The King of Desires

Chapter 1: A funeral

The gloomy smoke from the burning incense sticks covered the funeral hall like a thick thundercloud. Within the thickness of the thundercloud made of incense smoke, grieving cries were the rumbling of thunder and salty drops of tears were the boiling rain.

That female to male ratio, FY unconsciously craned his head around and surveyed the endless waves of people before him, absolutely dumbfounded, Brother, you really…

The funeral hall was tightly packed with endless rows of grieving people. Blinking his eyes, FY could see that the amount of female to male ratio in the attendance was a stark difference, which spoke of his best friend’s character, a known womanizer. Though FY has been to another womanizer’s funeral in the past, an acquaintance of his, FY almost mistook it for a male-only funeral, if only the phrase a-male-only funeral actually made sense to people. A person, who lives his life chasing after many women, had no woman crying for him in death, that is the fate of a womanizer, FY has once thought.

The anguished black was the predominant color among the sea of people in attendance. However, that was not all there for FY to see. There was the combination of a black blazer and a white shirt with black skirt composed the uniform of Yersin Junior College. There was also the white of traditional Vietnamese ao dai, vests, one-piece with jacket and more, so many that it was shocking for FY.

Brother, they are like… high school girls. You are insane. FY could only shake his head. There were a dozen of girls that looked like they belonged to the same university presently in stylish black attires, sobbing and crying within each other’s arms.

How could this happen to him? He is such a nice person,

FY listened to the girls and sank into deep thought.

Nice? Fearless is anything but nice. You people seriously need some eyedrops to clean your eyes or start wearing glass. A nice person would not date multiple women at the same time. A nice person is anyone but Fearless. A nice person would not do something of such insanity as Fearless. A nice person would not sleep with someone’s mother for the sake of vengeance. A nice person is anyone but Fearless.

FY understood that it was just a matter of perspective but in his mind, his best friend was not a nice person. Fearless is a great friend and a loyal friend but he was not a nice person. He’s an asshole. He’s a willful and free spirit. He does not care what people think of him. He does not care about the consequences. He’s selfish and disagreeable most of the time, and for an incredibly smart person, he lives like an absolute moron more than often. Fearless is a complete stupid asshole.

FY earnestly bent his back every time a person paid respect to Fearless in the place of his Fearless’ family according to the old tradition. Each funeral attendee would bow thrice and lit one incense stick to paying their respect to the deceased and FY would return their bows with the exact amount. Some cultist of Fearless would go as far as kowtowing to Fearless’ coffin, FY would mirror their form, kowtowing to them as well as the old tradition dictated.

Fearless’ father was not present. He was hospitalized since yesterday noon when he received the grave news of his son’s death. He was the only blood-related family member that Fearless has left. FY has visited old man yesterday but the unfortunate man was in a coma since as if refusing to accept the hideous truth.

FY did not know how the old man would live the rest of his days, alone without his wife and his son. FY silently swore an oath to himself that he would take care of the old man in the place of his best friend.

There was that famous actress stood among the attendances, covering half of her tearful face with a dark hankie, her makeup a mess. Her shoulders quivered uncontrollably as grief tore her like a ravenous beast. Behind her stood that familiar ESPORT newscaster whose face awash with tears. Her red swollen eyes affixed to the coffin, her legs shaken like a newborn fawn. She had to rely on her friends to stand. There were the many ex-girlfriends and many currents ongoing and off-going girlfriends of Fearless standing among the attendances. FY did not think they would attend this funeral, but they did, with no exception, their eyes swollen red and filled with tears. Among the weeping crowd, FY saw the city widow club with their entire membership in the attendance, crying grievously.

Phúc, Phúc, Phúc,

Now I think about it. That was your real name. Of course, you didn’t use your nickname when courting with them. I have been calling you by your nickname that I almost forgot your real name.

Not all the mourners were lovers of Fearless. His friends, his bunch of strange cultists, and fans were also among the attendees, appeared even more heartbroken than Fearless’ lovers were. They sobbed harder and cried harder. They brought bottles of brandy and spirits with them to the funeral hall and laid them at the side of the transparent coffin. Knowing Fearless’ serious alcoholism issues, perhaps they were worried about Fearless would have no booze to accompany him in the land of the dead. Some brought large posters of Fearless covered in wreaths with them and laid them at the side of his coffin.

His thought and attention was drifting all over the place, like clouds of smoke. FY stared into the portrait of his best friend behind the wispy smoke of lit incense sticks, the space packed with mourners.

Fearless’ corpse peacefully laid inside a reinforced glass coffin, his hands clutching at his chest and a familiar serviceable smile spreading on his lips. Even in death, he was still smiling. That smile on the other side of the coffin, pale as wax and cold as ice, an unanimated smile, a rigid smile, but it did little to diminish that princely beauty of Fearless. Once, that smile was an incarnation of passion, a host of a million suns. Once, it was an icon, a small waving flag braving amidst the darkest storms. It was the same smile when they were losing badly at that year Final. It was the same smile when Fearless told FY, We will be back. Next year, it will be their turn to cry. So, it’s okay. It’s okay. We will be back. Once, this smile brought joys and hope, but no longer.

Fearless had a princely face, a chiseled jawline on a feline face, a sight to be sighing over. His sharp wolf-like eyes, dark as a moonless night, yet bright and brimmed with energy, they forever closed and never opened ever again. Laying next to Fearless’ unanimated form, adornments of many colors from the white of roses and lilies, the scarlet of carnations, the vibrant red of tulips and poppies, the pink and purple of gladioli, all soaked in salty hot dews of the grievers arranged to accompany Fearless to the land of beyond. The usual sight of Fearless’ light tanned skin, now, has turned pallid white, contrasting with the vibrant colors of the adornments brought an unknown pain to FY’s heart.

FY suddenly remembered that one time he asked Fearless, Why not become an actor, or a model and instead of a pro-gamer? Fearless just laughed and questioned FY if he had a chance at hitting the reset button for his life, would he still become a pro-gamer?

Of course, FY replied, Yes.

Fearless just chuckled, casually shrugging his shoulders, That’s also my answer.

Everyone in present was mourning and weeping for Fearless’ premature death. Misery, Fantasy, and Merleon, too could not hold back their tears, sobbed quietly as they stood next to FY. They stood in a line, handling the incense sticks to the mourners. Misery sobbed the hardest, his face was a mess of snots and tears. Fantasy constantly used the sleeves of his white funeral cloth to dry his tears. Fantasy did that for so many time that the threads of his sleeves became unraveled like he has been wearing the suit for decades. Merleon, a giant stoic man that he was, stood a shoulder above everyone was quivering weakly as he lightened the incense sticks and delivered them to mourners.

Their best friend just died, of course, they would cry. However, not FY, he was still in the state of shock, not really understand or accept the fact. Not yet, FY knew that. He really did not believe it. Yesterday morning, the two of them was planning for a fishing trip at the weekend. And now, one of them laid in a coffin while the other attended to his funeral.

Who on Earth would actually die on April Fool? You goddamn moron! FY could not help but curse Fearless inwardly. It didn’t seem real to FY. FY thought that the disagreeable bastard would suddenly rise from his transparent coffin with a bang and tell everyone at the funeral that this was all but an April Fool prank in any second. But no matter how long FY waited, that did not come true.

You damn moron!

A sharp voice raised among the crowd interrupted FY’s thought. Startled, he reflexively turned at the source. It was Alice. She was Fearless’ on again and off again lover for as long as FY could remember. Their relationship could only be described as truly complicated and rocky for the last eight years.

Alice’s long, dark hair was tied into a ponytail. She wore a mourning black vest over white shirt, standing in front of Fearless’ mourning post. I have told you that this day would come. I have told you to quit it. This is Karma. You deserve it for being too much of a playboy. You deserve this for flirting with death. I have told you repeatedly, Alice shouted and tightly clenched her fists as her entire body twisted in a swelling color of rage and contempt. Her large jaded eyes emitted an aura of fury as she stared at Fearless’ smiling portrait, but not for long. The eyes of contempt and fury soon surrendered to the waterworks. The dams in her eyes broke.

You damn moron, Alice crumbled in incensed tears, howling as her friends who stood next to her wrapped their arms around her into a tight consoling hug. FY’s wife ran over to comfort Alice.

Incense’s smoke, FY thought as his eyes began to boil. Until now, his eyes were completely parched like desert sand. His sight began to blur and the snot was coming out. Incense’s smoke, FY inwardly told himself. He had to wipe his face with the sleeves of his funeral vest. However, that did nothing to stop the waterworks. He blamed it on the incense and the smoke. His vision blurred out on Fearless’ smiling portrait.

Fearless, you are such an asshole. Do you know that?

FY fought to hold back his tears for the length of the funeral no matter how futile his effort may appear. He did not know why he would bother trying when nobody did.

FY did not know when he has lost his own spine, probably after the number of mourners paying tribute to Fearless hit triple digits, but he did not care. FY did not remember how many time has he bent his back since the ceremony started but he was determined to keep doing it until the end. His wife and brothers asked to switch place with him, but FY refused to listen. He told them to keep doing their jobs and he would do his until the ceremony was over. He was the closest to Fearless, closer than they ever were. This was his job, his responsibility. He was not going to give it to anyone else.

Being unreasonable and selfish is supposed to be your role, not mine…

FY cursed himself for acting like that. His wife, Misery, Fantasy, Merleon, and Alice was just as much a family member of Fearless as him. Yet, FY could not let them filling his role. His nails sank into the inner side of his palms for the whole time, refusing to let go. But, FY felt no pain. He could not feel the pain.

It was raining heavily outside, still. It has been raining nonstop since yesterday when FY received the grave news. It was as if heaven wept for the tragic death of Fearless. It rained still. The rain outside of the funeral hall was cold but the rain inside was hot.

Goodbye brother, I will miss you a lot.

Choking on the saltiness of his own tears, FY bid farewell to his best friend as his world became misty in a boiling white steam. Fearless has already died, FY has finally yielded himself to that fact when the funeral started wrapping up. He was the first to receive the news, yet he was the last to accept it.

FY hurled himself into the world of pain as his tears drowned out his memories of Fearless.

Goodbye, Fearless, goodbye.

Chapter 2:  A Princely Welcome

Dried woods cackled crisply within the red burning braziers. The red flame flickered and reflected the dancing shadows of over a hundred people on the ceiling of the dark catacomb.

A drop of sweat rolled down on Makerth’s wrinkly forehead and somehow managed to bypass his bushy gray brows and found its way into his right eye. It stung him more than he thought it would. However, Makerth refused to let it affect his concentration and interfere with his mission. He closed his right eyes shut, filled his lungs with the moldy stench of the catacomb’s air, and flooded more mana into the forbidden artifact placed on the altar.

On the altar of the Dark God placed the Eye of Magnamor, a remnant from the age of the First Divine War. The Eye of Magnamor seemed to laugh at the effort of Makerth and his 107 fellow magic casters to fill it with their mana. According to the old text, once the Eye of Magnamor was filled up with mana, it would burn like a sun. It would open a gateway to Kharigan the plane of demons, and invite one of the fifty reigning Demon Lords to the realm of mortals. However, Makerth and his magic casters had done nothing but filling the artifact with their mana for the last five hours and the accursed artifact, it showed no sign of any reaction. Makerth wished that he had more time to prepare and gathered more magic casters for this ambitious project, at least another hundred or so within the organization to complete this ritual.

It has to be today, Makerth begrudgingly gritted his teeth, realizing that this was his one and only chance or he must try to outlive even the oldest rocks on Escana to redo this ritual. This was his only chance in this lifetime. On this day, the constellation arrangement was perfect. The nine moons of spirits lined up with Escana and the sun in a perfect straight while the red moon of Kharigan, the home of Demon Lord was at the closest distance to Escana. Thus, according to Makerth’s calculation, the mana required to open the gateway to the red moon was at the minimum level. It was the perfect opportunity for Makerth to try this experiment.

According to the old legend, each one of the fifty lords of Kharigan could wipe out a country of man on their own. However, destruction was not what Makerth and his fellow magic casters had in mind, nor chaos. Their goal was to summon and dominate the Demon Lord and experiment on him or her. Of course, they would not participate in such a dangerous experiment had they have no countermeasure against the Demon Lord. The legendary sword of seal Enfermé was hidden beneath the altar, the moment the Demon Lord appeared, he/she would be stabbed by the sword and thus placed under the domination of Makerth and his fellow magic casters.

As time drifted ahead second by second, the inkling premonition that he would not succeed grew larger inside Makerth’s heart. He felt drained. His mana capacity was reaching the bottom level, his fellow magic casters, not so much different, in fact worse. They would reach their limit very soon. Makerth kept his mouth shut and wholeheartedly concentrated on supplying mana to the artifact. He wanted to see the end of his magic experiment. He wanted to study what kind of a creature that a Demon Lord was.

Demon Lords were strange beings. For millennia, nobody has ever seen a Demon Lord and yet everyone, the young and the old, the wise and the foolish, everyone seemed to know what a Demon Lord is. Demon Lords were said to be created from the corpse of the Dark God. They sided with the Titans in the First Divine War and lost that war. But, they only existed in the old texts and hearth stories, and most people only knew these Demon Lords through stories told by their elders, and these elders knew these Demon Lords from their elders as well.

Makerth wanted to see if a man could dominate a demon lord. He wanted to go down in history as one of the first of mortal to dominate a Demon Lord. After that, he would start asking the Demon Lord questions, making a discovery about their life as a Demon Lord, their demons, their home planet Kharigan and their involvement in the First Divine War, basically filling the missing links in the history of the world.

Mana left his body like a raging river in the flood season. Makerth gritted his teeth in frustration, realizing that the hour of the great eclipse was about to pass. However, the damned artifact showed no reaction at all. I’m going to fail, Makerth could smell his impending failure, Just bit more, please, just a little bit more, he refused to give up just yet.

Slowly, the alignment of the moons started to come apart and Makerth could feel it. The mana demanded the ritual enlarged. Makerth turned at his fellow magic casters. He was about to tell them that he was sorry and that this experiment was going to fail anyway.

As the feeble words were struggling to escape Makerth’s throat, a light shone through the dimly lit room. Makerth turned back at the artifact. The Eye of Magnamor has finally opened. It did not just open. It was shining in heated orange light. The Eye rapidly rearranged its structure, spinning in the air as the light came from within its core started to focus in one place. The space where the light shone started to distort and Makerth unknowingly smiled. He was about to succeed.

More mana, Makerth tightened the grip on his magic cane. He eagerly pumped more mana into the artifact while staring into the darkness of distorted space.

A scream echoed and Makerth turned. A fellow magic caster crumbled to the floor and doubled in spasms. His facial veins bulged visibly in purple and green like worms. His skin quickly turned into a bluish purple as the magic caster twitched haplessly on the ground. That poor fellow was completely drained of mana. The only way Makerth could save him was stopping the experiment, telling the rest of the magic casters to stop channeling their mana into the artifact. Then, they have to circulate their mana in an orderly manner to stop the channeling process. However, the experiment, an unknown force compelled Makerth’s sight to turn back at the distorted space.  He was so close.

Blame your bad luck and lack of mana, Makerth ignored the scream of the magic caster on the ground and refocused at the artifact. Light poured out of the artifact as it rotated in the air faster and faster, the distort space also grew larger.

We have to stop this Makerth. Makerth heard more screams behind him.

The fools, they complained without an inkling of understanding of what was going here. Can’t they see that just a little bit more… Makerth cursed inwardly, Just a little bit more, he shouted, We would be the first of mortals to ever dominate a demon lord. Makerth paid no further attention to the screaming from behind. He just wanted this experiment to succeed.

Stop this Makerth. They are dying. We are dying. We have to stop

Screw you all, I’m this close to success, Makerth gritted his teeth and continued to pump his mana into the artifact. Then, all of a sudden, Makerth was inside a world of pain. He finally realized that he has already reached his limit, completely drained of mana. Yet, the forbidden artifact did not stop spinning around. It did not stop draining mana from Makerth and his fellow magic caster. They had no mana in their body. Still, the artifact did not stop. It kept draining something, demanding something else other than their already depleted mana. It took Makerth a second to realize that it was their vitality and soul. Their own life force was being drained to compensate for the lack of mana, with their life force their souls. It is too late, Makerth could not stop the experiment even if he wanted to.

Makerth felt his knees hit against the cold and wet floor, hard. His trusty magic cane slipped out of his grip, rolling on the floor, clanking. His bony body started to twitch violently against his will by an insidious force. The experiment… That was Makerth’s final thought as he departed from the world of Escana.

The moment, when the Sun, Escana the Material Plane and all the nine planes of spirits became a perfect straight for the 14th time, a strange race began, unbeknown to the mortals of Escana.

Gods, Goddesses, and Demon Lords alike, their eyes flickered through the fabric of reality and dreams to search for a single soul. Everyone knew when that soul would appear but none knew where he would appear or how he would appear or what form he would take. Therefore, they searched desperately for that special soul with all of their divine powers, both holy and unholy, desperately searching for that soul was prophesized to upset the natural ordinance of the world.

Lust, the Beautiful Demon Lord, the Queen of the Succubi leaped from one dream to another as she commanded her legions of dream demons to advance her mission, Search for that child.

Pride, the Golden Lioness bestowed her prophecies to her followers and winged lion demons, commanding them to search for That boy. Searching was not her domain or strength, but she too was diving from one dream to another, not as fast and successful as Lust or her dream demons. But, that was her most reliable method just like the other immortals.

Sanguine, the Demon Lord of Madness tethered the millions of his spectral feelers, jumping at all the leads that he gained in a maddened blur, leaving a trail of insanity in his wake.

Niwdar, the merciful Goddess of Nature and Beauty spoke her true intention. The trees and animals of Escana answered to her command. Her most devoted followers spread her words and searched in a fervent effort.

Every immortal who has entered their name in the Great Game desperately searched for that special soul with great urgency, everyone but the God of War himself. Yet, when the moment of the great eclipse passed, only three have succeeded in locating that soul by sheer dumb luck. They would not tell the other immortals about their success for there was no merit to do that.

Quietly, they observed that soul. All three shivered when they saw him.

One of them shivered with ecstasy for that soul was the perfect lover whom she has sought for so long.

One of them was shaken to the core, for that soul was the darkest answer to the millions of questions that she has been mulling through the eons of time. He was her darkest hope.

The final one was simply fearful. Of all the reigning Demon Lords, he alone was the only one who understood the emotion of fear. The fearful one was so shaken that he decided to detonate all of his special eyes, which he left in the material plane Escana, preventing that soul from ever reaching him.

I woke up asking myself a very familiar question, Okay, where am I? I have no idea how often a person could ask himself or herself this question. However, I know that I have constantly asked myself this Okay, where am I? more than the number of time that I greet people with Good Morning. And I am the type of moron who would go around greeting people with Good morning, even if I woke up in the middle of a night when the stars were out.

As a usual routine, I started touching myself in a hurry, not sexually of course. Pants, check. Boxer, check. Shirt, check. Jacket, check. It was the kind of compulsory ritual performed to check whether I was wearing clothes or not. Some people slept with their clothes on them, some without, as for me, I truly did not care. However, for once, I was glad that I have slept with a full uniform of The Alliance on me.

I started looking around, seriously searching for a clue. A stony ceiling illuminated in an orange glow greeted my eyes. Okay, seriously, where am I? I sighed and started sitting up. For a brief moment, my hands contacted with a cold and wet substance as I was trying to rise from my bed. I was jolted wide-awake in a quick hurry.

My eyes started flickered around, a room made out of stone and a scorched hot brazier at each corner of the room. My bedding too was made of stone. It was cold, damp and stained black with old mold and dust. This is no bedding, I reflexively rose up, standing on my feet to have a better look. It was like an altar or something similar. There was even a sinister looking statue of a humanoid creature standing at the end of the altar staring at me. The creature resembled a human due to its humanoid shape, but even a moron like me could never mistake it for a human. It had a pair of wings, one bat-like leather wing, and one feather bird-like wing. It held a sword in one hand and a long spear in the other. My foggy memory seemed to recall seeing the creature from somewhere, but foggy is called foggy for a damn reason. 

Okay, seriously, where the hell am I? I started clutching my head and digging up my latest memory to find a clue. I was listening to one of my exes’ sob story at a local bar. In a tearful voice, she told me that her current boyfriend has secretly cheated on her with her best friend.

That’s the worst! I shouted and my ex nodded her head. "A man should openly admit that he was two-timing or three-timing. Secretly cheating on a woman was the worst thing a man could do to his lover," I gave her my consolation, in fact, making her cried even louder. She started flailing at me with her fists, pummeled at my chest. Sometimes, in order to get people to vent out their emotions, saying dumb things is the best option. However, I had no memory afterward, which was slightly troubling.

What is this place?

I climbed down the altar, my eyes still transfixed at the sinister looking creature, hoping to find a clue from it. In all honesty, I was not nervous. Somehow, I have developed an immunity to situations like this. After all, there is just no way that a person who kept asking himself the, Okay, seriously, where am I? question would be surprised at the fact that he has woke up in a strange place.

There was that one time where I was drinking with my teammates to celebrate our second championship victory only to find myself waking up all alone on an unknown tropical island. There was that morning where I woke up only to discover that I have been tied to a bed and surrounded by a handful of unfamiliar women equipped in S&M costumes. There was a time that I woke up only to realize that I was already in a foreign country. There was that time I woke up finding himself on a king-sized bed with a handful of unfamiliar naked men and a freaking Bengal tiger.

Though, most of the time, alcohol plays the biggest role in leading to those strange events.

It would be weirder if I did not get used to waking up in strange places, bizarre situations, and not knowing how I got there. After experienced living years with countless moments like that, even the most fretful and anxious soul would gain some level of immunity against being drugged and kidnapped, let alone waking up on a random altar without knives or gun pointing at him.

The lack of the usual head-splitting hangover after waking up troubled me. That was a sign that alcohol was not the reason why I was brought to this place. Of course, nobody has ever been brought down by a single glass of cocktail while listening to the sob story of his ex. Neither did I felt that usual lethargy and grogginess like those times that I was drugged, which alarmed me even further.

I felt completely normal, in fact, so normal and well that it was baffling as for how I arrived at this strange place. I stared and scrutinized the familiar looking statue for many minutes until I realized that the sinister statue would not give me a single clue. I then swept through the stony room with my eyes, more careful this time and stumbled on a figure lying flatly on the floor.

I immediately leaped off the altar and approached the lying figure. It was a beardy old man, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. The old man wore a gray hooded robe that reminded me of the uniform of the Greyscale Magic Research Academy, a fictional association featured in the game Reign of Chaos.

Aren’t you too old for cosplaying, old man? Hey, wake up. Man, you are wasted. I supported the sleeping geezer and tried to wake him up by lightly slapping across his cheeks. Suddenly, I was astonished by the coldness that I felt with the tips of my fingers. I almost dropped the old man to the ground. Only by sheer reflex, I caught the old man by his collar just before the old man hit the floor with his face, somehow in the final moment.

My bad, sorry, I apologized. The old man was rigid and cold as a statue. Gently, I tried to lay the geezer to the ground facing up. For a brief moment, I almost mistook the old man for a wax sculpture until I decided to touch the old man’s face again. It was cold and inelastic, but it was real skin. The old man was a real human, not a wax sculpture. Then, a premonition hit me due to the rigidness and unresponsiveness of the old geezer.

Oy, old man, wake up. Don’t scare me, I shook the unresponsive body of the old man and started training my ears. I did not hear any breathing sound or heartbeats.  My heart immediately quickened, Oy, don’t scare me, please, I placed my palm on the old man’s chest, just to confirm my understanding of the situation first. There was no movement, beating, or anything. Actually, my ears have already confirmed that. It’s just that I wanted to run from reality for a little bit longer.

It took me a full second before I could assume action. I reflexively tried to apply the chest compression on the old man despite my abysmal minimal knowledge of modern healthcare. My hands were unnaturally clumsy, gel-like, weak and flaccid. It was as if there was an invisible someone choking me, I suddenly found myself unable to breathe. My heart felt like it was violently balled up by an invisible vice.

Calm down, I took a deep breath while performing the chest compression for the old geezer, trying to calm my clattering teeth and myself. Fuck, I would like to see a bastard who can remain calm after waking up completely wasted to find a corpse lying in the same room with him. I inwardly cursed myself. Don’t die. Don’t die, I begged in a rattled voice, desperately putting more power into my weak arms while adding my weight to perform the chest compression correctly. Then, a crisp cracking sound burst forth from within the geezer’s unresponsive body.

I instinctively bounced backward, separating myself from the corpse.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I realized that I must have cracked the old geezer’s ribcage, using too much strength on the chest compression. I’m really sorry… Ambulance, I have to call an ambulance, I searched for my phone within my pant pocket, there was nothing. I tapped around my leathery jacket and subsequently found my phone. I tried to unlock the phone but the damn thing did not respond to my sweaty and shaking finger. I blame it on the phone designers. I forcefully wiped my sweaty palm on my pants and tried to unlock the phone again. The stupid phone responded this time, Ambulance, I started entering the number to call an ambulance.

What was the number again? 113, 000, or 911? Damn it, which one of them was the ambulance again? Crap, was it 113 or 000 or 911? Oh, yeah, FY told me that there was a new emergency service line that provided an improved overall service, better-looking ambulances, faster response time and more handsome and fit drivers.

0118 999 881 999 119 7253, I sang that strangely catchy song that FY was singing from time to time while tapping the number on my phone. It was out of service area, Stupid phone, I cursed, resisting the urge to slam the phone at the floor, and immediately searched for an exit to get a better signal. I followed the corridor behind the corpse of the old geezer to another dimly lit room, wider, bigger, and littered with more people wearing the same uniform of the Greyscale magic lying on the ground. There must be at least a hundred of them.

I froze on the spot. My stomach boiled. My legs started rooting on the spot. Can someone explain to me what the fuck is going on? I tried to navigate through the room to find an exit. As I was walking through the room, I stumbled on something, a man, Sorry, I sprawled up and apologized with my clapping hands. For better or for worse, that unfamiliar man was looking straight at me. His eyes were agonizingly big, the size of marbles, soullessly staring straight into my eyes, perfectly reflecting the horror and suffering that he has gone through in the moment of his death. The man’s face was purple and riddled with bloated greenish veins. His mouth frothed and agape, his hands clutched at his neck. His nails left long trails of red clawing marks on his neck. Never had I hated my observation skill as I am now.

My stomach tightened and I felt something warm rose through my chest. I tried to swallow it down, whatever that something was, but I could not win against the inevitable. I could taste it at the end of my tongue, bitter like pills and sour like vinegar, that clouded, hot and smelly liquid shot out from my mouth and splashed on the cold stone floor as I doubled, retching.

I was never a fan of graphic horror or gory things. I am fine with violent things, but gory things made me horribly sick every time. This man is dead, like clearly dead, more dead than the old geezer for sure, I gathered my thought, No shit Sherlock, the voice of logical reasoning inside me cursed, Don’t state the obvious. My thought became a mess.

The rest, those cosplayers on the ground are probably not in a better spot, either dead or super dead as well. The moment that thought hit me, I ran. I ran as if I have never truly run before in my entire life, like that time when one of my more crazy exes decided to break up with me with a motored chainsaw on her hands or that one time when that wife beater asshole chased after me with a machete in his hand just because his wife ditched him for me.

I ran, almost slipped and stumbled by the damp floor. I ran through that corpses littered room to another dimly lit corridor to another room and yet another corridor. I kept running and running, following my instincts rather than reason. Fuck reason, my hands kept redialing the new emergency service line and my damn phone kept telling me Out of the service area.

I truly did not know what happened yesterday but I knew I was already a foot inside a bottomless cesspool. I ran through a series of dark rooms and claustrophobic corridors, turning left and right randomly as I ran. Finally, I saw natural light, a light that was not the flickering glow of burning charcoal in the lit braziers and torches.

I ran toward that natural light through the dark corridor. A howling wind blew, bringing a welcoming fresh air to my nose as I ran. I was sick of that nauseous moldy smell. I was truly sick of seeing corpses. I told myself that I would call an ambulance and then police to deal with this crappy situation. And after that, I would call Alice, asking if she would allow me to come to her place for the night. I would not want to be alone after experiencing something like this.

What the… I stood at the end of the corridor, stunned and speechless. I was up high, probably forties to thirties meters above the ground, standing on a moldy and grassy stone deck. A green forest before my eyes spread toward the horizontal and a long mountain range to my right.

I stared into my phone, still, no signal, damn you phone. I started to wonder if I were already in a foreign country and checked the GPS.

NO SIGNAL, fuck you. You cannot possibly tell me that I am on the Moon right now. What the fuck do you mean by NO SIGNAL? Uselessly, I started cursing my phone. This situation reminded me of that time I woke up on that inhabited tropical island all alone. I had to stay on that island for two full days with no food or water until my friends came for me. However, that time, there was no corpse or CORPSES.

I clutched my head, could not connect the dots between drinking a glass of cocktail with my ex to wake up in a strange place full of corpses. This makes no sense.

It was not like she was one of my many crazy exes, she was like... normal? Normal?

I started redefining the definition of Normal inside my head while walking around the deck to explore. I walked and reached the edge of the deck to find a long stair formed by hundreds of huge stones stacked on each other steeply, each stone was the size of a grown man. This structure immediately made me thought of a pyramid until my eyes rolled on the two rows of weathered statues standing on both sides of the stairs, which immediately gave me a conclusive answer. This structure was indeed a pyramid, a pyramid, and a tomb.

It should not be. Did people decide to make a ROC theme park or something? This giant structure could not be found on Earth. It was not a Mesoamerican pyramid and definitely not one of the Egyptian pyramids. The two rows of statues, angelic women on the left and devil-like monsters on the right, they were the conclusive evidence for me to identify this pyramid structure. This place was the Tomb of the Dark God Naharis, a famous landmark of the Northern continent inside the game Reign of Chaos.

However, that made no sense. That made zero sense. Drinking a glass of cocktail should not bring someone to a different world. I started feeling the magic coins spinning and folding within my palm. This makes no sense. This has to be one of Fantasy’s pranks. Fantasy, if you don’t come out right now, I AM going kick your sorry ass. I shouted while knowing that this was neither a dream nor a prank. I’m going mad.

There were three trains of thought running inside my head in three different directions, the This is a prank train, This is a dream train and finally the This is the reality train. While the first two trains had a break and thus can slow down, there was no break to the This is the reality train.

I have touched that old geezer’s corpse. It was cold and rigid, extremely realistic, that was no dream. The disgusting sourness and bitterness aftertaste of stomach acid inside my mouth, too, could not be a byproduct of a dream. This is real.

If someone pointed a gun at my face and told me to describe my current situation as concisely as possible, Fuck is the magical word and the only answer that I would give.

FUCK, I uttered the magical word. I would call the word Fuck a magical word because the moment I uttered such word in the face of the person who pointed a gun at my face, he would blow my brain off, and I really wished for something like that to happen to me now. The word FUCK is a magical word because I would get my brain blown off as I have wished and the person who pulled the trigger would not have to live the rest of his life in the terror of being revenge by me. That’s a win-win scenario.

I am inside the world of Reign of Chaos, the same game that brought me to stardom, the same game that changed my life once. This time, it changed my life again, forever.

FUCKERS. If you wanted to transport me to another world, Bring me a Fucking Truck, I cursed whoever thought that it was funny to bring me to the world of ROC.

According to the lore of the Reign of Chaos, the Tomb of the Dark God Naharis located in the middle of the Mangora forest of the kingdom of Zard. It was one of the many surviving ancient structures belonged to the Titans, an extinct race and ancient civilization in the lore of ROC. In the game, the Tomb of the Dark God served many purposes, a landmark, a place to hide thousands of troops and a place to perform a sacrificial ritual to summon one of the many Demon Lords.

However, what I did not know from the lore of Reign of Chaos, This could be used as a motel, perhaps? I asked myself a truly strange question the moment I decided to spend the night in this eerie place with no other option available to me.

I was already deep in my world of thought, clutching my head with one hand while playing with my magic coins and cards in the other. These magical items were the differences between having an anxiety attack and being calm. While I had no need to play with my magic coins to think, People think with their brain, not coins, I only needed them for comfort.

I quickly became anguished, realizing that no matter how much I thought, it would change nothing. I stomped the ground with the sole of my shoes, spouting all kind of profanities in all manner of languages. Then came the state of denial, this could not be real, I told myself, pinching my cheek hard, yup, it’s real. The pain was real.

But surely, this must be an elaborate prank, if I search hard enough, I might see a hidden camera, I began to laugh with confidence as I searched a camera, yup, nothing, this was no prank. Finally, I sighed woefully in resignation, sitting down on the grassy stone deck and watched the copper-colored sky turned darker and darker. The golden Rolex on my left wrist told me that I have spent five hours on that stone deck, doing nothing meaningful.

Logically speaking, being transported into this world makes no logic whatsoever.

As I was exploring the four stage of enlightening in Buddhism, the world did not stop and wait for me. The sun glowed red like a giant egg yolk as it sank into the sea of trees. Twilight then came and robbed the world of its colors until the world in my eyes looked like a pencil-sketched painting of black and white.

Logically, I told myself that I had no choice but to stay in the sinister tomb for the night, at least until I found something to improve my situation. Funny, I still cling to logic despite the ill logic of my situation.

I picked a less windy room located near the tomb entrance to stay for the night. I then plucked off a burning torch hanging on a corridor wall instead of using my phone as a light source. I did not know how my stupid phone could be useful in the world of ROC. However, just by having it in my hands gave me some measure of peace. I switched it to battery saving mode and left it in my pocket.

The room I chose to stay the night was small and almost claustrophobic. There was no hint of any furniture was ever being placed inside the room. I could not tell the purpose of the room from its design. Had I seen this room through a PC screen, I would have written a lengthy complain letter to the game developers for being lazy with their designs.

While dusting off the cobwebbed wall to prepare my bedding, I accidentally discovered a carved picture on the wall depicted the Dark God Naharis planting the World Tree to save the Titans from the Great Flood.

It was that moment; I realized that I should not sit down in this room and being content with myself. I need clues, more clue, that should be my number one priority for the moment, I told myself.

While I was never a person of action like Alice or even Merleon, I took pride in being a stupidly adapting person. Of course, after all of those experiences when I woke up only to discover myself in a strange places and bizarre situations from time to time, I have learned an important lesson, Whenever shit happens, you have to deal with it, that’s the moral of the lesson. Though FY kept telling me, If you stopped drinking and partying, shit would not happen. And I have kept rebuking him, Shits happen regardless whether I am drunk or not.

Staying in this one room would not provide me the clue I needed. Thus, I tried to navigate my way back to that room with the Dark God Naharis’ altar, the place where I first woke up in this world.

Maybe if I were lucky, I would find a way to return to Earth immediately. Yeah right, that’s not how that kind of ‘transfer to another world’ fiction always works, I lamented and lightly tested the power of my punch against my own face while being mildly surprised at my escapism attitude. In all honesty, I would rather be transported to Mario’s world or trapped in the Dark Soul’s world than being brought into this ROC world.

I became lost more than ten times within the maze as soon as I began my exploration. As I navigated through the tomb, I discovered more pictures depicting stories about the Dark God Naharis on the walls. What I learned from the pictures was nothing new.

The Dark God Naharis in those pictures was depicted as a kind and benevolent god to the Titans and a cruel and merciless god to their enemies. Naharis would appear and give divine providence to the Titans in catastrophic events or rained down divine wrath upon their enemies. There was nothing new to learn from those pictures on the wall.

I was not aware of the layout inside of the tomb of the dark god. In the game, I only needed to order my troops to enter it and hid them with a single click of a mouse button. There was no option for the players to go inside and explore the layout of the tomb. It took me about half an hour before I finally returned to that corpse-littered room with a face filled with sheer disgust.

I felt like throwing up again. I gingerly walked across the room, trying not to stumble on anything this time while chanting Buddhism mantra for salvation in my mouth for the whole time. Of course, I was praying for not for myself. My prayers were meant for all the morons wearing the uniforms of the Greyscale, who died of unknown causes, and I am not even a Buddhist devotee, I gritted my teeth and navigated through the room.

I was back to where I came from, the altar of the Dark God. Yup, it was still the same. That old geezer was as dead as ever, like SUPER DEAD, and that sinister looking statue of the Dark God Naharis still look as intimidating as ever. I began to walk around the room, hoping for something to appear. Yup, no clue.

A silver glint blinded me for a moment while I was examining the altar. I squinted my eyes out of reflex. There was something metallic hidden underneath a stone panel next to the moldy altar which irked my curiosity. I immediately decided to investigate the object. As I walked toward it, torch leading, a click sounded and something exploded. A white glimmer ripped through the inky darkness like a lightning bolt and projected a booming sound on the wall behind my back.

I was frozen in place. I did not react, heck no, I could not react to that. I held my breath, turning around. My body was already spiked with adrenaline. My heart felt like it would say Fuck this shit and have an immediate divorce with my chest at any moment. What the fuck was that? I cursed angrily. Whatever that thing was, it missed my neck by a few centimeters. Slowly, I trained my eyes on the object embedded firmly on the wall.

A metallic object stuck out of the wall. With closer observation, the object resembled a handle of a blade.

This could not be the real thing, could it? I wondered and started pulling the blade out of the wall. It stuck deeper inside the wall than I have initially thought. I grabbed the hilt of the blade and cranked it up and down. It stuck, still. I planted one foot on the wall and used my entire body strength to give it a good yank. The thing came out, a blade just like my suspicion.

It was a strange looking weapon, its blade was too short to be a sword, yet too long for a knife, about twenty centimeters in length. Enfermé, names appeared inside my head, the Sword of Seal, the Sealing Blade, the Kingslayer, the Demonbane, the Empire Feller, etc. This sword was one of the most infamous weapons in the world of ROC. My blood curled as I held the blade inside my sweating hand and examined it structure. The blade of Enfermé had a shape that resembled a lengthened and stretched arrowhead while having a strange thickness to it. Normally, the blade of a sword of Enfermé’s size would be thin, therefore allowing the point and the cutting edge of the weapon to cut or pierce into flesh with less effort, not Enfermé.

Until I used Enfermé to wedge a long and wide line on the wall, I could never realize its bizarre sharpness due to the unnatural thickness of its blade. The bulk and thickness of its blade did not suggest such cutting power. Enfermé’s cutting power was almost magical. Enfermé had no guard, just a short one-handed grip handle and a sharpened pommel. The metal that composed of this weapon formed wave pattern within itself, which reminded me of an ancient Damascus sword that I once saw during a museum visit.

It really was Enfermé or at least an extremely lookalike replica version of it. However, I leaned on the former theory. I tested the sword, using it to trace a line on the wall again with a careless flick of my wrist. The skin-crawling sharpness of the sword was out of the world. I had had a chance to test the cutting edge of a monocular-cutter knife before, but this blade, Enfermé was something else.

It is the real thing, the Sword of Seal Enfermé. If bizarreness has a form, I am looking at it.

I waved the blade around, giving it a few jabs and a few twirls as any moron would have when they got a hold on a blade with such a history as Enfermé. This weapon changed hands just as often as a person changed his clothes. Despite being originally crafted as a ceremonial dagger, Enfermé has been responsible for killing more God and Demon Lords than anything in this world. It was then I became seriously confused. Why is Enfermé in this place?

Enfermé had no business in the tomb of the dark god Naharis. It should be enshrined in the crystal vault of the sacred temple H’emyscria of the elves as a divine relic.

Why are you here? I asked while admiring the sword. Of course, Enfermé being a sword, it could not give him any reply. I didn’t even expect the sword to answer me. I merely vocalized my thought. It was something like a bad habit that I have developed over the years. And yet, there was a reply. A sound came to my sharp ears. While Enfermé has made no attempt to reply to my question. The lying geezer on the ground did. I immediately turned at the old geezer.

The old geezer as if trying to tell me something, made the same noise again.

You are alive, old man, I was so surprised that I just casually tossed Enfermé aside. The sword clanked off the floor disapprovingly. The old geezer made the same noise twice again as if affirming. It was that very moment, I felt that there was hope for humanity as a whole. I felt like I was Albert Einstein when he first discovered E = mc^2 from his theory of relativity. I felt like I was Sima Yi when he learned that Zhuge Liang has finally passed away. I felt like I was the incredibly homesick Odysseus who managed to return home after so many years. Dead people don’t make a sound.

I ran toward the old man, placing the torch in my hand on the altar. I thought about trying to support the old geezer, making him lie in a more comfortable position. Or put the old man on the altar, maybe that will give him more warmth or started a fire in this room. However, the moment I touched the old man, the geezer was dreadfully cold and rigid, so rigid that I could not even bend the old man’s body over to carry him. I checked the old man’s chest again, no beat.

"Can you not toy with my expectation like that? I was so happy that I thought I’m finally not alone anymore," I let loose of my suppressed anger, stomping on the cold floor as I began to tear up.

It was then the old geezer farted again.

Fuck you. How can a person be so rude? I cursed. Today, I have learned something new. Dead people can make noises. They can burp and they can definitely fart.

Again, the geezer farted.

I’m not talking to you anymore. Fuck you, I swore at the old geezer and stomped out of the room in frustration. And the geezer farted boomingly without any sense of modesty as if triumphed.

I ignored the farting corpse and started gathering my thought. I could have never expected to be beaten down in a verbal argument as soon as I have arrived at the world of ROC, worse by a corpse. I took great pride in my ability to stay positive in the worst hours. But, even so, there is a limit to how much positive a person can be. After all, being positive in the face of utter defeat is what people call delusional.

This is not the worst experience I have ever had, I told myself. To fight a negative thought, a person can always dwell on a positive memory or cling to the worst kind of memories. The worst experience I had was not even that dark memory when The Alliance got swept in the final by an underdog team. It was not even the time when my sex tapes with an up and rising gravure idol were leaked to public media. Or that time, or that time…

I sat down and thought of the worst experiences that I had ever had. That one time where I woke up butt naked on a king-sized bed with a handful of naked men and a freaking Bengal tiger was easily among one of my worst experiences.

The fact, I called it one of my worst experiences did not even come from the fact that when I woke up, I was holding a tiny shriveled penis of that one dude in my hand. It was those logical questions that kept popping up inside my head at that time.

A question like Did I …? made me immediately touched my own magnum to check for the evidence that I wholeheartedly wished do not exist. It did not, great, I was beside myself with sheer exaltation for three seconds. The followed-up question Did they …? completely terrified me. I checked my ass, groping my own ass but I had no idea how to examine for the evidence this time nor did I wish to continue checking. I had no knowledge of how that stuff even worked. Therefore, ignorance is bliss, some stones should be left unturned.

Then, before I could even calm myself, I saw that Bengal tiger was also on the bed. The natural reaction of any person who saw that Bengal tiger sleeping on the same bed as him would be dismissing that tiger as a stuff toy. I, too, dismissed that Bengal Tiger as an extremely realistic stuff toy even though my ears could pick up its breathing sound. Its