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Chapter 2 - A Door without a choice

It was a usual rainy evening.

But Vash wouldn't have known.

He hadn't felt rain in years.

Not because it never rained—but because he never left his room.

Twelve hours had passed with his back glued to the bed, his fingers scrolling endlessly across his cracked phone screen.

His blanket smelled like old sweat, his room was dim, and the fan above creaked with every slow spin.

He hadn't moved. He hadn't eaten.

And he knew… something was wrong with him.

But that was normal.

Everyone else in the house had gone out — his aunt Rose, her daughter Kelly, and little Liz.

They'd begged him to come for dinner.

He refused, as always.

"Just bring me something back," he had mumbled, too anxious to step out, too ashamed of his own face.

He was ugly, or so he believed.

He had three scars across his face — two on his forehead, one near his cheek.

No friends. No voice in his college.

Just judgmental glances. Just isolation.

"I know I'm ugly," he muttered under his breath, watching a gym transformation video on mute.

"I'll go next week… I'll fix myself. Maybe someone will talk to me then."

But he'd said that before.

Dozens of times.

He never went.

Then it happened.

The sharp, crushing pain in his chest.

His phone dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

He gasped, grabbing at his heart.

"What… the hell…?"

The pain worsened.

His chest felt like it was being stabbed from the inside.

Still, he tried to stay calm.

He had felt this before. It always went away.

But not this time.

It spread — to his left shoulder, to his jaw, his neck.

His vision blurred.

His hands trembled.

"Ahhh… what is this? The pain— I can't—"

His breathing grew shallow.

"Someone help me… I think… I think I'm dying…"

He tried to scream — but no sound came.

Just one last gasp.

And silence.

Vash collapsed on his bed, lifeless.

Alone.

The rain kept falling outside.

And the fan kept spinning above his still body.

No one noticed.

No one would knock on that door until it was too late.

But then—

Vash opened his eyes.

He shot up, gasping for air. His heart racing.

He looked around wildly.

He was… still in his room?

The same bed.

Same walls.

Same ceiling fan.

"Was that a dream?"

"Did I really die?"

It didn't feel like a dream.

His body still ached. His breath was shaky.

Then—he saw her.

A girl, sitting quietly beside his bed.

A book in her lap, her face eerily familiar.

His heart dropped.

"Julie…?"

His little sister.

The one who had died.

She was right there. Smiling faintly. Watching him.

"You… you're dead…" Vash whispered, backing away in fear.

The girl stood slowly, closing her book.

"You're right," she said calmly. "I'm not your sister."

Vash's skin crawled.

"Then… who the hell are you?!"

Her eyes shimmered with light — not of life, but something divine and cold.

"I am Seraphael, Angel of Passage," she said. "I guide souls like yours across realms."

"Bullshit!" Vash screamed. "You're crazy—!"

Suddenly—

Agony.

His right arm exploded in pain.

Gone.

Cleanly severed, lying on the floor beside the bed.

He shrieked in terror. Blood poured across the sheets.

"STOP! PLEASE!! I'M SORRY!!"

Seraphael didn't blink.

"Now do you believe me, mortal?"

Vash sobbed, curled up, eyes wide with terror. "Yes! Please… give it back…"

"I will. But if you scream again, your other arm goes next."

Vash bit his lip, choking on the pain.

"Listen carefully," Seraphael said, voice flat. "You are being transmigrated. Not reincarnated. You will keep your pathetic memories, your fears, your scars. You've been selected for transfer to another world — one nothing like Earth."

"Why me…?" he whispered.

She didn't answer.

"You must have questions. What your powers will be. What your role is."

Vash looked up, trembling.

She smirked.

"Figure it out yourself."

"W-Wait, please—"

But she had already clapped her hands.

The room cracked apart.

Vash felt his soul pulled — torn from flesh, yanked through dimensions.

He screamed, but no sound came.

He was nothing and everything, broken and unmade.

And then—

Darkness.

He opened his eyes again.

Wet grass beneath him.

The smell of soil and leaves in the air.

Birds chirping somewhere far away.

He was lying in a forest.

His arm… it was back.

His clothes were torn, body aching, head pounding.

"Where… am I…?" he whispered.

The trees above seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky.

"I'm scared… I don't want this…"

"Am I going to die again…?"

"Fuck that angel…"

His voice cracked. His eyes welled with tears.

"Someone… please… save me…"

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