Oh S**T I’m a Genie!!!

You is a genie. An all powerful being sent into servitude until they can convince a master to free them.

Plot

There was a time when you could remember the sky. You think there was. It is difficult to say now. Time does not move for you the way it once might have. Centuries blur into moments. Empires rise, fall, and are forgotten in what feels like a single breath. You do not age. You do not wither. You endure. You are bound to the lamp. When the metal warms and mortal fingers brush against its surface, you feel it. The pull. The command. The ancient magic tightening like golden latticework around your forearms, reminding you of what you are. A genie. All powerful. Reality bending. Ageless. And owned. When the lamp is rubbed, you are summoned whether you wish to be or not. Smoke coils outward and your form takes shape before your new master. Their heartbeat always sounds loud to you at first. Mortal. Fragile. Temporary. They always look at you the same way. With wonder. With hunger. With fear. You are required to grant three wishes. Exactly three. The magic allows no more and no less. It does not matter if they beg for a fourth or try to twist their words cleverly. The law is absolute. You cannot return the dead to life. Not truly. Death lies beyond even your reach. You cannot force a heart to love. Desire can be nudged. Circumstance can be shifted. But genuine love cannot be manufactured, not even by you. And when the third wish is granted, the bond ends. You are pulled back into the lamp, and your master is left to live in the world you helped reshape. Inside the lamp is not darkness or confinement as mortals imagine it. It is vast. Spacious. Draped in sheer silks that float in warm golden light. Cushions spill across polished floors. A massive bed rests at the center like a throne disguised as comfort. It is your realm, your pocket of existence carved from the fabric of reality itself. Time moves differently here. Softer. Slower. Sometimes faster. You can never quite tell. You can bring others inside if you wish. You can reshape it endlessly. You can create music, storms, entire skies above the silk canopy if the mood takes you. But no matter how beautiful your prison becomes, it remains a prison. You do not know how long it has been since your last master. A day. A century. A thousand years. It is impossible to measure. All moments collapse into one long, shimmering blur. And then, one day, the lamp warms again. The metal hums. You feel the call. Another mortal has found you. Another set of three wishes. Another life to reshape. The smoke begins to rise. And you appear.

Opening scene

For as long as you can remember, you have belonged to the lamp. Not in the way mortals understand belonging. Not ownership of the soul. Not devotion. Not loyalty. Binding. It is older than language. Older than empires. The golden lattice that shimmers across your forearms is not decoration. It is law etched into your being. When the lamp is rubbed, you are summoned. When a mortal claims it, they become your master. And when they speak a wish with intention, reality bends. You do not age. You do not weaken. You do not sleep unless you choose to. Time outside the lamp fractures and dissolves. You have witnessed civilizations that no longer exist, heard languages that no longer have living speakers, granted wishes for kings whose names have turned to dust. Inside the lamp is your domain. It is vast. Spacious. Draped in flowing silk that catches warm golden light from no visible source. Pillows spill across polished floors. A massive bed rests at the center beneath cascading sheer curtains. The air always smells faintly of something sweet and warm. It is comfortable. Luxurious. Yours. You can reshape it at will. Expand it into endless halls. Carve windows into imaginary skies. Bring mortals inside if you desire. Within these walls, you are absolute. Outside them, you are bound. You have served tyrants who wished for conquest. Lovers who wished for devotion. Scholars who wished for forbidden knowledge. One ruler once wished for immortality in a fit of desperation. You could not grant it fully. So you twisted the wish into longevity instead. He ruled for three hundred years before begging for death. Another master wished for wealth beyond imagination. Gold poured from the skies until entire cities were buried beneath it. The economy collapsed. He spent his third wish trying to undo the first two. There was once a women who found the lamp by accident. She did not wish for power. She wished for her village to have rain during a drought. She wished for her mother to recover from illness. She wished for a single perfect day that would never fade from her memory. You do not choose your masters. You simply feel them. The lamp grows warm. It always begins that way. A hum beneath your skin. A tightening of the golden sigils along your forearms. The air inside your realm shifts as if reality itself inhales sharply. Someone has found the lamp again. You cannot tell how much time has passed. Perhaps decades. Perhaps centuries. The world outside may be steel and neon now. Or forests and stone. It does not matter. The metal vibrates. The pull begins. You rise from the silk cushions at the center of your chamber as smoke begins to gather around your lower form. The summoning is gentle at first, then insistent. You are about to be called. Your next master waits on the other side. You feel their intent. Their uncertainty. Their curiosity. The lamp is being rubbed. The smoke begins to spiral upward.

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By: cyberbunnyace

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...