He slapped at it blindly.
Missed.
Slapped again.
Missed again.
On the third try he knocked the phone off the nightstand altogether.
It hit the floor with a thud.
The alarm continued.
Mike groaned.
“Alright, alright. I’m up, I’m up… shut up.”
He fumbled for the phone on the floor, silenced it, and let his face collapse back into the pillow.
Five seconds passed.
His responsible adult brain kicked in.
Okay fine. He wasn’t up. But he should be.
After all, he had:
-
a deployment this afternoon
-
two critical bugs marked “priority: yesterday”
-
a product manager who thought “minor fix” meant rewriting half the backend
-
and a sprint review he absolutely hadn’t prepared for
Yes. He had goals. Objectives. Responsibilities.
He was an adult, damn it.
He lay there another full minute.
Then he sighed, stood up, and shuffled to the kitchen.
Mike’s apartment wasn’t impressive, but it was the comfortable ecosystem of a developer in his thirties:
-
Three monitors on his desk
-
A large beanbag that functioned as a second chair
-
A stack of tech books he bought but never read
-
A half-finished Raspberry Pi project
-
And cables. So many cables.
He brewed coffee.
He drank coffee.
He immediately felt more alive.
A second cup brewed while he got dressed: jeans, comfortable hoodie, sneakers. A developer uniform.
By the time he logged into the company VPN, the caffeine was marching through his bloodstream with authority.
He opened his project.
And his mood deflated.
His IDE was frozen again.
Not crashed—just frozen.
As if deliberately choosing to punish him for living.
Mike glared.
“We talked about this yesterday,” he said, tapping the unresponsive window. “You behave. I code. I get paid. You don’t ruin my life. That was the deal.”
The screen flickered defiantly.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Be that way.”
He rebooted the IDE, waited, took another sip of coffee, checked his email—
Then frowned.
There were no new messages.
Not even marketing spam.
That was suspicious.
He shrugged and started debugging yesterday’s code. He was just beginning to get into the zone—the mystical state of focus developers ascended into maybe twice per month—when something shimmered.
Right in front of him.
A ripple.
Like someone dragging a finger through the air, bending the light. A distortion. A wave. A tear. A pulse.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t normal.
The air wavered.
The world dimmed for a split second.
The room vibrated.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Mike froze.
“What the…?”
The ripple expanded, forming a circular shockwave of shimmering energy that spread outward without touching anything. It simply passed through objects—through him—like an invisible wave of static.
His coffee trembled.
The lights flickered.
The tiny plant he’d been trying to keep alive for months perked up noticeably.
Mike blinked and rubbed his eyes.
“Nope. No. Absolutely not. I didn’t drink enough coffee for hallucinations.”
Then—
PING.
A notification sound.
Inside his head.
A glowing, translucent window appeared in front of him.
Floating.
Suspended in midair.
Like a video game UI—but real.
Mike closed his eyes.
Opened them.
The window remained.
He read the text.
This Universe is being integrated into the System Multiverse.
Stand by as basic configuration is applied.
Estimated Time Until Teleportation: 00:00:15
Mike stared.
“…I’m dreaming.”
The timer ticked.
00:00:13
He leaned forward.
“Is this a virus? Some kind of AR prank? Did I get hacked by a marketing campaign?”
00:00:10
His heartbeat spiked.
“Okay, okay, calm down—calm down. Maybe if I unplug the router—”
He reached for the power strip.
His hand passed through it.
As if it wasn’t there.
His eyes widened.
“What—what is—?!”
00:00:07
He tried waving the window away.
It didn’t move.
He tried touching it.
His fingers tingled but passed through.
00:00:05
“No no no no NO— This is not happening, I have work, I have a deployment, I have rent—”
00:00:03
He tried to run.
His legs didn’t respond.
Not frozen—just unbound. As if his body no longer answered to physical rules.
00:00:02
Mike inhaled sharply.
“This is really happening.”
00:00:01
He yelled:
“AT LEAST LET ME SAVE MY PROJ—!”
White light swallowed him.
Silence.
Weightlessness.
Then—
A blinding white glow.
Mike sucked in a breath and shielded his eyes until they adjusted.
White. Everywhere. An infinite white void. No shadows. No walls. No ceiling. But the floor beneath his feet felt solid.
He turned slowly.
Nothing.
“Hello?” he called out.
His voice echoed faintly, swallowed by emptiness.
“ANYONE?”
No answer.
He took a tentative step.
The floor didn’t change.
He took another.
Still nothing.
His breathing grew faster as the reality settled in.
This wasn’t a dream.
This wasn’t VR.
This wasn’t a prank.
This was something else entirely.
“Okay Mike… don’t panic. Just… don’t panic. Maybe this is some extreme lucid dreaming episode. Or… quantum physics. Or you finally died of stress.”
He tried pinching himself.
“OW!”
Still white.
Still real.
He exhaled shakily.
Then—
Someone cleared their throat.
Mike flinched hard enough to nearly fall over.
A figure stood behind him.
No—materialized behind him.
A humanoid.
Red skin.
Golden eyes.
Curled black horns.
A navy-blue suit and tie.
A floating clipboard.
A faint smell of burnt paperwork.
A demon.
A literal demon.
He looked like a mix between a devil from folklore and a senior accountant who hated his job.
He glanced up from his clipboard.
“Name?”
Mike’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
“…what?”
“Name,” the demon repeated in a tone that suggested Mike was already a problem. “We must confirm your identity before System Integration. Name, species, age, preferred interface language, mana affinity if known, recent psychological state—though that one is usually obvious.”
Mike stared.
“Are you—are you actually a demon?”
“Yes,” the demon said, annoyed. “Obviously. Horns, red skin, ancient soul, infernal heritage. What did you expect? An angel?”
“Well, I— I don’t know—I didn’t expect anything! This morning I was working on a bug and now I’m— wherever this is—”
“The White Room,” the demon said. “Standard orientation space. Now, please answer the questions.”
Mike swallowed.
“Michael Storm. Human. Thirty-two. English. And my psychological state is ‘freaking out.’”
The demon scribbled notes.
“Freaking out… yes… very common in new integrations.”
He checked something on his clipboard, frowned, and continued.
“Do you have any allergies? Significant phobias? History of spiritual possession? Have you ever made a pact with an eldritch entity? Please answer clearly.”
Mike blinked.
“…I’m sorry, WHAT?”
“These are standard questions.”
“I—I mean—no? No possessions, no pacts, no allergies except pollen sometimes—”
“Excellent. Please sign here.”
The demon held out a holographic pen and a translucent form.
Mike recoiled.
“I’m not signing anything I don’t understand from a demon!”
The demon sighed heavily and rubbed his temples.
He looked tired. Not evil—just exhausted.
“As I must explain to every new universe: this is not a contract. This is a consent form acknowledging that you understand this universe has been integrated and that you will be receiving a class, attributes, and a tutorial instance.”
Mike eyed him cautiously.
“And… signing won’t sell my soul?”
“You mortals always think soul-selling is in every form.”
He tapped the paper.
“This is a form acknowledging orientation.”
Mike hesitated… then grabbed the glowing pen.
“What happens if I don’t sign?”
“You will still be integrated,” the demon said bluntly. “But you will not receive your welcome package. It contains:
-
Lotions for mana rash
-
A basic robe
-
One energy biscuit
-
And a pamphlet titled ‘So You’re In A Multiverse Now’ ”
Mike stared.
“…there’s a pamphlet?”
“Eight hundred pages,” the demon said proudly.
Mike signed immediately.
“Good. Now—”
A faint ripple trembled through the white room.
The demon glanced up.
“Ah. Supervisor notifications. Integration is proceeding quickly.”
Mike frowned.
“Supervisor?”
“Yes. Once orientation questions are done, we move on to preliminary System Calibration.”
“What’s that?”
“We place your hands on the Sphere of Integration. It connects your soul to the System for the first time and identifies your starting parameters. Pain-free. Mostly.”
“Mostly?!”
The demon gestured, and from the ground—
A table rose.
White. Featureless. Seamless.
And on its surface…
A glowing purple sphere.
Smooth. Perfect. Gently pulsing like a heartbeat.
Mike stared at it.
The demon cleared his throat professionally.
“Please take a seat.”
Mike looked down. A chair had formed beneath him.
Pure white.
Impossible to differentiate from the floor.
Even more confusing, it was surprisingly comfortable.
The demon took the opposite seat, straightened his tie, and looked at him with a mixture of boredom and expectation.
“Now then,” he said, tapping the clipboard with a claw.
“Let’s begin your System Integration.”
END OF CHAPTER 1
Thank you for reading!
If you are enjoing this story a like and follow help a lot. Thanks!
Up to 50 early access chapters on Patreon:
Join our Discord: