The glow of the monitor was the only light in Elina Ludwig's cramped bedroom, casting long, distorted shadows across posters of bands she barely listened to anymore and manga volumes piled precariously. Outside, the Berlin night was quiet, muffled by the thick walls of her family's apartment building. Inside, Elina was… preoccupied.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking furiously. Sweat beaded on her forehead, plastering strands of her messy blonde hair to her skin. On the screen, rendered in surprisingly high-quality animation, a figure with obsidian scales and eyes like molten gold strained against shimmering chains. The scene was intense, charged with a kind of desperate energy that had Elina's heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Come on, come on," she muttered under her breath, German slipping into her thoughts. "Zeig mir schon, ob sie es schafft! " (Show me already if she makes it!)
The animation hit its climax – a surge of dark energy, a roar that shook the virtual speakers (even through her cheap headphones), and the chains shattered into ethereal dust. The dragon-girl, magnificent and terrifying, spread her wings, filling the screen. Elina gasped, leaning forward. This was it. The payoff. The moment she'd been waiting for through twenty agonizing minutes of build-up.
Her own body thrummed with a sympathetic energy, a restless, buzzing tension that had been building alongside the on-screen drama. It wasn't just the animation; it was the sheer release of it, the culmination of anticipation. Her free hand, resting on her thigh, twitched. The need for a different kind of release, a physical echo of the digital catharsis, surged through her, sharp and undeniable. It had been a long week. Exams sucked. Her parents were nagging. This… this was her escape valve.
With a sigh that was half-frustration, half-resignation, her hand drifted from the mouse. The animation was frozen, mid-triumph, the dragon-girl's powerful form a breathtaking tableau. Elina's gaze lingered for a second longer, committing the image to memory. Almost there, she thought. Just need to… take the edge off. Then I can finish.
Her fingers moved with practiced, almost automatic efficiency beneath the worn fabric of her pyjama shorts. It wasn't about pleasure, not really. Not this time. It was about the pressure, the relentless, buzzing static in her veins that demanded an outlet. The cheap desk chair creaked slightly as she shifted. Her eyes flickered back to the frozen screen – the dragon-girl's defiant gaze, the flex of powerful wings. A spark of that fictional power seemed to jump the gap, feeding the frantic energy coiling tighter and tighter inside her.
The tension built, a familiar crescendo. Her breath hitched. Her knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge of the desk. The world narrowed to the frantic beat of her own pulse, the glow of the screen, and the desperate need for that split-second oblivion.
"Ah... ahh... ahhh~!"
The sound ripped from her throat, sharp and involuntary, echoing strangely loud in the small room. Her body arched, a jolt like a misfiring wire shooting through her. Her fingers spasmed, twitching violently towards the forgotten mouse, yearning to hit play, to see…
But the screen didn't obey. Instead, it flickered once, violently.
Then it went utterly, completely black.
Simultaneously, Elina's vision tunneled. Not to black, but to a sudden, blinding burst of white static that consumed everything. The creak of the chair, the distant hum of the city, the frantic thumping of her own heart – all sound cut out as if severed by a knife. The white static pulsed, searing, then collapsed inwards into a suffocating, silent darkness.
No… The thought was a ghost, a wisp of panic in the void. Not… not yet… I didn't… see… if she…
Consciousness didn't fade. It shattered.
***
The next sensation wasn't sight or sound. It was heat. An all-consuming, brutal heat that didn't just surround her; it felt like it was erupting from her. It licked at her awareness, not burning, but thrumming with raw, terrifying power. It was the heat of a thousand forges, the heart of a collapsing star.
She gasped, or tried to. No air entered phantom lungs. Her eyes snapped open – or rather, the awareness of sight returned.
She wasn't in her room. She wasn't anywhere remotely human.
She floated, suspended in an infinite, stygian abyss. Below her, above her, stretching into impossible distances, was nothing but pure, lightless void. Yet, she could see. Because surrounding her, orbiting her form like malevolent constellations, were rings of glowing crimson script. The symbols pulsed with an inner fire, ancient and alien, twisting and coiling in intricate, impossible patterns. They cast the only light, a hellish crimson glow that painted the void in shades of blood and shadow.
And the fire. Oh, the fire. It wasn't flames as she understood them. It was living energy, ribbons of pure destruction that writhed and roared soundlessly in the void. They coiled around the crimson rings, licked at the edges of the abyss, radiating that impossible heat. Her skin… her new skin… tingled where the ethereal flames touched, absorbing the heat rather than resisting it. It felt… right. Like slipping into a scalding bath after being frozen solid.
"Donarstraza."
The voice didn't come from any direction. It vibrated through the very fabric of the void, through the marrow of her being. Deep, resonant, ancient, and utterly devoid of warmth. It was the grinding of tectonic plates, the rumble before a volcanic eruption.
"You have returned."
Returned? The word echoed in the strange, silent chamber of her mind. Returned from where? The land of crappy internet and unfulfilled anime cliffhangers?
Confusion warred with a dawning, horrifying realization. She tried to look down at herself. Her perspective shifted dizzyingly.
She saw… power.
Skin the colour of a deep bruise kissed by dying embers – a shimmering, iridescent blend of deep purple and volcanic red. Long hair, impossibly thick and lustrous, flowed around her like liquid lava, strands of crimson and gold twisting like molten silk in the non-existent currents of the void. It moved with a life of its own.
She flexed… something. A weight shifted behind her. Immense, powerful. She turned her head (a smooth, effortless motion) and saw them: vast, leathery wings, blacker than the abyss itself, studded with obsidian scales that caught the crimson light and fractured it into bloody shards. They stretched wide, dwarfing her form, radiating an aura of primal dominance.
And the feel of this body…! Tall. Towering, even in the vastness. Curves that were less about seduction and more about contained, explosive force. Strength thrummed in every imagined muscle, a coiled lightning bolt waiting to strike. And the horniness… it wasn't just emotional, a leftover teenage itch. It was physical. A constant, low-level thrum in her veins, a heightened awareness of her own form and the raw, chaotic energy around her. It felt like her entire nervous system had been dipped in adrenaline and set alight. Literally horny, she thought with a mental hiccup, as her gaze caught the elegant, deadly sweep of obsidian horns curling back from her temples.
A flicker of light, cold and artificial compared to the hellfire, materialized before her eyes. Transparent blue rectangles, angular and sterile, superimposed themselves over the crimson void.
[System Initialization Complete]
[Welcome back, Donarstraza]
[Unique Class: Primordial Absorbaatrix - Awakened]
Elina – no, Donarstraza – stared. The name resonated within the strange new architecture of her mind. It felt… heavy. Old. Powerful. Like a forgotten mountain range suddenly remembered.
But… Absorbaatrix?
A soundless shriek echoed in her mindscape. What the ever-loving F-bomb kind of name is that?! It sounded like something ripped straight from the cheesiest, most poorly tagged fanfic on the darkest corner of the web. PrimordialAbsorbaatrix? Was she supposed to suck the life out of planets while wearing a spandex leotard? Humiliation warred with the absurdity, momentarily overriding the sheer terror and wonder.
Another notification blinked insistently.
[Trait: Mana Vampirism - Unlocked]
[Description: Drain mana directly from external sources (living beings, environmental foci, artifacts). Convert absorbed mana into personal reserves. Warning: Excessive absorption may lead to Mana Intoxication (Symptoms: Euphoria, loss of control, reality distortion, potential spontaneous combustion).]
Okay. Okay, that… that sounded less ridiculous. Actually, that sounded… useful. Dangerous, yeah, with a side order of spontaneous combustion, which wasn't great. But the core concept? Siphoning power instead of using her own? That had a certain ruthless efficiency. A dark thrill, completely alien to Elina's previous life but feeling strangely natural to Donarstraza, pulsed through her. Kinda hot, the thought surfaced, unbidden, accompanied by a fresh wave of that ever-present physical thrum.
The deep, abyssal voice hadn't spoken again. The crimson rings pulsed steadily. The void fire danced. She floated, a newly minted (or rather, reawakened) goddess in a realm of pure chaos. What now? Was there a manual? A "So You're An Ancient Demon Goddess For Dummies" pamphlet hidden in these system screens?
As if triggered by the thought, the blue screens flickered, rearranging. New text scrolled.
[Quest Log Updated]
[Primary Quest: Prepare for the Orcish Onslaught]
[Description: The war-hungry legions of Gruumsh One-Eye stir on the continent of Kargath. Their gaze turns to the fractured Demon Realms. You, Donarstraza, the Fallen Goddess of Lightning and Ruin, are identified as a primary strategic target and source of immense power. They come for conquest, for slaughter, and for YOU.]
[Objective: Strengthen yourself and your domain. Repel the invasion.]
[Estimated Time Until Invasion: 187 Days]
[Failure: Death. True Death. The unraveling of your essence.]
Orcs.
The word dropped into her new consciousness like a lead weight. Images flooded her mind, supplied by flickering, half-formed memories that felt both alien and terrifyingly familiar. Hulking, green-skinned brutes. Faces contorted by rage and stupidity. Crude axes dripping with gore. The stench of sweat, blood, and unwashed fur. Fat. Sweaty. War-hungry orcs. From a whole-ass continent away.
And they weren't just invading. They were coming specifically for her. Target painted right on her shimmering, purple-red forehead. Because apparently, being a reborn demon goddess wasn't complicated enough. She had to be demon goddess bait.
The sheer, overwhelming absurdity of it all – the death by self-induced over-exertion, the fiery rebirth, the ridiculous class name, the constant, annoying hum of physical need, and now this – crashed over her. The cosmic joke had landed, and she was the punchline.
She stared out into the infinite, fire-wreathed abyss, the crimson script pulsing like a malevolent heartbeat around her. The wings behind her flexed unconsciously, scales scraping with a sound like grinding stone. The horns on her head felt heavier.
A single, crystal-clear thought crystallized amidst the chaos, voiced in the silent theater of her mind with Elina's signature blend of panic and sarcasm, now amplified by Donarstraza's ancient, simmering rage:
Well… Scheiße. Followed immediately by the profound, universal understatement that perfectly captured the sheer, unmitigated disaster of her situation:
Not cool.