A/N: Hey everyone, welcome to my newest free write and the first story I've started after I began posting to this website!

Normally this story will update at the same time in the early afternoon my time each day, but because I'm submitting this story, it might show up early for all of you compared to all of my other websites!

Hope you enjoy!

EDIT: As of today, 12/14/23, this story is COMPLETED! Ignore all mention of there being advance chapters on Patreon and just settle in to enjoy the ride! Thanks so much for giving my original story a try!

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Mikael jerks awake with a groan, coming to consciousness on his knees with his arms chained above his head. Which is a distinct problem because the last thing he remembered was being on a sidewalk, heading towards the University for another day of classes. And… that was it. Nothing else. Just walking along one moment, and here the next.

What had happened? Where was he? Groggy as all hell, the young man tries to take in his surroundings but it’s honestly hard to focus. The only source of light is a torch outside of his cell, leaving him in rather dimly lit surroundings. Wait, cell? Blinking more rapidly in a half-successful effort to clear up his vision, Mikael confirms what his subconscious mind had already figured out. He’s in a jail cell of some sort, chained to a wall.

Not just that, but he’s been stripped of his clothes and put in a set of threadbare, itchy pants. No shoes, no socks, and no shirt. This certainly isn’t how he’d left his apartment this morning. Then again, the more he stares at his surroundings, the more confused he is about his current location. Is he in some sort of cellar? The place looks like it’s taken right out of some medieval dungeon found in Europe or something.

There’s just one problem with that. He was born in America and had actually never left his birth country. So there was no way he should have found himself in some sort of castle dungeon. The United States didn’t really HAVE castles as far as he knew.

… Unless, of course, he’d been transported to another world. But that was a ridiculous thought, right? That was the sort of thing reserved solely for fictional stories, and while Mikael had an overactive imagination and was a voracious reader, he definitely didn’t think waking up in another world was actually possible.

No, there had to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe this was some sort of hallucination. Or maybe it was even a prank. Yes, that could be it. He was… he was being pranked. Never mind that he was an introvert who had barely any friends outside of the internet who could have pulled this prank off in the first place. It was the only realistic answer he could come up with so it had to-

Mikael’s increasingly frantic thoughts are subsequently derailed by the sound of movement outside of his cell. He straightens up and lifts his head just in time to see the cell door open up and two individuals enter.

“Hello? Who are you people? Where am I?”

Rather than answer him, the two silhouettes regard Mikael for a moment before one of them lifts a hand and… and his palm lights on fire for lack of a better word. Mikael blinks rapidly at the sudden direct source of light within his cell. Must be some sort of trick, because once he adjusts, it really looks as though there’s a small flame hovering just over the robed man’s palm. And it is a man, Mikael notices. He can make out a lot more, now that the ball of fire is lighting up their surroundings.

“Hmph. Already awake. Stronger constitution, this one. Irritating.”

If Mikael had to assign some sort of… descriptor to the fire-wielding man, it would be ‘Evil Wizard’. Not only is he somehow holding a free-floating flame in his palm, but he’s got a cloak with a pointed hood and a strange symbol on the front of it. His eyes, meanwhile, are merciless and unforgiving as he looks at Mikael as thought he were little more than a particularly annoying gnat.

The only other identifying mark that Mikael can make out is a scar running just below the other man’s left eye, a thick thing that speaks of an old injury. Mikael isn’t an idiot. One long look into this man’s eyes, and he can see that this isn’t some sort of rescue operation. Even still, he just wants answers. He needs to know what the fuck is going on. Any normal person in his situation would want the same thing, he figures.

“Please… can you just tell me what’s happening? How am I here? WHY am I here?”

“Bula. Hold him in place.”

His questions go unanswered as ‘Bula’ steps forward. Mikael jolts back as the second person to enter the cell finally comes out of the shadows and into full view. His first thought is that she’s beautiful. His second is that she’s not at all human. The one called ‘Bula’ is… strangely dressed to say the least. She wears armor, but only in certain places. There’s a gorget around her neck that dips down across her upper chest, a pair of pauldrons covering her shoulders, and gauntlets and greaves covering her arms and legs.

But in terms of her torso, she’s only wearing what can only be described as a white leotard, and Mikael quickly notes that it doesn’t leave much to the imagination at all. Still, her exposed hips and thighs aren’t even the most distracting thing for him. No, that has to be her sharpened ears and her visible tusks poking out from the bottom of her mouth.

She’s not human. She’s beautiful, certainly, with fiery red hair and striking blue eyes. But she’s distinctly not human, something that she proves a moment later when she grabs him by the arms and thrusts him back into the stone behind him with great force. Mikael gasps as the air is driven out of his lungs. He’s pinned in place by abnormal strength that doesn’t even let him do much more than squirm.

He’s not out of shape, to be clear. He might not get to the gym quite as often as he wants, but he does his best to keep himself in good condition in a world filled with bad choices and the allure of the sedentary lifestyle. However, none of that matters in the face of Bula’s inhuman strength. She’s so much stronger than him it’s not even funny.

“Good.”

Meanwhile, the evil wizard type isn’t idle. As soon as Bula has him pinned to the wall, the man steps forward, leaving Mikael carefully watching the fire he’s holding in one hand.

“Look… whatever this is, I’m sure we can talk about this. I don’t-!”

“Do be quiet now. This next part is delicate. You wouldn’t want me to make a mistake.”

Mikael goes still as the other man lashes out… not with the hand carrying a floating flame, but with his other hand. The evil wizard’s palm goes flat across Mikael’s forehead and in response, Mikael immediately shuts up. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but the other man sounds serious. And he’s right… whatever the fuck he’s doing, Mikael really doesn’t want him to make a mistake.

Except, it doesn’t matter how still or quiet Mikael is. Because what happens next is still… still beyond his wildest expectations and most horrifying nightmares. It’s insidious in how it creeps up on him too. The realization of what’s just happened takes way too long.

“Wha-… what…”

He’s… missing things, all of the sudden. Like he still knew that he was a University Student. He still knew that he was headed to the campus earlier today before waking up here. But he didn’t… he couldn’t recall the name of that University anymore. Nor could he recall his last name either. He was sure he’d had one. He just didn’t remember what it was.

“That’s the first part done. Keep holding him down, Bula. This next part will be a little more… violent.”

Bula grunts at that, her lips curling into an anticipatory smile. Meanwhile, the evil wizard type’s hand clutches down on Mikael’s head even harder and suddenly… suddenly he’s jerking in place as memories that aren’t his own go flowing into his mind’s eye. They pass by almost too fast to understand or even begin to comprehend, at least consciously. But there’s one prevailing theme above all else. They’re all of war. Battles, more than Mikael can even begin to keep track of, filter through his head. His eyes almost roll back in his skull as he cries out and starts to struggle harder, feeling the sudden foreign need to fight, to scream, to rage.

Mikael has never been what one could call a warrior. Nor would he categorize himself as a fighter either. Once again, he got to the gym when he could and he stayed in shape as best as anyone in the twenty-first century would be able to… but he didn’t really practice martial arts or anything like that. And he certainly didn’t have any experience with swords or pitched combat, or being in the thick of a muddy battlefield, swinging desperately too and fro and cutting down enemy after enemy before they could cut him down in turn.

Or at least… he hadn’t had that experience. Until now.

Of course, all of his flailing, all of his fighting… it ultimately amounts to nothing. Bula is still too strong, the inhuman woman holding him against the wall as her evil wizard boss finishes up with whatever the fuck he’s doing and pulls away.

“Good. We’re done here, Bula.”

He begins making his way back towards the cell door, but Bula doesn’t immediately follow. Instead she leans in close, staring at Mikael and sniffing at him curiously. In response… he screams at her.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE!”

It’s a scream of desperation, of anger, of rage. He’s chained up so even if he could match her strength, there’s not much he can do to her. But he feels the need to express himself in some manner all the same.

Far from being taken aback, the red head gives him a savage grin… and roars right back at him.

“GRAAAAAAAAAAARH!”

Mikael finds himself pressed back against the wall, his heart pounding as even the false memories his head is now stuffed with cower before her. And then…

“Come along now, Bula.”

Her boss calls for her, a tinge of impatience and annoyance in his voice that causes her to snort and drop Mikael back to the ground. And with that… they leave.

In an instant, Mikael is alone again in the dark, the only source of light coming from a torch outside of his cell. Except… except it’s so much worse than before. His head is a jumbled mess. Jagged and raw, his memories are… chaos manifest. He can see the bleeding lines where his actual memories end and the new memories begin, but it’s not like that helps him all that much. He might be able to say that this memory or that memory aren’t his, but they’re still in there. And other things… important things are not.

He knows his first name is Mikael. But he no longer knows his last. He can recall his mother’s face but not her name. He knows he had a father, but he can’t find any details. He thinks he had at least one sibling… but maybe it was as many as five? It feels like his mind has been ripped into two pieces and one of those pieces has been stolen from him entirely. Like a jigsaw puzzle that will never be completed. He only has half of the full picture.

That alone would be enough to drive anyone mad, Mikael figures. But it’s worse than that, because there’s also the other memories. Memories of fighting and killing. Of bloodshed and conquest. He’s fought wars where armies of thousands fought against one another. And he’s fought duels where it was just him and his opponent facing off against one another… winner takes all.

He’s just some pansy-ass twenty-first century American. He’s never killed anyone before. He’s never so much as held a weapon with the intent to kill. Except now he has. Fuck, he’s stabbed more people than he can count. He can remember the feeling of his sword driving into someone’s stomach even, dipping up under their breastplate and angling upwards to pierce right through their heart as he twists and-

Heaving forward, Mikael throws up his breakfast all over the floor of the dimly let cell. Eggs, bacon, and toast. Not your standard fare for your average struggling University Student, but it had been a special day. Why? Mikael couldn’t remember anymore. Because some evil fucking wizard had torn out half of his life and replaced it with murder, carnage, and war.

“N-No… no, s’not me. None of that is me…”

It wasn’t all the same person, either. It’s obvious from the start which memories are his and which aren’t. But it takes a little while longer for Mikael to start parsing that most aren’t from the same points of view. Practically every battle feels like it’s viewed through a different set of eyes. Some battles are even viewed through multiple sets of eyes… and from both sides at that. Fuck if that isn’t fucking with him even worse. Having multiple perspectives of a mass amount of death and bloodletting… it’s messing with him something fierce.

He knows it’s not him. He KNOWS it. But that doesn’t stop Mikael from looking down at his hands and imagining the terrible things he can now remember. He recalls literally squeezing the life out of people with his hands. He’s doled out death with these hands. Not all of it on battlefields either. Some of it… some of it was on plain dirt roads. Some of it was in dank back alleys.

Some of his kills weren’t anymore fighters than he was. Innocent wide eyes stare at Mikael from within his new memories and he jerks back again, his own eyes just as wide in response, his chest heaving up and down.

However, before he can start to hyperventilate, the door to his cell swings open again. Mikael had been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t even heard them coming, but suddenly they’re there. Two men in full concealing armor march into the cell and grab him, yanking him up onto his feet. Mikael struggles until one of them backhands him across the face hard enough that he sees stars and feels a tooth loosen in his jaw.

After that, he goes still, letting them unchain him from the wall but then apply new shackles to his wrists and ankles, connecting his arms and legs to one another. Then, they yank him out of the cell and pull him down the hall. Unable to keep up with their harsh pace, Mikael’s bare feet scramble and scrape against stone as he finds himself dragged more than escorted to wherever they’re taking him next.

One thought worms its way into his mind though. Can’t be worse than the dank dark cell, right? Only for another thought that feels foreign and born of his fake memories to answer it.

Things can always get worse.

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Update schedule will be Monday through Friday, as it says in the Story Summary! So five chapters a week, with weekends off.

I hope people are intrigued by what they see here so far. If you have any questions or comments, please be sure to throw them at me. As always, feedback on these Free Writes sustains me creatively like nothing else, so hit me with your initial impressions and reactions!

I'll see you all tomorrow for Chapter 2, though if you want to read ahead, there will be TEN additional chapters of The Soul Engine over on my Patreon at all times!