John clicked the mouse on the glowing globe hovering above his desk. The entire map responded instantly, continents shrinking away as the view narrowed and panned with smooth precision toward the eastern provinces. Eliersia came into focus first as a cluster of gray and green shapes nestled between rolling hills and a wide river bend. The stats panel popped up beside it in clean white text: Small city, 880 square kilometers. John stared at the number for a long moment, letting it sink in. The sheer scale of everything still twisted his stomach in knots, reminding him how small his old life had been compared to this endless world he now controlled from the shadows.
He kept zooming, fingers tapping the interface until the view locked onto the castle itself. The same gray stone walls rose up on the screen, the same courtyard where he had first woken up after the truck, the same stable where that femboy lord had kicked him in the face and called him worm. Memories flooded back in sharp flashes—the smell of horse manure mixing with fear, the sting of boots against his ribs, the way his voice had cracked when he tried to explain himself. John took a deep breath, chest rising slowly under the designer jacket, and held it for a count of five. The air in the office tasted cool and faintly metallic, like the palace itself was waiting for his next move. He exhaled, whispered a single command under his breath, and the teleport hit him like stepping through an open door that wasn't there a second ago.
One heartbeat he was still sinking into the gaming chair. The next he stood in the middle of a long stone hallway inside the castle, boots planted on cold flagstones that echoed faintly with his arrival. His own gasp sounded wrong, deep, gravelly, like an old man clearing his throat after too many cigars. The voice rattled out of his chest and bounced off the walls, making him flinch. He lifted his hands in front of his face and stared. These weren't the smooth, ring-adorned fingers he had grown used to in the husk body. These hands were thicker, calloused at the knuckles, with short blunt nails and faint liver spots across the backs. The skin looked weathered, the kind that had seen decades of sun and hard work. Panic prickled along his spine as he turned in place, searching for any reflective surface.
The hallway stretched empty in both directions, torches flickering in iron sconces that cast long shadows across tapestries of old battles. No one around. Good. He moved forward a few steps, boots scuffing softly, until he passed a bronze statue of some long-dead knight standing guard in a niche. The metal surface caught the torchlight just enough to act like a warped mirror. John leaned in and saw his reflection clearly for the first time.
He looked like a thirty-year-old man. Not the sleek, white-haired overlord he had designed. Not the chud from Sacramento. This face was square-jawed and plain, with short brown hair cropped close to the scalp, a faint scar running through one eyebrow, and eyes that were a muddy hazel instead of glowing yellow. The body felt solid but unremarkable—broad shoulders from manual labor, a bit of a gut that spoke of ale and bread rather than sculpted perfection. He reached up and touched the stranger's cheek. The skin felt real. Warm. Slightly rough with stubble. A low curse slipped out in that unfamiliar gravelly voice.
"Fuck."
A system window bloomed in the air in front of him, glowing soft blue against the dim hallway.
Temporary Avatar Vessel Activated
Original divine form exceeds safe manifestation threshold for this regional power level.
System has selected appropriate temporary build to align with strongest local entities while maintaining operational stealth.
All core skills remain accessible.
Duration: Active until manual return or critical threat threshold.
Warning: Excessive power display may trigger regional countermeasures.
John read the lines twice, mouth tightening. So every time he teleported somewhere, the system shoved him into a different skin to keep him from standing out like a god walking among ants. Strong enough to handle trouble but not so strong he accidentally killed everyone in sight. It felt dumb as hell, like being handed a Ferrari and then being told to drive it with training wheels. Tactics. He would need actual tactics instead of just snapping his fingers and ending things. The thought settled uneasily in his chest, mixing with the old nervous energy that never quite left him even after everything.
He swiped the window away and pulled up his skill list again, the holographic panel expanding in the air with a soft chime. Four spells floated there in neat rows, each one described in crisp text that glowed faintly.
Chlorid: Passive-active emission of thick layers of odorless, colorless gas. The user can release controlled clouds that spread rapidly through enclosed spaces or open air, rendering targets unconscious within seconds of inhalation. Concentration adjustable from light drowsiness to full incapacitation lasting up to several hours. No visible residue, no detectable scent, perfect for silent takedowns in crowded areas or narrow corridors.
Shroud:Cognitive filtering field. The user becomes effectively invisible not through light bending but through direct interference with observers' perception. Brains simply ignore the user's presence, registering them as background noise or empty space the same way people naturally overlook their own nose in their field of vision. The effect holds even during movement as long as no direct aggressive action breaks the filter. Useful for slipping through patrols, standing in plain sight while servants bustle past, or following targets without raising suspicion.
Burst: Short-duration light emission. The user can release a half-second flash of approximately five hundred thousand lumens from any point on their body, temporarily blinding anyone looking directly at them. The intensity overwhelms retinas, causing spots and disorientation lasting several minutes. Perfect for creating openings during confrontations or escaping tight spots without leaving witnesses able to describe what happened.
Combobulate:Passive disorientation aura. Any enemy engaging the user in direct combat experiences immediate and compounding confusion. Balance falters, reactions slow, thoughts scatter as if drunk or sleep-deprived. The effect intensifies the longer the fight continues, turning skilled swordsmen into stumbling fools. No mana cost, always active in combat. Ideal for turning a fair fight into a one-sided beatdown even against stronger opponents.
John grinned despite himself, the stranger's face in the bronze reflection mirroring the expression with a crooked twist. Not too bad at all. These powers leaned heavily toward the kidnappy side—gas to knock someone out, shroud to move unseen, burst to create chaos, combobulate to handle resistance. Easy enough to snatch Elrin without raising the entire castle. On the other hand, the whole package painted a pretty creepy picture: a thirty-year-old man who could emit chloroform-like gas, stay invisible to the mind, incapacitate victims on contact, and disorient anyone who tried to fight back. It felt like the starter kit for every cautionary tale about strangers in alleys.
Like if Jeffrey Epstein had woken up one morning with actual superpowers instead of just money and connections. The comparison made him wince, but he pushed it aside. Whatever. He just needed to walk around and blend in.
The hallway stretched ahead, empty and quiet except for the distant clatter of kitchen staff somewhere deeper in the castle. Torches flickered in their sconces, casting dancing shadows across stone walls hung with faded banners. John took a step forward, testing how the new body moved. Solid. Heavy in a grounded way, like someone who had spent years swinging a sword or hauling crates rather than floating in divine void. His voice still sounded wrong when he cleared his throat, but he figured he could work with it. No one here knew what the real John looked like anyway. He was just another face in the crowd until he decided otherwise.
He kept walking, boots echoing softly, eyes scanning every side passage for movement. The plan sat firm in his mind now—slip into the role of this new advisor, get close to Elrin, and make the grab when the timing felt right. No flashy entrances. No dramatic reveals. Just quiet steps through familiar halls he once crawled through in chains. The castle smelled the same as before—stone dust, old woodsmoke, faint horse scent drifting from the stables. Memories tried to rise but he shoved them down. This time he wasn't the victim. This time he was the one holding the invisible leash.
A servant girl passed at the far end of the corridor, carrying a tray of bread. She didn't glance his way. The shroud worked without him even trying. John smiled to himself, small and private, and continued forward. Blend in. Watch. Wait. Then strike. The rest would come together once Elrin was in his hands.