As Zario opened his eyes, his consciousness, still mired in the remnants of the recent transition, slowly latched onto a reality in which he found himself inside an abandoned house, where the air, heavy and saturated with dampness, carried the smell of rot, dust, and long neglect, and the dim light, filtering through cracked crevices in the walls, lazily glided over peeling surfaces, creating the feeling of a place long abandoned by life.
His gaze, not yet fully focused, darted sharply around, clinging to every detail, as if the instincts developed over countless years of survival did not allow him to remain defenseless even for a moment, after which, without wasting a second, he turned his attention to his own body, trying to determine his condition and the boundaries of the new shell.
What he felt was both expected and alien, as the same all-destructive force that once permeated every particle of his being had not completely disappeared, but it had not manifested itself either, as if it had been sealed, compressed, hidden behind endless layers of restrictions that did not allow it to come out, leaving only a weak, almost ghostly feeling of its presence somewhere deep within.
However, Zario's attention was not focused on this.
The body he now occupied did not correspond to his former form or his former state, for it felt lighter, weaker, lacking the overwhelming power he was accustomed to, and his age, judging from his build, lay somewhere between youth and maturity, somewhere between nineteen and twenty-three years old, though an exact determination seemed impossible due to the distorted perceptions formed by his past life.
And yet…
It was wounded.
Covered with a multitude of cuts, old and fresh, intersecting with each other, like traces of constant violence or difficult survival, and each of these wounds, even when partially healed, retained a feeling of pain, dulled, but not completely gone.
His gaze slid around the room again, and now that his perception had begun to stabilize, he could discern a single object standing out from the general emptiness - an old table standing to the side, covered in dust and cracks, like everything else in this place.
There was bread on it.
Rotten, darkened, almost crumbling, as if even it had long since ceased to be something suitable for life.
The picture came together effortlessly.
The body he found himself in existed neither in luxury nor in safety, but in conditions close to survival, where even basic needs remained unmet, leaving traces imprinted in every detail of the surrounding environment.
"What the hell…" the thought, barely formed, sounded hoarse, with a hint of irritation, but without the previous confidence, since the situation itself went beyond his usual understanding of control.
His mind, despite his attempts to focus on the present, returned again and again to what he had seen before, to that place that was neither life nor death, to the voices, to the columns, to the creatures whose presence could not be ignored.
"What kind of Death Festival is this…" This thought wasn't just a question, but rather the beginning of the realization that everything that had happened was not an accident, but part of something that had already begun to unfold, regardless of his wishes or understanding.
*
Then, as soon as the words had dissolved in his consciousness, the space before him flared with snow-white sparks, sharply cutting through the dim atmosphere of the abandoned room, and this blinding, almost unnatural radiance was immediately followed by something whose outlines remained hidden behind a dense, flickering stream of light.
Zario's reaction, honed to the utmost precision over years of countless battles, worked instantly, and in a mere fraction of a second, no more than ninety-six milliseconds, he managed to grasp the main thing - behind the curtain of sparks was a small entity, whose presence, despite its size, carried something unclear, but potentially significant, after which his body, acting faster than a conscious decision, stepped aside, taking a more advantageous position.
Another moment later, no more than three hundred milliseconds in total, the sparks began to melt, dissolving into the air as suddenly as they had appeared, and the previously hidden figure acquired clear outlines, manifesting in reality without a trace.
However, contrary to expectations, no hostility followed.
The entity hovering in the air before him showed no aggression, not even a hint of intent to attack; its presence was strangely neutral, almost emotionless, as if it existed outside the categories of threat and safety.
Zario, without losing his guard, focused his gaze on this creature, carefully studying every detail, trying to compare what he saw with something from his experience, but the longer he looked, the clearer it became that in front of him was something completely alien.
It had eyes.
Clear, expressive, yet devoid of any other facial structure, as if his entire 'personality' had been reduced to these two points of perception, while everything else was absent, neither hidden nor destroyed, but simply having never existed.
From the area that could be called the head, two thin lines extended upwards, smoothly curving and creating a resemblance to horns, however, their form did not appear solid or material, rather they seemed to be part of the entity itself, a manifestation of its nature, and not a separate element.
The body, however... was missing.
Or, more precisely, it was replaced.
Instead of the usual structure, there was a piece of paper in front of him, slightly swaying in the air, as if it did not obey the laws of gravity; its surface was clean, but at the same time it seemed capable of taking shape at any moment, and its size did not exceed two palms, which made the creature almost absurdly small in comparison to what was happening.
And then…
It spoke.
[Welcome to the Death Festival! Player Zario, I am your personal assistant, if you have any questions, you can contact me.]
The voice did not sound in the usual sense, since it did not pass through the air, but arose directly in the consciousness, devoid of intonation, but at the same time surprisingly clear, as if each word had been pre-built into perception.
However, before the entity could disappear, Zario, not wanting to lose the opportunity to get at least some information, asked the first, most obvious question that arose in his head.
— How should I address you?
[You can just think and summon me, or come up with a code name for me.]
"Code?" A short pause, in which he, without wasting time on unnecessary reflection, made a decision, "Summon when I say 'Lunari'..."
The name stuck as soon as it was mentioned.
And at that very moment, as if confirming the acceptance of this condition, the entity, now Lunari, once again disintegrated into snow-white sparks, disappearing from reality as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind nothing but a light, almost imperceptible sensation of its presence.
— Lunari…
The name, barely out of his mouth, resonated within him not as a random choice, but as something that carried weight, because, despite the fact that Zario had never known either affection or intimacy in the usual sense, existing among subordinates and not equals, in the depths of his memory there still remained the image of a girl with the same name, the one who was his right hand, flawlessly carrying out orders and at the same time the only one whose presence he did not perceive as something completely replaceable.
The thought flashed quickly, almost unnoticed, but left behind a subtle trace that he neither deepened nor rejected, since the current situation required clarity, not memories.
Without wasting a moment, he concentrated again, directing his will to the call, and the space before him, as if responding to the established name, again flared with snow-white sparks, gathering into a familiar, compact form.
The essence has manifested itself.
Lunari.
Without any unnecessary movements, without hesitation, she took her place in front of him, hanging in the air with the same neutral stillness that did not allow her to be classified as either an ally or a tool, but rather as something in between.
Zario didn't delay.
His gaze, cold and focused, fixed on her, and his voice, devoid of its former weight of authority, but not having lost its commanding clarity, sounded immediately after her appearance.
— Lunari... explain to me the rules of the Deadly Festival Game...