Chrollo's eyes opened sluggishly. A lot had happened in the past hour and a half—being thrust into an unfamiliar place and situation.
Just a short while ago, he had come home from a tiring day of school. The same old mind-numbing blabber, tarnishing genuinely interesting topics with pointless and overdrawn lessons. It wasn't helped by his delirious mind, worn thin from yet another all-night reading session. He had to catch up on the new Hunter x Hunter chapters—Togashi had come off hiatus. There was no choice but to read. A mastermind's work couldn't be ignored.
As he finished the chapters, exhaustion finally caught up with him. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. Yet, before he could drift off, he found himself abruptly awake, his ears assaulted by violent, blaring sirens. Red flashes painted the darkness, chaotic and overwhelming. It took several moments for the confusion to settle before he realized—he had experienced a transmigration.
A setting he knew, yet was estranged from.
Shadow Slave.
A vast forest stretched beneath him, its skeletal trees standing in eerie silence. Their twisted, leafless limbs reached toward the sky like frozen wails of the dead. Thick mist coiled through the expanse, shifting in unnatural currents, as if something unseen moved within. Patches of fog unraveled and reformed, slithering over the barren ground like restless phantoms. From above, the world seemed lifeless—yet Chrollo could feel it breathe, its quiet unease seeping into the very air.
Swaaaash!
The air itself recoiled, as if the world had taken a breath in reverse. Leaves twisted unnaturally, their veins pulsing with something wrong. The dark green canopy above him bled into faded hues—first a sickly yellow, then a brittle brown, before curling into skeletal remnants of themselves. The trees, once towering sentinels of the forest, warped and shrank as if their lifespans were being unwoven. Thick vines receded into the bark, their existence undone, and the undergrowth shrank back into the soil, leaving behind patches of raw, untouched earth.
Mist coiled between the trees, thickening into something tangible. It crawled backward, consuming the space it had once slowly dispersed into. It was unnatural—like watching spilled ink return to the tip of a quill, reversing a mistake written into reality itself.
The thick mist surged forward like a tidal wave, swallowing the world in an instant. For a brief moment, everything was lost to the dense, suffocating fog—until, just as suddenly, it began to retreat.
As the haze ebbed away, something new stood in the space before him. A small wooden carriage, its surface rough yet sturdy, as if carved from evergreen trees. The wheels, half-buried in the damp earth, creaked softly as if they had just been set down, untouched by time yet eerily out of place.
Chrollo barely had time to process the sight before the mist rolled in once more—this time, with force. It wasn't merely retreating. It was pulling.
A sudden pressure clamped around him, invisible hands dragging him forward. The cold vapor seeped into his clothes, clinging to his skin like an unnatural current. Before he could resist, before he could even think—
The world blurred.
The mist devoured him whole.
[ Asprient! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell, prepare for your first trial…]
"Oi—You deaf, boy?"
A gruff voice broke through the low murmurs of the caravan. The speaker, a broad man with a thick, unkempt beard, stood near the fire, the dim light casting long shadows over his weathered face. He rested a hand on the pommel of his sword, not as a threat, but as a habit borne of years in the wild.
Chrollo lifted his head slightly. His dark eyes, unreadable yet keen, met the man's gaze. He said nothing.
The silence stretched. The men nearby shifted, glancing between the two. The bearded man—one of the caravan guards—clicked his tongue.
"Hells, you got a name or just a habit of sneaking off with things that ain't yours?"
Chrollo hesitated—not out of fear, but calculation. His name? His real name or what this new body is named. Should he introduce himself as Chrollo Ashwin or rather Chrollo Lucifer as he had named himself. he had been drawn into HXH due to this connection between him and one of the antagonistic characters . well no matter right now he had to focus on the matter at hand . he did not wish to give away his name in any essence but remaining nameless meant letting them decide what to call him. That, he wouldn't allow.
"Call me what you will," he said at last, his voice quiet but steady.
The guard huffed a short laugh. "That so? Fine then, wretch. Least until ye prove yourself worth more than the lice in your hair."
He turned, muttering something under his breath before calling for another man to take up the night's watch.
The boy—Wretch, Thief, whatever they saw fit to call him—only watched. He had to stay vigilant. The first nightmare was made for the likes of the sleeper; it was meant to be a trial, not an execution. He might be able to survive—no, he would survive.
Chrollo had tried to take a peek at his runes if he remembered correctly sunny had just thrown any and all terms used in webtoons for status windows. He had began reciting seemingly endless phrases mentally .
Name: Chrollo Lucilfer
True Name:
Rank: Aspirant
Soul Core: Dormant
Memories:
Echoes:
Attributes: [Mark of the Forgotten King] [Fated] [Phantom Heart]
Aspect: [Nen Initiate]
[Nen Initiate]
Aspect Description:
"At the dawn of your nen journey, you stand on the threshold of untapped potential. Your aura, though faint, begins to resonate with the world around you, allowing you to perceive the flow of nen and make the first hesitant attempts at manipulation. You are still learning to control the power that lies within, but even in this unrefined state, you possess the spark of greatness. The path ahead is fraught with trial and error, but with each failure, you draw closer to unlocking the full extent of your abilities."
Chrollo's eyes widened in surprise. He had expected anything—but Nen was beyond his reasoning. After all, he had been thinking within the novel's rules and system.
His close friend—honestly, his only friend had recommended Shadow Slave to him after he finished Lord of the Mysteries and had some time to pick up something new. By the time he finally got around to it, though, he had already lost interest—not because the novel was unappealing, but because his lifelong love, Hunter x Hunter, had come off hiatus. Still, he had read enough to understand the system.
Now, though, his base knowledge and hypotheses had been turned upside down. He was overjoyed. After all—Nen was far more versatile and had a much greater ceiling than the aspects he had been familiar with.
[Mark of the Forgotten King]
Attribute Description:
"The remnants of a lost ruler's legacy manifest upon you, as if the echoes of an ancient king still resonate through your blood. You are drawn to places of forgotten power, and they, in turn, are drawn to you. Your presence stirs old forces—some will bow to you, while others will attempt to claim you as their own."
[Phantom Heart]
Attribute Description:
"Your heart beats with unnerving stillness, numbing the tumult of emotions that normally surge through the soul. With this detachment, you see the world and those around you with unclouded clarity. Emotions, both your own and others', have little sway over you, allowing you to remain calm in the face of chaos and observe the true nature of those you encounter."
[Fated]
Attribute Description:
"You are not merely a thread in the fabric of fate—you are an addition to its original weave. Though you were once separate, you are now fully integrated, your existence becoming an inseparable part of the greater design. Fate accommodates you, and in turn, you move in harmony with its currents, shaping and being shaped by the inevitable flow of events around you."
Chrollo breathed out a sigh of relief. The attribute of Fated had really caught him off guard. Panic had taken him—fearing he would have no autonomy and might end up dead. Unlike Sunny, he wasn't part of fate, so it wouldn't be unreasonable to believe it would get rid of this pest as fast as possible.
However, this [Mark of the Forgotten King] would bring its own fair share of troubles. But at least it took away the worry of being killed by a force so beyond him, simply for being in an unwelcoming place. Unlike all other Awakened—excepts who had the [Mark of Divinity] and its related attributes—he was really not looking forward to having to fight tooth and nail.
[Phantom Heart], on the other hand, was nice. It gave him a semblance of control, and he could already feel its effects. He would have panicked in his current situation—normally, even when he first arrived in this world.
So this must be my innate attribute… but what about Fated? Wouldn't it be like Sunny's? But his clothes earlier… and this attribute had given him enough to deduce that he wasn't just himself. Rather, he had been transmigrated into the body of Chrollo Lucilfer.
Well… maybe.
"Hey, kid, come eat. Though it's less than what the others got, it should still fill your stomach," a soothing yet rough voice called to him.
Chrollo turned toward the source of the voice. A young lady stood there, dressed in a tunic and a dress that resembled noble attire—but without the elegance. It was more akin to something a merchant would wear—practical, worn, and carrying a certain ruggedness. It hinted at someone unafraid of the dirt and struggles of the world.
Yet, there was a faint air of dignity about her—an interesting mix of hardship and grace.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment, the gears in his mind turning. She was offering him food. The others had likely received more, but it didn't matter. He wasn't here to question what he was given.
Chrollo's voice was calm, almost detached, though a glimmer of something unreadable flickered in his dark eyes. "Less than the others?" he said, more to himself than to her, his tone carrying a faint edge of curiosity. "Seems like a generous offer. Thank you, miss...?"
He let the words hang in the air—the slight hesitation a reflection of his habit of avoiding unnecessary connections. His eyes remained on her for a moment longer, studying her face, trying to gauge whether there was any hidden intent behind her offer.
The young lady's lips twitched into a smile, though it wasn't exactly warm—more of a knowing kind of grin. She nodded slightly, acknowledging his formal tone. "It's nothing. But keep it in mind, kid. Out here, no one's gonna give you more than what they think you deserve, so make sure you don't waste what you've got."
Her voice softened as she spoke—a rare glimpse of something gentler beneath the gruffness. She met his gaze squarely
Call me Mira. Mira Ashford."