2 – Resurrection

It wasn’t a spell, this time, but a skill, usable by even non-magic classes. She needed to draw no mana much less shape it. The skill worked by intent. Glowing white runes appeared on the ground, encircling her in a clockwise formation.

When the ten-second cast time completed, the skill flashed and activated.

The fabric of space swallowed her up, chewed her around for a bit, then spat her out. It was an experience very unlike warping in Seven Cataclysms, and she expected she would need to get used to that. This world was merely modeled after the game she knew, not identical to it.

She stumbled a step as she reemerged into existence. Prismarche’s town square appeared in front of her.

Many stimuli overwhelmed her at once. The bright morning sun filled a cloudless blue sky, forcing Vivi to squint as her eyes adjusted. It seemed her immense stats didn’t change basic human behaviors.

Golden light washed across the stone square, illuminating a large town hall. Its bell tower rose high above the surrounding buildings, a huge clock face visible to everyone in the plaza. As if by divine timing, the massive hand ticked rightward, and the eleven o’clock bell chimed across the city.

The space bustled with townspeople: officials hurrying into the town hall with scrolls, citizens gathered around the notice boards, travelers consulting maps on benches. While humans dominated the crowd, she spotted the pointed ears of elves in conversation, and the horns of demons, too.

The world of Seven Cataclysms was full of all sorts of races, though Prismarche was decidedly human territory, so they were by far the most common.

Colorful banners and decorative lanterns hung between buildings, and workers on ladders were stringing up even more. Several stalls were being constructed around the edges of the square as well, and there were other hints of presumably festival preparations underway. She’d arrived nearing a holiday.

Vivi turned to check behind her and froze. A set of statues stood there, the centerpiece of the town square on an elevated platform. The display featured five figures.

Five figures she recognized. Because, eyes widening, she realized they were all people she knew. Her regular party members, the group she’d cleared most of the game with. Her friends.

Or, to this world, as she could read on the bronze plaque announcing the display: The Party of Heroes.

She gaped at the statue of herself in particular. Maybe she didn’t have much to worry about when it came to being recognized, because wow. They’d gotten her horribly wrong.

The figure was clearly a female demon mage with curved horns, but that was all they’d gotten right. The proportions were way off: the statue was only slightly shorter than the rest of the group, presenting her as nearly six feet rather than the reality of four-foot-something, and her figure was all wrong. The statue was much more…womanly.

That soured her mood. Was it not heroic enough if she was short and flat? She’d designed her avatar that way for a reason, and her real-life self felt more than a bit annoyed.

She guessed it was inevitable that a group of ‘legendary adventurers’ would be stylized into ‘perfect form’. Her friends hadn’t gotten the same treatment, but maybe that was because their avatars had already been impressive.

A pint-sized woman who might be mistaken for a girl didn’t fit the image of ‘savior of the world,’ so the designers had taken creative liberties. Ugh. At least it worked to her advantage. Since she’d hidden her facial tattoos as well, she ought to be able to walk around town without much trouble.

She still internally grumbled, though.

Somebody slammed into her from behind.

She didn’t shift an inch, but it still caught her by surprise. The man bounced backward, and Vivi jumped nearly a foot. She spun and backpedaled.

A man sat there on the ground, wearing a baffled expression as he looked left and right, trying to find what he’d run into.

Because right. She was invisible, standing in the middle of a populated town square.

Instincts urged her to apologize and help him up, but that would ruin her stealth mission.

She internally vocalized the incantation, but felt the command word echo in her head.

“[Fly].”

As she rose into the air, the city of Prismarche spread out around her. Considering the sheer amount of hours she’d put into Seven Cataclysms, she had noticed that there was something off about the town square, and not just because of the statue in the center. As she gained enough height to take the city’s full breadth in, she came to a realization.

This wasn’t the Prismarche she knew.

Not only was it much larger than it should be—something she could excuse as a consequence of translating a game world into a realistic one—but fundamentally, the city’s design was different. It was…more modern, she realized with a jolt. Still several hundred years behind Earth’s technology obviously, but the city was cleaner and newer than she remembered, more glass and better roads.

Off in the distance was the key offender. A train station with tracks snaking into the horizon, southward. There had definitely not been trains in Seven Cataclysms.

The conclusion was obvious. Time had passed.

How much?

Enough to massively develop the city, introduce new inventions, and make rail travel common even to frontier cities like Prismarche. So not a few years…or even a few decades.

This was a world she was familiar with, but one that had left her behind.

She had already known she couldn’t rely on her memories of the game, but that had just become doubly true.

For a while, she hovered a thousand feet in the air and took the city in.

What now?

Her eyes landed on the outline of the city’s temple, a grandiose structure eclipsing even the town hall and bank, two of the other prominent buildings.

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The temple. That was her first stop. She needed to know if death was permanent, or if like in the game she would revive.

She ought to be close to invulnerable considering what account she was on, but knowing whether this was her only life would definitely change how she approached things.

Not just for herself but everyone else too. She didn’t plan to become a mass murderer if murdering was permanent. Er…not that she would have wanted to go around slaughtering populaces anyway.

Setting down in a nearby alleyway and dropping her invisibility spell, she strode into the street. She tensed slightly as she emerged into public for the first time, but most people paid her no mind, and the few who glanced her way didn’t seem to make much of her and quickly looked away.

So she was inconspicuous. As she’d hoped. Though not completely. She was a demon in a human city. But she didn’t stand out to the point it would cause issues. More importantly, she wasn’t being recognized as the woman this city had a commemorating statue of in their town square.

Walking toward the temple’s entrance, a wave of vertigo hit her from the sheer surreality of her situation. When she’d been invisible and peering around, she’d felt like a spectator. Like despite the tactile realism she was in a game still. But having people all around her, hearing snippets of their conversations as she passed by, broke the illusion.

This was her life now?

The enormity of that wasn’t remotely digestible, so she did what most people would. She blocked it out and focused on the here and now. She would have a mental breakdown later she guessed.

Not that she was too upset. She hadn’t been especially satisfied with her last life, and she hadn’t left anyone behind besides her online friends. And, well, she would miss them. A lot. But she had been pretty antisocial, and her parents were—not around.

Nevertheless, it was a lot to take in.

Prismarche’s Temple was a massive structure of polished white stone, with tall, arched windows of stained glass that depicted mostly unfamiliar images of saints and heroes. To her mild dismay one of the prominently displayed ones was of her and her group. The doors were open to all visitors, and inside, sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating rows of wooden pews and a long aisle leading to a grand altar.

Her eyes locked onto the nearest priest dressed in coarse gray robes.

She urged her feet forward, but they didn’t move.

Being reborn into the body of her character hadn’t fundamentally changed her personality. What kind of person spent tens of thousands of hours grinding a popular video game to stand at the top of the leaderboards? Not social butterflies. Not someone who could gregariously elbow their way into any conversation and charm their audience.

Yet the anxiety that hit her wasn’t as strong as normal. Was it because she felt comfortable in the world of Seven Cataclysms? Was it because she was wearing a different body? She wasn’t Vivienne, shut-in and disaster. She was Vivisari.

She willed herself forward and her legs obeyed.

The priest was arranging prayer candles on a side altar. He was an older man with a weathered face and kind eyes that crinkled as he glanced up at Vivi’s approach. If he thought anything about her being a demon, his expression didn’t suggest it. His smile seemed surprisingly warm and earnest.

“How can I help you, little one?”

Little one?