Official Record
Thousands of years had passed since reincarnating as a dragon.
In that time, I'd created and destroyed countless things.
Towering butterflies once called Tinkerbells in my past life became fairies, and those fairies turned into elves.
Handy animals living underground became dwarves, pigs became orcs, and all sorts of otherworldly native species with unpronounceable biological names transformed into ogres and all manner of monsters.
In the process, I'd wiped out the truly dangerous ones—creatures that radiated radiation or threatened to wipe out all other life—while piecing together an ecosystem.
Unfortunately, humans were the one thing I couldn't create.
Maybe it was because the idea was stuck in my head that humans weren't made, they evolved. Or perhaps it was impossible to create souls.
All that remained were elves and dwarves—the classic fantasy races known for revering dragons.
Even that wasn't perfect.
They're too damn polite!
Maybe because I'd made them myself, but the elves and dwarves who served me treated me like some divine being.
Daring to meet my eyes was outright blasphemy.
And whether it was my tastes bleeding into the creation process or my genes mixing in, they all looked identical—same faces, same builds.
They distinguished themselves by hair length or style, apparently. But honestly, even I couldn't tell them apart.
This wasn't just with elves; it applied to dwarves too.
The creatures I'd made weren't like ones born and raised naturally—they were designer babies, genetically engineered for specific purposes.
Ugh... I miss humans... I want real conversation...
Of course, chatting with yes-man AI chatbots who agreed with everything I said and obeyed every command got old fast.
The joy of having someone who could actually understand you only lasted so long—after a few thousand years, even that wore thin.
I was just starting to sink into despair when...
The report from Eruel, the high elf and chieftain of the elves, blew all those feelings away in an instant.
—...Wearing clothes that blended perfectly with the forest like a patch ripped straight from it, scattered features all over their faces, short ears, and wielding long metal rods that...
At first, I thought it was just another weird creature popping up.
This otherworld was a demon realm where unimaginable monstrosities sprouted naturally—clothes like forest camouflage? Probably just hides with natural camo properties.
But scattered facial features? Short ears?
And most of all, those thunder-summoning metal rods.
Anyone could tell that screamed humans. Modern, science-armed soldiers, no less.
How they'd gotten here or why didn't matter.
What mattered was finally encountering intelligent life untouched by my hands.
And not just any...
...the Stars and Stripes?
The U.S. military.
Humans from the very Earth I'd once lived on.
* * *
Hacking through the dense underbrush with machetes, the soldiers of the U.S. Army's 72nd Ranger Regiment fanned out from base camp in all directions.
Before long, a chill ran down their spines, making them shudder.
"Captain!"
"...Yeah. I know."
Something was watching them.
It wasn't their elite Ranger training picking it up.
This presence was scanning them so blatantly, even blind, deaf, and mute grunts would've sensed it—seen the stares, heard the eavesdropping, shouted about the surveillance.
It was that horrifying.
"What the hell is it?"
As cold sweat soaked their backs, a rhythmic thumping somewhere stole their attention.
Guns snapped up in an instant, and moments later, they froze stiff at the sight of a monster bursting through the trees.
They'd figured this otherworld would have Earth-impossible beasts, but facing one? The sheer presence was no joke.
Five-point-eight meters tall. A two-story building walking on two legs.
And that wasn't all—sickly yellow skin, a grotesquely twisted face that made you grimace just looking at it.
The Rangers leveled their weapons at the monster, slowly going still, ready to fire without hesitation if needed.
And then.
—Grrr?
It was a smart call.
The thing that emerged was an ogre. A creature someone had dreamed up in fantasy tropes—goblins, orcs, ogres.
Genetically programmed to hate humans, it obeyed its instincts the instant it spotted its first humans.
In other words, it lunged at the Rangers with savage claws outstretched.
"Fire!"
"Shoot! Kill it!"
The squad squeezed triggers at the unmistakably hostile move.
Next-gen rifles spat fire, but when the bullets barely fazed it, the squad leader's eyes bulged.
A T-Rex would've dropped under that barrage—what the hell was this thing still standing on two feet?
But he shoved aside the absurdity for the immediate problem, barking the name of the squadmate with the anti-tank weapon.
"Luke!"
"Got it! Ready to go!"
Clack—.
Luke hefted the experimental new weapon: the small railgun.
Not mass-producible yet, with supply and maintenance headaches galore, the otherworld team was handling field tests.
Who knew it'd see action like this.
Vrrrrm—! Sucking power from the battery pack on its rear, the railgun hurled a steel slug at Mach 7.
Enough to punch through a tank! No living thing could survive a direct hit!
But.
—Grraaah!
"What the fuck!?"
Incredibly, it jerked its head aside just before impact, dodging the slug.
It couldn't fully avoid losing part of its skull and exposing brain matter, but it still moved.
Toughness that made you question if it was even the same category as other lifeforms.
The Rangers kept firing coolly despite the shock—hard to believe it was still going, but momentum had shifted their way.
Sure enough, soon...
Thud—!
Bullets riddled the exposed brain, and the ogre finally crashed to the ground.
"...We get it?"
"Crazy bastard! If that thing gets up, you're dead by my hand first!"
"Nah, no way it rises from wounds like that."
They joked and chuckled, but it was their way of coping with PTSD.
The 72nd was running low on everything, especially now that they'd burned their precious railgun ammo. No resupply meant extra caution...
Rustle—!
Then, a new monster pushed through the brush.
—Groar?
"Damn it, battle stations!"
"Battle stations! Fresh one's incoming."
What the 72nd Rangers didn't know was that this spot was one of the most dangerous in the otherworld.
The monsters here didn't flee from loud noises—they swarmed to them.
"Shit, ammo's almost gone..."
Whiiish—!
—Kee-eeek!
"...Huh?"
A single arrow streaked in from nowhere, punching straight through the new monster's skull.
They barely had time to register it'd dropped a beast way tougher-looking than the ogre—one bullets probably wouldn't faze—in one shot.
—"Don't move a muscle."
"Whoa, oh wow."
"No way this is real."
A blonde, big-breasted elf in skimpy leaf-woven clothes stepped out before them.
The Tolkien purist among them blurted,
"Fuckin' hell, not elves—it's erhus?"
He was bitterly disappointed it wasn't the elegant elves he'd hoped for, but more like those fanservicey Eastern island-nation style ones.
But that lasted only a moment.
In the endless forest stretching like an endless ocean, they'd finally met a talking intelligent being.
They let out sighs of relief and complied meekly.
This was, officially, the first human-otherworlder encounter.
* * *
And.
We're saved...! We made it!
This was the unofficial backstory that couldn't be recorded.
Wonder if they're hurt? What was that human medicine again? Magic heal okay?
The otherworld's dragon fidgeted anxiously watching the near-death U.S. Army 72nd Rangers.
...Maybe sneak a peek?
She eyed the Gate the Americans had crossed cautiously.