The system shows her a sequence of moves it wants her to execute, superimposed in the artificial void of the training space. On the other side of the seraph there’s a ranking screen with all their names on it. There’s no tutorial, no guide, and no explanation. They expect her to figure it out herself. Just flail in her mind until she lucks into the right burst of the synapses that triggers the desired action. This is a standard uppercut. This is a standard uppercut on the other side. This is a slashing attack with the front pair of lower limbs. This is a stabbing thrust with the back pair. Here’s a dual-wielding spin attack. All these moves and a dozen more, which the void demands she memorize fast enough to follow its menu of unreasonable requests.

But they underestimate her. Misery is good at retaining this sort of gritty, mechanical information at an absurd pace, which makes her terrible to play against at parlor games. She’s a voidtaken marionette, twirling through an inelegant, jerky mockery of life. But she’s doing the thing. She’s doing it perfectly. Before long she’s got every action internalized so well it just happens. She doesn’t even have to think. Misery flies through the void, her will turned into a cascade of action, one thought bursting forth before another ends. Soon the system just has to begin its whisper of what it wants and she’s already pulling it off. No words necessary. Understanding is pure as blood in this realm, transcending the limitations of mortal language. What is required of her, she simply knows. The way she knows what is up and what is down in the cosmic plane where her body exists.

Time has no meaning in this fugue state. If hours or weeks are passing in the world of flesh, Misery has no idea. The focus she pours into her task erases the existence of an outside. She needs no food, no water, no air: nothing except the thrill of delight that comes with perfectly executing a sequence.

Then, without warning, everything vanishes. Misery’s headlong charge crashes to a halt. The seraph, gone. The instructions, silent. Only black void remains. Flung into discombobulation by her own inertia, Misery loses her grip on herself. Without a body, without an identity, who is she? What is she?

“You are Misery Nomaki. Black Hole Messiah, Savior of the Faithful, Nullvoidsbane. Chosen of the Larex Forge to destroy the scourge of the Heretics. Assigned to Dish Ono, Serving Red-2, the banquet of Angelsteeth. Don’t you remember?”