Chapter 1: On The Mortal Coil
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Spoiler

Here is Isekai Inc's new cover art, featuring Malarie, with artwork commissioned from the tremendous danardwiputra!

And below is the full-scale image

You can click on either of the images to view them up close!

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Reincarnation. It’s a broad term, covering a lot of different post-mortal phenomena, but the principle remains the same. With so many worlds, and so many millions of souls in each of them, reincarnation governs the process of transitions. Here in the afterlife, souls are sustainably reused and recycled into lives similar to their previous ones, ensuring that those who are "on the mortal coil" are able to live good lives while keeping worlds populated.

Or at least, that’s what we used to be about anyway.

It's hard to ask for funding when your job is about recycling, especially when most of the people governing you couldn't care less about it. Nobody up here cares about how mortal worlds are populated: they're all immortals. The lives of mortals aren't much of their concern. What they do care about, though, is stories of suffering - gripping tales about people adapting to tragic lives, reincarnations where they don't belong, stuff like that. The immortals only ever cared about reincarnation when they could make it wretched; they snorted up sorrow like a drug. Once upon a time, reincarnation used to be about finding a new life - one that most suited the soul.

Nowadays, it seems that it's more about finding the least suitable life possible.

As I splashed water across my silken Elvish skin, I stared into the bathroom mirror. My crystal jade eyes were still bloodshot, my pointy left ear was still rose-red and sore from being squashed against my desk all night, and my business shirt still had the smell of yesterday. At this point though, I was beyond caring. I had a meeting to get to. I lifted my long blonde hair into a ponytail as I bit into the hairtie between my teeth, trying to make myself look at least a little more professional - and not like I'd just slept in an office cubicle after staying back at work until 3am. 

I hated this job. I wanted to go back to my old life, with my son - living happily among the villagers as I taught him right from wrong and tried to guide him down a good path. Those days were long behind me though. I was dead in that world; I'd probably never have the chance to relive my life there. Reincarnation was a perverted process nowadays - and if I gave this job up, I'd probably end up in the middle of that perverted process, being reincarnated a lamppost or a piece of newspaper. I'd rather avoid that if at all possible.

As I finished tying up my hair, I grabbed my briefcase with my client notes, before hurrying myself out of the bathroom. The office floor was bustling with people, most sitting at desks and talking into headsets. A long window stretched across the south wall of the building, and beyond it, the swirling prismatic expanse of the immortal abyss sat across the horizon. The tantalising expanse - just beyond the window, and yet miles out of reach. Sometimes I wondered what the abyss was, but I guess, I never knew the right person to ask.

The abyss beyond was a beautiful, colourful place - with much more life than the quotidian world of drywalls and dull desks inside. Here inside the office building, the world was a place not of vivid colour, but of bland white cubicles and mass-produced grey office chairs. It was oppressively dull, almost. The only semblance of a personality permissible in this building was the occasional coffee mug, emblazoned with something along the lines of "#1 Dad" or "Live, Laugh, Love". I could assure you, though: nobody was living, laughing, or loving in this horrid excuse for a workplace.

As I quickly walked towards the elevator, I could see a tall man with tanned skin and a Machiavellian smile standing before it, talking to some colleagues and faux laughing at some lacklustre joke. He wore a neatly-fitted navy-blue suit, with a red tie, and a set of resplendent golden cufflinks on his wrists that probably cost more than my entire pay packet. He seemed to be waiting for the elevator. As I approached, the man smiled.

"Malarie!" He said jovially. "Good morning!"

"Morning Dalton," I replied vacantly. "You waiting for the lift?"

"Sure am," Dalton said. "Come, join us! I was just talking about my most recent case. It's getting rave ratings from the higher-ups!"

"Hard pass," I said, shooting him down. "You know how I feel about gloating, Dalton. Besides, I've got a meeting to get to."

"Your loss, it's a mighty interesting story!" Dalton stated. "I met a kid who said he desperately wanted to be big and strong, so you know what I did? I had him reincarnated as an abandoned stronghold, it really is a splendid stuff! Alone all the time, with only the creatures to talk to, you can almost see him teetering on the edge of madness... the immortals are just lapping it up!"

"What did I say, Dalton?" I interjected. 

"Geez, sorry..." Dalton said, turning back to his colleagues. "I guess you must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"No, I barely got the chance to go to bed last night, Dalton," I responded. "That's what happens when you actually care about doing a good job for your clients, rather than just torturing them and getting them off your desk."

I angrily stared down Dalton. He didn't seem too pleased either, and as we stood there, the tension between us was nearly palpable. After a moment, the familiar ding of the elevator rang out - interrupting our standoff. I entered, pressing the "G" button, with Dalton and Co. following close behind me. The elevator was small and claustrophobic. Dalton and his friends took up most of the space inside, and I was relegated to an isolated corner at the back of the elevator. As they cackled with laughter, they continued to talk about a small child's slow decline into insanity, sitting isolated in the oppressive wilderness as some lost fort. If I could nick Dalton's case files later, maybe I'd send the poor kid a friend. 

He sounded like he needed one.

As the elevator doors opened to the second floor, Dalton and his merry crew of office suck-ups sauntered out of the lift, hanging on his every word like flies who'd caught the scent of honey. With their departure, I was finally able to step out of that inadequate corner. I sighed. I'd always hated Dalton. The guy was everything wrong with this job: a narcissistic, backstabbing, sycophantic slime-ball who cared more about appeasing his boss than helping his clients. He'd destroyed lives to get promotions, and I hated him for it: not just because of what he did, but because I knew he'd be rewarded for it, and I knew that no matter how hard I worked - I never would.

The bosses didn't care about people living good lives, they just wanted good stories.

After a moment, the elevator screeched languidly to a halt as the ground floor indicator lit up, and the doors opened to the lobby. I rushed over to a series of portals to the left side of the building, which - at this time of the morning - was sparsely occupied. Queues of two to three case workers stood waiting for their turns, shuffling slowly like torpid zombies, and as I stood in the line - I followed their same zombie-like pattern, waiting for my turn.

"Next!" The portal steward called.  

It took a while to reach the front of the queue, but I was used to waiting. It got much worse in the afternoons, so it was always best to schedule your clients for the mornings: that way, you'd actually have a chance in hell of getting through the gates on time. As the zombies in the queue quietly passed by the steward, I finally made my way to the front of the line.

"Pass, ma'am?" The portal steward asked me. 

I put my briefcase on the floor in front of him, before pulling out a laminated piece of paper with an arcane sigil and my name on it. As he ran a runestone over it, the stone turned green with radiant light.

"That's good," the steward said. "You got a Client ID you want me to punch in?"

"741-836-923-049-2," I said, listing off the details at the top of my case notes. "Robert Chavez."

"I don't need his name, ma'am, just the ID," the steward replied. "You can go on through now."

The gate whirred to life, a translucent sea stretching across the circular frame like a beautiful dark ocean. As I picked up my briefcase, shoving my papers inside, I wandered toward the gate. Sticking my head inside, I felt the cold sensation of falling into water as I stepped through, sinking into the midnight aqua, subsumed into its depths. Plunging into the tenebrous depths of the portal, I drifted through an infinite ocean, and as I passed the entrance of the gate and faded off into the abyss - I could faintly hear the garbled call of the portal steward behind me as I passed through.

"Next!" He yelled once again.

This little bad boy is an experiment of mine. Originally, I wanted to create a more comical fiction about a knight reincarnated as a cannabis plant, but I thought something like this was a compelling way of fitting into the competition theme whilst also kind of subverting it slightly. I think this turned out better. Anyway, I'm a bit late to Adventum, so any help you can offer is more than welcomed!

Feel free to leave a comment, review, or favourite! I always appreciate knowing how my readers feel!

I hope you'll keep reading!

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