Archive of Our Own ^beta

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?)

Chapter Text

In all honesty, Vogel wouldn’t have minded just sitting there for the rest of the day. The river was pleasant, and so was the surprisingly mild climate. Also being able to pet Punishing Bird was a welcome plus.

Alas, it ‘twas not meant to be.

With a sigh and a groan, the demon dragged themselves back up. The ever present ache in their legs flaring up once more. Next to them, the tree they’re using for support looks as if a bear mauled it, gouges matching the other tree which they pulled themselves up with earlier.

”You’d think being an isekai victim would at least give me a reprieve from this shit.” They mumble, staring down at their feet, “…or shoes.”

(A fond memory bubbles up, loud cackling over Discord voice chat. Friends teasing them for struggling to make flan, all while they sat at a char doing what could be described as ‘the Shinji pose,’ all while covered in caramel.)

(”—and put them dogs away!” They crow, all because ████ forgot to turn off the video camera.)

(“Shut up!!!” ████ cried, mostly in false outrage, even as a smile tugged at their lips. “You’re all so mean to me!! None of you are getting my snacks now!”)

(This statement is then met with a chorus of scandalized gasps and faked horror.)

Vogel sighs, mood dampened, and puts that thought out of mind. They instead turn their attention back to their legs. The limbs share the same traits as their arms, being sharp talons and a gradient pattern crawling from the tips of their toes to (probably) their thighs.

A brief thought occurs to them, something about Siamese cat markings as peak character design. Which was true, it’s peak.

Bouncing on the balls of their feet for a moment, there’s this sense of wrongness, with the way they’re standing. Which feels a bit silly, since this is how they’ve stood since… forever. Except, well…

Hm, new idea actually.

Calling upon years of Warrior Cats and cringe wolf kid related LARPing, Vogel shifts their weight until they’re standing on their toes, instead of having their feet planted flat on the ground. Their talons splay and dig into the dirt like this, but it’s… somewhere between uncomfortably unfamiliar, and more comfortable than before. They take a few shaky steps, and find that it hurts less than before.

A moment of confusion, before understanding passes, because right, bird. Digitigrade legs, they sigh at the realization. “Yeah okay, this makes more sense.” Vogel’s balance remains unsteady, the weight of horns and the dead weight of a wing still throwing them off, but they can walk now without needing to cling to a tree.

Throughout all this, Punishing Bird remains seated on their shoulder, even with all the jostling. The tiny thing nestled comfortably amongst the fur and feathers. 

“Real comfy in there, aren’t you.” They ask rhetorically, gently prodding the lump of bird with their free hand. “Much as I like having company, can I even un-summon you? I don’t even know how I’d explain your existence to other people.”

Of course, being a bird, it doesn’t respond.

”…C’mon buddy, give me something more to work with here at least…”

Vogel sighed at the predictable silence, feeling more than a little insane for just talking to themselves and to a fictional bird. At the same time, they stand at the riverbank, trying to remember what you’re supposed to do when stranded in a forest. You follow the river right? That’s usually how people get to civilization in survival stories.

With their mind made up, Vogel starts the harrowing journey of… walking in the same direction as the flowing water. Look man, the only survival tips they remember don’t work for their current situation, or just remind them of that one book they were forced to read in like 4th grade or something. Man, that’s a deep cut. 

“Does anyone actually remember reading Hatchet or was that just some collective school fever dream.” They mused out loud, and to no one in particular.

Per usual, Punishing Bird doesn’t respond.

They don’t know why they try.

(Unbeknownst to the former human, the trees they clawed up in their attempts to walk, began to curl and blacken. They won’t die, but they will change. Healthy bark and green leaves darken until they almost look like charcoal, the surrounding grass browning as if dipped in sepia. The spread will slow, without its catalysts, but it will continue unabated.)

(After all, wherever the Birds go, the Black Forest follows.)

Vogel had been walking for a while, with practically no progress made. It’s all been trees, trees, and more trees. Plus the river too they supposed.

This shit was truly so ass. A growl rattles out of their chest from sheer frustration (and wow, apparently they can make that noise now. Neat.) Still, in for a penny, in for a pound, or however that saying went.

”What even are the odds that I ended up in some empty sandbox world, like Minecraft or something.” They mutter. “Then again, even Minecraft had spawned structures…”

At some point during their forced nature walk, Vogel started collecting random things off the ground. It was mostly wildflowers, the stems clipped off with their talons. The majority of them ended up being stacked onto the sleeping(?) Punishing Bird. Which left the both of them looking quite silly, were they not alone in the wilderness and actually had someone to comment on their appearances.

Of course, because nothing good can happen to them uninterrupted, it was at this point the Abnormality decided to wake up. The small bird standing up and shaking off the wildflowers, scattering them to the ground as it took flight. Startling their keeper as it flew off, like a man on a mission.

“Wh- hey! This is absolutely not the time for walkies—!” At the action, the demon immediately gives chase after hooking Beak onto their belt. Steps slow at first from uncertainty, but growing more confident as they picked up speed. “Seriously, you are such a handful—!”

The scenery blurs as they sprint towards the bird, ducking and weaving between bushes and branches. Neither do they notice the fact they’re moving further and further away from their starting position, and deviating from the river.

All that mattered, was getting to that frustrating abnormality before something disastrous happened.

Five meters.

Three.

Duck under that branch.

Two…

…

…There!

Vogel’s arms are outstretched as they reached out and firmly grisped the flighty bird. “Gotcha now!” Their grip can be comparable to the way veterinarians held birds, which is to say—like an ice cream cone.

Punishing Bird in turn, squawks in outrage, squirming in their handler’s hold as they scowled at it. For whatever reason, it doesn’t seem to make an attempt at their life, it’s second mouth staying firmly closed. Though, it’s not like Vogel was going to question that, for the sake of their second life.

”Seriously, I don’t even know why you did that? What would either of us do if you got lost??” The demon gently shakes the bird, the same way one would do with an unruly pet as ‘punishment,’ before letting it go.

The bird simply stays in the air for a moment, chirping in disgruntlement. It eventually settles back on their shoulder, slapping their neck with a wing.

”Yeah, yeah.” They rasp out, “Now, where the hell are… we…?”

With the Abnormality back in their custody, Vogel finally takes the time to take in their surroundings. Blinking owlishly as they realize that they’ve found themselves in… something close to civilization.

By that, they mean an abandoned town of some kind, the settlement still miraculously intact somehow.

”…”

”What the fuck.”

…

…

…eh? Why’s the camera on me now? I didn’t write anything weird last night right??

Let me check… the last thing I did was send ████ off to do…?

…

Oh.

Oh no.

They’re supposed to be in Crossroads with the usual Phighting transmigration package, not in— in Thieves’ Den??

I can’t even pick them up and put them where they’re supposed to be, I’m not [Retcon]- ughhh, how am I going to fix this now—?!

…

…Bleurgh. I’ll… figure something out, this can be worked with. Not to mention, I’ll have to think of some kind of compensation for essentially bungling this up—

…

…Maybe I’ll send a care package down occasionally, as an apology… or take a page out of [████]’s book and let the Audience send some stuff to them…? I can at least nudge some events and NPCs their way…

Hm, better turn that off—

[-TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES-]

[-PLEASE STAND BY-]

—The buildings all look like they came out of feudal Japan, or at the very least; some kind of fantasy anime forest village. Like that one place, from Naruto or whatever. They’ve never actually watched the anime while they were alive, aside from the few iconic clips floating about.

That’s besides the point though.

Vogel is… reasonably cautious with exploring the abandoned town. Village? They’re not really sure what to call the place, plus the sign was already destroyed when they got here. If there was writing, they wouldn’t have been able to read it anyways.

Also they’re a little worried about ghosts. They’re not particularly superstitious but… you really never know.

Not to mention, eastern ghosts were way scarier than western ones.

The demon shudders, pulling their black and gold cloak-coat (they really need to decide which one it actually is-) closer around them. Mildly jostling Punishing Bird with their action, the fussy little thing having migrated to sit on Vogel’s head. 

“If something jumps out at us, I’m blaming you for bringing me here.” They say mildly, retrieving the EGO gear from their waist. The weight feels comfortable in their hands, even if they’ve never handled a gun in any capacity before.

At the very least, at least there’s no one to call them a creep as they peered through destroyed windows into the abandoned homes. There’s nothing of use in most of them, no maps or identifiable traits, or even personal knickknacks left behind. The most Vogel could see, was some broken furniture.

Picking out the most intact house, Vogel gently jostled the door, only to wince as it all but fell off of the hinges. Coughing lightly and waving away the dust that felt up into their face, their claws used to swipe away the massive cobwebs in their way. They’re compelled to murmur a quiet apology to whatever ghosts remain here.

For most of the building, they have to hunch down to avoid scraping their horns against the roof, or hitting their forehead on anything. “I can’t believe I’m going to miss being short,” Vogel laments, crouched down as they explored the house. “When I said I wanted to be taller, I meant like- an average height!”

Punishing Bird only cooed in response.

They sigh, “Easy for you to say, you’re like the size of my palm.”

Admittedly, they’re pretty impressed with the building, and the other ones within the ghost town. It’s clearly been abandoned for a long time, but the wood it’s made out of seems barely rotten or broken down. Sure they could see a lot of… battle(?) damage, and the usual damages of wildlife, but the place seems to hold up pretty well.

It is pretty dark though, Vogel eyes the darkening sky out of a partially broken window. Seems like they burnt most of the daylight by their exploring—and also chasing their wayward companion. Knowing their shit memory, chronic pain, and terrible sense of direction, exploring after the sun sets was absolutely a terrible idea.

At least there’s some silver lining though.

Vogel gently pulls off some ivy and tries their best to clean the floor of the dead bugs and dirt. “…We’ll rest here for now, this place works as a good enough shelter.” They settle down on the floor, tucking their legs under them, and their coat as well. “You doing alright up there?”

A pleased chirp was their response, as the abnormality settled on their head. Oddly comfortable with the short fur they figured out that they had, the texture of it somewhere between velvet and downy feathers. At least, the best they can describe it as.

“You and me both buddy, here’s hoping no spookies jump us while we’re here.”

Chapter Text

There’s very little to do when you’re essentially out in the wilderness, with no supplies or plans. For as much as they talked big game about making plans, Vogel was genuinely drawing a blank here. As such, they’ve kinda been spending the past few minutes staring at nothing, as they sat on the floor.

At some point during their zoning out, Punishing Bird left to go make a nest on one of the least destroyed shelves. Or at least attempt at making one. 

The most that Vogel has been doing, is mess with Beak while they sat on the floor. It’s probably not very good trigger discipline, but they’ve also never handled a gun (outside of water or toy ones) in their entire life. Un-life. Whatever.

Beak itself was very sleek and smooth, all white with red and blue-gray accents, that were more blue than gray. It looks about the same as the tiny sprite from the game, as far as Vogel can recall anyways. The gun was probably made of metal, but from the color and texture it felt… strangely like ivory? Maybe it was just an EGO gear thing, they weren’t sure.

Gripping the handle and carefully keeping their finger off of the trigger, they turn it around in their hand. The most curious thing so far is that there… doesn’t seem to be a spot for reloading? Or for cartridges? They’re sure some of the other EGO gear has mechanics for reloading bullets, but it kinda seemed like Beak just didn’t have one?

Wild if true.

Anyways. Despite having no gun training ever, the gear felt natural in their hands. Almost instinctively, Vogel knew how to hold it comfortably, and the best position to take the shot. It was… honestly a bit uncomfortable, having the knowledge and instincts just inserted into their head. Even if it was just both Inphernal gear things, and also EGO gear things.

A part of them also really wants to try firing it. Though the lack of practice targets does dissuade them, given they really didn’t want to shoot Punishing Bird, or punch a hole through the walls of their shelter. Maybe they can try it in the morning? 

It’s rather dark by now, only the light of the rising moon and stars being the only source of illumination now. Another part of Vogel is pretty thankful for it, that at least whatever world they ended up in wasn’t subject to light pollution. Though, it’s offset by the realization that the temperature dipped hard.

They shiver slightly, tucking themselves closer together, and pulling their coat tighter around them. Couldn’t they have at least some form of flashlight when they were dropped here? They want a refund real bad now, or at least a way to redo this bullshit.

…Though, a sudden thought occurred to them. If they could summon Beak, logic dictates that they could get the other two, right? 

Vogel attempts to do the same thing they did when they pulled out Beak, doing the mental equivalent of rummaging around a drawer, only to hit a barrier of sorts. Well, not as literal as that, it’s closer to a mental resistance than anything else, like when you push down on Saran Wrap on a bowl. 

Their breathing grows unsteady, and labored as they continued to try and reach for—whatever it is they’re looking for. A migraine edging the back of their head, as the phantom sensation of pins and needles settle in their legs. On instinct, Vogel finds themselves clenching their eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed as the sudden dizzy spell hits them.

They have to stop with a gasp when the pressure grows too much, blinking the spots out of their vision when they come back to reality. It probably should be a given that trying to summon something else in such a short time, plus jumping from TETH to the other birds’ gear would have its own litany of side effects. Not that that’s going to stop Vogel, having had felt the mental sensation of skimming their fingers against something warm and important.

Against their better judgement, Vogel closes their eyes, and tries again. Skipping straight past the rummaging sensation, and reaching past and into that barrier they ran into their in first attempt. They can feel something try to respond, but it’s like talking underwater, the intent escapes in bubbles and responding in kind is sluggish and unresponsive.

They try, and try, and try again. Ignoring the pounding headache, and growing dizziness.

Eventually there’s that telltale sign of something slipping free, and Vogel all but collapsed forward at the sudden weight. At least they were still sitting, rather than standing while doing this. Though, if they were standing up, they’d probably have fallen by now.

Blinking away the spots in their vision, Vogel stares at the gear in their hands. It’s heavy, wiry and all black, and pleasantly warm against their hands. Built like a birdcage with an attached handle, it’s far too large to cage any conventional bird. A golden flame flickers between the bars, drawing the shadows closer and darker yet darker.

Despite the pressure on their mind, and the migraine settled in their skull, Vogel can’t help the smile that crosses their face. Before it’s interrupted by a wet sounding cough into their hand, when they pull back it’s to a mess of bloody phlegm sticking to their claws. With a grimace, they just kind of—wipe it off against the bandages lining their coat.

”I am,” they start, voice raspy and cutting through the silence of the night, “Not doing that again.”

A beat of silence.

”…Maybe sometime in the future.”

Gods, they’re so tired.

With their vague goal acquired and completed, they proceed to try find some place to put it down. Mostly so they can curl around it and sleep. Stumbling up to their feet, Vogel almost jostled Punishing Bird awake and off of its shelf, only narrowly avoiding it through sheer force of will alone.

There’s no bed as far as Vogel can see, so the floor it was instead. If there was a bed, it’d have probably been eaten by bugs at this point comparative to its surrounding—or been full of bugs or something.

Gross, they don’t really want to think about that.

Finding a clean enough spot on the hardwood floor, Vogel puts the Lamp down, placing it somewhere roughly in the center of the room. Sweeping off as much dust and debris as they can, they settle back in their sitting position.

The Lamp provided enough heat to stave of the night’s chill, so the demon peels off their outer coat. Shivering lightly now that they were without the heavy fabric. It’s then bundled up into a vaguely oblong shaped ball, the fur and feathers all folded inside of the thick fabric.

Ideally, Vogel would rather use the coat as a blanket instead, but sleeping on the floor sucks, and they’re technically wearing two jackets at once. So it’s fine, probably. They can use their… wing instead.

…Which still leaves them with a uneasy, swooping feeling in their stomach each time they look at their new limb. There was something disconcerting about it, with how heavy it was, and the fact they could barely move it.

Sighing deeply, Vogel just sort-of flops over onto the floor, head meeting the bundle of their coat. It’s a bit awkward with their horns, but they make do regardless. The floor is deeply uncomfortable, as they pulled their limp wing up slightly, using it as a makeshift blanket.

Peering past the amber glow of the Lamp, the demon watches the sleeping form of Punishing Bird for a moment. Breathing out, they mumble a quiet; “Goodnight lil’ guy, I’ll see you in the morning.”

What an exhausting day, Vogel thought as they finally closed their eyes.

Darkness consumes them, as the once-human succumbed to oblivion.

They don’t exactly wake up in the morning.

Instead, Vogel finds themselves in their old room. A white ceiling and carpeted floors greet them, all kept under dimmed lamps rather than the main light. There’s a buzz of hushed conversation that they can barely pick up on, the voices familiar—yet unplaceable in origin.

They sit up, finding the fact that they were on the floor instead of their bed like a normal person. With how strange everything was, they were honestly tempted to mark everything that happened as a weird stress dream that they had after passing out on the floor. 

Except for the fact that when they looked down, they found that they still had claws and feathers. There’s no mirror in their room, they never saw the need to get one, but they desperately wished they did. Were they home? Did the world not end? What—?

”Hey you. You’re finally asleep.” An unknown voice breaks them out of Vogel’s spiraling, making the Inphernal jolt and spin around to the source of the noise.

The first thing they notice about the stranger in their house, was that they were a human. One that was fairly short, and probably young given that they were in a boy’s school uniform. Another note was that they looked like them, in the same way they looked like their first life.

The second thing was their statement, cutting through the haze of confusion. “Wh-? Isn’t the phrase usually ‘Hey you, you’re finally awake’??” Vogel asks, more bewildered now than panicked.

In response, the teenager only blinks lazily at them, “No.” They hold out their hand, waiting for the demon to grab it, “Now c’mon, it’ll be easier to explain with the others in the living room.”

“What do you mean by the others?” Despite their hesitance, they take the teen’s hand, stumbling onto their feet. “Who are you?”

”I’m you, and you’re me. The others are also all us.” They said, shrugging after helping Vogel up, already at the hallway outside their room. “You know how it goes.”

”No? I don’t??”

There’s no further explanation as Vogel follows the teen into the living room of their own home. Once more, despite the oddity and frankly absurd nature of the situation, some part of it felt strangely familiar. Like they were simply looking into a mirror.

The situation that they walk into however, only really baffles them further. In their home, within their living room, is a group of strangers all milling about. A couple of them are even playing board games, they weren’t even aware they had board games still in the house after the Incident™. 

Of the group, two of them are sitting in the dining room talking, and three others were playing some fucked up cross between Uno, Cards Against Humanity, and Monopoly. What the hell.

From the two at the dining table, one of them is wearing a red and gold jacket, with heated chains and manacles locked around their wrists and ankles, their hair flickers with black and yellow flames. The one across from them is dressed more simply, they had a white cloak with a pistol(?) hooked to their belt, their face is shadowed by a hood. They both wave amicably to Vogel when they’re caught staring, who returns the greeting awkwardly after a moment.

Vogel’s gaze slides towards the three playing that godawful fusion of a card game. The first person that stand out to them is that there was another Inphernal amongst the group. One that was rather tired looking, despite their unruffled appearance.

Though, instead of the black-gold color scheme Vogel had been saddled with, they were more… pink and blue. They were in a pale blue hoodie and sweatpants, with ribbons tied to their equally pale blue-pink gradient horns, one pair of ribbons being long and trailing, seemingly mimicking pigtails. Speaking of horns—they had two sets of them, one set were a pair of nubs inset on their forehead, and the other was a pair of curling ram horns (that oddly enough, curved into the shapes of hearts.)

The two beside them were…

…

Okay, at this point the world was just fucking with them.

Because the two in the middle of a heated argument with the other demon, were two very familiar fictional characters. Like some scene out of a crack-fic or some insane crossover, they watch as both Kromer and Two Time argue about the semantics of CAH-Uno-Monopoly.

Albeit, the former was in a LCB uniform, and the latter was covered in burns.

None of them notice the staring, too engrossed in their rules lawyering and bickering.

”Did you figure it out yet?” A voice pipes up, startling and reminding Vogel of the fact that they weren’t exactly alone.

”…This isn’t real, is it?” They respond, after a momentary silence of calming their heart.

The teen shrugs again, nonchalant, “It’s about as real as you want it to be, this is a dream after all.”

”But you said we were all… the same person, before?” Vogel prods, digging for answers.

”I wasn’t really lying about that,” they admit, “Reincarnation loops get… funky after a while, time dilation and fuckery not included.”

”…Should you even be telling me this?”

”Probably not, but we’re all unlikely to remember any of this anyways.”

They were right anyhow, every version of Vogel and ████ and whoever else thereafter, always struggled with remembering their own dreams. Unless if they were stressful enough, or nightmares. This one mostly fell into the category of ‘bewildering, but not really that notable.’

With that realization, Vogel let’s put a sigh, releasing all their tension. One hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of their nose, as if warding off a headache. “Great, glad to know.”

”Happy you think so too,” the teen snarks, gently nudging the demon forward, “Go play cards or something until you wake up, not much else to do here.” 

The demon is then unceremoniously added to the nightmare game circle. The three members all silently shifting to accommodate the new addition, before the two (ex?-)cultists began their argument again. Looking over to the third member, the blue Inphernal just has a long suffering expression, one that Vogel can relate to.

“I don’t even want to know what caused this game to be made.” Vogel mutters, after being handed their own hand of cards.

”No, you really don’t.” The other demon agrees, “Not that it particularly matters, but I’m Cyan Staff—Cyan for short, and you already know those two.”

They nod in acknowledgment, adding a card to the middle pile as they spoke, “Vogel, you can probably guess why.”

The Sinner of the bickering duo perks up, pausing their argument. “Like Sinclair’s weapon?”

“…Not really, it was either that, or something silly like ‘Birdie.’”

”Pft- fair enough. Names are hard,” they laugh, adding another card to the center pile now that they’ve functionally given up on the argument, “So, out of curiosity—did you get here by [Deus Ex Machina], or by the Ouroboros?”

Vogel pauses, “The who-what now??” 

It feels like each time someone opens their mouth, they’re sucker-punched by new information out of left field. In spite of their confusion, Kromer continues, “You know; were you sent to The Shadow Realm, or was there a really annoying snake?”

Neither of those statements ring much of a bell, but it shakes out a memory that Vogel had already set aside. “I don’t remember a snake, but I do remember… talking to something in the dark?” Though their response comes out more as a question, than a statement.

“How fortunate,” Two Time sighs wistfully, absently rubbing at their bandaged burns, “The Ouroboros just dropped us in without any warning or explanation.”

“It’s not like being stuck with [Deus Ex] is any better, I have quotas of all things to meet—“ Cyan Staff snarks, adding themselves to the conversation.

”You get to be a magical girl, I don’t want to hear it from your blue gum-ball ass-!” The other person counters, though there’s no real heat behind their words.

”I have to be an idol at the same time as fighting the forces of actual evil—while you just have to deal the canon storylines—“

Another argument begins, albeit it’s mostly lighthearted ribbing about the ridiculousness of isekai. It’s a familiar enough scene, that it allows Vogel to relax, too used to the nonsense unfunny bits from their friends. The game turns continue unabated even with the bickering, cards added to a pile and fake money exchanged with each piece movement.

It feels a bit bittersweet, to settle into playing the most godawful board game fusion with what amounts to other versions of themselves—or at least figments of their own imagination. To settle into brief feigned normalcy despite everything. 

At least, it’s a momentary respite, until their dream ends.

When they wake up, it’s to a beam of light shining directly in their eyes—all but blinding them for a moment as they rolled over a bit. Rubbing at their face, they’re rudely made aware that they had a pounding headache. The kind that comes with staying up too late and not getting enough sleep, despite actually heading to bed early.

As per usual, they don’t particularly remember much of their dreams. Bar some particularly memorable moments with fictional characters, something about a terrible Uno fusion? It’s an amusing enough thought that their first instinct is to tell their friends about it.

Out of habit, they sort-of reach out to try and grab their phone in their half-asleep state. Only to meet empty air, and the hardwood floor. The unusual and out of place sensation causing them to blink awake fully, instead of just laying there on the ground.

The memories of the prior day come back to them, of being placed in another world after dying—being turned into an Inphernal. There’s a sense of melancholy at the realization that they’re alone, and they won’t be able to to talk to their friends and family again. The fact that their past life was simply washed away by that burning sky, theirs and everyone else’s lives.

Vogel doesn’t move for a while, just laying there on the floor, the morning blues settling over them like a well-worn blanket. They exhale a shaky sigh, the sensation rattling through their chest as they sat up. A thump sounds out as their wing slid off of them, settling back at their side, as heavy and limp as always.

A moment of silence—of quiet grief passes, before Vogel puts the thought aside for later. There’ll be a point and time for that later, for now; they were essentially stuck in the wilderness in and abandoned village, and there was the matter of simply surviving.

Which they also had no idea on how to deal with, but like fuck it we ball or whatever

”…Welp.” Vogel says, standing up and stretching, turning to the waking Punishing Bird and the window beside it, “No time like the present, another day—another dollaAUGHH—!”

There’s about three things that happen in quick succession after that shout.

First; there’s a giant bulbous eye peering through the window, surrounded by more golden pupils and by blackened feathers. Something that was most definitely not there last night.

Second; when Vogel got startled by the sudden eyes jump scared, they had stumbled back on instinct. Accidentally stepping on their bundled up coat, and causing it to slide under their feet and unbalancing them further.

Third; they drop like a heavy rock, too disoriented by the appearance of eyes at the window watching them, and the bleariness of just waking up. They could’ve probably caught themselves if they only slipped on their coat, instead there’s also a sudden inexplicable box at behind them. As they all but tripped into it, like the world’s biggest cosmic joke of a Rube Goldberg machine.

About as graceful as a lame duck, Vogel is reintroduced to the floor rather abruptly. The commotion clearly waking up Punishing Bird and startling the entity outside of the building. Who in turn, croons in alarm at the demon after watching them eat shit and die. There’s a few heavy footsteps as the unknown began to walk to another window, trying to get a better look at the situation.

Groaning in pain, Vogel pushes themselves back up by their hands, sitting this time instead of standing. Rubbing at their face, and at the (probably) growing bruise, they’re greeted by the sound of flapping wings as a certain finch-like bird flew over to them. It settles on the strange box, talons sinking into the stiff cardboard, a ruffled coo coming out of it as it questioned the demon.

”…’m fine.” Vogel grumbles, “Just kinda dizzy and aching.”

Their gaze drifts to the window the eyes moved to. Now that they’re not half-asleep, now entirely awake from adrenaline and also pain, they’re able to actually identify the intruder this time. The cluster of bulbous golden eyes a dead giveaway on who —or rather what— it was.

Pointing at the other bird, Vogel squints at the other rowdy Abnormality, “Are you all just going to give me heart attacks every time you appear, or is this just a ‘you two’ thing?”

Perhaps it was just their imagination, but Big Bird makes a somewhat apologetic sounding noise, feathers fluffing up as it pressed into itself further. Well, at least that’s what Vogel can barely see from out of the broken window. 

Pinching the bridge of their nose, they just sigh again, any sort of frustration drained away an replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. “Whatever, just please don’t do that again.” They say, turning their attention to the mysterious box. “Besides, this is probably much more concerning.”

At the addressing of the box, Punishing Bird hops off of it, and flies back to perching on Vogel’s shoulder. The box itself is both disarmingly and suspiciously normal. It’s large, made out of cardboard, and pasted closed with clear tape, and printed with ‘[FRAGILE]’ and ‘[THIS WAY UP]’ on the sides.

At least it doesn’t seem to be wet, or filled with anything living.

”…What’s the chance that if I shake or open this, it’ll explode on me?” Vogel asks, to no real answer from either of the birds. “Yeah fair enough.”

Far too tired and already exhausted by the terrible morning, they decide to ignore the blaring alarms in their head. If they die (again), then they die.

Using one of their talons, the sharp claw pierces both tape and cardboard. It glides through the plastic tape with a satisfying ease, at least they won’t ever need a letter opener in the future. Popping the flaps of the box open, both Vogel and the two birds peer at the contents.

…

”What the fuck is this.” Is the first thing that comes out of Vogel’s mouth as they scanned the contents of the box.

Within it, are several hardcover books, a tied-up fabric bundle of who-knows-what that rattles like metal, and what looks to be bird-sized accessories and a skull shaped whistle. No wonder it didn’t move when they tripped over it, were this sent by human delivery systems, it probably would’ve gone over any sort of weight limit. Additionally to add insult to injury, there’s a folded piece of paper on top of everything, it’s stamped with two logos; one of some sort stylized circuitry, and the other of a multi-winged snake eating itself.

Taking the piece of paper, Vogel unfolds it carefully, scanning the words on the page. It says as follows:

[“To our returning benefactor,”

”We deeply apologize for our technical mishap whilst sending you to your █████th venture. As an apology for such an action, we have enclosed some supplies and materials for your use.”

”Per contract and in exchange for the probability to send you this favor; your current beneficiary will be under our employ until this debt is paid off, until then your beneficiary will be unable to aid or contact you.”

“Regards, ██████.”]

There’s an additional scrawled note in shimmering golden ink in the corner. The script is tiny and messy, and also clearly written in either duress or in a hurry. It simply states; “I wont be able to talk to you much, but the show must go on!!! Do your best!! ∑d(°∀°d)”

Vogel just stares at the note, before mechanically folding it back up and shoving the paper into their pocket. There’s a concerned noise from Big Bird outside that they barely register, pressing their face into their hands. A frustrated and distressed scream is muffled by their hands, because of course the Shadow Realm entities have company bureaucracy.

Day 2 of being here already off to a great start.

• I forgot to add a detail shot of Vogel’s horns with the tiny writing but pretend they’re there for my own sanity (please).
• Vogel’s talons are naturally red.
• The chest-eye is (obviously) non-functional, and despite having an essentially skinned torso—there’s no risk of infection or pain.
  • On account of Abnormality related reasons.
• Despite being drawn with cheek-feathers, Vogel has not actually grown them out yet. Give them a few months.
• Prior to their death, ████’s hair was going gray prematurely from stress.
• If the world hadn’t ended, stress probably would’ve done them in instead. Big Ls all around.