The chirping of birds and the slow creak of timber woke Tobey up. It was early morning, though the sun struggled to peek through the canopy of the towering trees.
He sat up on the porch, his joints popping. Miraculously, his body hadn't been eaten alive by nocturnal insects during the night.
Thank you, Vitality, he thought.
But his relief was short-lived. A curtain of annoying, matted hair fell across his face, blocking his vision. He tried to breathe through his nose but immediately gagged; the smell of dried drool trapped in his thick beard was potent. He switched to mouth-breathing instantly.
He rubbed his temples, trying to sort through the fog in his brain. The memories from last night were there, but... different.
He remembered dying on Earth. He remembered being reborn in this world called Woolace, in the body of Timothy Gray—a 28-year-old man who had starved himself to death. He remembered receiving six incredible gifts to help him survive.
But the entity? The "Goddess"? Her face was a blur. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, but it felt slippery, like a dream fading upon waking. He couldn't remember the details of the "Council" or the "Gods" at all.
Doesn't matter, Tobey thought, scratching his itchy scalp. The gifts are real. That's what counts.
"First things first," he muttered, his voice raspy. "I need to get rid of this hair."
He badly needed a bath. In his past life, despite the chaos of the gang, he was obsessive about hygiene. He showered twice a day. He brushed his teeth three or four times a day because he couldn't afford a dentist and feared toothaches. Being this filthy made his skin crawl.
Tobey stood up and looked around. His eyes, ears, and nose felt oddly sensitive. He could hear the rustle of a beetle leaves away. He could smell the damp earth with startling clarity.
Is this the effect of the Vitality of the Ancients?
He knew he could grab bottled water from the Supermarket, but he needed a real wash. He needed flowing water to scrub away a year's worth of grime.
Based on Timothy's fading memories, there was a river near the "Great Tree," about an eight-to-ten-minute walk away. Timothy had only gone there once before he gave up on living.
Tobey tapped the tattoo on his arm. He stepped into the brightly lit Supermarket just long enough to grab a pair of rubber flip-flops and a long, serrated knife—just in case there was danger on the path.
He stepped back into the woods, the flip-flops slapping softly against his heels.
Thankfully, the path was clear. There was no tall grass hiding lurking snakes, only a carpet of dried leaves and fallen branches. The lack of sunlight beneath the thick canopy kept the undergrowth sparse.
His sharpened senses made locating the water easy. He didn't need a map; he just followed the sound.
He realized he had forgotten to grab a watch from the Supermarket, so he had no idea how long he walked, but soon, the forest began to change.
The river revealed itself gradually, not all at once. First came the sound—soft, continuous, like fabric being shaken in a slow rhythm. Then the light changed. The trees thinned just enough for the forest floor to brighten, and the air felt cooler, heavier with moisture.
Tobey stepped into the clearing and stopped.
The river sat in a shallow basin carved into stone. Two narrow streams slid down a dark rock face ahead, spilling into a wide, clear pool before flowing onward. The water didn't rush. It moved steadily, calmly, its surface broken only by small ripples spreading outward where the falls met the pool.
He could see straight through it.
Smooth stones covered the riverbed—rounded and pale, layered in browns, grays, and dull whites. Some were half-buried in silt, others stacked naturally by the current near the edges. The water was clean enough that sunlight reached the bottom, bending and shimmering as it passed through.
Near the river's edge stood the tree.
It was massive—far older than the surrounding forest. Its trunk was thick and deeply scarred, the bark split into long, dark ridges that ran vertically like frozen waves. Moss clung to its lower half, damp and dense, spreading across the roots where they surfaced from the ground. Several of those roots extended directly into the water, thick as logs, anchoring the tree firmly into both soil and stone.
The branches stretched wide overhead, heavy with leaves, blocking most of the sky. Beneath it, the ground was bare except for scattered stones and fallen leaves, as if nothing else dared to grow too close. The tree dominated the riverbank without effort, unmoving, indifferent.
Everything felt still here—not silent, but settled. The sound of falling water echoed faintly against the rock walls, while the river continued its quiet path downstream.
This was the place Timothy remembered. And it was perfect.
"Woah." Tobey gaped in awe as sunlight brushed against his face, filtering through the leaves to dance on the water.
Never in his life had he experienced anything like this—not even a simple river. He had grown up in the concrete jungle of the city, where every movement was monitored, every step controlled by the hierarchy of the streets. He had never been at ease. He had never been free to just stand and feast his eyes on beauty like this.
He couldn't help but shake his head. Timothy, you fool. The kid had wasted his life, starving himself in a shack while paradise was just a ten-minute walk away. In the end, it really was our own choices that ruined us.
Tobey touched the tattoo on his arm and vanished into the Supermarket.
He grabbed a large shopping basket and marched down the aisles, his movements precise and urgent.
He swept three wireless electric razors into the basket—just in case the blades went dull on the mess awaiting him. Then came the heavy artillery: two bottles of antibacterial body wash, a bottle of clarifying shampoo, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a pack of dental floss, a tongue scraper, and a large bottle of mouthwash.
He didn't stop there. He grabbed metal ear picks, a pack of baby wipes, and a rough body scrubber. Finally, he sprinted to the home goods section and grabbed a stack of fluffy white bath towels and several smaller face towels.
His stomach grumbled violently, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the junk food last night. But the thought of putting food into a mouth that felt this gross made him nauseous.
Hygiene first, he decided. Food later.
He returned to the riverbank, placing the basket on a high, dry rock well away from the water's edge.
He sat on a flat, sun-warmed stone and picked up the first razor. He didn't hesitate. He started at the front of his hairline, driving the buzzer back in a straight line.
Zzzzzzt.
He gagged.
Clumps of long blonde hair fell to the ground, heavy and matted with months of dried oil from the scalp. Flakes of dandruff the size of fingernails drifted down like snow.
"Fu—urk!" He cursed, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back the vomit. He spat angrily on the ground to clear the taste from his mouth. "Disgusting."
It took thirty minutes of buzzing, shaking out the razor, and cursing before he was done. He shaved the beard down to the skin and stripped his scalp bare. He carefully gathered the pile of oily hair and shoved it under a bush, far away from the pristine water. He wasn't about to pollute a virgin river with his filth.
He stood up, rolling his neck. His head felt impossibly light. The breeze hit his bare scalp, sending a cool, strange shiver down his spine.
Now, for the rest.
He looked down at his body. He was wearing a pair of black boxer briefs that had once been cotton but were now stiff with grime. As he moved, he could feel them shifting against his skin. They felt... slimy.
"Urk! FUCK!" He gagged again, his stomach churning. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and peeled them off, kicking them away with a shudder. "This is fucking disgusting! Damn it, Timothy!"
He was finally naked. But the job wasn't done.
He gritted his teeth as he looked down. The pubic hair was just as thick and unkempt as the beard had been.
How many messes did you leave for me, kid?
Tobey grabbed the razor again. He wasn't taking any chances. He trimmed it all down, leaving nothing but clean skin.
Tobey cupped his hands over his groin, looking around nervously. There shouldn't be anyone nearby—this was deep forest—but old habits died hard.
Satisfied he was alone, he walked toward the water. He didn't know how to swim, but he wasn't worried about drowning. The river was wide, but it only looked waist-deep for someone of his size.
He took a breath and dove in, intending to submerge completely.
But he didn't really get wet. The layer of body oil and grime on his skin was so thick it actually repelled the water. He floated up like a greased cork.
"Ugh."
He retreated to the shallows and grabbed the bottle of body wash and the rough scrubber. He didn't hold back. He squirted a massive amount of soap onto his scalp, letting it run down his face, torso, and legs until he looked like a walking foam statue.
Then, he scrubbed.
He stood in the current where the water flowed freely, scraping away a year's worth of neglect. The water swirling around his ankles turned a murky, oily gray.
"Disgusting," he muttered, watching the sludge float downstream. "Sorry to the fish."
It took over an hour.
He scrubbed every inch, from the roots of his scalp to the undersides of his toenails. He didn't stop at the skin.
He flossed until his unaccustomed gums bled. He scraped his tongue until he gagged. He gargled the high-intensity mouthwash until his mouth burned with a cold fire. He endured it all with a grim satisfaction.
Now that I'm in command of this body, things are going to be different, he thought, spitting the last of the mouthwash into the bushes.
He grabbed the empty bottle and turned to wade out of the water.
As he stepped onto the bank, it was as if a Greek God had emerged from the depths.
He stood a staggering seven feet tall. His body was a masterpiece of biology—broad shoulders tapering down to a V-shaped waist, rippling with functional muscle. Water droplets traced the deep grooves of his eight-pack abs and highlighted the definition of his chest.
Gone was the gray, greasy pallor. His skin was now a healthy, pinkish-white that practically sparkled in the sunlight.
He grabbed a large bath towel and began drying off, his eyes scanning the perimeter one last time. As he dried his lower half, he paused, staring down to his penis.
He felt no awkwardness, only curiosity. This wasn't the body he was born with, after all.
It was undeniably larger than he remembered, both in length and in a satisfying, substantial girth that promised a new kind of presence. The skin was white, smooth, taut, and the reddish head, now fully exposed by a clean, precise circumcision, was a revelation.
Tobey let out a small, amused smirk. "Well. That's a bonus."
He tapped his tattoo. The forest vanished, replaced instantly by the bright, sterile aisles of the Supermarket.
He continued drying his legs as he walked, his bare feet slapping against the polished tile floor. Using his mind, he navigated the vast space effortlessly. In seconds, he teleported from the entrance directly to the clothing section.
He tossed the used towel into his storage and walked into the aisles.
He went straight to the underwear section, picking out a package of black Tommy John boxer briefs. He held them up against his hip. Perfect fit. He tore the package open and pulled them on.
Finally covered, he walked toward the full-length mirror at the end of the aisle.
Tobey stopped.
He had caught glimpses in the water, but seeing himself clearly for the first time was a shock.
The face staring back at him was breathtakingly handsome. He had a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, a straight button nose, and lips defined by a sharp cupid's bow. His hair, now a clean buzz cut, framed his face perfectly.
But the most striking feature was his eyes.
They were a piercing, electric blue. They were almost unnatural—bright, intelligent, and intense.
Is this really my new face? Tobey thought, leaning closer to the glass. I could be a celebrity with a mug like this.
He compared this reflection to the memories of Timothy. The old Timothy had been average—not ugly, but forgettable. This new version was Timothy optimized to perfection.
He felt a pang of jealousy for his old self, then chuckled.
"Quit staring at your own face," he muttered, smiling to reveal a set of blindingly white teeth.
He turned away from the mirror to finish dressing. He needed clothes that fit this massive 7-foot frame.
He chose a lightweight, red long-sleeved shirt that hugged his chest just enough to show he was fit without being showy. For bottoms, he grabbed a pair of white cargo shorts. He finished the look with thick white merino wool socks and a pair of sturdy gray camping shoes.
He looked fresh. Capable.
But as soon as the adrenaline of the makeover faded, his stomach roared.
He didn't waste any more time. He teleported to the Pantry Essentials aisle. He wasn't in the mood to cook a gourmet meal yet. He grabbed a spicy cup of noodles—fast, hot, and filling.
Eat first, he decided. Then I'll set up a tent by the river. I'll stay there for a few days to get used to this body before I head out to find a real home.