The void cracked open, spilling light into the eternal dark. Suspended in the void, he saw, the fractured edges of reality, raw, and bleeding luminescence towards him.

  “Where… is this?” He grumbled as the bright light stung his eyes. He moved his limbs, reaching out to the light, and stepped forward.

  The moment his foot sought solid ground, a violent, irresistible pull seized him, yanked as if the gravitation of Earth had changed its direction. He flew, his figure flailing, breath torn, until he crashed into something soft and warm.

  It was a dead carcass of a boy, fifteen at most.

  Numerous stab wounds marred his torso. A large pool of blood had accumulated beneath the corpse, painting the soil glistening red under the light filtering through the canopy. One arm was twisted grotesquely behind his back, the shoulder visibly dislocated, while his legs lay at impossible angles, limp as wet rope.

  A horrific, echoing scream like a foghorn bellowed, followed by an aggressive flailing of limbs in a last-ditch attempt to survive. Soon the invader's body began to melt. The grotesque liquid flesh started seeping into the boy's body through every available opening.

  The flesh liquid flooded the boy’s gaping wounds, seeped into the slack mouth and nostrils, invaded the tear ducts and ear canals. No orifice was spared; all dilating in obscene acquiescence as the invading mass wormed its way into the deepest sanctums.

  With no more orifices left, it started entering the pores on the skin.

  It gouged everything in its path, rearranging organs and tissues with macabre indifference, reshaping the corpse from within.

  Minutes passed. Perhaps hours.

  Finally, the corpse stirred, the eyelids—crusted with blood—snapped open.

  GASP.

  “What… what is happening?”

  The body lurched upright from its crimson baptism. His voice was young, alien, and tremulously alive.

  Instantly, the pungent smell of blood and other bodily fluids mixed together assaulted his nostrils, making him gag uncontrollably.

  Slowly, he squirmed his way out of the pool of blood.

  After stumbling a few steps, he leaned on a tree far enough from that liquid monstrosity that he could at least breathe without throwing up. The half-torn bloodied robe was also a problem, but it was manageable.

  He took a moment and looked down. Unable to recognize the smooth, unmarked, and small hands, he ran them over his torso. The wounds were sealed into faint, pink seams, disappearing visibly. The bones held. Only exhaustion remained, accompanied by the lightheaded weakness of catastrophic blood loss.

  “Huh?”

  His mind raced, piecing together the impossible.

  ‘Did I just… ‘assimilate’ into this kid's body?’

  Shock rippled through him, but the migraine hit him harder.

  “Aagh…”

  Catching a short breath, he diverted his attention to his current situation. ‘I'd never expected my return—Return?

  Why did I say return? This clearly isn't Earth.

  You don't forcibly merge with corpses on Earth.

  Transmigration? Reincarnation? Whatever it was, it was so… strange.’

  Had it been a standard reincarnation, his soul transmigrating into a newborn or even a youth's body, that would have been understandable. Had he simply been thrown into this world in his original body, that too would have made sense. But this? What in the heavens was this?

  If it could even be called assimilation. It was a straight-up violation of a corpse!

  And worse—it hadn't hurt.

  A shudder ran through him.

  It had felt... good. Too good. An ecstasy so intense, even the strongest drugs seemed like sensory toys, ten thousand times more potent than a climax, multiplied by full-body nerve stimulation. Worse still, it had lingered in his nerves like aftershocks of some forbidden pleasure.

  Hooh...

  "Argh. Get rid of the weird thoughts!" He slapped himself with both hands.

  He absolutely did not want to remember whatever in the world had just happened there, save for the fact that the memory was already etched into his mind like a brand.

  Thankfully, no one saw him, lest he be labeled a grotesque deviant—he who takes pleasure in violating corpses—in another world before he'd even taken a step. He shook his head and forcibly shoved the intrusive thoughts into the back of his mind.

  With the migraine fading slowly, he inspected his body once more, and unsurprisingly, found it in remarkably good condition.

  'The broken bones have been mended. The wounds have been closed. Even the concussions are healed. Apart from significant blood loss and some lingering fatigue, I seem fine.'

  ‘Just what you'd expect after transmigrating into a dead boy's body, huh.’

  “Haap… urgh… humph…” He propped himself up with the help of the tree, then stretched his limbs and twisted his neck and torso a bit.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  CRACK CRACK

  “Ough, that felt good. It’s much better now.”

  Weakness still lingered in his body but he could feel the energy returning slowly. It was only a matter of time before he would be able to walk normally.

  He examined the tattered clothing clinging to his frame: a loose grey robe of simple, hard-worn fabric and sandals nearly worn through. The aesthetic was eastern, reminiscent of ancient China, like some sort of historical reenactment.

  “Maybe I am in a cultivation novel?” He paused.

  "Did I get isekai'd? I don't remember being hit by a truck..."

  He waited expectantly, half-hoping for the cliché moment where memories of the body's previous owner would flood into his mind.

  Nothing happened. Then, a far bigger problem occurred to him.

  "Wait, who… am I?"

  He tried to remember. Again, nothing came.

  "Uh..." He rubbed his temples, forcing his thoughts to focus. A few fragments floated—snippets of childhood cartoons, the name of a video game he used to play, the taste of orange soda—but no identity. No face. No name. Not even gender.

  "I do remember bits and pieces. I even remember my favorite show from childhood, but... who actually am I? What am I? Man? Woman? Something else entirely?”

  He strained and pushed, but nothing surfaced.

  ...

  Sigh

  ‘This is getting nowhere. Forget it.’ He exhaled slowly, accepting the situation.

  “From now on, I am... wait, what was his name?” He frowned.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged, disappointed.

  “Come to think of it, why am I talking to myself…”

  ‘Might as well explore this new world.’ He scratched the back of his head, feeling dried blood flake away under his fingernails.

  He scanned his surroundings. Dense forest stretched in every direction, but the terrain sloped upward; he was on a mountain. A forest on a mountain, to be precise.

  Trees of various shapes and sizes crowded the path; they clung to rocky ridges and mist-wreathed cliffs. The altitude was also high enough to result in thin air; it wasn’t a problem, but he could definitely feel it.

  None of the trees had any fruits or any distinctive features that could help him differentiate them from the trees on Earth.

  After a few minutes of searching and observing, he found what he was looking for: trails. There were many shoe prints pressed into the damp earth, forming two distinct paths. One led up the mountain, the other down.

  "Five came, and four left. One stayed behind."

  "Dead." He scoffed, observing the spot closely.

  ‘And judging by how carelessly they'd left evidence behind, they must have been confident they wouldn't get caught.’

  Suddenly, he jumped, leaving a deep imprint on the ground.

  The soil was fine-grained and silty in the area. So, he compared the size and depth of his own prints coming up the mountain with the ones leaving and those he just created.

  According to a rough estimate, they were all either lighter or the same weight as he was prior to death. Though it wasn’t realistic, he concluded there was a good chance that all of them were around the same age as the youth whose body he now inhabited.

  Following them was risky. Stupid, even.

  But staying meant freezing, starving, getting lost, or being eaten by whatever prowled these peaks after dark. Although he knew nothing about this world, even a normal human would know better than to wander a forest alone at night, and it was already getting late.

  Had the conclusion been vague or that the perpetrators were adults, he would have run straight in the opposite direction, but as of right now, he had some leverage.

  So, he did what he had to do. He followed them.

  He ran at maximum pace for nearly twenty minutes before he spotted them, four figures moving through the trees ahead. Two boys, two girls. One of the boys wore red robes and carried a blue crystal sphere that glowed faintly in his hands. They were walking casually, laughing and talking as if they hadn't just brutally murdered one of their peers.

  But he knew they had.

  Not just from the evidence on the mountain, but because of that crystal sphere. It was roughly the size of a fist, covered in tiny pores like holes in pumice stone. One could argue whether it was made of crystal or clay; it looked crystalline yet rough, not smooth at all.

  That roughness gave them away. The sphere was half-soaked with blood. It would probably be very hard to clean, even with water. The distance between them was still large enough that he wouldn't be noticed if he moved closer. So, he continued to stalk them.

  Everything was going smoothly until the crystal sphere suddenly hummed. Bright light burst from it, catching everyone's attention.

  “Hmm?!” The boy holding it froze. “Who’s there?!”

  All four spun around. Their shoulders snapped taut. And there he stood.

  Long black hair matted with blood. Grey robe stiff and crimson-streaked from the dried-up blood. Arms limp and legs unsteady. Eyes—once black—now shot through with red veins, giving them a feral gleam.

  Of course, the moment he was discovered, he'd acted quickly. Though he couldn't do anything about his appearance, he could play the part. He let his arms hang uselessly, his legs tremble as if broken. The blood covering his clothes and face only added to the effect.

  He couldn’t clean the blood on his clothes anyway so he hadn't bothered cleaning the blood on his face either. Why? He didn't know. He instinctively felt that cleaning up before finishing a job was the worst decision one could make, so he'd gone with his gut, and thankfully, it paid off.

  "Huh? Lu Zhiheng?! How are you still alive?!" One of the girls, wearing a blue robe, exclaimed, her voice edged with wariness.

  ‘Huh. Seems like I can understand the language, at least.’

  "Ha... ha..." He forced his breathing to sound ragged. "Wait, wait—don't attack me!" He raised his hands in surrender, voice breaking. "You can keep everything. Please... don't hurt me. I understand. I won't speak about what happened today. Please don't kill me!"

  Tears welled in his eyes as he dropped to his knees.

  Initially his plan was to follow the kids stealthily to get out of the forest, but now that they knew he was following them; it was no longer feasible. He did what he could do in that split second. Act.

  Before knowing anything about them, he couldn't afford to underestimate them. The best choice was to submit and act pathetic.

  It was clear that he'd need to deal with them eventually but now wasn't the time. Even though he thought he could probably take them, one had to remember: this wasn't Earth. The crystal sphere made that abundantly clear.

  Well, all things considered at least he obtained his name: Lu Zhiheng.

  "What's going on? Didn't you say he was dead? How is he still alive?" the blue-robed girl whispered frantically to one of the boys.

  "Why are you questioning me?" the boy hissed back in a low voice. "You were there too! We killed him together. I don't know how he's still breathing. He was clearly dead; what do we do now?"

  "We broke all the bones in his limbs, how the fuck is he still standing? Walking and talking?" She cursed, looking at him.

  "What do you mean, 'what do we do'? Go kill him! It's your fault for not confirming it! We're in deep trouble; we can't let him go!" the boy with the crystal sphere urged cautiously, his eyes fixed on Lu Zhiheng.

  "He's already at death's door. Why else would the mighty Lu Zhiheng beg for his life? It shouldn't be a problem for you. Just finish it quickly before we leave more evidence," the other girl added coldly.

  "Haah… why is it always me?" the second boy grumbled, stepping towards Lu Zhiheng.

  "Wait!" Lu Zhiheng's voice cracked with desperation. "We... we're friends, right? We were brothers! You don't have to kill me. Please don't do it!"

  Meanwhile, the boy with the crystal sphere frowned, his mind racing.

  'Wait. Something’s wrong, it doesn’t add up. If Lu Zhiheng is alive, why did he come to us? Why didn't he run away on his own and inform the officials? Did he not have enough energy? Was the blood loss too much? Maybe he thought he'd die halfway? But he wouldn't come to us for help... would he?'

  He didn't get enough time to analyze further.

  The other boy and the girl in blue were already closing in on Lu Zhiheng.

  The boy exhaled in disgust. “Just die properly this time.”

  He lunged with a knife. The stroke was petulant, east-to-west across the throat. But contrary to his expectations, the knife met only air.

  “Well, that’s a bummer.” With a low whisper that didn’t even reach the boy in the front, Lu Zhiheng had already moved.

  He ducked low and to the left, slipping inside the boy's guard. His left fist drove forward with an unerring precision.

  A liver shot, delivered with every ounce of strength he could muster.

  The boy's eyes widened in shock.

  The impact juddered up Lu Zhiheng’s forearm; the boy’s diaphragm spasmed, exhaling an ugly croak. Before the body understood agony, Lu Zhiheng’s right fist rose like a claw moon—a floating uppercut connecting beneath the chin. The jaw clacked shut.

  Then came the third attack; a left hook connected straight to the chin, which finally sealed his fate.

  A spin of steel flashed: the boy’s knife gone, arcing lazily into fern cover.

  The boy collapsed immediately. His knees hit the ground first, then his torso folded forward, his head drooping like a puppet with its strings cut. He crumpled, folded around his own center of gravity into a Z-shaped heap, unconscious before he even finished falling.