Yvonne Carter, 39, Human
"Give it up for our ongoing national MMA champion, Yvonne Carter!"
The commentator's voice roared through the arena as the referee lifted Yvonne's arm high into the air. The crowd erupted in cheers, flashes of cameras lighting up the ring like tiny fireworks.
Yvonne's head pounded.
Her lip was split, and one of her eyes was beginning to swell shut—but her opponent looked far worse. The woman clutched her hand, wincing in pain after breaking it while trying to land three desperate punches earlier in the round.
Yvonne had swept her leg out from under her, sending her crashing to the mat. Before she could recover, Yvonne mounted her and rained down blow after blow until the referee stepped in.
The fight was over.
Victory by surrender.
Normally, the wounds would have been the worst part of the night.
But not tonight.
The headache.
It had been tormenting her for over a week—a deep, unrelenting pressure behind her eyes that refused to lift. Doctors had prescribed medication, but nothing seemed to help.
That's the only reason she even landed those hits, Yvonne thought bitterly.
Without another word, she slipped out of the ring and headed toward the changing room.
All she wanted was to get back to the hotel and sip a warm cup of garlic tea.
Her manager trailed behind her, talking, probably about interviews or scheduling, but the pounding in Yvonne's head drowned out most of the words.
Inside the locker room, her opponent screamed in pain, drawing the attention of medical staff. The racket made Yvonne flinch, her headache twisting sharper.
She changed quickly, grabbed her things, and headed toward the exit. A few fans waved excitedly, and despite the throbbing in her skull, she gave them a small, warm smile.
Outside the arena, her manager caught up with her.
"It's only 3:30 PM," she said, glancing at the silver watch on her wrist, its coating chipped and worn. "Do you want lunch, or just head back to the hotel?"
Yvonne groaned quietly.
"I'll go back. I can just order room service."
Her hand rested on the strap of her duffel bag.
The manager nodded, and the two of them walked to the car, the driver holding the door patiently. The ride back was quiet, the city's noise fading behind tinted windows.
When they reached the hotel's top floor, the elevator doors opened, and they parted ways. Yvonne's suite awaited—luxury, but all she could focus on was the pulsing ache in her head.
Inside, she dimmed the lights and tossed her bag onto the kitchen counter. Her feet carried her toward the couch without even thinking. She didn't bother removing her shoes. She collapsed onto the cushions, closing her eyes.
Just a quick rest.
That was all she needed.
⸻
"Is she awake?"
A voice whispered nearby.
A finger poked Yvonne's arm.
Minutes passed before she stirred, her vision blurry.
"Where—"
Her words caught in her throat.
Clouds. Endless clouds. She was sitting on them.
"Where the bleep am I?"
She froze.
Bleep? Bleep?
BLEEP?!
She slapped her hand over her mouth.
I can't cuss?!
"Why hello there."
Yvonne looked up.
A man stood before her—if he could even be called that.
Golden-blond hair cascaded past his shoulders. His eyes shimmered with a mix of blue and turquoise, a gaze that felt ancient yet startlingly youthful. He leaned slightly forward, curious, watching her reactions like a scientist studying a specimen.
"WHOA!"
Yvonne reacted instinctively, shoving backward as she would against an opponent's lunge.
She fell. Straight off the edge of the cloud.
A casual snap of his fingers halted her midair. Her body hovered like a marionette on invisible strings.
"Let's move from the edge, shall we?" he hummed.
I cannot lose the human whose soul I just accidentally took, he thought nervously. Even after centuries, clumsiness remained his greatest flaw.
"Where am I?" Yvonne demanded, still hovering slightly.
She tried to steady her breathing.
"Okay... let me think," she muttered. "I went back to the hotel after my match because of my headache... I laid down on the couch..."
She gestured around her.
"This—" the endless sky and clouds "—is not my couch."
"Well—"
He snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, her couch appeared.
He gently lowered her onto it.
"Is that better?"
"No," she said flatly, leaning forward. Her eyes studied him carefully. Golden hair, strange glowing eyes, a presence that was both human and... not.
"Are you... a god?"
Her expression shifted, panic creeping in. She shot to her feet, hand flying to her forehead.
"Did I die?!"
Lior's fascination was immediate.
Wow. She figured that out fast.
He teleported beside her and grasped her hand with the enthusiasm of a child.
"YES! You're one smart human!"
Yvonne stared, a mixture of awe and growing concern. She sank back onto the couch.
"How did I die?"
Lior shrank into himself, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well..."
He hesitated. "I was doing my usual job—collecting souls—and technically extracted the correct soul..."
He smiled awkwardly.
"But I accidentally extracted yours first."
Silence.
"YOU WHAT?!"
Yvonne leapt to her feet.
"YOU KILLED ME?!"
"And I deeply apologize," Lior said stiffly.
"Well then send me back!"
Lior winced. "I... can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because," he said carefully, "I have already extracted 100% of your soul."
"WHAT?!"
Her voice threatened to shatter her eardrums.
Lior ducked behind his throne, peeking cautiously.
"But I came up with a solution!"
Yvonne stomped impatiently.
"Well?!"
Lior straightened, adjusting the white robe draped elegantly over his frame.
"There is a tribe I want you to save."
"...Okay?"
"They are diminishing, mistreated, weak," he explained. "And I hate seeing them suffer."
Yvonne squinted.
"And?"
"If you restore the tribe," Lior said brightly, "I'll allow you to reincarnate into a new life—AND give you three wishes."
"And if I decide to stay?"
"You still get the three wishes."
"Trust me," she said dryly, "I will not be staying."
"So you'll help?"
He appeared instantly, hands gripping her shoulders, face uncomfortably close.
"Do I have any other choice?" she asked.
Lior paused. "Well... you could choose for your soul to never exist. No reincarnation. Nothing."
"I wasn't serious," she said flatly. Why throw away three wishes?
"Great!" Lior clapped happily.
He snapped his fingers. A swirling portal appeared—another world beyond it.
Crescentia.
The world where her new life would begin.
Yvonne stepped forward.
Then Lior pulled her back.
"Oh! I forgot something!"
With another snap, a small creature formed from the clouds—a tiny puppy, soft and white, with delicate wings fluttering on its back.
"Meet OWL," Lior announced proudly. "Other-Worldly Liaison." his finger resting beneath his now abnormally pointed nose.
The cloud puppy puffed out his chest.
Yvonne stared.
"...Isn't that just...a tiny...flying dog?"
"Well, not necessarily."
"Why didn't you just call him DOG and give it a similar meaning?"
"His name is OWL," Lior huffed. "And I'm sticking to it. He came from me—so he's essentially my 'son,' as you humans say."
"We both stood here while you literally made him out of clouds," Yvonne said dryly.
"He will guide you in this new world," Lior continued. "He can fulfill basic needs and survival—but cannot replicate living things. At no point should you EVER attempt that."
Yvonne raised her hands.
"Sheesh. I get it."
She wasn't planning on breaking the rules, but she appreciated the clarity.
"You'll figure out the rest as you go."
Lior waved cheerfully.
"Ta ta!"
Before she could respond, he shoved her through the portal.
Darkness swallowed her instantly.
Everything went black.