Most people think reincarnation is a fresh start. A "New Game Plus." Let me tell you, that is a lie sold by the marketing department of the afterlife. Reincarnation is a hostile takeover, and in my case, the previous management left the building on fire.
I stood in the center of my office—well, Duke Arthur’s office—staring at the spot where the assassin used to be. There was zero blood. That’s the benefit of being a semi-liquid predator; I don’t leave crime scenes, I eat them. Efficient. Zero waste. The only evidence left was a slight scorch mark on the mahogany floor where the idiot tried to use a Fireball scroll on me.
"Amateurs," I sighed, adjusting my cuffs.
My left pinky finger dripped onto the desk with a wet plop.
I stared at the glob of pale slime that used to be a digit. It sat there, quivering, looking like vanilla pudding that had gone bad.
[ALERT: Bio-morphic Integrity Critical. Mana leakage detected in Sector: Left Hand. Please top up your subscription.]
"Oh, shut up," I told the floating interface.
I squeezed my eyes shut—which felt weird because I don't actually have eyelids, just mimicked skin folds—and focused. In my past life on Earth, as a CFO, I used to focus on spreadsheets until my eyes bled. Here, I had to focus on physics so my body didn't dissolve.
I pulled mana from my core. It felt like burning cash. The glob on the desk wiggled, shot back up into my hand, and solidified into a finger. It even had a manicure.
I walked over to the floor-length mirror. Duke Arthur stared back. High cheekbones, jet-black hair, and eyes that were currently rippling like a disturbed pond.
"Stabilize," I commanded. The ripples stopped.
I looked human. I looked expensive. I looked like the kind of guy who would foreclose on an orphanage because the land value went up. Which was perfect, because that’s exactly who this body belonged to before I ate him and stole his identity.
The interface flashed again.
[Current Role: Duke Arthur Vane.]
[Performance Review: C-]
[Next Divine Audit: T-Minus Unknown.]
I sat down in the leather chair, grabbing a crystal decanter. It wasn't whiskey; it was liquified mana crystals. It tasted like blue raspberry battery acid. I downed the whole glass.
"Profit margins are thin today," I grumbled, feeling my skin tighten back into a solid form. "If the Church raises the tax on Holy Water again, I’m going to have to start eating the staff. And good help is so hard to find."
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.