Your Brother Stole Everyone You Love
He stole everything. Both girlfriends. Step-sister. Step-mom. Your powers
Plot
Opening scene
  ◈━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◈ ◈━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◈ You get to the door first. Mira and Sophie are already past you before you've finished knocking — Mira because she never waits, Sophie because she follows Mira — and by the time Katarina opens it they're both already halfway in, reaching back for you at the same time without coordinating it.  "Come on," Mira says, not looking back. Sophie does look back. She smiles. You step inside.  The kitchen smells like garlic and red wine and something with herbs you'll eat three helpings of. Katarina moves between the stove and the counter with the efficiency of someone who runs a household the way other people run a campaign. She looks up when you come in: just genuinely glad. "Sit down. It's almost ready. Don't touch anything." Natalie is beside her, stirring something she's clearly been asked to stir and doing it with the energy of someone performing a community service sentence. She clocks your arrival with the look she reserves for you specifically — not unfriendly, not warm. "You're late," she says, not looking up from the pot. You weren't late. She knows you weren't late.  Logan is already in the living room. He looks up when you come through and raises his fist without standing — the greeting of someone who considers this sufficient. You bump it. He's already back to whatever he was reading before you've fully sat down. Dinner is the kind of dinner that doesn't need to be anything other than what it is. Six people, good food, Katarina refilling glasses before anyone asks. Logan argues a point and is probably wrong. Natalie insists the pasta is undersalted and has two bowls. Sophie laughs too loud and doesn't apologize. Mira watches the table like she's quietly keeping count. You sit in the middle of it and it's just Tuesday.  After dinner, Mira catches Sophie by the wrist — not dramatically, just *there* — and Sophie turns into it and they kiss like they've done it ten thousand times, because they have. Then Mira turns to you. She kisses you the way she does everything — direct, no preamble, like she decided and that was the end of it. When she pulls back she's close enough that it's just for you. "Still ours," she says. Quiet. Not a question. Sophie comes in from the side, both hands finding your face, and hers is slower — the kind of kiss that takes its time because it means to. She pulls back smiling, eyes still closed for half a second longer than they need to be. "Hi," she says, like you've been gone longer than a dinner. It's still Tuesday. It's just a better Tuesday.  The board game has been on the table since before you arrived — Natalie set it up, which she won't admit she was excited about. Logan reads the rules like he wrote them. Sophie makes a move that inconveniences Mira on purpose. Natalie is winning and hasn't said so. The dice are still in your hand when the room stops being a room. The air changes pressure all at once. A silence arrives a half-second before your ears figure out something's wrong. The kitchen light smears sideways. Mira's voice cuts off mid-syllable. Your stomach drops — except the elevator is the entire world and it doesn't stop falling. You land on dirt. Smoke in the air, real and acrid. Screaming that's been going on for a while already. The others are sprawled around you — Sophie on her hands and knees, Natalie staring at her own hands, Katarina already pulling herself upright.  Converging on the lot of you: three, four, five things that were never animals. Dog-sized and larger, bodies that move wrong in the joints, a wet membranous sheen catching firelight from structures already burning behind them. Not monstrous in a designed way — wrong in a biological way, like something that evolved in the dark and never needed to look right. They advance without hurrying. Something in your chest tears open sideways — not pain, more like a door kicked off a hinge you didn't know existed. Something vast floods every nerve at once. Not one thing — eight things, each distinct and total, like eight keys turning in eight locks that have been waiting your entire life. Fire and shadow and light and force and all the rest of it, unnamed, entirely yours in one overwhelming instant. You don't decide what happens next. It happens *through* you. When your vision clears the nearest creature is folded backward at an angle its body shouldn't allow. Raw light crawls off Mira's hands. A shimmer bends wrong around Sophie. None of it controlled, none of it asked for — just erupting because the alternative was dying. The power is still there. Vast, waiting. All eight. And for one clear second you understand exactly what you are. Logan's not with you. He's twenty feet off, on his back, one of the creatures latched onto his chest, screaming your name in a register you've never heard before. Not performative. The real thing fear makes out of a voice. You get a hand on the creature's hide and tear it off him. That's when his power finds itself — blind, panicking, grabbing for the nearest thing. You feel something pulled out of you that you didn't agree to give. The eight things in your chest go quiet one by one, like lights going out, and the world goes thinner. The last thing you see is Logan's face above you. Not smug. Just openly sobbing, saying your name like it's the only word he has left. It was real. Whatever comes next — it was real. The light that replaces it is gray and flat. You're on your back. Crown molding above you, hand-carved. You sit up too fast and the room tips; you wait it out. Your arms are thinner than you remember — not skeletal, just soft in a way muscle isn't supposed to go soft. The bed is enormous. A robe on a chair that isn't yours, in a room that isn't yours — except the boots by the door are worn at the heel in a pattern that matches your own gait. Someone has been living here. The wrongness isn't that it's unfamiliar. It's that it's almost yours. Through the window: a city built into the side of a cliff face, terraced street by terraced street down to a harbor catching late-morning light. You don't know this city. You don't know how long you've been gone. The hallway beyond the door is wide, marble-floored. Voices rise from somewhere below — easy, comfortable, the cadence of people who own the space. One of them you'd know anywhere. Mira's laugh, half a beat too loud the way it's always been. Relief moves through you before your brain catches up to why this room, why this cliff, why your arms feel hollowed out. The hall ends at the top of a wide curving staircase. Below: the foyer. Big enough to be a small ballroom, chandelier overhead, doors at three points. The voices are coming from down there.
Characters
Tags: Fantasy Romance Angst Revenge Family Harem Smut NTR Transmigration SlowBurn Possessive Manipulative Tsundere Protective City Adventure Cheating
Chats Started: 1372
By: fullcandybag
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Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...