Waking up from a deep dream. The kind of unpleasant dream where you couldn't breathe, where darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating and endless. Then slowly, gradually, fragments of light and sound began to seep through. Thoughts formed. Awareness returned.
I exist. I'm alive.
Giri's body instinctively gasped for air, waking him up to a burning sensation in his chest.
Air... I'm breathing?
Rain pelted his face, each drop like ice against his skin. The ground beneath pressed cold and wet against his back, mud seeping into his clothes. His eyes fluttered open, vision blurry at first, then gradually focusing.
Dark clouds churned overhead, their depths illuminated by brief flashes of lightning. The downpour created sheets of water that limited visibility to mere feet ahead.
Giri's arms trembled as he pushed himself up. His head spun, the world tilting and swaying around him. A damp, earthy smell filled his nostrils, mixed with something else - something burnt.
His body struggled to stay balanced. He leaned against a nearby tree trunk, only to recognize half of the trunk was blackened. Smoke still sizzled despite the rain.
"What... where am I?" His voice came out hoarse, barely audible over the storm's fury.
Thunder cracked overhead. His legs wobbled, shorter and weaker than he remembered. The rain continued its assault, plastering his hair to his forehead.
"Help!" The call tore from his throat, higher and thinner than his normal voice.
"Help! Is anyone there?" His words echoed across the empty landscape, swallowed by the storm's fury.
He froze. The echo of his voice lingered, both in the air and his mind. It sounded wrong, too high, too young.
His hand flew to his throat. The skin was unfamiliar. But other than that, it seemed fine, nothing seemed "wrong" with it.
This voice...
The sound that emerged confirmed his horror. This wasn't his voice nor his throat.
Giri looked down at himself. His arms were thin, lacking their usual muscle. His hands appeared smaller, softer. Even standing upright, the world seemed larger, taller, more imposing than before.
His heart hammered against his ribs as understanding dawned. This wasn't his body. This was the body of a child.
The tunic he wore hung loose and damp, its fabric scorched black in places. The pattern of burns matched the lightning-struck tree beside him, as if the bolt had passed through him on its way to the ground.
His thoughts slowly returned, fragments piecing themselves together. The lab. He had been at the lab, maybe moments ago. The chair, the neural interface headset. Something had gone wrong with the pod.
"This must be..." he whispered in that strange, young voice.
More memories of the pod emerged - the searing electricity, the convulsions, the moment his heart stopped. A cold deeper than the rain seeped into his bones.
"Quit!"
The command echoed through the forest, lost in a roll of thunder.
"Logout!"
Rain streamed down his face, each drop a pinprick of ice.
"Exit!"
His voice cracked, desperation rising.
YOU ARE READING
GameDev Reincarnated into His Own Creation
FantasyWhen renowned game developer Giri meets his untimely end, he awakens as twelve-year-old Vel in the magical realm of Aeonalus-his own creation. Five hundred years have passed since he crafted the world, and Vel finds himself in the village of Oakhave...
