Alira tugged at the blood chains that dug into her legs to force her still, nails tearing through her stocking as she forced her fingers underneath to loosen the shackles. She could feel her stomach stirring. Her skin seared where the chains touched. There was no need to check her Soul Judgement to know the Corruption was seeping into her.

  All her attempts faltered when silver threads of runes obscured her view.

  [ LoveFurries: Our cat-girl has screwed up??. Time for distraction until og mc can come save her cute ass. ]

  Fuck. Alira hissed. She scraped flesh red marks on top of older ones, but the chain only sank deeper into her flesh. Screw this all.

  [ AllHailMother: Mother’s servants! They talk too much honestly. I suggest that great Mother cut their tongues to improve the mission success rate. ]

  [ fiend: She shouldn’t have— ]

  [ — ]

  The runes squirmed, lingering in her sight for no longer than a few seconds. They disappeared the very next moment, almost as if this Instance was forced upon her to accomplish a certain task and that one thing only. A reminder. Right... Her Role. If she could...

  “No ifs! I can! I can do it...” Alira whispered to herself. “No, really. It’s a difference of two and thirty freaking four! Clearly, I’m special.”

  She was about to continue pitching herself when a sharp ring echoed, marking the start of the unmistakable sound of page turning as someone hurriedly flipped through the book.

  She shook her head to get rid of the ringing. This wasn’t the time to be distracted. With death in the form of two men walking to her with joyous steps, Alira knew she needed to focus.

  As embarrassing as it was to say out loud, she was special. She was a transmigrator. In the original novel, Raine was the protagonist, but in this isekai story, the current protagonist was herself. That had to be why she had a much, much higher harmonization percentage.

  Raine’s first use of the artifact ended in an indiscriminating inferno, but it didn’t have to be the same for her. Thirty-four was seventeen-fold greater than two. It wouldn’t be the same for her. She wasn’t Raine, and this story was hers.

  “That’s right... I’m the most special existence in this world! I should know that very well.”

  Alira felt her face hot from embarrassment and cringe, but she didn’t let it bother her too much. She inhaled, deep, until her lungs could burst. Then, she let go. Something snapped inside her at the same time the turning book was shut.

  The fever of the artifact she had been suppressing exploded with a burst of golden red and orange hues. Flames danced and twirled around her like a scarlet Loong Dragon, melting her clothes and licking her skin and fur. The cultist’s blood on her had directly evaporated.

  It’s beautiful. Cruel, but beautiful.

  Alira admired the flames for a second as she gritted her teeth, feeling and smelling her flesh getting seared. She didn’t panic or shy away from the all-consuming fire. It was painful, but pain was all there was to it. She really had nothing to fear.

  Through crimson-tainted smoke and trembling mirages amidst the spiraling tornado of flames, she leered at the two cultists, calmer than she ever was. The two of them had moved away a good distance to escape a fiery hell they hadn’t expected.

  “W-What?!” the cultist leader shouted, staring not at her, but the flames.

  There. Your food.

  Alira guided, directing the flames to them.

  Go eat them instead.

  The fire listened, sizzling in a way that sounded like a beast’s screech. The towering pillar of flames split into two, surging across the hall to their feast. The cultists didn’t run. They knew they couldn’t.

  The leader reached inside his cloak with quick hands. Something sparkled with a metallic shine between his fingers. Alira couldn’t properly see what it was. He didn’t get to do whatever he’d planned to do with it either. The fire reached the two of them before he could.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The long, fervent bodies of fire coiled around each of them, looping their figures. Groans and screams of agony erupted from the men, merging into one hellish song with the crackling fire. The other two cultists, though already worn down from their drawn, stagnant fight with Raine, left him behind, rushing to help their leader.

  The fire knew what to do without her explicitly telling it—originally two bodies of fire split into four to meet the new kindling. The next instant, four humanoid fiery figures stood in the hall that had exploded with howls and wails. It lasted longer than it should have, almost as if the flames were deliberately dragging out to savor their food.

  Alira remembered reading somewhere that burning to death was the most painful way to leave. Her vision began to distort. She could almost feel their pain from the throat-splitting screams.

  Stop. She almost wanted to say, but she didn’t. She should feel something about the fact that she was burning people alive, but again, she really didn’t feel anything particularly. How strange. She barely felt like herself.

  Her heart raced for a reason she couldn’t quite break down. It pounded in a practiced rhythm, as it’d always done in reaction to this fiery hell. She watched them burn like she’d done it a thousand times.

  Just when the agonizing cries became the only sound in existence, the flames died down at last with a satisfied huff. Four tall pieces of charcoal dropped to the ground with spontaneous thuds.

  This was the greed of an Imperial Mage’s flame, and it was nowhere near quenched. They turned to Alira. Then flared toward Raine and a certain seemingly empty corner. Surprisingly, they didn’t straight away take what they wanted, seemingly pondering whether they should or should not, for just a moment.

  Actually, no, it was nothing to be surprised about. She was simply better harmonized with Xia and his flames than Raine was. They gave her more dignity than they gave to him in the novel.

  “Don’t you dare,” Alira threatened, squeezing the words out of her dry, tight throat. “You're done. Go back to your toolbox!”

  She used the least bit of her mental strength to raise the Bridge, cutting the flames off. The fire left with one final hiss that died down gradually. Just after the Bridge was raised, she felt it getting slammed back down from the other side but didn’t have the energy to care about it.

  Patches of trembling black crept onto her vision. The last thing she saw were two panic-stricken figures running toward her. Her legs gave in, and she followed the corpses of the cultists to the ground.

  { ...Special, huh? I guess you are, in some ways. }

  Soft spoken words tore through the static silence her world had become. Then, it was silent yet again as everything went dark.

  Alira felt multiple presences surrounding her in the deep, colorless void she was submerged in.

  She remembered passing out. So, most likely, she was inside a dream. She remembered killing. She told herself they were characters within a novel, side characters without names at that. Not to mention, they were villainous characters that deserved to be killed for everything they did and would have done.

  Killing... it wasn’t something new to fuss over. She’d killed countless ‘people’ mercilessly in games, sometimes just for fun. She’d taken ‘lives’ just because. This wasn’t any different. She’d just slain some hostile enemies.

  This was the same. Staywes was a world within a novel. A novel was essentially not much different from a game—both were but fictions.

  Still, despite herself, she couldn’t help but recall that when a soul of Staywes, one far too Corrupted, met its demise, it would be forced to linger, unable to pass on. Most would become Spirit Familiar to atone for their sins. A few would turn into vengeful beings to haunt Staywes’s land.

  Too bad for them, Alira had long since stopped being scared of ghosts. She’d forced that silly fear out of herself long ago after realizing she needed to get over it to be able to sleep, or she’d very soon become one herself. After all, the person who would keep watch over her and entertain her childish worries was with her no more.

  She decided finally that it didn’t matter. Whether the people here were real or not. If it meant going back, she’d burn half the world down. Alira gave herself the permission to do whatever it took before the deadline was over. She had four months and counting down.

  Who cared about the dead cultists? What she should be worried about instead is the ticking clock and the time she couldn’t afford to waste.

  Alira wriggled herself around in this formless world, gathering her focus and sharpening her awareness.

  Smell sneaked into the world first: a tinge of tangerine, the scent of fresh laundry, and perfume that boldly blended jasmine and citrus. Some quiet but persistent mumblings came to her.

  “...going to die,” a voice sobbed. “I should have...”

  A second, higher-pitched voice snapped at the bawling voice. “She’s not going to die. Can’t you see she looks just fine?”

  “But Miss is still not waking up...”

  Gradually, light followed as she managed to crack her eyes open ever so slightly. The feeling of being watched didn’t subside, however. Alira blinked the stinging in her eyes away, stabilizing her vision.

  To her left stood a short figure. Purple. Frown. It was Lillian.

  Seeing her face brought back the memories that came crashing in again. Flames. Screaming. The smell of burning flesh. Her stomach turned. Somehow, she couldn’t stay half unaffected and unfeeling as she was back in the moment. The indifferent calmness. Was it not hers?

  “Miss!” Maria’s loud cry interrupted Alira’s spiraling thoughts by giving her a headache that rendered her unable to think at all. Alira didn’t have the chance to complain as yet another person decided it was a good idea to go around screaming in front of a patient.

  “Physician! Healer! She’s awake.”

  Alira could only sigh. It had been one long day, and she couldn’t wait for it to end.