All properties belong to their respective owners.
This work of fiction was made for the express purpose of mimicking a story I've already seen, but has since ended (at least I think.)
Sorry for the mistakes with lore and grammer and story.
Please enjoy!
~ o0o ~
Embryo 0.1
~ o0o ~
He woke up with a splitting headache, and an aching body.
'Fuuuuuuuck,' rubbing at his head, he sat up from the hard ground, groaning, 'what the fuck happened?'
The last thing he remembered was being dragged to a bar by his friends, before everything began to blur. Now, here he was, in some alleyway that stunk like shit.
'Did they get me drunk?' he wondered, grabbing for his phone.
He found nothing in his pocket, or rather, there wasn't a pocket to look through.
'The fuck?' he stared down at his pants, only for his eyes to widen, 'what the fuck?!'
He was wearing a dress, a dress of brown cloths and shit, but it was still a dress. It went down to the fucking floor!
'Did they fucking cross-dress me?!' more shocked than angry, he shot up to his feet, glaring at his clothes. A thought suddenly crossed his mind, and he pulled up the dress to check his feet.
'Did they at least give me shoe-?!'
He froze.
Where there should've been the legs of an adult man, were instead dainty, pale legs that were hairless and smooth.
'…the fuck?' he reached down a hand, only to recoil when that hand was just like his new feet; dainty and pale, 'WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!'
Stumbling back, his foot got caught on something, and he fell on his ass.
"Fuck!" he shouted, only to freeze at the sound of his voice, "w-what the fuck?!"
He sounded like a…like a…
Frantically, he searched for something with a reflection, and found a pond further into the alley.
Leaning over the pond, he could feel his heart stop at what he saw.
'No...it can't be.'
No longer did an adult man stare back in his reflection, now there was only a red headed little boy.
He paused.
'Wait, am I a boy?'
He shoved a hand to his nether regions.
'I'M NOT EVEN A BOY!'
The now little girl was in shock, his mind roiling with the impossibility of it all.
As the minutes passed, he could only think of one thing to say.
"Fuck."
~ o0o ~
Isekai.
Sitting against the wall of the alleyway, Michael's mind could only think of that as the reason for his unwanted sex change.
He'd tried to reason it out, tried to find the 'why' and 'how.' However, he'd stopped himself before he could get too into it.
He was here, and nothing else could be done. Better to keep moving forward then to be stuck figuring out the reasons for everything.
So, first order of business: Where was he?
'Probably some medieval planet,' the smell of shit and piss had been a good indicator, as well as the lack of any form of modern architecture or technology, 'probably has magic to, considering that fuck off big red castle over there.'
His jaw had dropped when he'd seen the marvel of engineering in the distance. It had dropped even further when he confirmed that it was bigger than some skyscrapers he remembered.
The only answer was magic, unless they were actually that skilled in architecture and construction.
'No, they couldn't have built that by conventional means,' he shook his head at the thought, and instead focused on the city.
Though he hadn't seen all of the city, the size of the castle, and the smell of salt that only a port city could have, were good indicators of this city being important. Add to that the possibility the giant crimson castle on the hill was for royalty, and it's importance grew.
'So a political cesspool in the medieval age, with magic…' he thought, 'what else?'
Well, from what he'd seen, this place suffered the same problems any medieval age did; a lack of accessible knowledge.
Which led into the second order of business; survival.
If he was his normal self, he could've tried to introduce the printing press to this places wise men. Be hailed as an inventor, and live in the lap of luxury as people came from across the land to use his device.
Failing that, he was still a full grown man from an age where vitamin deficiency and malnutrition could be solved with a quick trip to the store. Add to that his rather large gut, and he could likely survive on water and scraps of meat for a long while.
As he was now though…
'I'll probably starve in a week, and no one will take an idea made by a child seriously,' he grimaced as his options began to dwindle.
'At least I can speak the language,' small mercies there.
So, with both his location and means of survival still relative unknowns, he thought of only one thing that he could do.
~ o0o ~
"Hey mister, got any work?"
"Fuck off brat."
"Hey miss, need an-"
"Dearie, I have enough trouble with my own brats. Don't need another."
"Hey miss, you nee-"
"Child, you're far too young for our kind of work."
He recoiled, his mind finally figuring why a woman in a loose fitting robe would just be lazing around outside some building, "I…I'm sorry, I didn't kno-"
"Of course you didn't," the woman smiled, "now run along, child. Come back in a few more years, and then we'll see."
Quickly, he scurried off into an alley.
'Of-fucking-course I don't notice a brothel,' as he went deeper into the alley, his frustration began to build, 'you'd expect a fuckin virgin to not know what a sex-shop looks like.'
Of course, under his frustration was a knot of worry.
Through the whole day, he'd asked each and every person he could if they had a job. Merchants, bakers, fisherman, he'd even looked for street urchins who he could join.
Turns out even orphans don't want an orphan.
'I'm so fucked.'
*Grumble*
"Dammit," he clutched at his stomach, "fucking…dammit!"
He punched the alleyway wall.
"Ow."
He dropped to the ground, cradling his hand.
'Dammit,' he held his hands close.
He felt tears gathering in his eyes.
Weak.
Alone.
Hopeless.
'I don't know what to do.'
He curled into a ball, before passing out.
~ o0o ~
Groggily, he opened his eyes…
"Ah, waking up are we?"
…and immediately panicked when he felt his wrists were bound.
"No, don't struggle," the man who'd spoken raised his hands in placating gesture, "you'll hurt your wrists."
That made him struggle harder.
"DNVH FHVHIN CHMH NHER MHE!" he tried to shout, only for it to be muffled by a cloth gag in his mouth, "FHVING PSYVHO!"
"I said don't move!" they grabbed him by the head, their hand large enough to cover his face, "you don't move, and I won't do something awful to ya, yes?"
Michael froze.
"That's a good lass," they removed their hand, Michael watching them with wide eyes, "now, stay put like a good little girl, and maybe I'll make it quick."
'Quick?' then the psycho backed away, and he could get a look at where he was.
His stomach dropped.
Hung up by hooks in the ceiling, above buckets of meat and blood, were corpses.
Human corpses.
'Nonononono,' his struggling returned in full force.
"Oi!" a cleaver slammed into spot near his head, the sound of stone and steel ringing in his ears, "what the fuck did I say about struggling?!"
"FHVH YHO!" he shouted, the cleaver only briefly stopping his struggles.
If we was going to die either way, he might as well die trying to escape.
"Fine, die slowly!"
They raised the cleaver, bringing it down with a fury.
'Shitshitshitshitshit!'
For a moment, the world went still as he saw his demise.
Not a day on this world, and he was already murdered by a psychopath?
'How fuckin original,' he thought, staring at the blade, 'what a fuckin joke.'
What rage he had slowly faded into despair, his eyes reflecting in the steel.
'Fuck, I really was fucked from the beginning, wasn't I?'
It was a sobering thought, that no matter what he did, he was doomed. Whether it was from this lunatic or some other madness, he was likely to only ever reach some worthless standard in this life.
'At least I didn't die doing something stupid.'
He closed his eyes, letting the blade strike…
…
…
…
…?" he cracked an eye open, and stared at the blade.
"Uh…buhhy?" he asked the man, his form frozen, "yho ghonna murhder mhe ohr what?"
He was answered with silence.
He blinked at the man, before looking around the room.
'What the fuck?' hesitantly, he tried to move from his bindings. He was disappointed to find himself still bound.
'Damn' he thought, looking up at the ceiling, 'wish I could get out o-!?'
There wasn't a ceiling.
Instead, was a collection of images and paragraphs, each sectioned off into rectangular 'pages.'
Even stranger, was that he recognized these pages.
'Is this the fucking Traitor CYOA?' he thought, genuinely concerned for his sanity, 'oh God, it is. Fuck, is this some weird parody of the whole life flashing thing because I played CYOAs too much?'
Further inspection of the ceiling CYOA revealed that what he looked at reacted to him like a video game, giving him the option to pay for things, and that he already had points to spend.
'Fuck it, why not?' he had nothing better to do, though that could just be his insanity talking.
Doing a quick mental review of what he remembered of Traitor, he remembered it had two forms of currency, and functioned off of a "choose things, get points" system. First was "basic" tokens that were used for Basic Powers. Then were the "advanced" tokens, for (you guessed it!) the Advanced Powers. Splitting them further, there were three colors of power; red, blue, and green. Red being bodily powers, blue being magic powers, and green being everything else, or more morally dubious powers like Necromancy and Poisons.
From what he could see, he only had access to the power sections, and had 7 basic red, 4 basic blue, and 3 basic green, as well as two free Basic Blue Powers.
'Not a lot of points, but you don't need a lot to be powerful in this.'
And so, in a frozen space of time, he unwittingly chose his path to power.
~ o0o ~
As time resumed, he expected nothing to happen.
He'd had his very strange bit of cyoa fun, spent about an hour just staring into nothing, and waited for his death.
The blade would fall, he'd experience excruciating pain, and then it was done.
'Maybe my next life won't be so shit?'
The blade flashed, and he clenched his eyes shut.
*Clang!*
He felt the blade strike his skin, only for it to bounce off.
'The fuck?' did they just smack him with the cleaver's dull blade?
He cracked an eye open, and saw…'what the actual fuck?'
Both Michael and the psycho stared at the cleaver in shock, and at the massive dent in the blade.
"W-Wha," the psycho muttered, touching the cleaver, "b-but…why…"
As the psychopath tried to make sense of what happened, Michael realized the answer.
'Leaden Constitution,' a Basic Red Power that cost 1 point, and made you durable enough to withstand a point blank explosion, 'if I have that, then…'
Hesitantly, he flexed his arm muscles, pulling on his restraints.
*Snap!*
The psycho looked away from his cleaver, and saw Michael now free and on his feet, pulling out his cloth gag.
"Oh," Michael said, grinning, "you are fucked."
The psycho grunted, "Just cause your free don't mea-"
That was all he managed to say.
In a burst of motion, Michael launched himself from the spot he'd been tied down, one arm wide for a messy, novice punch.
The psycho had a brief moment where his eyes widened, before the fist made contact.
*Spla-Crunch!*
Their head was viciously torn off, and flew across the room, smashing into a wall in a bloody mess.
"Oh shit!" he backed away as the now headless body fell onto the ground, pouring out blood, "oh fuck, that is…"
He'd only meant to knock the guy out.
'Well…uh…no use crying over spilled milk?' he thought, moving around the growing puddle of blood from the body, 'or, well, blood in this case?'
Moving closer to the mass of meat that had once been a head, he found the exit to this place, hidden from his view by the…corpses.
Staring at the bodies, he couldn't help but feel both sadness and rage.
Sadness that they had died, and rage that this fucker was able to kill so many.
'I'm sorry,' he thought, leaving the room.
They exited the room into a small, Spartan abode. Only a bed, an open chest with some clothes, and a small table and chair. Across the room was a single door.
Going up and peeking through the door, he looked into…a kitchen?
'What?' indeed, what he saw was a kitchen, and a surprisingly active one at that.
Two men were cooking at a few large pots, stirring a chunky stew of meat, carrots, and some vegetables.
Realization dawned on him when he saw the meat.
'Fucking cannibals,' he opened the door, drawing the attention of the two cooks.
One of them, a fat man, scowled at him, "Who-?!"
"FUCKERS!"
Like lightning, he blurred forwards and struck the fat one in the stomach, his fists sinking deep into their gut.
They dropped to the ground and threw up.
The other cook was frozen when he got hit, Michael's fist sinking just as deep as it had for the fat one.
He joined his buddy on the floor, puking his insides out.
'I should kill them,' he thought, his fists clenching, 'I should…but…'
He stared at the door across the room, and bolted.
~ o0o ~
'Well,' he thought, crouched over the edge of a building, 'things just got a helluva lot more interesting.'
With just a few points, he was likely the strongest creature on this planet.
Titanic Strength, Feline Speed, Leaden Constitution, and Fast Healing made him the strongest, fastest, most durable, and the fastest recovering thing in the world. While he wasn't sure how he'd fair against this world's magic, he was sure having skills in Pyro, Hydro, and Golemancy would be useful, as well as being able to make weapons out of magic, and regenerate his Mana quickly.
However, out of all of these skills, what he'd used with his green points was perhaps the most important.
'Gunsmith and Ammunition Cast,' the ability to create firearms, and how to make special, magic bullets inlaid with spells.
In his mind was the means of revolution, to upheave the social hierarchy, and bring about an age unlike anything this world had ever seen.
The thought almost made him laugh.
"Revolution, right," he chuckled, hopping off the edge and onto another building's roof, "like I'm gonna start a Reign of Terror."
No, if he was ever making guns, they would only be for him.
Which lead him to his new conundrum; what now?
With Leaden Constitution, he could go weeks without food, and with Titanic Strength and Feline Speed he could hunt anything down. Cooking could be done with Pyromancy, and he could use Hydromancy to draw water out from the ground and plantlife Avatar-style.
He was pretty much set for life, or at least, set to survive.
'Although,' his mind wandered to how lacking in luxuries that lifestyle would bring, and the commodities only civilization could have.
Books, spices, and soft things came to mind, as well as the simple comfort of hearing the hum of a bustling city.
Plus, if he could get more points in the future, he'd need raw materials for the more advanced stuff.
However, before he could do anything, he would need money.
And what better way to get money in the medieval age then from violence?
'But where to go?' while it wasn't smart to go off architecture to judge an era, it seemed like this was an age where blood sport like arena fighting wasn't exactly popular, if not frowned upon. Which meant instead of arenas, there would be tournaments. Or duels. Could he challenge someone to a duel?
A small amount of questions with an even smaller amount of answers.
'Maybe you should ask all those natives down there?'
"Good idea brain," and with that, he jumped down, intent on finding answers.
~ o0o ~
Tourneys they were called, and they were his best bet at getting rich.
A place where he could not only display his strength for profit, but do it by pummeling the greatest knights of this land?
'The fact I'm a little girl won't mean shit if I can put grown men to the ground,' he smiled at the thought, only to frown when he remembered his predicament.
There hadn't been a tourney in King's Landing for 40 years.
"Fuck," he muttered.
"Hah!" the man he had asked barked, an older man who was currently on break from his work, "don't worry your head little lady, I'm sure a tourney will be here next year, perhaps on the Prince's nameday? Still summer after all."
'What does that even mean?' he shook his head, before nodding at the old man, "thanks mister."
"Tis nothing, you remind me of my daughter is all," they patted his head, making him flinch, "now off with you, go on."
Nodding, Michael ran off, altering his plan.
The old man had been kind enough to list off what holds were hosting tourney's, with the most notable being the Tourney of Blackhaven. Apparently, some guy called the Prince of Dragonflies was attending. A Prince who had given up his chance at being King to follow his love, a commoner named Jenny.
'Doesn't even sound like a real story, at least for the time it's in,' though the brief rebellion that came after helped make it more believable.
So, he needed to get to Blackhaven, a hold down south, past a massive forests, rivers, and territory rife with bandits?
'Sounds doable.'
And so, he headed towards the city walls, the sun beginning to set.
~ o0o ~
"Oi."
Cullen glanced at his fellow Goldcloak, Dan, raising an eyebrow, "Yeah?"
"You heard about that soup shop in Flea Bottom? The one that served the bowls of brown?"
Cullen nodded.
"Heard the cooks were found dead," his fellow Goldcloak said, "and that they were serving human meat!"
"Really?" Cullen asked, and made a noise of disgust when Dan nodded, "fucking Flea Bottom. Place makes the worst of smallfolk. Need to burn it down before something truly foul comes out!"
"Oh come on now, you're treating it like its some corpse full of worms," Dan chastised, "besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
Cullen said nothing, simply staring off into the setting sun. It was beginning to reach that pink color
He felt a tug on his cloak.
"Huh?" he said, turning. Behind him, he found a young girl who couldn't even be two-and-ten namedays was pulling on his cloak, "what you want, brat?"
"Does this road head south?" she asked, "I need to get to Blackhaven."
"Yeah, it heads south," Dan answered, before pointing down the road and towards the horizon, "if you travel down that way, and follow the Roseroad, you'll reach Bitterbridge, and can purchase a boat to take you down the Mander and to the Cocklswent. Follow that stream, and head East, and you'll reach Blackhaven."
The girl nodded, smiling, "Thank you mister!"
Dan smiled, "Least I could do, but it's getting late, so you sho-"
*BOOM!*
A burst of wind nearly knock him to the ground, and a sound as if thunder had been dulled of its sharp crack roared ins his ears.
Regaining his bearings, he looked around and found Dan on the ground and the girl gone, a plume of dirt where she'd been.
'Where did…?!' in the corner of his eye, he spotted something, and turned his head towards the road.
What he saw stunned him.
Off in the distance he could see it, a blur of red moving like the wind. Within moments, they were gone.
"Seven Hells?!" Dan cried as he got up, hand gripping his sword, "Cullen! Y-You saw that right?! What the little girl did?!"
Cullen nodded.
"Well what should we do?!" Dan asked, racking his brain, "we should…we should…!"
"Do nothin," Cullen finished, shocking Dan.
"What do you mean 'do nothin?' How the hell can we do nothing with that out there?!"
"Cause we can't," Cullen shrugged, "what do you think people will do when we say some girl ran faster than the wind and threw down two goldcloaks?"
"Well they'll…um…" Dan frowned.
"Nothing, right?" Cullen said, frowning, "they'd call you mad, then forget they called you mad, and there will never be mention of this again."
~ o0o ~
A little thing I might focus on, but that remains to be seen.
Hope you enjoyed!
Here's a list of the current powers Michael has. And to those who know what Traitor is, he does, in fact, have a Fighting Style and Race. As well as a Perk. You just won't know it yet.
~ o0o ~
Red Powers:
Truth of Offense: ESS;(ATK)
Some things cannot be wholly defined by words, and refuse explanation. Your ability to cause harm is one such thing. You know how to strike so that a single blow stops a heart, how to find the chinks in any armor, how to cut through a battlefield like a gleaming blade. With these truths pervading your soul, your attacks do more damage and are harder to stop.
Titanic Strength: STR+
There are those that are born stronger, larger than most. And then there's you. A hulking mass of muscles, far larger than most of your race, a towering being that makes men look like children. You can tear apart metal with your hands, break walls with your fist, and lift and hurl beasts far larger than you. Strength is so intrinsic in your being, then even if you flesh stopped being flesh, even if you became something else, your strength would remain beyond the reach of most of your kind.
Leaden Constitution: TOU+
It took you a long time to realize that you weren't normal. You don't get sick, you don't tire, and can go for weeks without sleep, food, or water. Your body is resilient enough to survive point-blank spells and explosives, and your skin can turn away blades. You can even chew through steel if you are so inclined. Strangely, this exceptional toughness will endure even if you transform yourself into something else.
Feline Speed: AGL+
You have always been hard to catch. Moving fast and unimpeded from one place to the next. You can outpace most creatures of the land, slip free of almost all bindings and chains, crawl and pass through spaces most would say you couldn't fit in. If you put your mind to it, you could make a week's journey in one day. This preternatural agility is so embedded on your being there is no way it could be removed.
Demoralizing Display: DEBILITIATE
There is something about shattering an opponent's morale like one does common glass, filling their mind with visions of death. At least, you can't deny it's useful. You can, with a wicked smile, a monstrous roar, or any other threatening display, greatly diminish your enemy's spirit, negatively affecting all of their abilities. Take note that some enemies, such as those with an iron will, or those with no mind to think, ignore the effects of this skill.
Fast Healing: HP REGEN
Your body recovers relatively quickly from wounds, leaving no scarring. Small cuts heal in minutes, large ones might take hours, while severe burns take days. However, you cannot regenerate lost organs or limbs. Still, it can greatly cut down your recovery times if there's no healer present, apart from making an adventurer's life much easier.
Chaotic Mana Flow: MDMG-
Not a spell, but something close, this technique manipulates ambient Mana by randomly aspecting and deaspecting it, and moving it in a random pattern around you. This, while making you unable to use spells, makes any spell or attack depending on ordered and aspected Mana much weaker, and might even completely dispel it if you are strong enough. Oddly, this technique was first developed as an exercise for mages to build up magical capacity, rather than anything that would see combat.
Blue Powers:
Elemental Control: Fire: ELE;(FIRE)
You, through rigorous study, have attuned your inner Mana to Fire. This lets you endure a great degree of heat, such that walking in a desert midday would pose no threat to you, apart from being able to cast Fire in the middle of combat. Fire spells apart from being highly destructive, stick to their target and continue burning them.
Elemental Control: Water: ELE;(WATER)
You have attuned your inner Mana to the element of Water, allowing you small passive control over it, such as walking on it's surface, apart from being able to cast Water spells in a swift manner. Water spells are the easiest to form and suffer the least from disruption, likely completing their purpose even if damaged.
Generate Mana: MP REGEN
After spellcasting, the Amrita that makes up the body of a mage holds onto Mana with even more strength, going unresponsive, and it takes hours or days for enough ambient Mana to diffuse through the caster's body and be at full capacity again. This recently rediscovered, but already widespread, spell makes it so that a mage can enter a state of meditation and forcefully refill their reserves by speeding this process.
Elemental Weapon: WEPN;(ELE)
A spell that condenses an incredible amount of Mana into a pseudo-Amrita configuration, and seals it within a layer of actual, elementally pure Amrita in the shape of a weapon. This makes an extremely powerful source of elemental damage, which can be used together with any martial technique, and in case of desperation, detonated with a Bomb spell. On average, up to five of these weapons can be made in a single cast, and they disappear a few hours after being made.
Craft Basic Golem: Golem_a
The forbidden art of granting a mind to what should not have one. You have made small advancements into this field and can animate golems of up to two times the size of an average human, and can give them simple commands, such as to attack enemies or defend you, or to stay in place. Anything more complex is too much for their basic anima. Having this knowledge brands you as a heretic, but the common man will have a hard time seeing your works as a violation of life, so you have little to fear yet.
Green Power:
Gun Expert: GUNSMITH
Gunslingers are becoming a common sight in these years, their gun and holster as respected as a sword and scabbard, or a mage's staff. You have taken to the new weapon quite adeptly, not only learning all the basics to perfection, but also knowing all of the inner working of these quite complex weapons, enough to repair and fix them on the road, even make your own, given the skill with metal and the proper intallations.
Ammunition Cast: A-CAST
A recent magical discipline, laying between spell casting, enchanting and smithing. Each bullet is conceived from it's inception to contain a spell of the caster's choice, and specially treated so that shooting it will return the Amrita of the projectile to free Mana, which will then be aspected by the released spell, making it incredibly potent, at least three times more than even a skilled mage might be able to cast.