As Samael...or more correctly Azael M. Vornshade stared at the status window before him, his eyes grew wide and his mind raced.
The shock on his face was impossible to hide as various thoughts crossed his face.
What he was seeing felt so unreal that he rubbed his eyes several times wishing that the name he was seeing would disappear, however, it didn't change a thing.
Shaking his head he looked at the floating window before him and sighed at the absurd coincidence.
He had expected something unusual, yes, but this was beyond anything he had ever imagined.
The details on the screen screamed at him, and each line of text was more impossible than the last.
It was pretty much obvious for him to disclose the situation, since the name, the body, and the place he was present stated the obvious fact to him.
His gaze locked onto the name of the body he had now inhabited, which was the reason that connected all the dots.
Azael.
It was the name of a character inside a game. Unbelievable, right? But it was true.
He had died back on Earth, hadn't he? And now, somehow, he found himself here, inside the game he and his brother had spent countless hours playing—Zero: The Broken End. The very game they had loved, yet now, it wasn't a game at all.
It was his new reality.
The shock was almost too much to bear.
He couldn't help but laugh, a bitter sound escaping his lips. It felt like some cruel joke.
He pinched his arm and cheek, hoping for some sign that this wasn't real, that he was just dreaming or trapped in some strange illusion. But no matter how much he tried, nothing changed.
The pain was real. His surroundings were real. The name 'Azael' was real.
The name Azael M. Vornshade burned into his mind, and there was no denying it. He had indeed taken over the body of someone who had once lived.
He wondered for a moment if it was a parallel world based on that novel or if was it just a coincidence.
'hah...whatever'
Slightly accepting this strange reality, he composed himself and then, a heavy sigh escaped his chest as he cursed his rotten luck.
Now that he was thinking straight the worst thing present in front of him was as clear as the sky.
And that was the body he was inhabiting.
He cursed his luck once more thinking that, not only he was now trapped inside a game world, one filled with deadly challenges and life-threatening events, but to make matters worse, he was stuck inside the body of an extra. Someone who existed just to die and push the main villain to the breaking point.
'hah...what a rotten luck.'
He had become Azael M. Vornshade, the son of the southern Duke of the Solvarion Empire. The half-brother of Ares M. Vornshade, the main villain of the game, and a character whose destiny was nothing but tragic.
Samael tried to remember the story of Azael inside the game, and he certainly remembered some information.
Azael's life had always been lonely, marked by the shadow of his father's indifference and the absence of his mother, who had died too soon.
His father never cared whether he lived or died as he was an illegitimate child.
The duke considered Azael a mistake, as he was an unwanted child who was born as a result of the duke's misdeed.
Azael had been a mere afterthought in the eyes of the world. His half-brother Ares had tried to support him, but their relationship was strained, torn apart by the burdens of responsibility and the differences between their worlds. Ares had his training, his ambitions, and his own path to walk, leaving Azael to fend for himself in the cold world of the southern dukedom.
Azael had never known the warmth of a family's love. His life had always been a struggle, a constant battle against the world that seemed intent on crushing him. Born into a family of wealth and influence, he was the odd one out—a reminder of something unwanted, something that didn't belong.
Unlike his half-siblings, who all seemed destined for greatness, Azael was seen as nothing more than a blemish, a stain on the family name.
From a young age, Azael understood the cruel reality that surrounded him. He wasn't the smartest, the strongest, or the most gifted. He had no special talents to offer, no remarkable qualities to set him apart. And in a world that prized success, that was the worst kind of curse.
His half-brothers and half-sisters were quick to remind him of his inferiority. They would mock him, belittle him, and laugh at his every mistake. They tormented him in ways both subtle and direct, finding endless methods to make him feel less than human.
When Azael made a mistake, one would sneer at him, telling him he would never be anything more than a failure. When he dared to speak up, they would cut him off with cruel laughter, as if his words had no worth.
Even the servants, who were meant to treat him with respect, looked down on him. Their cold indifference was a quiet cruelty that no child should have to endure. When they spoke to him, it was with barely concealed contempt. He was never a priority to them, never someone to treat with kindness.
In their eyes, Azael was just another problem to be managed, an annoyance that didn't deserve their attention.
What made it worse was how the others seemed blind to his pain. They were too caught up in their own lives to notice his struggle, too consumed with their own ambition and comfort to care about the one who was left behind. They never stopped to think about how he fought just to keep his head above water every single day.
But despite everything, Azael carried on. He wasn't born into greatness, no. But maybe, just maybe, he could create something for himself in a world that had long since given up on him. He didn't have their advantages, their gifts, but he had something they didn't—his own resilience. That was something they couldn't take from him.
That was when Samael remembered how Azael had ended up in this prison cell. It had been a careless mistake, a lapse in security that had led to the abduction.
On the way to the capital, Azael hadn't been given the protection he needed. It had been a simple oversight, one that an underground organization had been quick to exploit. Their initial target had been Ares, but capturing him was an impossible task as they got to know his protection guards.
So, they went for the easier prey—Azael. He was vulnerable, unguarded, with no personal shadow to protect him. And that had been his downfall.
Samael, or rather, Azael, could feel the old memories stirring. As the anger flared inside him, an image of the past rose to the surface.
He saw the mocking gazes of his half-siblings, the cruel, judgmental eyes that had never shown him an ounce of kindness. He could hear the harsh words of the maids and butlers, their treatment of him like a servant rather than a member of the family. The indifference from his father—a man who never looked at him as a son but just as a mistake.
Azael's hand, still not fully under control, clenched into a fist, his knuckles digging into his palm. The surge of anger coursed through him like a wildfire, burning and searing at his insides.
"Ah…" A sound escaped his mouth, a low, involuntary exhale. He quickly tried to compose himself, to regain some semblance of calm. But the memory, the bitterness, the feeling of being abandoned, all rose too quickly.
"What was that?" Samael mumbled to himself, surprised by the foreign emotion that had taken over. He released the anger, letting it dissipate, though he knew it wasn't his own. It was as if Azael's past was taking root in him, seeping into his very being.
"Hm... this would be tricky," he muttered, the realization dawning on him. "The body is reacting to the memories, huh?"
It wasn't just a memory flash; it was something deeper. It was as if Azael's emotions, his anger, were becoming part of him. Azael's pain, and his resentment, were now alive within Samael.
He couldn't help but feel the weight of it, that gnawing sense of injustice. It was uncomfortable, almost suffocating.
Samael knew he had to be careful, that this wasn't just a memory he could push aside. This was more than that. And as much as he wanted to deny it, a small part of him understood Azael's fury.
"But if Azael's emotions are alive, then... is he also?" Samael wondered a fleeting thought that caught him off guard.
The idea settled in his mind, but he quickly shoved it aside. He knew better. Azael had died within three days of being kidnapped, a tragic end to someone who never deserved such a fate.
That was how it was written, how the story went. Azael's life had been short, cruelly cut off before it ever had a chance to begin.
Samael's gaze drifted down to the body he now inhabited. His fingers brushed against the now-tattered clothes, feeling the wear and exhaustion that seeped into every inch of Azael's frame.
"Hm... judging from the condition of this body, it's been about a week since he was kidnapped," Samael muttered to himself, his mind calculating the passage of time.
From that, he concluded that Azael's suffering was over. But for Samael, it was just beginning.
He couldn't help but feel a stir of pity for Azael, a sense of sympathy for the life that had been stolen away so young, for the boy who had never known love or kindness. But what could he do now? What could anyone do for a soul that was already gone?
Samael closed his eyes, clasping his hands together in a silent prayer for Azael's soul, the boy who had endured so much. "Rest in peace," he whispered, the words floating into the cold, damp air of the cell.
"From now on, this body will be mine," Samael mumbled, his voice low, "And the name... also."
========minor act==============
The host has accepted his new body and name.
Rewards: 5 points
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