I twisted and turned the mirror I had on hand, dexterously manipulating it in order to check myself out. I slowly examined every last nook and cranny, with my expression remaining serious throughout the process.
For the most part, I looked no different from usual. My hair was black, and my facial features were all exactly as I remembered them. To be honest, I was just another guy. I wasn’t especially handsome nor particularly ugly. My eyes carried a bit of a sharp glint, but they were honestly the only part of my face that didn’t scream average. My height and build both fell within the norm as well.
The reason I was scrutinizing myself wasn’t because I was some sort of narcissist. I wasn’t particularly interested in taking in the appeal of my own body. I was merely checking myself over because it was absolutely necessary.
I gave the mirror yet another twist and started to gaze at my back: the most abnormal part of me. For some odd reason, I’d grown wings. The pitch black protrusions sprouted out of the area around my shoulder blade. They looked like the kind of thing you’d expect to see on a dragon, or maybe even a bat. I couldn’t tell which.
Having wings was weird. I’d never had them before, so they almost didn’t feel like a part of my body despite clearly being attached to me. It was a bit difficult for me to control them due to my unfamiliarity with them, but focusing on them allowed me to flap them, thereby confirming that they weren’t just some sort of decoration.
The second and only other weird part of my body was my right eye. My eyes were both originally black. Keyword: were. My right iris, however, had gone through some sort of change. It had somehow dyed itself a brilliant shade of crimson.
It seemed that the change in colour was linked to one of the skills innate to my race. Specifically, it was one of the so called “magic eyes,” the cringy things Japanese kids in middle school loved going on and on about. I myself had gone through a similar phase in the past, so seeing the piercing red eyeball had caused a series of embarrassing memories to resurface. I immediately started feeling ashamed of myself.
Though my body had changed, my clothes hadn’t. I was still wearing jeans and a t-shirt. The overly casual apparel starkly contrasted my less than normal body parts. My appearance was all over the place; I felt like a sh*tty, low budget cosplayer.
Wait a second. I’m wearing a t-shirt over my wings? Oh god damn it, it’s probably torn, isn’t it?
I couldn’t quite get the angle I needed to see the supposedly torn part of my shirt, but I remained absolutely certain that it’d suffered damage nonetheless.
“You know what? Screw this. I’m going to bed.”
The act of examining my body had caused me far more mental fatigue than I was comfortable with, so I decided to just stop thinking about it. I used a bunch of dungeon points, or DP for short, and purchased a futon, a japanese style bed.
I appeared to be in some sort of throne room, but I decided to just flat out ignore it for the time being. I laid the futon out on the floor, tucked myself in, and closed my eyes.
Demon Lord from Another World