desk with my surroundings serenading my vision with dappled stars of liquid-crystal haze.

I was dying?

Before surrendering myself to the gift of eternal sleep, my ears could faintly catch a riotous ping from the computer. I rolled my eyes upwards at my direct messages and interpreted through the fogginess: "Uploading now."

=======

I stirred with a whine, erupting with discomfort. My eyelids felt heavy and my body tender, as if fallen from a great height. But it was a different type of displeasure, like a membrane of numbness had surrounded me. I could twitch my hands and feet, and although my movements were limited, it meant that I wasn't incapacitated.

I peeled back my eyes after a minute of rest to discover that emptiness had engulfed my surroundings, followed by a dark ambience of pallid fog. I squinted, understanding at once that I wasn't within the comfort of my room but more like a crypt, unbeknownst to natural light ever unmasking its shroud.

Seemingly beneath me, I came to notice a waxy coating of stickiness. Upon further investigation, it appeared like candle wax, yet it was oozing and gyrating as if alive. The words it spoke were like the whisperings of the ocean, muttering gentle sloshes. For some odd mystical reason, my eyes had adjusted perfectly well to this sense-swallowing darkness and in enough time to watch as the lumps of wax started to engulf my body bit by bit.

I was awake then.

Struggling in its glutinous embrace, I writhed and pulled my head away to prevent the substance from reaching my nose and mouth. I knew if I did, I would be swallowed whole. The weight of the false ocean surrounded me from all angles, but I thrashed and yelled, giving the creature the fight it deserved. Rushes of warm liquid poured into my nose and mouth, winding through the gaps. I tried to clamp my jaw shut to stop the pain, but the substance was everywhere and burned as the friction clawed at my insides. My body jerked violently as an abnormal pressure, heavier than the wax, propelled me downwards.

I closed my eyes and embraced the force, reminding myself of thoughts that kept me sane until my body impacted something dense, numbing me to the pain of falling.

I blinked once or twice, but it felt like years for my eyes to fully open again. A strange thickness in my throat froze my words, only bubbling up to hurl out of my mouth. I coughed out splutters of wax and spit, causing my chest to enlighten and burn. I stayed on all fours for a while, wallowing in my own self-pity and impractical vomit. The blurs of hazy colours danced around in my vision, sarcastically reminding me that I was still alive.

I crawled to a solid surface and sunk myself against the rigidities, allowing my fingers to rub away a fresh headache. Denial was the first thing that came to my mind. I denied these events as real and that it was just a concocted dream of madness. As my shallow breaths wetted my lips, I soon knew that it was absolute despair causing my views, stuck on the truth. Then I remembered the truth. I died.

That realisation clung to my body like a gross second skin.

"Ah, so you do know," a gentle male voice manifested from the shadows surrounding me.

I jolted up, ignoring the fierce complaints from my stomach and legs.

"W-who's there?" I said, quivering my eyes on every dark surface.

The voice didn't reply.

"Who's there?" I repeated louder into the fog. "Tell me where I am!" My voice grew as my back sought the comfort of the wall. I sniffed back the tears responding to the dense hoarseness of my throat.

"Try to think," the entity replied. "Death can only lead to one place out of many. You're an intelligent being; that must mean something to him. Otherwise, you'd be sent to a far more insipid place."

I blinked, trying to clarify if what I was hearing was true. My head began to swerve again, creating a cold sweat to permeate across my skin.

"There isn't much time before your soul leaves your body," he said so matter-of-factly. "Enter the door, and you shall be reborn."

"What door?" I whispered under my breath, expecting a reply that only got caught in the fog.

As if in good faith, the smothering clouds were utterly whisked away as if opened up by a magical gust of wind. A path lay ahead of me, with white stone walls and heavy wooden doors. Empty flickers of candlelight lined the surface and guided my way.

My stomach clenched, and I carved my hand through my hair, unsure of the possibility that something might leap out at me through the doors. I felt like crying out in anguish as my eyes welled and my jaw tightened. But I knew, deep down, that it wouldn't achieve anything.

I walked, ignoring the doors to my sides and headed straight for the one that was most intricately designed. I felt that it might be the one that the being meant. As I approached, a sudden prolonged tune of dreary cries arose from inside.

The crying transformed into screaming as I opened the door, and the atmosphere rocked me, causing me to flinch. The whole room was stone where there weren't tapestries and carpets, all lit by a single, roaring fireplace. A large bed, with four posters and satin sheets, was at the far end opposite the hearth. Atop lay a woman on her back with her legs apart and blood gushing onto the sheets. Surrounding her were a group of women dressed in dust-coloured tunics and, to the side, a single male with what looked like a trolley of silver instruments.

"Push, my lady," one of the attendants said. "You must get this child out. The suffering you are feeling will not stop unless she's out."

The woman labouring tossed her head in a daze. I could see the sweat oozing out of her skin, her skin pale, and her eyes glazed. "I can't do it!" she moaned into the embrace of the pillow. "This child is a curse. The product of a demon. I don't want it!"

I furrowed my brows at her painful words and held my palm up to speak, but her deathly screams distracted me. I came to a swift conclusion that they couldn't see nor hear me as there were oblivious to my entrance. Looking towards the bed, I saw the sheets darken still and watched as the attendants grimaced and directed to the male, seeking advice.

Familiarity suddenly danced on the tip of my tongue, and the realisation of where I was and what was happening hit me. This is the opening panel of Resonation. I remember so clearly that Ray's mother was infected with a demonic entity and then forced to give birth to its offspring. Though why would I be watching this, of all things?

I knew this was going south fast, and although there wasn't anything I could do, I still felt like I could help. I went in closer to see if I could at least try to get their attention. Before I could move, I felt a stiffness in my bones that could be likened to fear. Without moving my eyes, I saw something dark manifest from the floor and rose beside me. The figure that emerged was cemented in nothing but black, except for eyes that were yellow and hollow.

I looked back to the birth scene but found the people to be frozen in time.

"You belong here, anomaly amongst men," it said, meeting my eyes. Its voice was male, deep and resonated within my bones. It seemed he was the same one speaking to me before.

My pupils widened as I became trapped within its vision. Prickled sparks shot up my neck, warning me that I should run. But there needed to be somewhere to run to. The creature stood and waited for my reply, indicating that it didn't show any hostility.

I thought for a second and looked at the ground. Millions of questions circled like vultures.

"Am I really dead?" I said, keeping my voice to a whisper and not looking back up.

"Does it matter?" he said. "You were unsatisfied in your life, so death must come as something welcoming, no?"

I looked back to the man draped in black with a frown. "Just because I was unsatisfied doesn't mean I wanted to die," I raised my tone. "Since you're not answering my question, I'll take it that I am dead. Are you meant to be death then?"

The creature lowered his eyes and looked off into the distance as if waiting for confirmation to reply.

"I'm just a messenger, who transports those deemed worthy of crossing over into another life," he finally answered, then outstretched his hand to the scene before us. "I can see into your most loved possession and create a world that so you can live in it." The entity then paused and rubbed his chin. "Typically, it's something like a family member or loved one, and the human becomes rebirthed into the life where they are loved. But you...you're different."

I didn't know whether to feel complimented or humiliated, but I could make this work.

"So, If I'm hearing you correctly, I am allowed to be rebirthed into Resonation?" I said.

"Precisely. Although, I have received a special recommendation from God himself that you are specifically to be reincarnated as this offspring right here."

A clatter of hypodermic needles echoed around me, rudely awakening me from the dissociation of frozen time. I watched as the dark figure walked over to where the woman lay. To kick my senses awake, I followed him. The broken sobs of Ray's mother shifted and became replaced with a quiet hum of gentle shushes. A calming infant rested in her hands.

"You will be born again into an offspring of chaos and destruction," the being said. "That's how the story goes, does it not?"

I understand now. God has given me another chance to live, but in something, I can relate to and probably master within minutes. I know the insides and outsides of Resonation as much as I know the back of my own hand.

I smiled. "That's how it goes. But, don't I have to do anything in return for this new life?" I asked.

"A war will start," he said. "You can choose sides, or make decisions, but it will always have retribution."

I watched as it held out its palm to the new mother and child. A string of black, intertwining light ejected from his palm, and he bathed the baby in its energy. I watched in silence but gasped as the baby's bright blonde hair started losing its colour and whitening as if ageing. He then directed his other palm to me.

"Welcome to Resonation," he said with a grin full of teeth.