I lazily pop another piece of fruit into my mouth, scrolling through my phone as I lounge comfortably on the ridiculously soft couch in my ridiculously large room. Truly, life is good.
I watch as Emmaline walks into the venue on the livestream, all poise and perfection, moving like she owns the entire event. Hell, owns the whole damn fortress. Not a single trace of the person who had been dramatically whining and resisting just hours ago while getting ready.
I smirk. If only these people knew the true Emmaline Morne—the woman who threw a fit over wearing heels for more than three hours, who would absolutely murder someone for making her corset too tight, who claimed she hated these events but somehow always ended up being the center of attention.
As expected, the comments on the livestream are losing their minds over her entrance.
> "She's so elegant, she looks like royalty."
"That dress!! I need it!!"
"No wonder she's rich, look at those accessories."
Then, of course, there's always that one person who just has to ruin the vibe.
> "She's just a spoiled brat living off her daddy's money. Elysia is so much better, Evan dodged a bullet."
Oh, hell no.
I sit up instantly, narrowing my eyes. Not on my watch.
Fingers flying over the screen, I enter battle mode.
> "Buddy, you're acting like your entire net worth isn't lower than the price of a single thread on her dress"
> "You think Evan dodged a bullet? No, sweetie. Emmaline was the one who tossed the gun away and left to go sip expensive wine while Evan cried in the corner."
> "You're talking a lot for someone whose fashion sense is limited to 'free promotional hoodie from a mana drink brand.'"
It starts as a simple callout, but before I know it, I'm knee-deep in a 1 vs. 10 battle against a horde of trolls.
They're relentless, but so am I.
> "What do you even do for a living?" someone comments.
I grin, cracking my knuckles.
> "Oh, you know. Just chilling in a Sector A mansion while I suck on your mother's tits."
BOOM. Fatality. Comment section obliterated. Well there's a massive flow of comments attacking me, I snicker.
I lean back triumphantly, about to reward myself with another grape, when—
A shift in the air.
A sudden pull, like reality just yanked me by the collar.
A glow forms beneath me, and my stomach drops as realization slams into me like a truck.
Daelan actually activated the teleportation scroll?!
"OH, YOU IDIOT—" I barely manage to grab my weapon and my Sector A ID before a blinding light engulfs me, the entire room vanishing in a flash.
And suddenly—
I'm not lounging anymore.
I'm not in my comfortable, expensive, absolutely safe room.
I blink, adjusting to the sudden change in lighting, only to realize—
I'm standing in the middle of absolute blood-soaked chaos.
Daelan, covered in gore, breathing heavily, eyes glowing with something uncomfortably powerful, stands amid a battlefield of slaughtered orcs.
Kirelle looks like she's on the verge of either passing out or setting the whole place on fire.
Korin is unconscious on the ground, barely breathing.
And me? I'm standing there, in my loungewear, holding a half-eaten grape.
"…What the fuck did I just walk into?"
I pop the rest of the grape into my mouth, chewing slowly as I take in the absolute disaster that surrounds me. Blood. Corpses. The smell of burnt flesh and steel. Yep. This is definitely not Sector A.
Lucky for me, my phone was still in my pocket. Small blessings.
With a sigh, I roll my shoulders, casually flipping my dagger between my fingers as I stroll forward. The ground squelches beneath my slippers, a reminder that this was a fresh massacre. The eerie silence of the battlefield is only broken by the distant crackle of Kirelle's dying flames and the low groans of injured orcs who clearly didn't get the memo that they should be dead already.
I spot Daelan standing among the carnage, looking about two seconds away from either collapsing or deciding to kill everything left breathing. His violet eyes are glowing faintly, a sure sign he's still riding whatever insane blood-fueled power high just got him through this mess.
Great.
I casually step over an orc's severed arm (gross), walk right up to Daelan, and poke him.
"Still alive?" I ask, tilting my head.
He grunts.
That's it. A grunt. No thank you for coming to save my dumbass, no oh hey Viper, so great to see you, just a goddamn grunt.
I stare at him.
He dragged me out of my peaceful, luxurious, drama-free (sort of) life straight into a murder scene, and he grunts?
Oh, hell no.
If Emmaline wasn't so obsessed with this broody bastard for some ungodly reason, I swear—
"Wow. So rude," I mutter, flipping my dagger. "Remind me again why I don't let you just bleed out?"
Daelan finally looks at me, and yeah, he looks half-dead. Serves him right.
"Because I activated the teleportation scroll," he rasps, voice rough from exhaustion.
I squint at him. "Oh yeah. That." I gesture to the absolute horror show around us. "So, what exactly possessed you to do that, hmm? Thought I might be bored in my big, comfy, expensive-ass room?"
He exhales sharply, but I can tell he's too drained to argue with me.
"Had no choice," he mutters.
I cross my arms, unimpressed. "See, I feel like that's a lie, because from where I'm standing, it looks like you already killed everything."
He doesn't respond, just sways slightly on his feet. I raise an eyebrow.