Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

I sank onto the bed, and for once, I allowed myself to feel the weight of exhaustion settle over me fully.

The clothing that I Kuzunoha gave me was quite comfortable, and I didn't need to take them off like when I was still in my Soulthread garb.

It didn't take long for drowsiness to settle in, pressing down like a warm, heavy blanket, and before I knew it, I was drifting off, slipping into the strange world of sleep.

"Another of that lucid-like dream, huh…"

I found myself in a dim, cold room with cracked concrete floors and rusted steel beams. The air smelled of machinery oil and dust, and the room was lit by the dull hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead. I was in a factory—vast, impersonal, and filled with the clanking and whirring of archaic machines.

And for some reason, memories surged into me like they were my own.

Just like how I accepted the fact that this is a dream, I also accepted the fact that this might be one of those visions or reliving that is related to that weird family that had been haunting me when I got zero sanity.

"... Feels too real to be a dream."

The cold air in the factory was thick with dust, each breath heavy and metallic on my tongue. I was standing at my post in front of a monstrous machine, its steel frame chipped and rusted, gears churning with a relentless, dull hum.

Around me, other workers moved mechanically, faces hollow and distant as they performed the same tasks, over and over.

"Daffodil!" a voice barked from behind me.

I turned to find the supervisor—thick glasses perched on his bulbous nose, his expression permanently sour. His eyes bored into me as he leaned in, and voiced a low snarl "I don't have all day to babysit you! Either pick up the pace or I'll dock you another hour's pay."

I could feel my muscles tense with exhaustion, a fatigue so deep it felt carved into my bones, as if I had been working for quite a while.

But my hands continued their relentless motions, fixing gears, shifting levers, slotting pieces into place on the conveyor belt. Sweat dripped down my forehead, and the ache in my lower back was a constant, dull throb.

I noticed golden strands that are part of my hair—that signature color of Daffodil. In this life or timeline, however, the hair was short.

I wondered what these dreams and visions really meant…

Hours passed, the clanking and whirring of machinery echoing around me as I began immersing myself in this dream world. My fingers worked tirelessly, raw and blistered, the pain blurring into a numbness that was almost worse.

Time became meaningless, each task bleeding into the next until it felt like I'd been here for days, with no end in sight.

Finally, the shift ended, and I stumbled out of the factory into the biting cold of the outside world.

The sky was a flat, endless gray, clouds hanging heavy like iron. As I pulled my thin coat tighter around me, a sense of dread settled over me, knowing I would have to return here again tomorrow as Daffodil if this dream world went on forever.

But for now, I needed to get home, to the small, worn-out apartment that served as my refuge from the relentless grind of this life.

The walk was long, my legs barely able to carry me as I trudged through the litter-strewn streets, past boarded-up windows and graffiti-covered walls. After all, I didn't have the leisure to waste money on public transport.

I glanced down at my hands, grimy and calloused, feeling an odd sense of detachment as if they didn't quite belong to me.

"... I almost forgot that I'm not exactly Daffodil."

My phone buzzed in my pocket, jarring me from my thoughts. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen, frowning at the foreign number. Hesitating for only a moment, I accepted the call.

"Daffodil," a rough voice spat through the speaker. "About time you answered. You thought you could avoid me forever?"

I felt a cold weight settle in my stomach, as if I knew this voice well—it belonged to my debt collector, the one who never missed an opportunity to remind me of the crushing financial burden I'd inherited from my parents.

Yeah, it appeared that Yaria and Elisi were quite the shit parents in this timeline.

"You paid last month," he continued, voice thick with disdain, "but it wasn't enough. We expect double that amount by the end of this week, or we'll be paying your home a little visit. Got it?"

I swallowed, feeling the bitterness rise in my throat. "I don't have that kind of money. You know that."

"That's your problem," he sneered. "Maybe if you worked a little harder, saved a little more, you wouldn't be in this mess."

Before I could respond, the line went dead, leaving me standing alone on the empty street, the silence pressing in like a physical weight.

I forced myself to keep walking, the ache in my chest growing with each step. My mind was filled with a whirl of anger, frustration, and hopelessness, as the memories tried to immerse themselves in me—each emotion churning together until they became an all-consuming haze.

As I turned down a narrow alley, a group of men stepped out of the shadows, their eyes gleaming with malice.

"Well, well, if it isn't Daffodil," one of them sneered, a cruel grin stretching across his face. "Heard you got your paycheck today. Hand it over, and maybe we won't rough you up too bad."

"Yesterday was quite the fun one," the other said with a perverted face. "We might do that again. You know, calling the folks from the other blocks on it too."

I clenched my fists, feeling a surge of anger rise within me. But there was something else, too—an instinct, a deep dread and hopelessness that wasn't originally my own.

"No," I said, my voice cold and steady, fighting back my pathetic instinct.

The men exchanged glances, clearly taken aback.

"Look at her, thinks she's tough now," another one scoffed, stepping forward. "Maybe we should teach her a lesson."

To make it quick, I moved my body in a way that was similar to how Lothair and Narcissus would behave—a blur of motion as I drove my fist into the nearest thug's jaw.

He stumbled back, eyes wide with shock, and before he could react, I'd turned, striking the second man with a swift, calculated blow to the ribs.

One by one, they fell, scrambling to their feet and staggering away, throwing frightened glances over their shoulders.

I stood there, breathing heavily with this unmaintained yet strong body from working in the factory on numerous overtime hours—watching the thugs disappear into the night.

A strange satisfaction filled me, since I won't be reliving the actual event that was about to go down as Daffodil.

"You live a rough life, Daffodil."

Daffodil in my memory tried her best to get the police involved too to no avail, since there was a key figure in that line of work that seemed to possess some unwarranted hate against her, making sure that no help was coming in her way.

"And so… Daffodil gave up."

Once again, I almost forgot that I'm Narcissus, not Daffodil.

When I reached my apartment, I could feel the eyes of my neighbors on me, their expressions filled with disdain. They muttered under their breath as I passed, their words laced with contempt.

"Look who's back. Thought she'd be gone by now."

"Can't believe she's still around. Must have nothing left."

"Pathetic. She'll be gone soon enough."

I ignored them, focusing only on the door in front of me as I unlocked it and stepped inside. The apartment was small and cramped, the walls peeling, the air stale. But it was mine, for what little that was worth. I sank onto the worn-out mattress, the weight of the day settling over me like a lead blanket.

A day passed in the dream, and I hope that a day didn't pass in Carcosa—it was an endless loop of factory work, debt calls, and harassment.

The next morning, I walked through the streets toward work, the sky a dull gray overhead.

My head was already heavy with the stress and mental exhaustion that Daffodil carried, and it had been making my dreaming experience too uncomfortable to my liking.

And af it that wasn't enough, life hit Daffodil with something fast and hard.

I didn't see the car until it was too late.

A sudden impact, the screech of tires, and I was thrown to the ground, pain radiating through my body.

Everything became a blur, sounds fading in and out as I was lifted onto a stretcher, sirens wailing in the distance.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed, an IV drip attached to my arm. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose, and a heavy, throbbing pain pulsed through my head.

The doctor stood at the foot of my bed, glancing down at a clipboard. "You've got a few broken ribs, a concussion… and you'll need to stay here for a few days. We'll be adding the hospital bill to your existing debt."

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of despair settle over me once more.

It was endless, this cycle of suffering, debt, and pain.

No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked, it was never enough…

"This is Daffodil talking in my head…"

As if my body was possessed, my hand drifted to the IV syringe attached to my arm, fingers curling around it.

An impulse, dark and insistent, whispered in the back of my mind.

The needle glinted in the dim hospital light, and before I could fully register what I was doing, I'd pulled it free, the blood trailing down my arm as I gripped the syringe tightly.

My hand moved almost on its own, lifting the syringe to my neck, the sharp point pressing against my skin. A strange calm settled over me, a sense of release, of escape.

Then, as the needle pricked my skin with a rough thrust, everything went black.

And then I woke up.

"W-wha-what the hell!?"

I jolted upright, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. The dream lingered, its dark, oppressive weight pressing down on me, even as I looked around, disoriented, realizing I was back in the cabin room, safe within the bastion.

I looked at my endless notification—ten hours had passed. The dim, familiar light of Carcosa filtered through the window, casting the room in a faint, eerie glow.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, the remnants of the dream slowly fading, replaced by the familiar sense of security that came with being in my own world. But the memory of that factory, of the endless cycle of debt and despair, remained, a dark shadow lingering at the edges of my mind.

As I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that some part of that life, that version of myself, had left a mark on me—a reminder of a place I never wanted to return to, and yet, perhaps, a warning of what could be, if I let myself falter.

The door creaked open, and Verina's familiar face appeared, her eyes lighting up as she saw I was awake.

"Finally up?" she asked, a grin tugging at her lips. "Looks like you actually slept for once."

I managed a small smile, nodding. "Feels like I need it more than I thought."

"Good," she replied. "Take your time. I'll report to you later when you look a little bit refreshed."

She then gently closed the door and left me on my own thoughts once again.

"They didn't invade the room… heh."

And despite the lingering dread from the dream, I found a strange comfort in the familiar routine, in the knowledge that I was back where I belonged.