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Part 1 of at what point does isekai become escapism (self-inserts collection)
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Anonymous
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Published:
2025-08-12
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2025-09-02
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3/?
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Bird up! WAIT NO NOT LIKE THAT—! (PHIGHTING SI)

Anonymous

Summary:

In which the world ends, a version of the author dies, and is sent to the world of PHIGHTING for fun and profit.

Except, their patron slash narrator accidentally drops them into the wilderness after saddling them with birds of dubious morality, a faulty body, and the wise words of: “go make some friends, give us some entertainment, but most of all; have fun!”

Oh, and they don’t know they’re in PHIGHTING.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Inpherno has to contend with sightings of some new cryptid, and a supposedly haunted “Black Forest” popping up.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Notes:

Chapter 1: Fledgling

Summary:

1. a young bird that has just *fledged.

2. a person or organization that is immature, inexperienced, or underdeveloped.

*(of a young bird) having wing feathers that are large enough for flight; able to fly.

Notes:

I binged a bunch of phighting SIs and went “man I wanna make my own” and this is the result I cranked out in about 24hrs

Putting my shit on anon for the time being bc I’m a coward <3

Special thanks to one of my dearest friends for letting me use them as a soundboard for my fic idea <3 <3

This is prolly gonna update whenever I feel like it/when it feels like I’m being eaten by brainworms

Patch notes 8/15/25: fixed some words and added a sentence i accidentally deleted

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

This is a story about ‘You.’

It actually isn’t, but semantics, the more important part is the character that is our lens to this world. Thus, they are ‘You’ for both of our convenience. The bland Everyman, the protagonist through which near anyone can project unto.

Of course, You have your own hobbies, desires, and interests, but that’s nothing too important to the greater scheme.

Today, you are on a walk. The sun is shining, and the heat of summer remains as blistering and unrelenting as ever. You’d normally be in your room writing who knows what right about now, but you’ve decided to get your shit together and buy some groceries instead of agonizing over commissions again. Plus, you wanted to buy some ice cream, maybe it’d make the summer less shit.

There’s very little to describe the route you walk. Imagine a suburb, any of them, with all the little shops and grocers. That’s all it is. Though, it’s still your home, so there’s that.

Passing by strangers and restaurants, you tune out their chatter over the strange heatwave. You do agree with them privately, you live in the Midwest, a normal weather forecast is a suggestion at best, but the heat has been incredibly unexpected. Not that you know much about it, probably climate change or global warming.

Or aliens. You’re an artist not a meteorologist.

In the end, it doesn’t take long for you to reach your preferred grocery store. The automatic doors slide open as you duck into the gloriously air conditioned building, grabbing a basket and the printed ads before beelining towards the dry goods aisles.

Your basket slowly fills with what you’ve been running low on. Vanilla extract, butter, a random assortment of vegetables, bread from the discounted rack, shredded cheese that was on sale, and a container of strawberries. You also buy some energy drinks, for when you really need a pick-me-up.

Eventually, you make your way to the ice cream aisle. A good portion of it has already been picked clean, by cause of the heatwave clearly, but there’s still plenty of choice. 

You eye the pints, before deciding on a box of popsicles.

Easier to eat while working. Except when they melt. The box gets added to your basket without much fanfare.

Self checkout goes smoothly, barring a miscommunication about coupons that gets cleared up quickly. You buy your groceries, but hesitate for a moment, before flagging down a cashier. Two boxes of cigarettes are bought, and added to your bags.

You don’t smoke, it’s for your dad. Despite trying to kick the habit, it’s been a slow process for your old man. At the very least, it wasn’t as bad as before, pain in the ass to buy them though.

Groceries in hand, you leave the store, dropping the basket back with the rest. You do have to hurry though, your legs already ache and you really want to sit down.

Of course, it’s when you’re halfway back to your house, is when things get… weird.

There’s people muttering to each other and pointing towards the sky, phones pointed upwards. Your gaze turns to follow them, seeing nothing the wide expanse of brilliant blue. 

Then you blink, and the sky sears a glaring red and gold. Groceries still clutched in your arms, as you watched the world split at the seams. People begin to panic and race around you, stampeding and running, as if they could escape the end of the world. The light hurts your eyes, but you keep watching anyways, unable to tear your gaze away.

Distantly, you are aware your box of popsicles is melting, and that you should get home and put your stuff away.

Still, you don’t move. Feet rooted to the ground, indecision freezing you in place. To run or carry on? Feign normalcy of cast it away?

In the end, you do none of that, your mind finally catching up as you mouth your final words, lost to the winds.

”Fuck, my Limbus dailies-!”

Then all is heard no more.

You die again, unremarkable and focused on something other than yourself.

The next time you wake up, is floating in a black void. Though this only occurs for a brief moment, before you’re whisked away to a gray room, filled with colorful files and even grayer furniture. It’s there that you see—

[…]

Hey, don’t interrupt my narration! Just because we know what this place looks like, doesn’t mean our new audience can.

[…?]

Oh yeah, don’t worry about not remembering everything just yet! I’ve taken the liberty of letting you go through your previous lives at your own pace, since the previous You’s complained about the migraines that came with remembering everything at once.

Go poke around the memosphere while I narrate for a bit m’kay?

[…]

Yeah, yeah— it’s entirely fine, freelancing gives me more freedom than those corpos y’knowww~? Go look at our previous stories you silly goose.

Ahem. Now, where was I?

Ah yes, you find yourself in a new room. It’s entirely gray, bar the files stuffed in cabinets and scattered around desks. There’s a wall entirely covered in monitors, but they’re all off for the time being. Each of them are denoted by a small placard, labeling who they follow, such as; [YOU], [SUPPORTING CAST #1-9], [SECONDARY CAST #1-5], etc etc. I do change them depending on the world’s cast size.

The files you thumb through are meticulously labeled, and sorted by universe and then by genre. Most are labeled as [UNRELEASED WORK], but  a handful are labeled as [EDITING - TO BE RELEASED].

[…]

Hm? Oh yeah, forgot to mention that some of our works got picked up, yay! What’s not yay is that I have to edit them a bit to be more -ugh- “palatable” and “less confusing for first time viewers and readers.”

You can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes right now.

Anyways, are you done yet? This segment is getting pretty long—

[…]

Alright, alright, I’ll get to the point! Stars, you’ve gotten so sassy with me, I kinda miss when you used to be clueless and scared of the whole “dying and reincarnating for the entertainment of higher beings” thing.

Eh, I suppose it’s more fun this way though.

It’s the same deal as usual. You died, I will grant you a boon of some kind for your next life, and you give me and my readers entertainment— blah, blah, blah, we’ve all heard it. So what do you want?

[…]

[…?]

The Birds? I mean sure why not, what the hell this might as well happen and allat. You did always love your crossovers and expies didn’t you?

Don’t answer that, that was rhetorical.

Anyways I can do the Birds and their gear for you. One of my associates might get pissy over me just giving Twilight to you outright as your boon, so I’ll be making some minor adjustments. You’ll figure it out, so don’t worry your little head too hard!

[…] 

It’ll be fineeee. Just standard stuff from that universe y’know? Like I said, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

Anyhow we’ve been in this scene for long enough. Let’s finally get the show on the road! When you’re in, remember to go make some friends, give us some entertainment, but most of all; have fun!

Oh, and you won’t remember your other lives by the way. Too much of an advantage, and it’s for balance purposes I suppose, only your “first” life really matters for this. So that’s the only one you’ll remember!

But I’ve stalled long enough, ahem.

In a sudden moment, the world tilts, and you’re hit with the feeling of the world’s worst vertigo as you’re plunged back into unconsciousness. You don’t know how much time passes, but when you wake up it’s—

—to the sound of leaves rustling and water rushing. The sun beaming it’s hateful rays upon your face as you laid on the dirt.

For a moment, you just lay there, with your aching body and head. Apparently in rebirth you cannot escape your chronic pain or migraines, what the hell man. You’re content to just stay like this, until you rot, at least until a leaf falls directly on your face and you sputter incredulously at it. Sitting up and peeling it off your face, though not without almost accidentally poking your eye out because apparently you had talons now.

What the hell man.

By the force of a leaf apparently, you pull yourself up, almost stumbling from both vertigo—and a sudden sense of imbalance. You have to catch yourself on a tree, so you don’t end up tripping and eating shit. Gouges carved deep into the bark as your talons dug into the wood while you righted yourself.

The first thing you notice of your new body (aside from the perpetual ache) is that you are tall, like comically so, all gangly limbs and a wire-y frame. The second is that your skull feels heavier than normal, followed by the sound something metallic jingling, which could mean so many things. The third is that something behind you is heavy and dragged each time you moved.

Turning your head, and looking down, you finally take stock of your new appearance. What you’re wearing seems more fit for winter than the forest you’ve found yourself in. You’re wearing a heavy black cloak trimmed with fur, and with gold accents and hexagon comb patterning. Underneath that is another coat, fur (feather?) trimmed as well—except for the fact the feathers are covered in eyes, and also bloodied bandages.

You decidedly don’t look at your body, not wanting to look at the skinned torso, and the gaping hole that was probably another mouth.

Dragging yourself to the nearby river, the one you heard earlier, you try not to stumble over your own feet. Frankly, you have no idea why you’re so tall. This is too much height to work with, it’s ridiculous, who needs this much height, you were only 5’2” before and now you’re like- what? 7’ something? 8’? Why. How.

Internal height crisis aside, at the riverbank you sink to your knees, peering into the reflection of yourself in the water. It… still looks like you, in a strange way. All your features are all different now, like the fact that you have horns and are bald now, but your facial structure was… fundamentally the same.

Or, at least what you could see under the bandages wrapping around your face was the same as before. You make several aborted movements to take them off, only to feel weirdly compelled to keep them on. 

Your horns are what catch your eyes next. They’re dark, near pitch black and sprouting from where your hairline should be, if a bit closer to your forehead. The horns themselves are straight, with a slight curve backwards, also apparently tipped with gold and wrapped loosely in golden chains.

Which explains the metallic jingling from earlier.

You frown, and your river reflection does the same. Black, lightless eyes blink back at you, at the same time as you do. Raise an arm, it follows, put it down, same result. Confirming that no, you aren’t totally losing it. No matter how much you felt like it.

Man, you look like if Binah or the Apocalypse Bird was made into an Inphernal.

What the hell.

At least the funny bauble around your neck is cute.

With an expression that could be described as “long suffering retail worker,” you press your face into your hands, and drag them down. Looking towards the sky, you inhale, and exhale. Then, you open your mouth, maybe to say something stupid or some dumb one-liner—

—instead, you scream, loud and like some dying animal.

You stop screaming after a few moments. Only feeling momentarily bad for scaring the birds, before that’s overtaken by sheer What The Fuck.

Out of habit, you pull your coat draped across your shoulders around yourself further, not unlike a security blanket. This is also the part where you realize you have a wing, only that it barely responds and feels like a heavy, dead, limb. You quickly put it out of your mind when you feel it weakly twitch.

”Haha,” your voice has a funny rasp to it, but it’s barely paid attention to, “What the actual fuck.”

If you were a demon, that meant you were in the Inpherno right? In Phighting? Except, this isn’t Crossroads, like how most of those silly fics you read went. You were just- dropped, in some random forest. Right after talking to…

To…

…

Is it rude to forget your sponsor’s name? It probably is, but you genuinely don’t remember if it told you it’s name or not, the entire encounter with it in the void felt weirdly… fuzzy. You only really remember asking them if you could do “bird up!” but as your boon.

…Though, you guess it doesn’t matter that much? You haven’t been smited/smote yet, and you do look like the Twilight Roland from the Philosophy Realization, if a bit less fucked up. So that’s neat.

Whether or not you’re in Phighting can be… a later issue. You were an Inphernal for sure, but you really wouldn’t put it past the entity to put you in like, Forsaken or something.

”This shit is so ass.” You mutter to no one in particular.

With all your thoughts laid out, you feel marginally calmer. It’s more likely though that you’re just so stressed you’ve looped back to being calm. You are so zen, you also feel like you’re going to cry.

Now that you think about it though, you’re still not actually fully sure if Twilight is your gear or not, a part of you suspects there’s some kind of conditional towards getting it. Especially since your sponsor said it had to modify your boon a bit? You think that’s what it said?

Can you… summon it? You remember something about demons being able to use their gears instinctively, does that also apply to just getting it out?? Feeling lost and confused is starting to be your default state at this point. Most fics you can recall had characters who already had their gear out, or wholesale just didn’t have one.

Pursing your lips, you kind of do the mental equivalent of rummaging though a drawer. However the fuck that feels like, it mostly just your migraine worse. Surprisingly, you do feel… something respond, so you mentally grasp it—and tug, hard.

There’s this sort of pressure at first, and then a sudden popping sensation, followed by a weight in your hand. It feels kind of ridiculous that worked, let alone on a first attempt, but you’re giddy nonetheless.

Like an old friend, sitting in your gnarled, taloned hand, is a sleek white and red pistol. Beak in all of its… well, TETH grade gear glory. Regardless, it’s weight means its real, and also yours wholly.

”…Dying really sucked, but this is the coolest day of my life.” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth in response that. You might’ve continued to silently lose it, were it not for a slight weight settling on your shoulder.

Freezing like a deer in headlights, your mind races to figure out what it could be. Turning your head slowly, you can almost hear the cheesy suspense music in every horror movie playing in your head right now. Though, in the end, you find yourself staring at a bird.

Blinking, you feel both slightly ridiculous and vindicated at the thing sitting on your shoulder. Perched amongst the fur and feathers of your coats, is a simple plump white bird, with a red splotch on its stomach. It makes a noise that sounds like the in-between of a pigeon’s coo, and that of a songbird’s chirp.

You know that face, because it’s the same face as that Abnormality you and your friends joked about being a fussy baby, for how much it broke out of containment. The first of the bird trio.

Sitting on your shoulder, was fucking Punishing Bird of all things.

The words come out of your mouth before you can think, “Was- were you what it meant by adjustments???”

Of course, as a bird, it doesn’t answer you. At least in any way that matters really. Instead it just nests further in your coat, fluffing the fur of the collar of your coat—only to peck you on your neck. Not very gently too.

”Augh-“ you wince, rubbing the spot and being careful not to disturb the bird, “Damn okay, rude ass baby.”

It made no indication if it understood you or not, though it probably did given its nature. Somehow it manages to emanate a smug aura of all things.

There’s a sigh from you, the hand not holding onto Beak going up to pinch the space between your eyes. “This might as well happen, sure.” You mutter, staring at the bird.

A beat of silence.

”…New world, new me right?” You start, “Would it be funny if I named myself Vogel, because I’m a bird now.”

”And it’s like- the only name on my mind now. My fucking Limbus account… lost because of the end of the world, what the fuck man.”

The peace is broken by another peck, and another quiet pained noise.

“Yeah, great talk buddy. It’d probably be funny.”

(You should… probably figure out what to do next, given you’re literally in the middle of nowhere, or at least try and find some sort of civilization to get to. Finding shelter or at least food should be priority too. At the same time though… egh, you’ve always been good at rolling with the punches.)

(Guess you can start a life as a mountain hermit if everything else falls through?)

Notes:

[Managerial Tips - I]
[Vogel is a chronic Reincarnator and Transmigrator, as such they’ve grown incredibly familiar with their sponsor. Though, during a “run” they cannot access any memories past their first life, unless certain circumstances occur.]

[Managerial Tips - II]
[Vogel’s sponsor does not have a known title or translated name, mostly due to being a “freelance patron” in its own words. However, it does refer to itself as [Deus Ex Machina] if asked, due to its nature of being a figurative, metaphorical, and literal author-insert made into a narrator.]

-

Next chapter will be in third person pov, I’m just playing toys for this chapter

I actually don’t keep up with phighting lore that well so like. If anyone has some sort of megadoc or resource for the lore n characters (that isn’t fandom wiki bc I hate it on principle) I will forever be in your debt

Anyways say hi to Vogel <3 they r a freak of nature (affectionate)

I’ll draw them later when I’m not in ao3 author curse superhell lol

Also canon characters prolly wont show up until like. A chapter or two later… maybe more idk I’m flying my the seat of my pants while writing this…