The air hummed with a low, mechanical whir as Damien Korr stared at the translucent blue capsule pinched between his fingers. Its surface glinted with the promise of revolution—humanity's next step toward perfection. Inside the capsule, a microchip no larger than a grain of rice shimmered faintly, embedded in a viscous, bioluminescent gel.
"The pinnacle of human evolution," Damien murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the sterile buzz of his lab. His lips curved into a thin, humorless smile. "And they chose me as their guinea pig."
The laboratory was immaculate, a gleaming testament to the world's technological zenith. Monitors displayed streams of data in alien green and white text. Robotic arms danced gracefully in the background, calibrating machines far beyond the comprehension of most of the population. Damien stood in the center of it all, a man of middling height with sharp, calculating eyes and the wiry build of someone who worked too much and slept too little.
"Final checklist," said an emotionless female voice. The lab's central AI, Athena, manifested as a holographic projection beside him. Her face was a perfect oval, her expression neutral.
Damien nodded. "Proceed."
"BioChip 2.0 installation readiness: green
Nanite dispersal system: optimal
Vital monitoring systems: Online
Risk of mortality: 0.02%
Proceed with ingestion?"
He hesitated for the briefest of moments. Damien wasn't a fool; he knew what that "0.02%" represented. Yet, as someone who had spent years toiling in the shadow of corporate giants, he also knew there was no progress without risk.
"Proceed."
Athena tilted her head in what might have been a facsimile of curiosity. "Acknowledged. Good luck, Dr. Korr."
Without ceremony, Damien tipped his head back and swallowed the capsule. For a moment, nothing happened. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and leaned against the polished steel counter, watching the monitors for any signs of abnormality.
Then it hit.
A searing heat erupted in his chest, sharp and violent like a blade tearing through flesh. Damien gasped, clutching his ribs as his vision blurred.
"Athena... report—"
His words devolved into a strangled cry as pain lanced through his skull. It was as though his brain were being rewritten line by line, overwriting memories, thoughts, and sensations. Monitors blared with warnings, a cacophony of error codes flashing red.
"WARNING: SYSTEM FAILURE. BIOLOGICAL OVERLOAD DETECTED."
Damien collapsed to the floor, his breathing shallow and ragged. The edges of his vision darkened as Athena's voice faded into static.
"Damien Korr... biological... termination imminent."
The last thing he saw was the glint of the BioChip's luminescent gel, a cold beacon in the darkness.
And then he died.
...
When Damien opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the smell. It wasn't the sterile scent of disinfectant and steel he was used to. No, this was damp earth, tinged with the faint aroma of rotting wood and mildew. The air was humid, clinging to his skin like a second layer.
He blinked, disoriented, staring up at a wooden ceiling crisscrossed with beams. Flickering candlelight cast shadows that danced like specters. The sound of crackling fire reached his ears, accompanied by a low murmur of voices.
"Where...?" His voice was hoarse, the single word scraping painfully against his throat. He tried to sit up but groaned as his body protested.
"Easy there, lad," said a gruff voice. A middle-aged man in a rough woolen tunic appeared beside him, carrying a wooden tray with a steaming bowl of broth. His face was weathered, his beard streaked with gray. "You've been through quite the ordeal."
Damien frowned. Lad? He looked down at his hands—thin, pale, and trembling slightly. They weren't his. Panic began to bubble in his chest, but before he could question further, the man placed the bowl in his lap.
"Eat," the man said. "You'll need your strength if you're to explain why you were found half-dead near the Crimson Fen."
The Crimson Fen? The name meant nothing to him. Damien hesitated, then brought the bowl to his lips, sipping cautiously. The broth was bland but warm, soothing the knot in his stomach.
His mind raced. This wasn't his lab. This wasn't his body. And yet, he was alive—or something close to it.
As he ate, memories that weren't his own began to surface, trickling into his consciousness like water through a cracked dam. The name Ellias Thorne came unbidden to his mind, along with fragmented images: a towering spire of red stone, a stern-faced man in crimson robes, and the hum of arcane energy.
The man beside him cleared his throat, pulling Damien—or Ellias, as he now understood—back to the present. "You'll have to speak to the Master Mage once you're well enough. You're fortunate he allowed you to remain here at all, given the circumstances."
"Master Mage?" Damien asked, his voice still rasping.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already. You're an initiate under the Scarlet Tower, are you not?"
Damien didn't respond. He couldn't. His mind was too preoccupied with a far more pressing issue: the BioChip. Was it still with him? And if so, how?
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. There was a faint hum at the edge of his awareness, a rhythm that felt distinctly foreign yet strangely familiar. He latched onto it, willing the BioChip to activate.
"Welcome, Dr. Korr," said a voice in his mind. It was Athena's, but colder, stripped of its former humanity. "BioChip 2.0 integration complete. Analyzing host environment..."
The voice paused, then continued. "Warning: Host body exhibits anomalous energy signatures
Unknown power source detected
Adjusting parameters for compatibility."
Damien—or Ellias—gritted his teeth as a wave of nausea swept over him. The chip's presence was both a relief and a burden. It was his only connection to his former life, yet it also tethered him to a body and a world he didn't understand.
"Status report," he thought, hoping the chip could provide answers.
"Host body age: 15 years
Name: Ellias Thorne
Occupation: Initiate Mage under the Scarlet Tower
Magic affinity: Unknown
Mana reserves: Low
Note: Host body is malnourished and injured."
Magic. Mana. Words that belonged to the realm of fantasy now described his reality. Damien took a shaky breath, forcing himself to process the implications. If he was to survive in this world, he needed information—and fast.
...
The Scarlet Tower loomed above the swamp like a crimson dagger plunged into the earth. Its spires pierced the mist, radiating an aura of raw, untamed power. Ellias—no, Damien—stood at its base, his legs trembling with a combination of exhaustion and unease.
The man who had nursed him back to health—Garro, he'd learned—had escorted him here with little explanation. "The Master Mage will decide what to do with you," Garro had said before leaving him at the tower's gates.
Damien's heart pounded as he stepped inside. The air was thick with magic, an invisible force that pressed against his skin like static electricity. The walls were lined with glowing runes, their shapes shifting and writhing as though alive.
"Ellias Thorne," a voice boomed. It was deep and commanding, filled with an authority that brooked no defiance. Damien turned to see a man descending a spiral staircase, his crimson robes flowing behind him like blood. His face was angular, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"You have returned," the man said, his tone neutral. "Barely alive, I see."
Damien swallowed hard. This, he realized, was the Master Mage—Arcelion, if his stolen memories were correct. He bowed awkwardly, mimicking what he'd seen in Ellias's fragmented recollections.
"Master," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I apologize for my... failure."
Arcelion's eyes narrowed. "Failure? No, Ellias. Your survival is proof of your potential. Few initiates would have lasted a day in the Crimson Fen, let alone returned alive."
The Master Mage's gaze lingered on Damien, as though he were peeling back layers to reveal the truth beneath. "However," Arcelion continued, "you are not as you were. Something has changed."
Damien's blood ran cold. Could Arcelion sense the BioChip? Did he know?
"We shall see if this change is a boon or a curse," the Master Mage said. "For now, you will rest. Tomorrow, your training resumes."
Damien nodded, his mind racing. He had survived death, inherited a new body, and entered a world ruled by magic.