"Oi, Geta, wake up, you lazy bastard! We got another demon on our hands!"
The loud voice cut through the peaceful morning air, jarring Geta awake from what had been an excellent dream involving a feast, a beautiful woman, and a giant, golden pig that was definitely talking for some reason.
Blinking blearily, he turned toward his best friend, Vigo, who was already halfway out the door, adjusting his ragged cloak as he grinned with excitement.
Another demon? Already?
"Wait, wait, hold on," Geta groaned, rubbing his temples as he forced himself upright.
"Didn't we just purify one three days ago? The one with the glowing eyes? I thought that was supposed to bring us good luck!"
Vigo snorted as he tightened his belt. "Luck? Hah! The only thing it brought was that freak rainstorm that ruined half the merchant goods!"
He slapped a thick palm against the wall for emphasis. "I told you, Geta, these bastards ain't omens, they're curses walking on two legs. You wanna know what's even worse?"
"Enlighten me," Geta grumbled, dragging his boots on.
"This is the third one this month!" Vigo threw his hands up, his voice laced with exasperation.
"Three! Do you know how many demons got caught last year? Six. That means in just this one month, we've already seen half of last year's numbers! It's like they're spawning out of thin air now!"
Geta let out a low whistle, scratching his stubble as he considered it. Vigo had a point.
Even in this godforsaken town, where weird stuff was practically a part of daily life, the sheer increase in demon appearances was starting to get alarming.
"You think they breed underground?" Geta asked as they hurried down the narrow, cobbled streets, following the unmistakable sounds of jeering and shouting.
Vigo shot him a horrified look. "Breed? Don't even joke about that! You think demons got moms? Pah! More likely they just crawl outta the sewers, or maybe some saint gone rogue vomits 'em up when the gods are looking the other way."
"That would explain the smell," Geta said sagely.
The two turned the last corner and finally caught sight of the town square, where a massive crowd had gathered around a locked iron carriage.
Inside, no doubt, was today's entertainment—the fresh demon.
"Come on," Vigo grinned, slapping Geta on the back. "Let's see what makes this one special before they purify his sorry ass."
Inside the iron carriage, bound in thick chains that rattled with every tiny movement, a young man stirred.
Silver hair cascaded over his face in silken strands, shimmering unnaturally under the morning light.
He was slender yet tall, his posture strangely elegant despite the cold iron pressing against his skin.
His beautiful, angular features were eerily perfect, his skin smooth like polished marble, and his long silver eyelashes flickered slightly as his eyes which were as unearthly and bright as molten mercury slowly opened.
The moment he did, he was greeted by the sight of hundreds of furious, disgusted faces.
"Demon!" someone spat.
"Purify him before he curses us!"
"The Saints demand purification!"
The man—no, the boy—blinked slowly, his mind sluggish as the echoes of death still clung to his thoughts.
The last thing he remembered was... failure. Absolute, undeniable failure.
His life's work, Project Chaos, had collapsed for the 1,233,321st time, sending him into a violent, fiery demise. Finally.
But now he was here.
In chains.
In a locked carriage.
And being screamed at by a horde of… medieval peasants?
Ren Kisaragi stared blankly at the mob, his brilliant silver eyes flickering with a dazed confusion. What the hell?
For a long moment, he simply sat there, unmoving, unreacting.
Then, instead of panicking, instead of struggling or shouting back at his captors, his lips moved on instinct.
And it was not to ask where he was, nor why he was in chains, but to do what his scientific mind was wired to do in moments of stress:
"Impossible," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
"The probability matrix should have stabilized after the 1,233,320th iteration. The density shift in Chaos Energy was properly contained, which means... no, no, unless—unless the chrono-temporal loop fluctuated mid-collapse! But that would imply that—"
"He's speaking in demonic tongues!" someone screamed from outside the carriage, looking absolutely terrified.
A stone was hurled at him, clanging uselessly against the iron bars. Ren ignored it entirely, his mind spiraling deeper into an entirely different crisis.
"Did I miscalculate the quantum harmonics?" he continued, furrowing his brows.
"No, I accounted for that. Then... was it the Zero-Point Fluctuation? No, no, I debugged that on the 892,455th iteration. But if—IF—the entropy destabilized due to external interference..."
His breathing quickened. His heartbeat raced. A realization struck him.
His fingers twitched and his beautiful silver eyes widened.
"Shit. I phased out again."
He sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of his surroundings for real this time.
Right. He was tied in chains.
Right. He was in a locked carriage.
Right. There were hundreds of angry medieval people screaming at him like he had personally eaten their livestock!
His brain rebooted, and for the first time since waking up, he reacted appropriately.
'WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!'
Outside, Vigo and Geta had managed to push to the front of the crowd, watching in fascination as the silver-haired boy finally registered his own situation.
"Well, well," Vigo mused, nudging Geta. "This one's real special, huh? You ever seen a demon who starts ranting in the demon tongue the moment he wakes up?"
Geta snorted. "Maybe he's a scholar-demon. You know, the cursed ones who stare at the stars too long and get their brains scrambled?"
"Nah," Vigo shook his head, grinning. "This one's got the look of someone real dangerous. You can just feel it. Demon or not, if I was a betting man, I'd say this one's gonna cause one hell of a mess before the day's over."
Geta sighed. "Well, as long as it doesn't bring us bad luck—"
Boom!
Dark clouds gathered in the sky above the town as terrifying bolts of lightning flashed within. The bright morning darkened drastically, turning even more ominous and threatening.
Silence.
Vigo and Geta exchanged glances.
"Yeah," Geta muttered, rubbing his temples. "This one's definitely bringing us bad luck."
As the terrifying lightning storm began to brew, the mob surrounding him went wild.
People screamed, some in rage, some in terror, and quite a few in sheer disgust as the silver-haired "demon" gazed at them, blinking like he had absolutely no clue what was going on—which, to be fair, he didn't.
His silver eyes darted from side to side, scanning the unfamiliar medieval-looking town square.
He saw the crude torches held high by the crowd, the twisted expressions on their faces, and the dozen heavily armored guards tightening their grips on their weapons as they prepared to charge at him.
The hostility in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife, yet Ren's brain was still too caught up on the impossible situation he had found himself in.
He was supposed to be dead!
He had died—violently and painfully when his Project Chaos once again collapsed into a cataclysmic failure, consuming him in its endless loop of trial and error.
But instead of the expected oblivion, instead of the comfortable, numbing nothingness that should have followed, he had woken up here, bound in chains and surrounded by furious medieval villagers calling for his execution!
And then, before his brilliant mind could even begin to analyze the absurdity of the situation, a searing pain shot through his skull like a bolt of lightning.
It felt like his entire brain was being set on fire. His vision blurred, his knees buckled, and his breath hitched as wave after wave of memories that were not his own flooded his consciousness.
Images, sounds, voices and emotions all crashed down on him like a raging tsunami.
He saw himself—or rather, the previous owner of this body, a young man named Silver.
He was loathed by the people, called a cursed one, a demon and a freak.
He had lived a life filled with fear, rejection, and inevitable doom, because no one born with glowing hair and eyes had ever managed to live past their 15th year.
Those who did were called demons and seen as bad omens and signs of heavens wrath.
And now, his 15th birthday had passed and Silver's fate had reached its final chapter.
He was to be taken to the Grand Temple, where he would be sacrificed to the Saints to "cleanse" the land of his existence!
The moment the flood of memories ended, Ren gasped, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon.
The pain faded, leaving behind a dull throbbing sensation in his skull, but he had no time to process emotions like a normal person.
Instead of freaking out, instead of screaming or begging or trying to fight, his brain immediately switched to analysis mode, breaking down the situation with the same ruthless efficiency that had once made him one of the most terrifying scientific minds in his world.
Fact 1: He had died in his original world, but instead of true death, his consciousness had transferred into the body of someone else.
This meant that whatever process had brought him here followed a specific system of transference, meaning there was a mechanism behind it, something that could be studied, measured, and potentially controlled.
Fact 2: The previous owner of this body—Silver—had been condemned as a sacrificial offering to the Saints.
However, this presented a logical problem. Why would a society that so deeply fears and despises people like Silver go through the trouble of an elaborate sacrifice?
If the goal was simply to kill him, wouldn't they have executed him publicly in the town square like they did with other criminals?
Fact 3: There were far too many variables suggesting that this was not a straightforward execution.
The presence of the heavily armored guards, the priests leading the ceremony, the strange symbols carved into the carriage that held him were very strange.
All of these indicated that there was something far more ritualistic, and possibly supernatural, about this sacrifice.
Conclusion?
They probably weren't going to kill him.
At least, not in a way that was permanent.
Still, just because he suspected he wouldn't die didn't mean he could just relax.
His new body was pathetically weak, just as weak as his last one and he could feel it in every sluggish movement, every dull ache in his muscles.
Even if he wanted to fight his way out of this, he wouldn't last three seconds against the trained guards keeping him under watch.
Which meant, for now, his best course of action was to observe, gather information, and figure out his next move once he knew exactly what kind of ritual this was.
The iron carriage jolted forward again, pulled by two black stallions as it rolled toward a smaller temple at the edge of the town.
The building was ancient, with cracked stone pillars covered in faded carvings, and an eerie silence surrounded it, as if the very air around it was stained with something unnatural.
The crowd followed, whispering prayers and curses under their breath as they watched the unholy one—him—be led to his final destination.
The Grand priest waiting for him at the temple's entrance was just as unsettling.
He was tall and gaunt, his face sunken and pale, and he wore a deep purple robe embroidered with golden symbols.
His eyes were a murky yellow, and his thin lips curved into a practiced, serpentine smile as he spread his arms dramatically.
"People of Saintholm," he called, his voice smooth but poisonous, like honey mixed with venom.
"We gather today to rid our land of the cursed one, the bringer of misfortune, the wretched soul who taints our sacred soil with his very existence. The Saints demand purity, and so purity we shall deliver!"
The crowd cheered, their voices feverish with devotion and bloodlust.
Ren, meanwhile, internally rolled his eyes.
'What a bunch of dramatic morons.'
The priest gestured for the guards to follow, leading them into the temple.
The air inside was cold, unnaturally so, and as they descended deeper into the stone corridors, the light from the torches flickered wildly, casting long, twisted shadows along the walls.
Ren's keen eyes didn't miss the strange symbols carved into the passage. He saw runes, wards and signs of old magic that he couldn't quite understand yet but definitely didn't trust.
What kind of world was this? What was going on in this world?
They stopped at a heavy iron door, which the priest opened with a rusted key. Behind it was a dark pit, no wider than a small room but quite deep, the ground beneath it covered in intricate ritual markings.
Without warning, the guards shoved Ren forward, sending him tumbling into the pit.
The door slammed shut above him, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing through the chamber.
Ren lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, his mind already racing through possible escape routes.
Conclusion?
Escape was impossible. At least, not in his current state.
His body was too weak, the pit was too deep, and the runes along the walls likely prevented interference from outside forces.
His best option was still to wait, observe, and adapt.
And then, a beam of light suddenly descended from above, piercing through the darkness like a divine spear.
The moment it touched him, his vision went white. His mind shut down.
And Ren Kisaragi, the genius scientist, the man who had become a demon, went unconscious once again.
———
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