Chapter 1: Transmigration
Tsk…A sound of irritation escaped a teenager's lips.
"Couldn't she wait five damn minutes before nagging me again?" he muttered under his breath, shoving his hands into his hoodie's pockets as he walked through the quiet night street.
His name was Amon. Seventeen. First-year college student, majoring in Physics. He had just stormed out of the house after a shouting match with his mom over a sink full of dirty dishes. ( Common in Asian households)
The cool night breeze brushed against his skin as he pulled out his phone. A single notification blinked on the screen:
Klein is much better than Fang Yuan.
It was a reply to his earlier comment:
Fang Yuan is the best main character.
Reading it only worsened his mood. Without thinking, Amon tapped furiously:
You don't know what peak fiction is. I've read both novels, and Fang Yuan clears Klein in every category. Writing? Depth? Growth? All of it.
It was a lie. He had never read Lord of the Mysteries. He had only read Reverend Insanity—and devoured it. Two months before graduation, his life had revolved around that book. Late-night binge-reading, early morning re-reads... his grades had taken a hit. Still, a desperate all-nighter before exams had salvaged his results—barely enough to land him in a good college. (He swore it wasn't an addiction. Just obsession.)
[A/N: Speaking from personal experience]
Since finishing Reverend Insanity, no other web novel had interested him. Not even enough to read the first chapter. Not that he was trying.
He sighed, pocketing his phone. The streetlight buzzed above him."I need something to stay up tonight," he muttered, remembering the assignments he had yet to touch. His feet carried him to the familiar glow of a nearby convenience store.
Inside, the store was dim and sleepy. A few people milled around — a tired-looking cashier at the counter, an old woman near the magazine rack, and a little girl eyeing candies.
Amon walked over to the drinks aisle and frowned. Only two energy drink brands."Seriously? Just two?" he mumbled, squinting between the flashy cans. "What kind of store is this?"
Then the door slammed open.
Two men in ski masks rushed in. Guns drawn.
"EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND!" one of them shouted.
Amon froze.
The young girl next to him hit the floor. He followed without thinking, pressing his chest to the cold tile, his heart hammering in his chest.
Then came a sudden sound of struggle. Glass shattered.A gunshot cracked through the air.
Amon flinched violently. His ears rang. The girl next to him whimpered. She looked no older than fourteen.
He slowly turned his head. The girl glanced at him, pale and trembling. Then they both turned toward the sound.
A body lay motionless near the counter—blood pooling from a clean shot straight through the eye. Another man—the robber—was crumpled beside him, his skull caved in. Shards of a broken liquor bottle glistened with crimson.
The girl beside Amon retched and vomited.
Amon couldn't move. His breath came in short, shallow bursts. His mind was blank. Every inch of his skin prickled with cold sweat.
The second robber, who shot the gun, panicked and sprinted out of the store.
"Dad!"The girl scrambled forward, her scream tearing through the store. She collapsed beside the dead man, sobbing uncontrollably.
An elderly woman rushed to her side, wrapping trembling arms around the child. Amon could only watch. The tears, the grief, the mess—it all blurred together.
"Everyone, please step outside! I've called the police," the cashier finally said, his voice shaking.
Nobody argued. Wordless, the bystanders trickled out into the night.
Minutes later, red and blue lights flooded the street.
Police cordoned off the area. A few officers approached the shaken group outside. "We'll need your statements," one of them said.
Amon waited. Silent. Shivering, though he hadn't noticed. When his turn came, he followed a young policewoman to the side.
"Sir, please tell me your name and age."
"My name's… Amon. I'm seventeen." He forced his voice to stay steady.
"Can you describe what you saw?"
"I… didn't see much. I heard glass shatter and a gunshot. When I looked… one of the robbers was already down. His head was bashed in. And the man… he'd been shot. In the eye."
The officer nodded and jotted it down. "Thank you. You can go now."
Amon turned to leave but paused. "Uh… Miss?"
The officer looked up.
"The girl… is she okay?"
There was a brief silence. Then a soft reply, "Her mother's on the way."
Amon just nodded, murmured, "Okay," and walked away.
He wandered through the streets without direction.
His mind refused to think. The scene kept replaying over and over. The blood. The scream. The vomit. The way death came so fast.
Eventually, he found an empty bench and sat, staring blankly at the pavement.
His phone buzzed again.A message from his mother:
Come home this instant and do the dishes.
Amon blinked, then typed back slowly:
Yes, Mom. Sorry for yelling earlier.
He didn't mention the robbery. She didn't need that stress.
He stared at the text for a moment. Then sighed. Long and deep. His eyes fluttered closed.
[Wake up, Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings.]
A voice rang in his mind—clear, ancient, inhuman.
His eyes shot open.
Before him stood a girl. Not just beautiful. Unreal. Her skin shimmered like porcelain, and her eyes black as night. But Amon couldn't focus on her.
Because he could see everything.
Not just the girl — but what was everything around him. What was behind him. He could see his feet and the top of his head at the same time.
His perspective was… broken.
Everything overlapped.
His head throbbed. His stomach churned. And then he vomited.
He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for breath.
Then—memories. Flooding in. Not his.
Someone else's thoughts, knowledge, pain, identity—were pouring into him like a tidal wave.
Amon gritted his teeth and held his head.
Everything… was changing.