The Reluctant Demoness

Astrid had heard of the game Demon Hunters: Judgement Day, but she had never played it. This made the fact that she’d been sucked into the viral video game horribly, terribly, unfair.

The thing Astrid did enjoy was broken terracotta pots. Where the owners saw trash to dump on the curb, Astrid saw possibility, a new identity to overwrite “broken.” Assembling the shattered pieces into a tiered fairytale world packed with succulents and small ferns gave her a pleasant buzz of satisfaction. Even her horticultural failures received a place of honor on the windowsill, despite her roommates’ objections.

So no, Astrid was not a gamer. Especially not of Demon Hunters: Judgement Day, the smash hit everyone swore was “scintillating and innovative.” Astrid called it something else, predictable and unimaginative. A golden knight protagonist battling demons across a ruined hellscape? Wow. Groundbreaking. Truly.

The last thing she remembered was sitting in a university lecture hall, listening to the professor’s take on Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and its social commentary on Victorian society. Suddenly, a flash of isekai light, and then…

A world where the sky flickered violently purple and ochre and the atmosphere smelled of burnt sugar.

Gone were her worn-out jeans and 'Labyrinth' shirt. Instead she was poured into a sensual bodysuit piped with glowing red at the seams. She would’ve preferred David Bowie’s goblin king face.

“Well, isn’t this just a trip,” she muttered, except the voice was a sultry, dangerous purr. “Is that MY voice?” She grabbed her throat, nails now lacquered a gemstone alexandrite.

A ding sounded behind her.

She spun to identify its source, nearly tripping on her sleek, leathery tail but recovering in an unexpectedly suave manner. Oh for the love of all- a tail? She squeezed her eyes closed briefly. Please don’t have wings, please don’t have wings, she chanted fervently to herself. To her relief there were no wings, but there were definitely new and unfamiliar curves. It all felt distinctly over-sexualized. Glowing in-game script hovered in midair.

VILLAIN OBJECTIVE:

Seduce and weaken the Hero.

She read it back again aghast. “Absolutely not. Hard pass. Send me back to the lecture hall. I have thoughts about Alice’s mushroom scene.”

Astrid had spent her whole life dodging labels, too artsy, too odd, too intense, and now a literal video game wanted to force her into the most basic and flat role of all? Hell. No.

Another ding.

HINT:

Use your irresistible charm.

“I’m not irresistible! I’m barely resistible! People resist me all the time!”

Before she could unpack that sentence and the linguistic gymnastics it entailed, metal boots clanked across the rubble.

“Stand, demon succubus!” a voice boomed. “Face the sword of the Protagonist! After you fall, I’ll gain the experience for the final boss!”

Astrid turned to see a knight, or rather, the knight. Tall, gleaming, and stupidly heroic. She recognized the Protagonist instantly from the commercials. Behold, the blessed golden armor, that windswept black hair. And his sword... good grief. It was even more ludicrously oversized in person. Clearly, physics had not been consulted.

USE SEDUCTIVE TRANSFORMATION:

Y/N

“N.” Astrid snapped.

He blinked. “…Are you okay?”

USE CHARM:

Y/N

“Stop it. Bad game!” She waved her hand through the menu ineffectively. The ground they stood on shuddered alarmingly.

DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OVERWRITE GAME CODE. COMPLY WITH ORIGINAL SCRIPT OR BE OVERWRITTEN.

AUTO-SELECTED:

Y

“Oh, come on!”

A wave of involuntary supernatural allure pulsed from her. It rolled towards the dashing golden knight whose empty head sadly stood no chance. The Protagonist staggered, cheeks flushing.

“I- uh, wow,” he breathed. “You’re… very…”

Astrid screamed into her hands. “I hate this game SO MUCH.”

His sword clattered to the ground. His gaze turning hazy and unfocused.

“Hello? Protagonist?” She waved a hand in front of him. Useless. Panic set in. What had the game engine said about overwriting her? She tried the only thing she could think of.

“Have you ever made a fairy garden out of broken clay pots?” she asked. “With miniature furniture? A plastic hedgehog with a red party hat reading a tiny book?”

He blinked. “Hedgehog…?”

Astrid launched into rapid-fire explanation. Silicone sealants, perlite drainage layers, and which plants thrived best. Somewhere around her rant about herb combinations, something snapped.

“What is the meaning of creeping… time?” he murmured.

“Thyme, not time!” she shouted, then realized the thrall was broken.

ALERT:

Seductive Transformation skill patched.

The sky glitched violently. Cracks split under her feet and moss burst from the fissures.

The Protagonist watched, baffled. “Is this… environmental enrichment?”

“It’s called art, you gold tin can!” she crowed as moss rolled over his fallen sword. He didn’t seem concerned.

His form flickered, the edges blurring in and out of focus, a brief T-pose. “I don’t want to fight bosses,” he said slowly. “I want… hobbies? A name?”

Astrid threw her hands up triumphantly. “YES, KING. FIND A PERSONALITY.”

The Protagonist looked at his surroundings with an expression of intrigue.

“Did your parents never name you?” Astrid asked him, her arms spread wide imploringly. “Did they raise you to slice away at demons every day? To go dungeon to dungeon mining XP?”

“I never knew my parents.” He replied as he searched his memory with confusion.

“YES!” She whooped. “I mean oh noooo,” she corrected noting his crestfallen expression. “Okay, what I really mean is use that tragic backstory, make yourself someone other than the hero built of code you’re forced to be. Prove that something broken can still have character!”

UNAUTHORIZED AESTHETIC DETECTED.

Astrid only grinned wider. She reached inside for a simmering scarlet magic that was impatiently waiting for her touch and began molding the game world like clay. A literal Kintsugi landscape overtook the demonic architecture with gold cracks spreading. It burned bright, leaving a trail of whimsical fairy-garden energy in its wake.

DO NOT APPLY ORGANIC TEXTURES TO THE BOSS ARENA.

ABSOLUTELY NO TINY BENCHES IN HELL.

She’d rebuilt broken things before. Why not a broken world? She cracked her knuckles. It was time to reshape the world before it reshaped her.