"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 in coping with this certain reader.
Honestly, Alfir's way is inadvisable given that 1)it is unhealthy and 2)it is bad for business. Yet, Alfir continues on his way. Because it is a matter of principle.
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. Hmmm... In his case, he has too much for his own good.
It is not Alfir is a bad writer, he is just raised mean. Even the average mean aunties will pale in comparison to Alfir. He is just like that.
"What matters is that I enjoyed the process..." Alfir whispers to himself as he types words of gratitude to the readers who gave constructive comments and time to read his works. It immensely improves his writing skills. With Alfir's last chapter and post-author notes, he drinks 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.
Tapping his mouse, Alfir uninterestedly opens the mysterious email. To his lack of paranoia, it is something totally unexpected.
"Oh, it is a cute puppy with adorable eyes---" The humping little doggy is certainly a surprise, but not the 'next thing' that follows.
"Fuck!" Alfir cusses at the sudden blur that invades his screen.
The monitor screen glows blue, white, and green. The puppy with a guttural howl lunges piercing beyond the glassy screen that separates Alfir from the zeros and ones. The puppy is no more. In its place is a ferocious wolf the size of a fucking truck. Alfir is in an internet cafe at that time, and oh lord...it is quite the sight!
It happens too fast.
"Monster! RUn FoR YoUR lives!"
"Call DA SECurity!"
"HEEEEeeeelp!"
Black fur and white teeth. Its eyes gleams 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 by the name of Alfir.
...
In the void where all of the nothingness gathers, fiction and reality collide into a tangent. It is bizarre to its every word. The last thing Alfir remembers is that he is being chewed alive without feeling any 'physical' pain.
It was as if all of the physical damage doesn't exist at all, but is instead suppressed.
Alfir wakes up in an unfamiliar place. It is dark, cramped, and gloomy. He receives memories foreign to what he remembers. It is the memories of a commoner working for the evil organization, Zentury.
'I just know it...'
Alfir feels his weak limbs. It is painful, torn, and bloody. Because of the flailing, the Cleaner notices his struggle.
With a white cap, a clean face, and an amiable smile, Alfir glimpses the everyday guard of Zentury. Cleaners are minions only found inside Zentury facilities. The cleaner who finds Alfir crouches. Inspecting the unrecognizable charred flesh, the Cleaner releases an annoyed sigh.
"Oh boy, there is still someone alive. Damn, those low-level minions. Didn't they make sure to double-check? Now, I have to recheck everything here in the slaughterhouse." The Cleaner complains while scratching the back of his head.
The slaughterhouse, as Zentury calls it, is the resting place of the countless mobs who sacrifice themselves for the organization. It is a meat blender used to extract various important ingredients in alchemy, artifice, and experimentation.
'Of all places to wake up, it just has to be here... I am in big trouble.'
Alfir is intimately familiar with this world given that he created it. It is his sole unpublished work, an original, which Alfir dedicates his whole youth~ Mutagenic Medieval.
The foreign memories inside Alfir's head intermingle with what he knows of the novel. Gladly immersing himself in these memories, Alfir imagines himself to be some kind of protagonist. As a transmigrator, he must be one, right?
Alas, as a mediocre character since birth, Alfir is sane enough not to entertain such thoughts. Protagonist? Hero? He is not naive enough to take those titles lightly.
Alfir tries to call for help, only to hear his own dying groans. "A-a-aa-a..." With all his might, Alfir resists the foreign memories invading his head trying to forcefully alter his identity, and maybe... perhaps his personality.
Because of this, his memories suddenly become blurred and a little vague. Confounded by foreign memories that don't seem to belong to him, Alfir goes into shock. He convulses while white froth escapes his mouth.
The Cleaner, a miscellaneous position in the organization that is responsible for the different facilities, watches the bloody and charred mess that is Alfir.
"Don't worry, young man. I hear you, so let me help you."
All Alfir can hear are vague words that seem to elude his ears. After that, he embraces slumber into its very depth where silence and peace claim him.
...
"Flames scatter everywhere. The world burns with the fury of the devil's irresistible flames. What is happening? Where am I?!" His voice remains unheard from the realm of nightmares... until finally, he wakes up.
Alfir is jolted awake by his own perspiration. The scorching sensation as if he is drowning in a sea of flames is both a memorable and horrendous memory he desires to never revisit again. It is a very unrelatable nightmare, yet he knows just how real it is.
Minion#12193? Slowly, memories of a nameless young man starts to flow in synchrony with Alfir's tired mind. At first, there is some discomfort, but after some breathing exercises, Alfir is able to find his reason.
It is unbelievable, but Alfir can only think of one reason why this is happening to him. "TRANSMIGRATION! OH HOLLY MOLLY!" He inwardly screams, and a small yelp leak from his mouth.
His palm over his lips, his mind wanders aimlessly.
Alfir tries to make sense of his jumbled memories, and it looks like there is only bad news for him one after another. A vague memory of Minion#12193's death flashes in his mind. There are flames and death!
Standing in the middle of a burning city, a man wreathed in flames wreaks havoc... as if a demon only desiring wanton destruction.
It is Flamecore, a figure that Alfir... no... that Minion#12193 knows quite well.
Alfir's head is hurting thanks to that particular memory that causes Minion#12193's demise. It looks like peeking at his own body's, MInion#12193's, past will be proven difficult for the current Alfir.
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 a recovery.
"I am so lucky, Zentury has very good insurance policies." Alfir jokingly comments, appreciative of the silver lining in the midst of his suffering.
Overhearing his words is the cleaner who just arrived.
"Yes, they sure do. This is why even with the high death rates, we never lack willing minions. It took me a decade of minion service before I was 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.
Alfir scratches his head, still confused about what is happening. "Hehehe, Flamecore got my team. I guess I am the only survivor." His joking tone comes naturally. Totally unaware of how much out of place he actually is… in his choice of words, subtle gestures, and even the fluidity of how much he is adapting within the hospital's unfamiliar walls--- Alfir seems to be way past already of his denial.
For someone who just has a brush with death, he seems too carefree.
However, the kind Cleaner doesn't mind it as he shows Alfir his most amiable smile.
The only thing Alfir is sure of is that Minion#12193 is on a mission when… Minion#12193 died himself.
After that, Alfir finds himself in Minion#12193's body.
"Now that is nasty. He is a top hero sought by multiple nations for his abilities..." The Cleaner's remark is accurate. It is indeed a nasty experience for Alfir as he tries to avoid that particular nightmarish memory.
"Sheesh, that's bad luck. It is a good talk, but I still have a job to do, so I have to go. See you." The friendly Cleaner bids his farewell as he walks off, and gives space to the recovering Alfir.
As the cleaner only comes to check on him, his leave seems logical. Alfir doesn't know why but a growing paranoia is amassing itself in the back of his mind.
"Thanks for the visit..." Alfir weakly says, relieved that the stranger is gone. Alfir wants time for himself, to make sense of what is happening to him.
Alfir waves his hand to bid his farewell to the cleaner who saved his life.
Time passes, as Alfir continues with his idle recovery. Slowly, he is able to fix the dissonance he is feeling from Minion#12193's memories. The last thing that Alfir wants is to suddenly gain a split personality.
It has been a month since Alfir came to this world, and he is 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 from having the time of his life. This is too perfect! In a world where he knows the future, Alfir thinks 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 thinks of these words as his own thoughts as a vague shadow of doubt slithers into his mind. "Wait… Isn't living an easy life my priority right now?"
However, the moment Alfir thinks that there is something wrong with his train of thought, a surge of calmness invades his mind. It suppresses both his doubt and reasoning leaving him in a trance.
"What? What am I thinking again? Oh, world domination, right? The harem route sounds fun but meh… It'll come to that naturally if I am to own this world..."
The world of Mutagenic Medieval is an alternate reality where the mutant-kind thrives during the medieval age as they become the messiahs that shape the world according to their will. This gives 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 tells me that he's discovered the secret to transmigration. The next day, he is gone.
Not dead-gone, but just gone.
Guess what? At some point in time and space, fiction and facts somehow miraculously intersect. Now I, am also whisked away to a different universe, one that I am writing about. I cannot 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 is that between my ambition to take over the world I created and the transmigration process, my mind somehow has become corrupted with lunacy.