Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 2: Hell Mode

Sunlight filtered gently through the windowpanes, casting a warm glow across the room. A boy lay beneath his duvet, peacefully asleep. Suddenly, a subtle twitch flickered across his eyelids.

Without warning, he eased himself upward from the bed, transitioning smoothly into a seated position. His eyes remained closed as he stretched languidly, still caught in the haze between sleep and wakefulness.

”A nice stretch,” the boy murmured, his eyes fluttering open as the room slowly came into focus. Yet, he remained still, seated in stunned silence, a wave of confusion washing over him.

”How did I get here?” he whispered, his voice barely steady. Then, abruptly, he faltered, uncertainty deepening in his gaze.

’What happened to my bass voice?’ he wondered, fingers instinctively brushing his throat. His eyes roamed the room, sharply taking in every detail, every shadowed corner, as if searching for answers.

’Is this the chamber of a king, or what?’ he wondered, eyes sweeping over the sumptuous surroundings. The bed was impossibly soft, the duvet plush and inviting. Ornate gold-framed paintings adorned the walls, and every piece of furniture spoke of exquisite luxury.

He lifted his hands, noticing how they appeared smaller than his original body, yet paradoxically stronger. His skin felt unnaturally smooth beneath his gaze.

”What on earth is happening?” he muttered, the unfamiliar voice emerging from his throat, laced with disbelief.

Ethan’s mind raced, cycling through every possible scenario that could explain his current predicament. This wasn’t how his days were supposed to begin.

His routine was simple, consistent: wake up, attend lectures, laugh and gossip with his girlfriend, then fall asleep with no worries in the world.

But then, a single, jarring thought struck him like lightning.

Transmigration

’Impossible... is such a thing even real?’ he thought, disbelief thick in his mind.

Sure, he’d read his fair share of web novels and watched enough anime to recognize the trope. But he had never once wished for it, never even entertained the idea. Why would he? His life was already ideal.

He was wealthy, tall, strikingly handsome, intelligent, and dating the most intelligent and charming girl in the medical department.

By all accounts, he was living the dream. His reality didn’t even remotely fit the cliché prerequisites for reincarnation or transmigration. His life had no tragedy, no injustice, no regrets. It was simply... perfect.

After all, reincarnation and transmigration were for the broken, the forgotten, or the painfully average, those who had lived unremarkable lives or suffered in silence. But Ethan was none of those things. His life had been, by every measure, too perfect.

Yes, he had grown up in an orphanage. But unlike many children who, upon coming of age, longed to uncover their roots or reunite with lost parents, Ethan had never shared that sentiment. To him, the past was a closed door. They had given up on him, so he had simply returned the favor, with finality and without remorse.

His thoughts came to another sudden halt.

Jennifer

Memories of her flooded his mind in vivid detail, her laughter, the way she’d playfully steal glances during his lectures whenever she escorted him, the warmth of her hand in his.

He remembered when they first started dating, two years ago. Not once had they argued. Not once had they needed space. Jennifer had even given their relationship a name: Utopia.

’Damn it. Take me back... take me back to my world’ Ethan thought, the weight of his reality crashing down.

He didn’t waste time denying what had happened. Acceptance had already settled in, no matter how surreal it felt.

But Jennifer... what would become of her? The heartbreak, the confusion, the devastation she would feel when his body, cold, unresponsive, was eventually found, or worse, reported missing.

The thought hollowed him out.

Ethan let his back sink into the softness of the bed, eyes fixed blankly on the polished ceiling above. His thoughts churned restlessly, tangled in disbelief and reluctant acceptance.

The typical transmigration trope played through his mind, bloodshed, battles, power struggles, tragic events, and endless family drama.

It was the kind of fantasy that fueled the dreams of many novel readers and otakus.

But not his.

He had no reason to fantasize about escape or reinvention. His reality had been near perfect, so perfect that the idea of trading it for chaos seemed utterly absurd.

Minutes slipped by as he lay there, motionless, his eyes unblinking. Eventually, driven by curiosity or perhaps quiet dread, he pushed himself off the bed and made his way to the full-length mirror mounted on the wall. If nothing else, he needed to see the face of the stranger he had become.

He rose from the bed and walked toward the mirror, each step slow, deliberate. As his gaze met the reflection before him, he paused, staring at a young man who looked to be no older than seventeen, yet possessed a presence beyond his years.

The figure stood tall at 6’1”, with skin so fair and flawless it seemed untouched by even the faintest trace of dirt or hardship.

His eyes were a deep, ethereal purple, mirroring the tousled mop of hair atop his head, hair that, while clean and well-kept, had grown wild, as though no one had dared to trim it.

His features were sharp and dangerously attractive, the kind of face that could charm or silence a room with little effort.

’A lady killer’ Ethan thought dryly.

But the thought was fleeting, chased quickly by a deeper, more urgent question.

’I thought transmigrations came with memories... so where the hell is mine?’

His gaze drifted to the closed door across the room. The temptation to open it, to peer into the unknown, tugged at him. But caution anchored his feet in place.

He had no memory, no context for where he was, who he was supposed to be, or how this world worked. Walking out blindly could be dangerous.

Besides, judging from the opulence of the room and the refinement of his new appearance, this body likely belonged to someone of considerable status. A noble family, perhaps.

Best to wait. A maid, a butler, someone was bound to come. And when they did, he’d have a chance to gather some much-needed information.

Turning on his heel, Ethan moved toward the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the world beyond. But just as he took his second step, he froze. His breath caught. A sharp, unseen force crashed into his mind like a hammer to glass.

Pain.

It bloomed in his skull, violent and sudden.

He staggered, clutching his head with both hands as his knees buckled slightly. The urge to scream clawed at his throat, but he bit it back, forcing himself to stay silent.

Then, fragments.

Images began flashing in his mind like fractured memories stitched together by chaos. Scenes, faces, places he didn’t recognize, yet now somehow knew. A motion picture of someone else’s life unspooled violently behind his eyes.

Several agonizing minutes passed before the pain began to fade, then disappeared altogether, as suddenly as it had come. Ethan remained still, gasping softly for breath, his body trembling as he slowly pushed himself upright from his half-collapsed position.

His mind raced, reeling from the torrent of memories that had just been forced upon him.

They weren’t his, but now, somehow, they were.

He had just witnessed the life of the soul that once inhabited this body. Every experience, every moment, every scar etched into the consciousness now fused with his own. And what he saw left him stunned.

”You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ethan murmured, his voice low, almost breathless with disbelief.

Gone was the ease and privilege of his former life, his days of comfort, laughter, and effortless success. What lay before him now was chaos. Betrayal. Blood. And a legacy riddled with danger.

It was as though fate had ripped him from Easy Mode and hurled him headfirst into Hell Mode, without warning, without reason, and without mercy.