001 The Isekai Ghost

  I had always thought that if I were to die in a spectacurly tragic accident, I'd at least wake up in another world, sword in hand, some goddess expining my overpowered skills to me. But no. The isekai trope had been a lie all along.

  I knew because I was looking at myself.

  Or, more specifically, at what was left of me.

  The scene was a mess—fshing red and blue lights painting the slick asphalt, the sharp scent of burnt rubber and gasoline filling the air. Cars had come to a stop, some dented, others outright wrecked. Traffic enforcers were arguing with motorists, their frantic voices drowned out by the incessant honking from vehicles still trying to squeeze through the chaos. And in the middle of it all, there I was. Or what was left of me?

  The young man in the bck jacket and trousers, sprawled out on the road, was none other than myself. The problem? My head was missing.

  "Holy shit," a cop muttered, standing near my decapitated corpse, covering his mouth with his hand as if trying to hold back his breakfast.

  "This is Commonwealth Avenue," another officer grumbled, rubbing his temple. "Of course, someone’s gonna get pancaked every damn day."

  "Yeah, but a guy getting his head knocked clean off? That’s a first for me."

  A small crowd had gathered—rubberneckers peering through the gaps between officers, some whispering, others recording with their phones. I recognized one of them. A young woman in a navy blue bzer, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She clutched a microphone in her right hand while her cameraman adjusted the angle.

  "This is Trina Morales, reporting live from Commonwealth Avenue, where a horrific accident has just taken pce," she began, her voice steady despite the chaos around her. "Authorities have yet to confirm the identity of the victim, but witnesses cim he was riding a motorcycle when a rge delivery truck ran a red light—"

  "—came out of nowhere," I finished for her, though of course, no one could hear me.

  I sighed. That damn truck. I’d been on my way to my nth job interview, barely awake but determined to give it my best shot. And then, just like that—BAM. Lights out.

  I wasn’t even sure where my head had nded.

  "You think it’s still around here?" a cop asked, mirroring my thoughts.

  "Probably rolled off somewhere. Maybe under another vehicle?"

  "Christ. Somebody’s gotta find it before—"

  A scream rang out from the other side of the intersection.

  Well. That answered that question.

  A commotion stirred at the far end of the street. Murmurs turned into gasps, then ughter—high-pitched, carefree. It was an odd contrast to the grim scene behind me.

  I turned toward the sound and spotted a group of street kids, no older than ten, huddled together near the curb. At first, I thought they were just goofing around, but then I saw what they were passing between them.

  My head.

  "Yo, check this out! It’s so heavy!" one of them said, holding it up with both hands like a trophy. Blood dripped onto his already-dirty shirt.

  "Put it down, gago! It’s cursed!" another boy warned, but he was grinning.

  "Not before I try these on." The smallest one, a scrawny kid with a shaved head, plucked my sungsses from my lifeless face and slid them onto his own. "Damn, astig!" he said, adjusting them like he was the coolest guy in the world.

  I sighed. Those were my favorite pair.

  Then, one of the kids—different from the rest—stopped pying. He was staring directly at me. Not my body, not my severed head—me.

  Ah. What was the word for it? Third eye?

  I floated closer, leaning in toward his round face. His pupils dited. His mouth fell open.

  "Boo~!"

  The kid let out a shriek so loud it rivaled the sirens in the distance. He shoved my head away like it was on fire, and it hit the pavement with a sickening thud-thud-thump.

  The other kids screamed, scattering in all directions. My sungsses-wearing thief bolted, forgetting to return my shades.

  "Hoy, where are you all going?!" one of the cops shouted after them, clearly annoyed. But the kids were gone, leaving my bloodied, rolling head behind.

  I yawned. Ghost or not, scaring little kids wasn’t exactly entertaining.

  My gaze drifted back toward the wreckage. The news reporter, Trina Morales, was still at it, her professional mask firmly in pce despite the grotesque scene behind her.

  "The victim has been identified as twenty-four-year-old Non Cruz," she announced.

  I paused.

  Hearing my name said out loud like that felt… weird. Final.

  Non Cruz. That was me, wasn’t it? A fresh graduate, job-seeker extraordinaire, and now, apparently, a very dead guy.

  I didn’t bother staying to hear the rest. There was no point.

  Instead, I started walking. Or, well, floating.

  Commonwealth Avenue stretched endlessly ahead of me—neon signs flickering, headlights blinding, vendors still pushing their carts like a man hadn’t just lost his head a few feet away. Life kept going, uncaring.

  I wanted to see as much as I could before… before what?

  Before I faded away?

  I would fade away, right?

  I had dreamt of a different life.

  A normal one. A stable job, a decent paycheck, maybe even my own condo in the city someday—far from the life my parents had led.

  Mom was a Mangkukum. Dad was an Alburyo.

  Put otherwise, frauds.

  And if not frauds, then probably just scary people.

  I still remembered the things they put me through.

  Dad would perform all sorts of rituals on me, muttering incantations while waving herbs and candles in my face. I lost count of the times he made me drink strange potions, each one more disgusting than the st.

  “This will protect you from evil spirits,” he’d say, handing me a murky, bitter concoction that smelled like rotten eggs.

  Mom, on the other hand, was worse. She didn’t just believe in magic—she practiced it. She made me learn strange symbols, recite prayers in nguages I didn’t understand, and worst of all—she made me eat things.

  "Swallow it," she'd insist, holding up something bck, shriveled, and vaguely insect-like. "This is an Agimat, an amulet. It will make you strong."

  And because I was a dumb kid who didn’t know better, I obeyed.

  Even now, as a ghost, I shuddered at the memory.

  I stretched a bit, feeling stiff for some reason.

  And then my head fell off.

  I sighed.

  Could you imagine it? The bike’s chains decapitating you? Talk about a bad way to go.

  Grumbling, I bent down, picked up my head, and reattached it with a practiced motion—like a ball-jointed doll putting itself back together. There was a faint click, a weird tingling sensation, and then everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as things could be when you were already dead.

  I rolled my shoulders. Still stiff. Death really wasn’t as rexing as I had hoped.

  Then something strange happened.

  My feet started sinking into the ground.

  At first, I thought it was just my imagination. Maybe I had moved without realizing it. But no—there was a definite pull, like I had stepped into quicksand made of air.

  "Uuuhh…" I blinked, staring down as my sneakers disappeared into the pavement. It would be an understatement to say I was worried.

  Okay. Maybe I hadn’t been a devout believer or anything, but this was the Philippines. Catholicism ran deep here, so even an idiot like me—who rarely went to church unless my grandma dragged me—had some fear of God.

  And right now? That fear was escating.

  I tried stepping back, but my legs wouldn’t budge. The sinking continued, slow but relentless, like I was being dragged into the underworld inch by inch.

  "Okay, okay, let’s not panic," I muttered to myself.

  Then I reached my waist, tried to push myself against the concrete ground.

  I panicked.

  "Hoy! Help! Somebody—!" I shouted at the officers still loitering around my crime scene. My crime scene? My accident scene? Either way, they were right there—mere feet away, completely unaware that I was being swallowed by the earth.

  "Excuse me, sir? Ma’am? Anyone?!" I waved frantically, but they didn’t so much as flinch.

  Nothing.

  No one could see me.

  I kept shouting anyway, because what else was I supposed to do? But as I sank further—chest, shoulders, neck—I realized something chilling.

  The deeper I went, the quieter everything became. The sounds of traffic, of honking cars, of officers grumbling about paperwork—it all faded.

  By the time my head slipped under, I heard nothing at all.

  So where was my destination?

  Underworld? Hell? It was going downwards, wasn’t it?

  Ah. I was done for.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for whatever eternal damnation awaited me. But then something strange happened.

  First, my head.

  It was like a bamboo shoot, pushing through the soil in a matter of seconds. One moment, I was sinking into the earth—then, pop! My head broke through the surface like I was some cursed pnt sprouting in the dark.

  I was phasing through the soil.

  It was night.

  I blinked up at the sky, breath catching at what I saw. Three moons hung above, bathing everything in an eerie, pale glow. Not one. Not two. Three.

  Oh.

  That wasn’t normal.

  At this point, I was waist-deep in the ground, and my body continued pushing upward, soil sliding past me like I was nothing more than mist. My arms, my torso, my legs—until finally, the earth spat me out completely, and I stumbled forward onto solid ground.

  I looked around.

  A cathedral.

  A massive one.

  Dark, towering spires loomed over me, their stained-gss windows reflecting nothing but the moons’ cold light. Flickering torches lined the stone walls, casting shifting shadows on intricately carved pilrs.

  But that wasn’t the weirdest part.

  The skeletons were.

  They were everywhere. Wandering aimlessly, their hollow sockets staring into nothing, some carrying rusted weapons, others simply existing. None of them paid me any mind as I staggered to my feet, trying to process what the hell was happening.

  Except for one.

  A skeleton, different from the others.

  His entire form was engulfed in blue, ghostly fmes, his hollow gaze locked onto me. And judging by the way he was waving his arms and shouting in some unknown nguage, he was pissed.

  I had no idea what he was saying.

  But I had a feeling I was about to find out.