A faint breeze carried the scent of damp earth and pine as Zero’s senses stirred back into focus. A dull ache lingered in his muscles, though his body felt… different. Stronger. Balanced in a way that wasn’t quite human.

  His fingers dug into the soft grass beneath him, the texture oddly sharp under his clawed fingertips.

  Wait.

  Zero’s eyes snapped open, revealing an unfamiliar canopy of dense, green foliage. The morning sun filtered through the thick branches, casting flickering patterns on the ground.

  This wasn’t Earth.

  He pushed himself upright, his movements fluid yet alien. His limbs felt heavier—denser. Strength coiled within his muscles, a raw power that hadn’t been there before. When he exhaled, a strange heat pooled in his chest, like a fire resting just beneath his skin, its warmth curling through his veins like smoldering embers waiting to ignite.

  Instinctively, his hand reached for his face, his fingertips brushing against something hard.

  Horns.

  They jutted from his temples, sleek and obsidian-black, slanting back from his skull for a few inches before curving forward, forming a circular shape as they neared the tips. The ends curled slightly inward, their smooth texture betraying the lethal sharpness they possessed. His fingers traced their arcs, marveling at their solidity—an undeniable mark of his transformation.

  His skin, however, remained unchanged—human in tone, untouched by the demonic hues that often accompanied such monstrous features. It was an eerie contrast, the visage of a man merging with something far less human.

  A lock of his hair fell into his vision—jet-black, longer than before, reaching well past his shoulders in untamed strands. He lifted a clawed hand to brush it back, the dark sheen catching the ambient light as he moved. His fingers—now tipped with sharp, curved talons—felt unfamiliar yet natural, as though they had always been meant to be there.

  He inhaled deeply, and his senses roared to life—the scent of the earth beneath him was sharper, the surrounding air more alive. He could hear the faintest rustling of leaves far beyond where his eyes could see, the distant murmur of insects hidden in the underbrush.

  Then, his eyes met the glow of his HUD.

  His reflection shimmered in the interface—pupil-less irises of molten crimson, burning against human-like sclera. They gleamed like embers in the night, piercing and unnatural, set into a face that otherwise could have passed for his own.

  A slow smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  Demon Lord. Devil. Balor.

  The names felt like titles that had belonged to him long before this moment.

  Zero let his hand drop from his face and rolled his shoulders, feeling the new weight of power settling into his bones.

  He was no longer just human.

  Zero’s breath hitched.

  “Ugh…”

  Milly groaned nearby, slowly sitting up and rubbing her temples. Her fingers drifted across her ears—and froze.

  “…What the hell?”

  She traced the elongated tips of her now elven ears, her face a mixture of shock and fascination. Her once short and practical haircut had lengthened into silky strands of strawberry-blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders, catching the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the trees. Her emerald-green eyes, now sharper and more luminous than before, widened as she took in the delicate, almost ethereal refinement of her features. Her skin, once prone to the occasional blemish, was now flawlessly smooth, carrying a faint, almost otherworldly radiance.

  She swallowed hard, glancing down at her hands—slender, elegant, with a grace she hadn’t possessed before. Even her posture felt different, as if her body had been molded for fluidity and precision, perfectly in tune with nature itself.

  A rustling to their right broke the moment.

  A sudden gasp snapped their attention to Brock. She had pushed herself onto all fours, her long red hair draped over her shoulder. Confusion flashed across her delicate, now feminine features as she looked down at her hands—smaller, smoother. Her golden eyes widened in alarm. Then, something twitched.

  Her wings.

  Her tail.

  And then, as if reality had finally caught up, Brock’s golden eyes widened. Her hands flew to her chest, squeezing experimentally before letting out a horrified shriek.

  “I HAVE TITS!?”

  Zero sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course that’s your first concern.”

  Babs sat up next, shaking her head groggily. But the moment her fingers brushed against the pointed tips of her half-elven ears, she scowled.

  “Oh, come on!” she groaned, glaring at her reflection in the faint blue glow of her HUD screen.

  Her once simple features had sharpened, her cheekbones more defined, her jawline subtly refined. Her short, choppy hair—previously a practical cut—had grown into long, sleek locks of deep chestnut brown, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. Her hazel eyes, once ordinary, now had a vibrant golden undertone, shimmering in the dim light. Even her skin had taken on a flawless, almost porcelain-like quality, devoid of the freckles she used to have.

  She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Everything about her appearance screamed "elegant rogue," built for beauty and stealth. But as she studied herself, an exasperated groan escaped her lips. "I made this character years ago… why didn’t he let me update it?”

  Roland was the last to stir. With an ease that unsettled even him, he pushed himself upright, his armor shifting naturally against his body. The sheer weight of it should have been cumbersome, yet it moved as if it were a second skin, perfectly fitted to his frame.

  Even through the plating, he could tell—his body was different. Larger. Stronger. His broad shoulders felt heavier with muscle, his posture naturally straight and commanding. He glanced down at his gauntleted hands, clenching his fists experimentally. Thick veins ran along his forearms, barely visible beneath the gaps in his armor. Strength coiled beneath his skin—not just raw power, but something tempered, something refined.

  His gaze shifted to his reflection in the polished surface of his shield. His face was chiseled, with a square jawline and a regal, almost knightly structure. His nose was strong, his brow furrowed in concentration. But it was his eyes that caught his attention—once an ordinary brown, they now burned with an intense steel-gray, sharp and unwavering. His golden-blond hair, which had always been short and practical in real life, had grown longer, pulled back into a neat warrior’s tail that brushed against the back of his neck. He looked every bit the idealized knight he had built in the game.

  He exhaled slowly, the gravity of their situation sinking in.

  “…We’re not on Earth anymore.” His tone was measured, assessing. “And judging by how wrong everything feels… we’re in our in-game bodies.”

  Silence fell over them.

  Milly ran a hand down her now slender, elven features, her fingers trembling slightly. "This… this isn’t just an illusion, is it?"

  Zero flexed his claws experimentally. "No. It’s real."

  Babs inhaled sharply, gripping the grass beneath her. Her breathing grew shallow, her shoulders shaking.

  Roland was beside her in an instant, his hand firm on her shoulder.

  “Babs. Breathe.” His voice was steady, grounding. “We’re here. I’m here.”

  Milly took Babs hands, squeezing them reassuringly. "I know it’s a lot," she said softly. "But we’re together. We’ll figure it out."

  Babs squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling deeply. After a moment, she exhaled shakily and nodded. "Together," she echoed.

  Zero exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he turned to Brock—who was still squeezing and lifting her chest, as if testing the physics of it.

  Zero’s eye twitched.

  “Brock, stop playing with your tits and get over here for a minute.”

  Brock pouted. “Hey, this is a traumatic experience for me, alright?” She huffed but finally let go and stood. “So, what’s the game plan, fearless leader?”

  Zero crossed his arms. “First, food and water. Then, a way to make money without drawing attention.”

  Brock smirked, motioning to her now curvy, feminine figure. “Babs could always sell her body.”

  Babs froze.

  Milly’s hand immediately struck the back of Brock’s head.

  “OW!” Brock whined, rubbing the sore spot. “It was a joke!”

  “You’re lucky you’re a girl now, or I’d be hitting you, not slapping you,” Babs growled.

  Roland sighed, already weary. “Let’s focus on finding civilization first.”

  Zero checked his HUD screen, scanning through their available resources. At least they still had the HUD—the same interface from the game, complete with menus, stats, and an item box. It made understanding their abilities and inventory far easier, almost like an in-game guide overlaying reality. Their inventories were… empty, aside from their equipped gear and an odd new item.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  A bingo card.

  Zero’s eye twitched. “That asshole.”

  Milly tilted her head, reading her card’s description. "‘God’s Bingo Night. You ruined it.’"

  Brock snorted. "Alright, I kinda respect the pettiness."

  Roland shook his head. "Keep it. We might as well see if it has any use later."

  With no other immediate options, Zero motioned for them to move.

  "Let’s go. We’re wasting daylight."

  The forest was eerily quiet as they moved, the sounds of their footsteps crunching against the underbrush the only sign of life. The towering trees cast long shadows over the dense foliage, their thick canopies blotting out most of the sunlight.

  Zero stopped abruptly, raising a hand to signal silence.

  Something felt off.

  A rustling sound—low, deliberate. Not the wind.

  His golden eyes scanned the shadows ahead, his enhanced vision picking up movement just beyond the thicket. Small, hunched figures crept through the underbrush, beady yellow eyes glinting in the dim light.

  Goblins.

  At least six of them.

  Zero's expression didn’t change as he lifted a hand. With a flick of his fingers, dark energy coiled around his palm, forming into a small, cackling figure.

  An Imp.

  The tiny demon, no larger than a child, grinned manically, its sharp teeth flashing. Its spiked tail twitched excitedly as it hovered in the air, eager for violence.

  “Time to play?” the Imp hissed, clawed hands twitching in anticipation.

  Zero smirked. “Go wild.”

  The moment he spoke, one of the goblins drew a bow, pulling back an arrow.

  Bad move.

  FWOOOSH!

  A blazing fireball hurtled through the air, engulfing the goblin mid-draw. It let out a piercing scream, stumbling backward as flames consumed its body. The bow clattered to the ground, burning alongside its former owner.

  Brock grinned wickedly, flexing her fingers. “Arrows are cheap, fireballs are forever.”

  The remaining five goblins shrieked in alarm, some scrambling for weapons, while others lunged forward in a desperate charge.

  Roland reacted instantly, his shield slamming into one goblin’s skull with a sickening crack! In the same motion, he swung his sword in a broad arc, catching another goblin across the torso—the blade biting deep.

  The Imp cackled with glee, following Roland’s lead as it leapt at another goblin, its claws sinking into the creature’s throat. A wet gurgle escaped the goblin’s lips as it fell, its lifeblood pooling beneath it.

  Two goblins lunged at Roland, snarling as their jagged weapons aimed for his exposed joints.

  “Roland!” Babs shouted, concern in her voice.

  Roland lifted his arm defensively, unable to bring his shield up in time. The goblins' weapons scraped against his armor—but did no damage.

  They snarled in frustration, their attacks ineffective against the sheer quality of his gear.

  Roland grunted, twisting his body. With ease, he threw both goblins off, their small, lightweight frames barely an inconvenience.

  One scrambled to its feet—only to be impaled by Roland’s sword. The last goblin barely had time to react before it was engulfed in another fireball, courtesy of Brock.

  A hush fell over the clearing.

  The goblins were dead.

  A soft chime echoed in their heads.

  LEVEL UP!

  Zero exhaled, dismissing the Imp with a wave of his hand. The small demon gave a disappointed whine before fading into shadow.

  Roland glanced down at his armor, running a gloved hand over the pristine, high-quality plating.

  “…It seems our armor isn’t just cosmetic,” he muttered. “It’s the same high-level gear from the game. How are we able to use it when we’re only level two?”

  Zero pulled up his HUD, flipping through the status menu. “The level requirement isn’t there on the character page,” he observed. “But the stats are the same as in the game.”

  Brock grinned, arms crossed. “Cheat codes enabled. Check.”

  Zero snorted, shaking his head. “Let’s keep moving.”

  With their first real battle behind them, they continued forward—toward the unknown dangers that awaited.

  The forest thinned as they approached the edge of the tree line, where the dirt road curved sharply around a bend. Beyond it, a small, bloodied clearing came into view, and six armed figures were picking through the remains of a massacred caravan.

  A damaged carriage sat at an awkward angle, one of its wheels broken, and several lifeless bodies lay strewn about. The bandits—rough-looking men clad in ragged leather armor—laughed and jeered as they looted the fallen.

  Zero narrowed his eyes.

  “Bandits.” His tone was cold, calculated. “Let’s take them out before they notice us.”

  Roland gripped his sword, his eyes burning with righteous fury. “We can’t let them walk away from this.”

  Brock cracked her knuckles. “Yeah, I was getting bored anyway.”

  Zero raised a hand, summoning his Imp once more.

  The small demonic creature materialized in a swirl of shadows, stretching with an eager grin. “We play again?” it hissed, its clawed fingers twitching with excitement.

  Zero smirked. “Go for the throat.”

  Roland charged first, his armor barely making a sound as he closed the distance with terrifying speed.

  Brock hurled a fireball at the bandit atop a horse, the explosion blasting the man from the saddle. The horse reared in panic but remained unharmed, dashing off into the trees.

  The Imp leapt onto Roland’s shoulder, using it as a platform to spring off and dive straight at a bandit’s face. The creature shrieked, clawing at the man’s throat, its wicked laughter ringing through the battlefield.

  Roland vaulted over the man the Imp was attacking, his shield flashing up just in time to intercept an incoming arrow from a bandit hiding behind the carriage. The arrow splintered on impact.

  Another bandit lunged, blade flashing toward Roland’s chest.

  Roland reacted instantly—he lifted his arm, allowing the blade to wrap around his gauntlet. The bandit pulled back in shock, his weapon doing nothing against the knight’s impenetrable armor.

  Before the attacker could react, the Imp sank its teeth into his shoulder, sending the bandit into a panicked scream.

  “Keep this one alive,” Roland ordered as he shield-bashed the man into the dirt.

  Two more charged from the side, aiming for Zero and Brock.

  Zero sidestepped the first attack, letting the enemy’s dagger slice through empty air. With an expert flick of his wrist, he conjured a shadowy tendril, grabbing the bandit’s ankle and yanking him off balance.

  Brock, meanwhile, simply punched her attacker in the face. Hard.

  The man stumbled back, nose crunched, before Brock engulfed him in a second fireball.

  The last bandit turned to flee, but Zero was already there.

  His dagger pressed lightly against the bandit’s throat.

  “Going somewhere?”

  The young bandit—barely more than a teenager—froze, his face pale.

  Milly and Babs stood at the edge of the woods, still frozen in shock.

  Milly swallowed. “I… I don’t think I can get used to this.”

  Babs nodded, gripping her daggers tightly. “Neither can I.”

  Brock rolled her eyes. “It’s kill or be killed.”

  Babs frowned. “But these men weren’t trying to kill us.”

  Zero’s golden eyes flicked toward the dead bodies in the dirt.

  “They killed these people.” His voice was sharp, unwavering. “Just like in the game, we’re exterminating bandits. We did society a favor.”

  Milly hesitated. “But… still…”

  Roland pulled the last living bandit up by the collar, his Imp perching smugly on his shoulder.

  The bandit trembled under the knight’s cold gaze.

  Roland frowned. “You’re just a kid.”

  The Imp cackled. “Oh, I like this one!”

  Zero’s voice was low, commanding. “You’re going to answer some questions. If not…” He glanced at the Imp, who was still grinning hungrily.

  The bandit swallowed hard.

  “A-alright! Alright, I’ll talk!”

  The bandit’s accent was… odd.

  His words were a strange mixture of old-world speech and modern dialect, something between a poorly educated peasant and a street thug.

  "P-please, sirs! I ain't worth much! I swear, I'll tell ya what I know—just don’t kill me!""P-please, sirs! I ain't worth much! I swear, I'll tell ya what I know—just don’t kill me!"

  Zero arched a brow. “Glad we share the same language. Sort of.”

  They learned they were in the Kingdom of Velandria, a land ruled by nobles and plagued with banditry outside its major cities. The nearest town was half a day’s walk north, a small trade hub called Wayfarer’s Rest.

  Zero crossed his arms. “Alright. We’re taking you with us.”

  The bandit’s eyes widened in horror. “W-where? Where ya takin’ me?”

  Zero smirked. “Maybe there’s a bounty on your head. If not, then you go free.”

  The Imp snickered, draping itself over the boy’s shoulder.

  “I get to be his bodyguard and jailor, yes?” It grinned at Zero. “M’lord is most wise!”

  Zero sighed. “…Sure.”

  Roland tied the bandit’s hands, looping a rope to the horse’s saddle.

  Brock grinned, nudging the boy. “So, are there ladies that like other ladies in this world?”

  The bandit blinked. “Uh… yeah? Womenfolk stick together, doin’ chores ‘n all. They get along fine, I s’pose.”

  Milly and Babs giggled at his innocent response, while Brock rolled her eyes. “You are hopeless.”

  The boy eyed Zero and Brock warily. “Never seen folk like ya before.” His voice was hesitant. “Strange seein’ humans travel with a demon.”

  Zero pulled his hood up instinctively.

  Brock grinned, baring her sharp teeth. “I’m a Dragonkin, you backwater punk!”

  The boy flinched but then hesitated. “You… you ain’t gonna eat me, right?”

  Zero smirked. “We won’t. As long as you behave.”

  With the bandits taken care of and their new prisoner secured, the group turned their attention to the damaged carriage and the bodies of the fallen. The air was thick with the stench of blood and damp earth, a stark reminder that this was no game.

  Zero stepped over a fallen merchant, his throat slit, his eyes frozen in an expression of shock. With a sigh, he crouched down and began searching the man’s belt pouch, pulling free a handful of gold and silver coins.

  “Currency confirmed,” he muttered, holding up a shimmering gold piece. It was slightly thicker than what he was used to in End Life, stamped with an unfamiliar crest—likely the emblem of the kingdom they were in.

  Roland knelt beside another body, carefully closing the merchant’s lifeless eyes before retrieving a coin purse. His jaw tightened.

  “These men didn’t deserve this,” he muttered.

  “No, they didn’t,” Zero agreed, tucking the coins into his inventory.

  A few feet away, Brock lifted the lid off a large wooden barrel wedged in the back of the carriage. Her golden eyes lit up.

  “Oh-ho! Now this is a fine discovery!” she grinned, tapping the barrel. The scent of strong ale filled the air.

  Roland sighed, crossing his arms. “We should sell it. We have no idea how far the coin we just found will take us.”

  Brock scoffed. “Or… hear me out… we get drunk and make terrible decisions.”

  Roland gave her a flat look.

  “Fine,” Brock muttered, rolling her eyes. “We’ll sell it.”

  Meanwhile, Milly rummaged through a satchel, pulling out a cloth sack filled with apples. She lifted one, testing its weight in her palm before taking a small bite.

  “It’s fresh,” she noted, chewing thoughtfully. “Probably picked recently.”

  Zero nodded. “Good. We don’t know when we’ll get our next meal.”

  Babs, still shaken from the battle, kept herself busy sorting through the supplies. She lifted a bow and a quiver of arrows from the wreckage, running a hand along the smooth, polished wood.

  “This could come in handy,” she mused.

  Brock grinned, nudging her with an elbow. “Look at you, moving up in the world. Soon you’ll be taking out enemies from a distance like a pro.”

  Babs exhaled sharply. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Roland, searching the carriage’s side compartments, pulled out a hammer and a small sack of primitive-looking nails. He held them up with a raised brow.

  “…What is this, the middle ages?” he muttered. “I guess I should hurry up and get the knight class.”

  Zero snorted. “Well, you do look the part.”

  With everything useful collected and stored in their inventories, they regrouped near the prisoner, who sat on the ground, hands bound, eyes darting between them.

  Zero adjusted his cloak, gazing down the dusty road.

  “We move. The sooner we get to this town, the better.”

  As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the silhouette of Wayfarer’s Rest emerged in the distance.

  Their first real encounter with civilization in this world… was just ahead.