—Yep, I'm fucked
Faced with the filthy jaws looming in front of Rémy, he could only close his eyes and let things run their course. After all, he had already died once.
It wasn't in a glorious fight, a heroic sacrifice where he ended up saving a child's life or anything you could brag about to a soldier in limbo.
All it took was a misstep, a bit of bad luck, and a piece of butter for his eyes to end up pierced by a mug, one of those with little ears on the edges meant more to look adorable on a shelf than to let you drink without risking your life.
He woke up as the newborn son of an immigrant couple who, for whatever reason, ended up in Japan. Hardworking, quiet people with calloused hands and small but honest dreams. For fifteen years he lived in the village of Wazuka, in Kyoto Prefecture, growing up among tea fields, humid summers, and a language that at first weighed on his tongue like a stone.
And for fifteen years he genuinely believed he had been reborn into a normal world.
One that was too and disappointingly normal.
The only notable difference, at least at first, was the absence of almost everything he had loved in his previous life. Most of the series, movies, or books he had consumed didn't exist. No epic sagas, no controversial endings, no unbearable fandoms arguing on forums at three in the morning.
There was still an endless amount of original material that was excellent; he even recognized many actors like Jennifer Lawrence and so many others. But still… it simply wasn't the same.
!The worst part was that he had never finished a single series in his past life!
His routine consisted of hitting random mode on Netflix or other platforms, watching a couple of episodes, getting bored, and repeating the process to infinity. He lived convinced that no matter how many years passed, those stories would always be there, patiently waiting for boredom to guide him to the next episode.
¿Gaining superhuman powers, awakening one of those golden fingers pulled from Chinese fanfics and becoming an invincible entity? Nah. It was much better to sink into the couch, gain weight without remorse, and watch Twilight Sparkle pulverize her enemies in ways you wouldn't expect to see in a kids' show while life passed without requiring any effort. Although, seeing his current situation, he wouldn't mind a little divine help.
Back to the important part, Rémy looked with disinterest at the monster, thing, nightmare with legs that was about to devour him.
Who would have thought? It turned out that all this time he had been wrong and that kind of aberration did exist, hidden from the public eye, crouched on the margins of a world that pretended to be ordinary.
What irony.
It wasn't unfinished endings that caught up to him, but something with teeth and an appearance so obscenely ugly that pity ended up winning over fear. Yeah, if he looked like that, of course he'd be angry all the time.
In the end, his only true sin—and the only one he genuinely regretted with absolute sincerity—was being born the son of French people.
The monster opened its jaws.
Rémy sighed.
—Sure — he said softly, opening his arms. —It had to end like this…
«¡As if I were going to allow this, you idiot!»
The thought exploded in his head with a fury his body didn't bother to argue with. Rémy threw himself to the side at the last second, just enough for the ground to scrape the skin off his knee, but sufficient to get out of the attack's path.
The jaws closed where he had been an instant before, clashing together with a wet, frustrated sound. Rémy rolled across the ground, got up as best he could, gasped a couple of times, and took off running toward the center of the village with manly screams—for a 5-year-old girl—looking for any possible help.
—¡Please!— He clasped both palms together and started praying without any dignity, his legs burning from the effort. — ¡I give my soul to any entity that's listening! ¡Buddha, Satan, Paramount or Nickelodeon, whoever's free and not busy, but save me!
He didn't want to die. He was already on his second chance and there was no guarantee there would be a third. And he also—under no threat, bribe, or cosmic blackmail—would risk being born in another world's India.
Rémy almost face-planted before slamming to a stop. He had reached the plaza.
The fountain stood in the center, silent and solemn, indifferent to his tragedy. The water fell with a constant murmur, too calm for the hour and the situation, forming lazy ripples that reflected the light of the night lanterns. That yellowish illumination didn't fully dispel the darkness; it only pushed it toward the edges, where shadows gathered thick.
There was no one.
He leaned against the stone edge of the fountain, cold and damp under hands that were too small for someone his age. His heart hammered in his chest so hard he swore the monster could hear it from wherever it was. His legs trembled, he didn't know if from effort or because, for the first time since waking up in that world, he was in a life-or-death situation.
The reflection the water returned didn't help at all. It wasn't the appearance of a small child, but neither was it someone who could be called a teenager without lying a little. The body staring back from the bottom of the fountain looked like that of a boy around twelve years old: too thin, narrow shoulders, and a hunched posture that spoke of poorly slept nights and forgotten meals. Dark hair fell to his shoulders in damp, messy strands, sticking to a face too delicate for his age. He had soft features, an undefined jaw, pale lips, and a perpetually tired expression that, combined with deep purple circles under his eyes, gave him a sickly air.
The water trembled with his breathing, distorting the image for an instant.
From the alley Rémy had passed through moments earlier, the thing emerged halfway, pushing itself forward with clumsy, patient effort. The monster appeared under the sickly light of the lanterns, splashing thick foam that sizzled as it touched the stone.
The monster stopped. It turned slowly, or at least something in its mass did, until there was no doubt it had found him. Its jaws opened a little more, and thick foam hung from inside, dripping with obscene patience.
Rémy swallowed hard. With clumsy, sweat-soaked fingers, he crouched and grabbed a small rock from the fountain's edge and threw it. The hit bounced off the creature's disgusting body, struck the nearest lantern that tinkled offended, then hit the wall of a house, tearing off a small piece of plaster, and finally returned in a perfect, beautiful, and absolutely treacherous curve.
Tonk.
The rock landed hard on Rémy's forehead, which now bled slightly. The blow disoriented him just enough for his feet to slip on the fountain's wet edge. The world spun, the night sky took an absurd leap, and Rémy fell backward with a very unheroic splash that disappeared into the icy water.
The monster seemed to mock him. Its mass contracted and expanded in a slow, obscene movement, and from its jaws escaped a viscous sound, halfway between a gurgle and a laugh. Even its multiple eyes, or whatever passed for eyes, narrowed slightly, shining with mocking attention.
Rémy clenched his teeth, blood mixing with the water dripping down his forehead. Fear burned in his chest, but something else managed to break through.
—You… ¡bastard!
The insult came out weak, trembling, more a tantrum than a threat. The wretched disgusting thing seemed to decide, at that precise instant, that the show had lasted long enough. Its body tensed unnaturally and, despite its grotesque size, moved with a lightness that humiliated any Olympic athlete. In a single jump, too fast and too clean, it landed right in front of Rémy.
Rémy barely had time to react. He was still sitting, fountain water soaking his clothes and blood diluting around his legs, when he clasped both hands tightly and started praying. He prayed everything he knew: poorly learned chants, incomplete prayers, random phrases he remembered by ear. When he ran out, he started making them up, mixing names, languages, and impossible promises. He begged gods he didn't understand, entities he doubted existed, and anything that might be listening and have a shred of decency.
If the entity that had brought him to this world (if one even existed to begin with) had plans for him, this was the perfect moment to debut them and throw him a lifeline, or better yet: a divinely timed lightning bolt that would descend and split that repugnant worm's head open.
He wasn't asking for complicated miracles. Just a tiny one.
And then it happened. The fangs pierced him like butter, so fast he didn't even have time to feel the pain of being split into more parts than recommended for a functional living being. And then nothing, just like the first time he died. He didn't hear divine choirs, signals of the famous tunnel with light at the end, or any kind of final judgment.
He blinked once, and then twice.
He was sitting at an infinite betting table covered in impeccable green cloth. Golden lamps hung above him that seemed to watch rather than illuminate whoever was seated. Around him stretched endless rows of slot machines, roulettes, and all kinds of mechanical poisons turned off, extending in every direction like a cemetery of broken promises. The casino was painfully empty.
—¿What the hell?
In front of him stood a humanoid figure in a casino uniform. Perfectly fitted black vest, wrinkle-free white shirt, and a red bow tie too vivid for such a dead place. Its face was expressionless, and though its eyes had a crystalline shine, they were dull, just like the rest of the machines in the venue. A ventriloquist dummy that was too advanced, if he had to describe it somehow.
In front of him was a floating slot, without strings or any other support holding it up. It simply existed there, motionless, open just enough, waiting with unnatural patience for someone to insert a coin.
«This must be hell», he thought bitterly.
Rémy had never been a gambler, at least not in the traditional sense. He didn't frequent casinos, didn't touch cards, didn't stare at the roulette wheel with greedy eyes. But if there was a sin capable of dragging him straight to this place, it was coming dangerously close to mortgaging his house over an obscene debt born from his toxic relationship with Genshin Impact.
Thousands of dollars thrown into a digital void, sacrificed on a single banner with the blind faith of a desperate heretic. The divine reward? Qiqi. Repeated not once, but more than 30 times.
This place was, without a doubt, the punishment he should have received in his first death and which, for some administrative reason, had been delayed. It arrived late, yes, but it had finally arrived. Punctual only in its cruelty.
Here there would be no whips or demons with tridents, just dim lights and the implicit promise that you could always lose a little more.
Rémy swallowed hard.
—¡How cruel! — he said between sobs. — i don't even have a coin…
From the ceiling, dazzling among the lamps, a single flash outshone the rest. From nowhere a small toy coin fell, with the same turned-off robot engraved on one of its faces. It bounced once, rolled barely a few centimeters, and stopped right at his feet.
—Of course… A little chip. Give money to the addict so he keeps falling into his own pit.
Rémy stood up slowly, the coin clenched between his fingers, and looked up at the floating slot. It wasn't like he had anything else to do in this desolate place.
—Don't look at me like that — he said to the air, voice tired. — I know. You always return to the place where you suffered the most.
If he was going to spend eternity in this hole, he might as well try to have some fun. And with the solemn resignation of someone who had lost too many times to pretend dignity, he stepped forward and inserted the coin into the floating slot.
The coin disappeared into the slot with a clean click, inappropriately solid for something that didn't seem to have a bottom.
The light returned in irregular pulses, the lamps turned on with the reluctance of someone opening their eyes after a long and unrestful sleep. A low rumble ran through the room as the machines began to activate, gears remembered their function, and mechanisms resumed their old vices. Cards slid across the felt on their own, shuffling with an uneasy whisper, and roulettes began spinning by themselves.
The slot dissolved without ceremony and evaporated the moment the little coin entered. In its place appeared a translucent panel, suspended in front of him that didn't project light but still blinded him. Words emerged calmly, one after another.
WELCOME, OPERATOR
POST-MORTEM COMPENSATION SYSTEM: ACTIVE.
Rémy frowned at the robotic voice of the strange automaton speaking from behind the screen, with the very concrete feeling of having entered a conversation he didn't want to have.
—No — he said quietly. — Don't do this to me.
The click of measured footsteps forced him to look up.
The robot had abandoned its decorative stillness. Now it was alive, if that word applied. The crystalline eyes lit up with a soft glow, designed to reassure or at least pretend to.
INITIAL CHIP: CONSUMED
REWARD: PENDING
A strong headache hit Rémy with hatred, but the robot extended its arm with a neat gesture, ignoring the pained state of the boy. Rémy brought a hand to his head, clenching his teeth. The pain wasn't entirely physical; it was more the sensation of something new trying to settle into a space already occupied by too many bad decisions. The robot didn't react and kept its arm extended with the palm open, inviting him to take it.
In the heart of the casino right behind the robot, a machine lit up with greater intensity than the others. Its reels spun slowly, hiding symbols that were alien to Rémy.
His brain burned.
Memories that weren't his brushed the surface of his mind and dissolved before taking shape. Rules without explanation, probabilities without numbers, consequences without cause. The feeling of understanding something enormous and at the same time understanding absolutely nothing.
Rémy brought both hands to his head, staggering. Unable to bear it any longer, he grabbed the robot's hand on pure impulse and the pain disappeared, giving his head the clarity he desperately needed. Air entered his lungs without resistance. His thoughts stopped crashing into each other.
Finally, the robot lit up its eyes, emitting a bluish light. An electric click ran through its neck, followed by a brief deep buzz that grated throughout its body.
—…Oh.
The voice no longer sounded neutral.
— Ohohoho… ladies and gentlemen — the robot continued, straightening with renewed energy. Its arms and torso spun in wide, unnaturally fluid movements while the rest of its body remained in the same position. — We have movement at the table.
Rémy looked up, blinking.
—¿Excuse me?
The robot withdrew its hand with theatrical elegance and did a half-turn, pointing to the lit machine behind it.
—¡That feeling in your head isn't a stroke, operator! — it announced with enthusiasm. — ¡It's the system warming up the engines. Rules you don't understand, probabilities they won't tell you, and consequences you definitely won't like, all part of the show! ¿Can you smell it?
Its eyes shone with greater intensity, now accompanied by a faint scanning effect that moved up and down while inspecting Rémy.
—¡And what a night to make your debut! — it added — Second death, initial chip spent, and a mind flexible enough not to break on the first spin. Thats, my friend, is what in the business we call… audience potential.
Rémy opened his mouth. He closed it and ran a hand over his face, which was already showing signs of sweat.
—¿Can I go back to eternal silence?
—¡No! — the robot replied with a satisfied click. — Companion personality loaded successfully.
It made an exaggerated little bow.
—You can call me Archie, Presenter, or 'the guy who didn't warn you before you lost everything.'
The machine emitted a sharp, cheerful, and insulting ding. The symbols stopped spinning completely.
—And now — Archie said — with the mind clear and the stage ready…
He pointed directly at Rémy.
—Welcome to the game, champ.
—I have no idea what's going on — Rémy replied.— Please tell me this is hell and not what I think it is.
—Ohhh, I'd love to tell you this is hell — the robot replied, placing a hand on its chest with theatricality. — But no, kid. Hell is much more straightforward.
Archie turned around and walked to the center of the casino. With each step, the floor lit up beneath his feet like a late-night show runway.
—Allow me to introduce it formally — he said, spinning on himself. — Archie. Your host, commentator, and impartial referee, welcomes you to… — he raised both arms — the Invocation System.
Rémy frowned.
—It sounds exactly like what I think it is.
The bad feeling flooded Rémy. The classic and burned-out system he had read about in countless stories. Always the same, a magnet for endless problems that only dragged whoever had it into outrageously dangerous situations. And he, naturally, didn't want that slice of the pie.
—¡Exactly! — Archie celebrated.
The robot pointed to the left. Out of nowhere, a gigantic roulette wheel emerged from the floor, spinning slowly, covered in impossible symbols, dead languages, and silhouettes of objects that seemed to flicker.
—First game: The Roulette.
Here we bet on things. Objects from other worlds, other realities. Cursed swords, self-aware mugs, divine relics, instruction manuals no one should read. Everything can come up. Nothing is guaranteed. And yes, it includes useless garbage.
Archie clapped once and the roulette disappeared. In its place appeared a Big Six, huge, heavy, with sectors marked by humanoid, non-humanoid, and definitely-not-human silhouettes.
—Second game: Bi—
—¡Wait! — Rémy interrupted. —¿You know what, bro? I'm good like this, I don't need a system that appeared after my death. ¡Death! I don't think that—
—Second game: Big Six — Archie continued, paying no attention to the little one's ordeal. — Fallen heroes, redeemed villains, minor gods down on their luck, people who never asked to be ripped from their story. — He leaned toward Rémy.— Characters from other worlds. Some will help you. Others will tolerate you. Some will try to kill you the moment they find out who summoned them.
—¡¿What?! — Rémy shouted. — ¡I don't want it!
—Too late — Archie nodded, satisfied.
A third gesture, and a blackjack table appeared amid soft lights. The cards floated on their own, spinning with elegance.
—Third game: Blackjack.
—Here you don't bring anything new to the table… —he raised a finger — you improve it.
Rémy looked up, interested despite himself and the refusal in his heart.
—¿Improve how?
—Strength, abilities, resistances, absurd rarities — Archie listed. — Blessings, mutations, impossible talents. All random, of course. But here comes the fun part.
Archie pointed directly at him.
—You choose who it applies to.
An object.
A character.
Whatever is already in play.
Rémy fell silent for a few seconds.
—…¿And me? — he asked finally. — ¿Can I improve myself?
Archie smiled. —Oh, champ — he said with false compassion. —You're not the prize.
The casino lights flickered once.
—You're the player.
If he could press a silence button, Rémy would have used it a long time ago. So many things happening in so little time, without clear explanations or apparent reasons, left a hole in his stomach that fed directly on his hopes. No matter how much he tried to ask for help, clarifications, or simply beg everything to stop, Archie ignored him and kept showing the typical rules of each game.
—¡And now, attention at home! — Archie announced, voice vibrant. —The first spins are completely free. Courtesy of the establishment.
Before Rémy could protest, the central machine responded. Archie snapped his fingers, and the floor in front of Rémy transformed with a soft mechanical click. A classic roulette wheel emerged from the floor: polished wood disk, metal rim, and many engraved numbers. There were no mystical symbols or unnecessary decorations. It was just an honest roulette in its design.
—Basic rule — Archie said, adopting a professional explainer tone. — The roulette is simple. That's why it works.
The outer disk began to spin slowly in one direction. The inner rim, in the opposite. There was no croupier or visible hands. The system did everything itself.
—In a normal casino, the player bets first — he continued. —Numbers, colors, even, odd. Higher risk, higher reward.
Here you don't bet money, at least not yet.
Rémy swallowed hard.
A small white ball appeared at the rim's edge and was launched with a dry click. It bounced, danced, and crashed against the metal dividers.
—Each slot represents a probability — Archie explained. — Not all are equal. Not all are fair and they never will be.
The ball jumped from one number to another.
—The first spin is special — he added, with a smile that didn't need a human face. — No cost or penalty. After all, the important thing is the fun, ¿Right?
The ball fell.
Tac.
The lit number meant nothing to Rémy. It wasn't red or black. Not even or odd. Just a neutral slot the system recognized perfectly before the roulette shut off.
—Result confirmed — Archie announced. —Low probability. Low reward.
In the air above the table materialized a brown orb. Opaque and dense, spinning slowly with reluctance.
—In roulette terms — Archie continued —you unknowingly bet on a wide zone. Many possibilities and very little risk you should worry about.
The orb vibrated once.
RANK E
—¡Fuck off! — Rémy shouted from the depths of the hatred layers that formed in an instant as he slammed the table. Regardless of his stance on gambling, he still didn't like being humiliated by luck. —¿So… I lost?
Archie shook his head with an exaggerated gesture. The orb dissolved into particles and disappeared before Rémy could touch it.
ROULETTE — SPIN COMPLETED
RESULT: INVOCABLE OBJECT
RANK: E
STATUS: LOCKED UNTIL MANIFESTATION
—Like every good bet, you don't know if it was a mistake until you cash out.
Archie finished. The roulette sank back into the floor. And the casino, satisfied, pulled out the second game.
It descended slowly from the ceiling a huge vertical wheel, held by a central axle. It was divided into six sections, separated by thick metal nails. Each segment had a large, crude symbol painted without elegance.
A small mechanical hammer appeared next to the wheel's edge, striking the nails with a constant clack, clack, clack.
—Unlike roulette — Richie added —here you choose to wait and pray.
«I couldn't choose in roulette either», Rémy thought.
The hammer struck harder now, each impact shaking the air until the wheel stopped abruptly.
CLACK.
The lit symbol shone with an opaque brown light, identical to the previous orb.
Archie raised both arms.
—¡We have a result!
A new orb materialized in the air. This time it didn't float timidly. It weighed. The brown light seemed denser, as if something inside was waiting.
INVOCATION CONFIRMED
CHARACTER, RANK E.
—!I want to kill myself!
BIG SIX — SPIN COMPLETED
RESULT: INVOCABLE CHARACTER
RANK: E
STATUS: LOCKED UNTIL MANIFESTATION
Two E ranks in a row that, following the logic of these kinds of systems, was the lowest of the low. At this rate, he wouldn't have been surprised if the next result was less than garbage or just failed outright and left him without the improvement they promised. ¿And even if he had it, would it really help with anything? His terrible luck in gachas had followed him even into this new life (or death) with the sickly persistence of a toxic ex. Always appearing when he thought things couldn't get worse, only to prove that yes, they always could.
With his spirits at rock bottom, he limited himself to listening to the next game.
Archie clapped once.
—And to close this trilogy of bad decisions, we move on to the third game.
The floor changed texture. The polished wood gave way to a dark green felt, perfectly stretched. A blackjack table emerged from the ground. There were no other players. Just Rémy and the system.
—Blackjack — Archie continued, now with the voice of a serious narrator, like a late-night documentary. —In human casinos, the goal is simple. Reach twenty-one without going over.
In front of Rémy appeared a deck that shuffled itself with a dry shhhk.
—Numbered cards are worth what they say.
Face cards are worth ten.
—The ace… — Archie raised a finger — is worth one or eleven. Depends on how much you want to lie to yourself.
Two cards slid toward Rémy, face up. They had no recognizable numbers or suits. Just abstract symbols that his brain felt more than understood.
—And here's the catch —Archie added. —In traditional blackjack, you play against the dealer. Here you play against the possibility of improvement.
Rémy frowned.
—¿Improvement of what?
—Of whatever fate chooses — Archie replied.
A third card appeared, suspended in the air.
—Asking for a card is tempting chance — Archie explained. —Standing is accepting your limits. Busting —he smiled —is learning humility the hard way.
The table vibrated harder this time. Rémy took a deep breath. The third card descended and the three shone in unison.
Fortunately for Rémy's fried brain, the calculation happened without numbers, without voice, and completely automatic. Not wanting to see the result, he looked away while his heart pounded like crazy.
The casino lights flickered. Some machines emitted a sharp beep.
Archie slowly raised his head.
—Oh… — he said, with genuine surprise.
—That doesn't happen often.
The panel in front of Rémy unfolded with more visual weight than before. The letters weren't white but golden.
BLACKJACK — SPIN COMPLETED
RESULT: CLEAR VICTORY
IMPROVEMENT RANK: B
AVAILABLE IMPROVEMENTS: 3
Rémy opened his jaw so wide that for a moment it almost dislocated.
—In blackjack terms — Archie continued, regaining his commentator tone —your no—
—Yeah, yeah, yeah. ¿What did I win?
After the rude interruption that Archie almost ignored, three spectral chips appeared one after another in front of Rémy.
—Three improvements —Archie said. —Random in nature, solid in impact. And here comes the fun part—he leaned toward him. —You can assign them however you want, even right now. All to one thing or spread them between the first two invocations.
The table retracted with an elegant whisper and the casino returned to sepulchral silence.
Three spins.
Two E ranks.
And now a B rank.
For the first time since he died, Rémy felt a solemn joy that lit up the clouded sky in his head. ¿Were bets bad? !Who cares, he just won!
—Don't get too excited — Archie warned, too late. —A B rank doesn't make you a legend…
Rémy ignored whatever the robot said and immediately ran to the semi-transparent screen that appeared before his eyes.
¿DO YOU WISH TO INSPECT THE IMPROVEMENTS?
He pressed YES so fast that, had it been a normal window, he would have shattered it.
IMPROVEMENT 1 — Linked Return Core
Type: Object · Re-summonable
Rank: B
The chosen object becomes anchored to the system and the operator through a permanent link.
No matter if it's stolen, pulverized, devoured by an impossible creature, or sacrificed in a ritual:
the object can always be called back.
The invocation doesn't rebuild the past, but the recorded optimal state of the object.
Scratches, dents, and accumulated damage are erased.
Active enchantments return.
Integrated improvements remain.
Limitation:
The object cannot be duplicated. Only one exists.
While it's outside the active plane, it cannot be used, sold, or lent.
--------------------------
IMPROVEMENT 2 — Exquisite Resistance Weave
Type: Passive Attribute
Rank: B
The reinforced object acquires anomalous durability, far above known material standards.
It is not indestructible.
That would be unfair.
But it resists impacts, pressure, wear, corrosion, structural fatigue, and prolonged abuse as if the very concept of "breaking" seemed like a polite suggestion.
Blows that would destroy common weapons barely leave marks.
Forces that should bend it only make it vibrate.
System warning:
Durability does not make it invulnerable to bad decisions.
You can still break it, it just takes real effort now.
--------------------------
IMPROVEMENT 3 — Adaptive Configuration Force
Type: Evolutionary · Variable
Initial Rank: B
The object's strength is not fixed.
It adapts.
Its performance, power, and behavior change based on three factors:
The wielder's training The system's current rank The chosen or forced evolution path
It doesn't grow just by leveling up.
It grows through use, repetition, and intention.
A cautious operator will gain stability and control.
An aggressive operator will unlock power spikes.
A creative operator will do things the system wasn't sure it would allow.
Over time, this improvement can mutate, specialize, or even redefine what "strength" means for the object.
--------------------------
Upon seeing the surprising range and possibilities these improvements offered, Rémy felt devastated at having to waste them on E-rank invocations that practically begged to end up on the character and not the object. The E rank was low, but even a mediocre person could become an unbeatable monster with just one of those improvements.
¿Why risk ending up with unbreakable toilet paper with the potential to become a mage? Funny in theory, but useless in everything else.
Without much hesitation, he assigned all the improvements to the summoned character, who was practically screaming for them to end up on him and not on the object. The E rank was low, but even a mediocre person could become an unbeatable monster with just one of those improvements.
—IMPROVEMENTS INTEGRATED SUCCESSFULLY—
At the robotic voice and the now-cold head after the victory, reason returned along with many questions.
—Wait a second. — He spoke, looking at the robot. — I just died, ¿What's the point of all this if they split me in half? ¿Will I come back to life and have to die every time I want to roll again? ¿How do I get those chips?"
Archie crossed his arms, with no intention of answering. When Rémy was about to insist, a dark whirlwind manifested beneath his feet. The theater, the machines, and the walls were absorbed along with his body. All Rémy saw was Archie smiling before being swallowed by the darkness.
--------------------------
The world returned at the exact instant it was supposed to end. The air was still torn by the movement that was about to split him in two, the moment the worm was already about to finish its attack.
And then time froze when the fangs pierced him, and then began to reverse.
Rémy's flesh recomposed, bone seeking bone, blood returning to its course, nerves forgetting the pain. The instant before his death froze just a blink before consummating.
By the time Rémy was fully reconstructed and the monster was at a considerable distance, an absolute black dome burst from the ground and finally enclosed them both.
Total silence.
In the exact center between Rémy and the thing that was going to kill him, a beacon of light tore through the shadow. A vertical beam, so pure it hurt to look at, pierced the dome from bottom to top.
And then, from the sky, the same spheres from the casino fell.
Two E-rank orbs descended spinning, wrapped in an exaggerated shower of multicolored stars, luminous trails, dancing sparks, and theatrical flashes. The kind of display that exists only to convince you that you just won something important.
The spectacle was ridiculous, beautiful, and completely out of place.
The spheres floated in front of Rémy, vibrating softly, so proud of themselves despite their rank.
And then the sky opened again.
A portal appeared above the dome, irregular, poorly formed, and accompanied by an unmistakable sound. The second sphere flew upward and entered the portal.
A long, wet, and absolutely unnecessary fart echoed just as something fell from the portal.
—¡Ahh! — said a childish, high-pitched, and disgustingly familiar voice.
Rémy's eyes opened wide, ignoring all the dust and dirt in the air.
His chubby, disproportionate body moved with the heavy slowness of someone who carries the weight of his own gluttony like an invisible medal. The flesh accumulated in soft, pale layers around his torso, turning him into a walking ball of arrogance wrapped in childish fat. His short, pudgy arms hung at his sides as if they didn't quite know what to do with themselves, and his legs, thick and short. The pale, almost milky skin contrasted with cheeks always flushed from rage or effort, and his large, dull blue eyes seemed innocent until they narrowed in a sociopath's malicious glare.
Under the turquoise-blue cap with yellow pom-pom, which he never took off, a lock of messy black hair peeked out. The red jacket, with yellow buttons and short sleeves to the elbows, stretched tight over his belly.
The fucking Eric Cartman.
Cartman raised a huge wave of dust and dirt as he hit the ground, and amid stupid, nonsensical curses, he stood up with effort.
Rémy didn't know what to process first.
He had died. He had come back. He was trapped in a darkness bubble with his killer. Two E-rank rewards floated in front of him like party balloons. And Cartman had just arrived farting from the sky.
Behind him, after the first sphere entered, a thick, dark-covered book fell through the portal and crashed into Rémy's face.
With the title "The Rose in the Darkness" a novel of the Adepta Sororitas from Warhammer 40k
The light beacon pulsed once more before disappearing completely.
—…¿Ugh?
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Honestly, I have no idea how betting works.
This fanfic is more of an experiment than anything else, don't expect the power scales to be respected or the story thread to make any logical sense.
¡You've been warned!