Will… this is awkward.
[Members online: 2]
[The Queen of Jellyfish]
[The Tasty Doctor]
[The Tasty Doctor]: Is this a new member or... you, Grey?
[The Queen of Jellyfish]: Where is everyone?
[The Tasty Doctor]: They're scattered. Some fighting, some rebuilding, some still… searching.
Where have you been? You went dark for two days straight.
[The Queen of Jellyfish]: Two days?
It's been over a year for me.
[The Tasty Doctor]: ...Ah. Another time fracture?
[The Queen of Jellyfish]: Something worse. But I'll explain later.
I'm coming to your place. I need a break.
[The Tasty Doctor]: My couch is still flameproof. And cursed. But it's yours.
I closed the chat with a flick of thought. Silence wrapped back around me—comfortable, for once.
I opened the multiversal market next. My wardrobe needed an update. Something between "walking catastrophe" and "murderous elegance."
After browsing through collapsing digital stalls and eldritch pop-up ads promising "soul-flattering fits" and "10% off the cost of your existence," I finally found it:
"Abyss Hunter"—a sleek, deadly ensemble forged for a group from a world called Arknights. Shadows stitched into armor. Beauty hidden in brutality. And, unfortunately...
Totally unwearable.
Not for lack of style—no, it was perfect.
But—
[Grey]: ...Of course.
I frowned at the chest piece. The design clearly assumed a certain… volume. A confident, tactical elegance. A battlefield hourglass.
Unfortunately, my reality was closer to "wraith-chic" and "flat as cosmic irony."
[Grey]: Too flat for this world's fashion expectations. The universe truly is cruel.
So, compromise.
I dragged my old "Blood Hunter" outfit from the archive—a relic torn and stained by everything I refused to remember. Some of it was still wearable. The rest? Questionable. But that's what power was for.
I began to stitch.
Not with needles or thread—but with will.
A cloak woven from shredded regret, whispering as it moved.
Boots lined with vengeance, each step heavy with meaning.
Armor plates kissed by the void, half-seen, half-feared.
A neckline that dared Death to reach for me again—and promised to bite back.
I stood in front of the mirror.
There I was.
My red eyes stared back. Twin lenses of power I could shift on instinct—Death's Eye or Time Eye, depending on my mood… or my wrath. Both glowed, softly—quiet embers behind crimson glass.
My hair, long and wild, now a pale storm of white and grey, poured past my shoulders like stardust in mourning.
And on my forehead, curled and bone-pale, rested a single horn.
Twisted from white bone.
I tilted my head.
The resemblance to someone called Skadi, if you remove some extra parts, from that Arknights world.
[Grey]: I could rock this look.
I gave myself a smug little nod. The mirror didn't crack, which felt like a small victory.
The Void stirred around me, waiting.
But for now, I didn't care.
I had a new look, a place to crash, and maybe… maybe a sliver of myself back.
Next stop: the Tasty Doctor's cursed couch.
[Later...]
I sat on the Doctor's couch, half-reclined, legs over the edge like I owned the place. Probably did now. No one had dared to stop me.
Beside me sat Skadi—or rather, this world's Skadi. Sharp-eyed. Silent. Draped in the very outfit I had... borrowed aesthetic notes from. If she noticed the resemblance, she didn't say anything. Then again, she didn't say much at all.
She stared ahead, motionless. Her presence was heavy, like deep pressure beneath ocean waves.
I mirrored her pose, just a little more relaxed. My horn itched under the ceiling light.
The silence hung like mist. Long. Awkward. Almost nostalgic.
Then—
[Doctor]: Do I need to ask?
He stood at the doorway, a datapad in one hand, a steaming mug in the other. He looked exhausted, vaguely afraid, and deeply resigned. Classic.
[Grey]: No.
That was all I gave him.
He sighed.
[Doctor]: Okay. Just checking.
He walked away muttering something about needing stronger coffee and less metaphysical trauma.
I sank deeper into the couch. Skadi's gaze hadn't moved once.
She smelled faintly of salt, blood, and the sea between worlds.
[Grey]: You're really not going to say anything, huh?
Silence.
[Grey]: I mean, I am dressed like your bootleg cousin who fell through a black hole and came out with unresolved trauma and a lot of style.
Still nothing.
I smirked.
[Grey]: I bet if I wore the same boots, you'd get territorial.
She blinked.
Progress.
Then, slowly—so slowly—Skadi turned her head toward me. She looked me up and down once.
Twice.
[Skadi]: You're missing the belt, also, where is this?
She pointed at my chest.
[Grey]: It's under construction.
I said it with all the dignity of a war goddess in a stolen trench coat and stitched regrets.
Skadi blinked.
Once.
Then again.
[Skadi]: Oooohhh...
She stared at me like she had just unlocked interdimensional quantum cleavage theory.
The Doctor, behind her, made a noise that was somewhere between a dying engine and a kettle boiling over. His face turned a violent plum as he clutched his coffee like a lifeline.
And before I could escape—
[Door: CHHHHK—THUNK]
Two more stepped in.
[Mousse]: Sorry, Doctor, she got in through the west hall vent again—
[Specter]: Skadi, let us—
They both froze. Mid-step. Mid-sentence.
Eyes locked on me.
Then on Skadi.
Then back.
Like a malfunctioning security camera.
[Mousse]: ...Are you by chance... a... Skadi younger sister?
I blinked.
Excuse me?
The Doctor wheezed and slapped a hand over his mouth, knuckles white. His entire body shook as he tried—and failed—not to burst into a fit of laughter that would absolutely make his lungs rebel.
[Skadi]: Do I have a sister?
She looked at me, dead serious. Like I had the answer.
Which… I probably did, if I really wanted to make one up.
She stepped closer.
[Skadi]: Wait. Did they make you, too?
[Grey]: "Make" is a strong word. More like... came here to sleep on a couch and ended up with a headache.
I flopped back onto the cushions, arms crossed behind my head like I hadn't just shattered expectations by existing.
The Nun girl called Specter was muttering with a heavy breath.
[Specter]: Two Skadis... oh Lord... a dream come true.
I pretended not to hear that. For both our sakes.
[Mousse]: We have a couple of empty rooms if you need to rest, Miss... what's your name?
Before I could answer—
[Doctor]: snort-wheeze-honk Ah—ah, that was a good laugh... Mousse, this is Grey. A friend of mine. Old operator.
He gestured lazily with his mug, as if that explained anything.
I reached into my coat and tossed him something.
[Grey]: Here. IDs are still valid.
It was an old operator card. Dusty. Bent at one corner. The photo looked like a different person—short hair, no horns, no bone-streaked eyes, no void cloak stitched with sorrow. Just a very tired-looking girl with a gun and too much responsibility.
[Doctor]: Looking at this… you've really changed, Grey.
[Grey]: Yeah. Turns out eating metaphysical parasites and tearing out the System messes with your skincare routine.
He laughed again. Softer, this time.
Skadi took the card, flipped it upside-down, then stared at the photo like it was a Magic Eye puzzle.
[Skadi]: So you were flat then too!
I stared.
She said it like she was confirming a mystery of the universe.
[Grey]: You're lucky you're cute.
[Skadi]: Thank you!
She handed the card back with the proud grin of someone who had absolutely no idea she just walked face-first into danger.
[Specter]: Can we keep her?
[Mousse]: Specter, no.
[Grey]: I'm not a stray cat.
[Specter]: That's what a stray cat would say.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
[Grey]: I'm going to take that spare room now. Preferably, one without knives taped under the furniture.
[Doctor]: Third hallway, left side. If it screams, it's not yours.
I stood, coat swaying behind me like a threat. One last glance at the room: Skadi poking Specter, Mousse trying to restore order, the Doctor sipping coffee like none of this was on fire.
It felt like home.
Kind of.
[Grey]: ...Thanks, Doc.
I walked down the hallway like I owned the place, which, for the record, I didn't. Yet.
People stared.
Not subtly.
First, they looked at my chest. Or lack thereof.
Then my face.
Then the horn.
You could see the confusion ripple through them in real time, like they were running internal diagnostics on their memory of Skadi and hitting error messages.
[Random Operator]: ...Did Skadi get nerfed?
[Female Operator]: ...The bountiful mountain turned into a flat desert.
[Grey]: ...I'm gonna start swinging.
I didn't.
But I made direct eye contact with the next guy who stared too long and let just a bit of Void leak from my soul. He turned white and saluted a vending machine.
Room 304 was quiet, thankfully.
I walked in, shut the door, tossed the cloak on a coat rack that screamed and bit it once, and face-planted into the bed like a corpse with priorities.
Nap: achieved.
Time passed.
How much? Who knows. I woke up still flat, still cursed, and still not in the mood.
I sat up, cracked my neck, and opened a portal like peeling the skin off reality.
[Grey]: Nap's over. Let's go home.
Through the rift was the slow pulse of the Void, waiting. Endless stars. Familiar silence. A throne that waited for no one but me.
I stepped through, letting the door close behind me like a sigh.
Back to my house. My chaos. My... everything.
But something told me this wouldn't be the last time I napped on that cursed couch.
I dove into the darkness of the Void, the rift closing behind me with a quiet snap.
Silence returned.
Almost.
Thump.
Something slammed into me mid-warp.
I grabbed it on reflex, claws flexing, only to freeze.
[Grey]: ...Is this a baby?
Yup. A baby. Squishy. Wiggly. Slightly singed.
Somehow giggling.
Who throws a baby at someone through a dimensional rift?!
I looked behind me—just passed by a burning city surrounded by absurdly tall walls. Smoke, fire, very "Final Battle of Humanity" vibes. Probably fell out of there. Classic.
I sighed.
[Grey]: Alright, who lost their apocalypse baby?
And then—
SLAM.
Another impact. Right into my gut.
[Grey]: ARE YOU KIDD—oh come on.
This one had wings. Two stubby angel wings. Glowing eyes. A halo that blinked like a broken neon sign. It hiccuped a rainbow and clapped.
This one had wings. Two stubby angel wings. Glowing eyes. A halo that blinked like a broken neon sign. It hiccuped a rainbow and clapped.
[Grey]: You... you're not even biologically explainable.
I held both babies at arm's length like ticking artifacts.
[Grey]: Lesson here, you two little anomalies: I already have a giant Red Eyed Crow with anxiety and a living armor who can't figure out stairs. I do not have room for—
They laughed.
Giggled.
Smiled.
Teeth sparkled.
I felt my soul take psychic damage.
[Grey]: …Oh no. They're adorable. I'm doomed.
And then—because the universe hates me personally—
SLAM.
Baby #3.
This one had red "X" pupils, wolf-like ears, and was growling. Like, actual growling. It bit my finger.
[Grey]: Okay, that's it. Who left the baby generator on? Is there a cursed nursery somewhere leaking timeline orphans into my path?!
I turned in time to see the swirling curtain of Void part like a velvet veil, revealing my old realm.
A beautiful ruin.
My white vanilla, nestled in the heart of the world, is still intact.
Inside the massive, underwater cavern, untouched by time, grass glowed faint green beneath a sunless sky. Crystalline light danced across the ceiling like constellations made of sea salt and static. The air hummed with electricity, magic, and the tired sighs of ghosts long since eaten.
I stepped inside, the stone arches groaning in recognition.
The three babies giggled in my arms, somewhere between amused and plotting.
[Grey]: Okay... let's talk logistics.
I looked down at the giggling bundles of biological confusion.
[Grey]: What do you eat? Do you need genetically engineered bug jelly like I used to? Or maybe you're into ribs soaked in honey and milk... like my mother made when she wasn't trying to drown me in tar.
The winged one started chewing on its own halo.
[Grey]: That's not food. That's your accessory.
The wolf-eared one growled. The first baby—the fire one, probably the oldest—tried to bite my coat.
I sighed.
Then I did something that would probably make a priest faint.
I shoved my fingers into my own ribcage and pulled out three bones—clean, warm, and still humming with mana.
The babies immediately grabbed them like chew toys, giggling with delight.
[Grey]: There. Rib-pops.
They gnawed away, looking suspiciously content.
And that was the problem.
[Grey]: Can I really take care of them…?
I looked around my grand hall—moss-covered columns, floating lanterns shaped like jellyfish, shadows that moved when I wasn't looking.
A castle haunted by me.
[Grey]: If the Harambe shooting taught me anything… It's that bad parenting gets you killed. Or tranquilized. Or turned into a public service announcement.
One of the babies began to levitate.
Another burped out a tiny puff of blue fire that singed my coat.
The third? Still sharpening its rib on a tooth like it was prepping for war.
[Grey]: Oh gods. I'm gonna die surrounded by magic feral toddlers.
As if summoned by my declaration of doom, two figures emerged from the side hallway—stone doors parting with a hiss.
One was a tall, lithe man with red feathers instead of hair, his crimson eyes wide with wonder and tears already forming.
The other was my walking nightmare armor, a silent sentinel of doom and bad decisions. It creaked as it walked, as if the abyss itself needed a dramatic entrance.
Ammar, my once-lost Crow, ran toward me like a melodramatic stage actor on his final scene.
[Ammar]: My lady, you're back! I thought you'd vanished forever! And you... You've had an heir! The house of Walpurgis has hope again!
He collapsed dramatically to his knees, clutching his heart like I'd just handed him a crown and a family-sized trauma pack.
[Grey]: Ammar, no. Stop. Breathe. These are not mine, I didn't make them, they were thrown at me. Literally.
The armor moved closer, pausing ominously beside the floating baby, who waved its rib at it in a threatening manner.
[Walking Armor]: They smell like you.
Its voice echoed like a church bell in a graveyard. A statement. A sentence. Possibly an accusation.
[Grey]: They also smell like burnt air, moss, and pocket lint. That means nothing.
Ammar held up one of the babies in dramatic triumph like he was reenacting The Lion King.
[Ammar]: This one has your glint in her eye! She is destined!
The baby tried to stab him with the rib. He didn't flinch.
[Grey]: You know what? Fine. They're yours now. I'm going to bed.
I walked past them without further elaboration, dragging my cloak behind me like a queen too tired to kill anymore.
[Grey]: Ammar, just… feed them something. No bones. No souls. No summoning circles. Just food. I'm going to bed. Wake me when the world ends.
The last thing I saw before the doors closed behind me was Ammar holding two babies, tears streaming down his face like he'd just become a dad via high-speed adoption grenade.
The third baby—still sharpening its bone—had climbed onto the armor's shoulder like a conquering warlord.
All I need is a good nap and not thinking about the three nightmares that remind me of some people.
[Chapter end]