"Ow, ow, that hurts!"
Surya tried to stand himself up from the ground, as if he was waking up from a completely nightmarish dream that had left his entire body in pain.
Every muscle ached. His throat felt raw, as if he really had been strangled. His head pounded with a dull, throbbing pain that radiated from the base of his skull. The phantom sensations of death clung to him like a second skin.
Back in the real world after the death in the supernatural game world, he gazed dizzily around with blurry eyes and saw that he was still in the same position in the gulmohar grove where he had begun.
The morning light was gentle, warm even. Birds chirped in the branches above him. A light breeze rustled the leaves, sending a few red petals spiraling down. Everything was peaceful, normal, completely at odds with what he had just experienced.
Although he had passed away begrudgingly at the entrance of the Taekwondo Club in the warped game version of his school, in real life he had stood absolutely still by that particular gulmohar tree.
The very spot where the magical clay diya seem to appear out of thin air in the game world.
His body had not moved an inch. No running, no struggling, no desperate fight for survival. Just standing there like a statue while his consciousness experienced death in another dimension.
It appears my body would respond only when I was about to die within the game.
Fortunately his soul was dragged the exact moment when his mind was going to be destroyed otherwise he would have been brain dead or worse today.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. What if the ejection mechanism had failed? What if his consciousness had been trapped in that death moment, experiencing the end over and over while his real body stood catatonic beneath a tree?
Surya had first realized this abnormal phenomenon yesterday in his first fatal encounter.
When he had woken from that first death, gasping and clutching his throat, he had noticed that his real body showed no signs of the struggle. No dirt on his clothes from being pinned down, no scratches, nothing. Just the psychological trauma.
This was certainly not good actually to have his actual body replicate all his actions in the game.
What would happen if he were to have someone walk by when he was fighting?
If he was throwing punches at invisible enemies, rolling on the ground to dodge attacks that existed only in the game world, people would think he was having a seizure or a psychotic break.
And What if a teacher walked through the grove during one of his death scenarios?
They would call an ambulance. Or worse, they would call his school counselor, and he would end up in mandatory therapy sessions trying to explain supernatural mobile games that consumed substitute paper dolls.
Try explaining to passing students why he was yelling and running around, and waving his arms at imaginary foes beneath a tree at six in the morning.
"Oh, do not mind me, just fighting headless ghost students in an alternate dimension. Nothing to worry about." Right. That would go over well.
Well...yeah thankfully it was safe to go in the game otherwise it would not have taken a second and he would have known as the some crazy guy in a matter of hours.
The buzz would go around social media before the first period even started. Someone would film it. The video would be shared in every class group chat. By lunch, he would be a meme. By dinner, the entire school would know him as "that weird guy who fights invisible monsters."
Surya clutched his phone with shaking hands and read one huge word on the screen in big, red block letters: "BRUTALLY DEAD."
The letters seemed to pulse slightly, as if mocking him. As if the game was taking pleasure in his failure.
Surya glared at the screen with a combination of fatigue and irritation.
Yeah, I realize I just horribly died, thanks for the nice reminder, he thought bitterly.
His fingers tightened around the phone until his knuckles went white. The urge to throw the device against the nearest tree was almost overwhelming.
Before this he had not realized that the death messages in this game world would be different each time.
Yesterday it had merely read "DEAD," but it was clear that the game was advanced enough to change its taunting remarks based on how messy your death had been.
A simple death got you a simple message. But get torn apart by a mob of supernatural creatures? The game made sure to highlight that special achievement.
He imagined what other death scores there were.
"MESSY"?
"CATASTROPHIC"?
"EMBARRASSING"?
Maybe there was a "PATHETIC" ranking for dying to the tutorial enemy. Or "FOOLISH" for walking into obvious traps. Perhaps even a "CREATIVE" tag for finding new and innovative ways to get yourself killed.
The game had a morbid sense of humor regarding player death it seems.
It was the kind of dark comedy that appealed to sadistic game designers who enjoyed watching players suffer. The kind who put impossibly hard bosses right after save points just to watch people fail repeatedly.
[Substitute paper doll has been consumed. Remaining paper dolls: 0. Refresh In: 12 hours.]
Under the gulmohar tree was another little white paper doll, just like he had seen yesterday.
This time this paper doll was much more mutilated and pathetic than the last, folded and torn in ways that seemed to reflect the savage manner in which Surya had been slain in the game this time.
The first paper doll had merely had a drooping head, suggesting strangulation. This one looked like it had been through a shredder. Multiple tears ran through the paper body, some pieces barely hanging on by thin strips.
There were real tear streaks across its torso region. Black stains that looked suspiciously like dried blood marked the paper surface.
The stains were still wet to the touch, leaving dark smudges on Surya's fingers when he picked it up. The paper felt cold, unnaturally so, like touching ice.
Surya quietly lifted the almost destroyed paper figure, folded it gently into his pocket along with the earlier one, and slung his school bag over his shoulder before setting off towards the main academic building for his first lesson of the day.
The two paper dolls rested in his pocket like grim trophies. Reminders of his failures, but also proof that he was still alive despite those failures. They had died so he could live. That deserved respect.
His legs were wobbly under him. Every step was seem to taking a huge effort from him.
His body felt disconnected, like his brain was sending signals through thick fog. Left foot, right foot, keep moving. Basic motor functions required conscious thought instead of happening automatically.
The world outside seemed abnormally calm after what he had been through, but he knew that twelve hours from now, he was going to be again facing the headless students.
The normalcy was jarring. Students were starting to trickle onto campus, laughing and chatting about homework and weekend plans. They had no idea that a parallel world of horror existed just beneath the surface of their everyday reality.
Twelve hours of coming up with a new plan.
He needed to figure out how to get soul crystals. That was priority one. Without currency, he could not buy anything, could not progress. The red demon had information, but that information came with a price tag.
Twelve hours to prepare to go again.
His substitute would refresh at 6:47 PM. He would be at work by then, stuck behind a convenience store counter until 10 PM. Which meant his next attempt would have to wait until after his shift ended.
Twelve hours to live like any other student knowing what lay ahead tonight.
Attend classes. Take notes. Pretend to care about algebra and chemistry. Smile at classmates. Act normal. All while carrying the knowledge of headless monsters and supernatural death games in his pocket.
Twelve hours to....to...forget it.
There was no point dwelling on it now. He had survived. That was what mattered. Analysis and planning could come later, when his head was clearer and his hands stopped shaking.
The sun was rising higher in the morning now, painting long shadows on the campus walks. Other students would also begin arriving shortly for morning activities.
The campus was transforming from the empty, eerie space of early morning into the bustling hub it became during school hours. The transformation was gradual but inevitable, like watching a stage set come to life.
Surya glanced at the time on his phone. 6:47 AM. His first lecture began at 7:30 AM.
He had close to an hours to collect himself, splash some water on his face, perhaps pick up something from the canteen.
An hours felt simultaneously like too much time and not nearly enough. Too much time to sit with his thoughts, not enough time to truly recover from the trauma of dying.
An hours of being able to pretend everything was fine.