infinity transmigrate

Have you ever woken up and immediately known you're the weird one in the room?

Kael didn't wake up like that.

Because he hadn't slept.

Not after what happened.

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The sword lay across his lap, and his eyes stared into the remains of a fire that had long since died. Smoke curled like lazy ghosts.

He didn't move when the others stirred.

He didn't blink when Silas gave him the usual suspicious glare, like he was still trying to decide whether Kael was cursed or just naturally unsettling.

Kael only said one thing.

"The gate shut behind me."

Riven rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I figured. You nearly fried your brain. Again."

Finn crouched beside the fire, poking the ashes.

"Can we not do any more brain-frying today?"

"No promises," Kael muttered.

They packed up and moved before the sun fully rose. Ruins always felt more haunted after sunrise—like the light didn't belong there anymore.

Sector 9 stretched ahead like a throat waiting to swallow them.

"Do we even know what we're looking for?" Finn asked as they walked.

"Signs of activity," Riven said.

"Old scavenger trails. Leftover supplies. Anything that might tell us why no one ever makes it past this zone."

"And if we find the reason?" Silas grunted.

"We avoid it. Or kill it," she replied.

Silas snorted. "Right. Easy."

Kael said nothing.

But he knew—you don't survive Gates like that without consequences.

Something had changed in him ever since he got out.

He didn't feel stronger.

He felt like a glass bottle filled with ocean water. Overfilled. Almost ready to crack.

The ruins narrowed into a corridor of broken stone, tall walls on either side. Windows jagged like shattered teeth.

Kael stopped walking.

Riven noticed first. "What?"

"Something's following us," he said.

Silas reached for his rebar. "How do you know?"

Kael didn't answer. He simply pointed.

Fifty yards behind them, an open area choked with debris shifted. Dust moved.

He didn't feel the wind. Only the heat of the sun and the salt on his lips.

Then—movement. Slow. Crawling.

Something slithered from the rubble.

Riven cursed and drew her hunting knife. "Finn, get to cover."

Finn didn't argue. He dove behind a broken wall.

The thing behind them moved into the open.

Kael's brain refused to process it at first.

Too many legs. Too many eyes. A body like stretched tar, skin pulsating with heat.

It wasn't hunting.

It was waiting.

Riven stepped beside him, blade ready.

"Tell me that's not what came out of the gate."

"No," Kael said.

"But I think it smelled it on me."

The creature hissed. Wet. Like a sponge squeezed too hard.

"Okay," Silas muttered.

"That's disgusting."

"Should we run?" Finn whispered, aiming his broken pipe at the thing.

Kael gripped the sword. He felt it hum.

Not a voice. Not a system message.

Just a humming. Like it wanted to be used.

"Stay behind me," Kael said.

Riven blinked. "You sure?"

"Nope."

He stepped forward—inch by inch—toward the creature.

Then—

It moved first.

Too fast a creature that has too many legs.

In seconds, it was right in front of him.

"Shit!"

Kael barely raised the sword in time—

CLANG!

His blade struck its hide, only for the impact to bounce off.

His arms trembled from the force.

"Ugh—"

He dodged sideways, avoiding the creature's swinging legs. Then, without thinking, he surged forward, blade ready.

The sword vibrated. Alive. Urging him to strike.

And strike he did.

In one clean line, he split the creature open.

SPLURT!

A bucket of black blood drenched his face.

"UGH—seriously?!"

He wiped it with his sleeve. Or tried to. Now it was just a blood-soaked rag.

"That better not be poisonous."

Behind him, Finn whispered, "That was... amazing."

"Messy," Kael muttered. "But thanks."

They didn't celebrate.

Because another hiss echoed from deeper in the ruins.

More shadows moved.

More creatures slithered forward, like they were born from the darkness itself.

Riven's face turned pale. "Pack."

Silas raised his rebar. "Back to back?"

"Always."

The next wave hit fast.

Kael didn't think.

His body moved.

The sword guided him. Each strike felt like instinct. Like muscle memory.

But not his.

Someone else's.

Someone who knew exactly where to cut.

And that scared him.

Mid-fight—

"WHY DO THESE THINGS SMELL LIKE BURNED EGGS?!" Finn shouted.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Kael yelled, ducking a tentacle. "ASK THE GUY WHO INVENTED THEM!"

One leapt at Silas. Riven tackled it mid-air.

"Hey!" Silas grunted. "I had that!"

"You had death," Riven snapped. "Say thank you."

Kael was bleeding now. Just scratches. A cut on the cheek. A rip through his shirt.

He didn't care.

All that mattered—kill everything that moved.

And he did.

One after another.

Until silence returned.

Black blood covered the street. The creature corpses were everywhere.

Kael stood in the middle of it all. His sword lay beside him.

Chest heaving.

He was tired.

And that scared him most of all.

Finn approached. "You okay?"

Kael didn't answer right away.

He looked at his hands. Then at the blade.

The grip no longer felt foreign.

It felt familiar.

Like it had been waiting for him.

"I'm fine," he said.

Riven stepped up beside him, arms slick with blood. She stared at the sword.

"You didn't use your abilities," she said.

"I didn't need to," Kael replied.

"But you have them, don't you? From the Gate."

He nodded.

She studied him. "Why not use them?"

Kael looked at the corpses.

Then at her.

"Because I don't know what's mine anymore."

They made camp in a half-destroyed pharmacy. The air reeked of rot, buried under dust and crushed pills.

Kael sat near the window, staring out.

Finn chewed jerky. Loudly.

Silas cleaned his weapon like a caveman discovering hygiene.

Riven came over again.

"You're different."

Kael sighed.

"So are you. You didn't stab me when we first met."

She smirked.

"I still might."

"…"

"You handled yourself well."

Kael didn't respond.

"Better than I expected," she added.

She sat beside him. Close enough.

"Talk to me," she said. "No one's listening. Just me."

Kael leaned against the wall, eyes on the cracked ceiling.

"I'm scared," he said.

"Of what?"

"That I'm just a walking tool. That every time I remember something... I stop being me."

Riven didn't speak right away. She looked at him.

Then said, slowly:

"…Maybe. But you're the only tool I've seen use sarcasm like a defense mechanism."

Kael laughed.

A real laugh.

The first in a long time.

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They didn't sleep well.

Again.

This time, they camped far from the creature's nest.

Kael picked up his sword and tilted it, looking at his reflection in the flat of the blade.

Soft black hair. Blue eyes. A scar across his cheek.

He looked like a thug.

"No matter where I end up," he chuckled,

"I still look handsome."

He sighed and laid the sword beside him.

"I'm still me. I have to be."

But deep down, He wasn't so sure anymore.