<- Go back to Fiction WorksA young man observed several dogs outside his window. "What are they doing?" he said, his voice a little quiet as he was in the middle of thought.
His name was Junjirou. His feet a little colder than usual, he covered them with his thickest socks, making sure that not a single part of it had holes or broken threads or anything like that. He walked outside into the night, looking around and noticing several turns in the road, the same ones he knew all his time here, since he moved here. He could still see the bright sun that came in the morning and especially in the afternoon, but it was night now. And the orange light was dim, though intense enough to keep him alert. The shadows in the distance barely held any power over him, but at one point in the past, he did see figures.
Now, the dogs that he had come out for were jogging around in a group. It felt like a military presence had been established, and this neighborhood was soon falling under occupation.
His older brother came out, his form quiet, but with a sharp and distinct edge that popped up immediately at the edge of Junjirou's peripheral vision. "How're you?" Junjirou said, comforted by his presence. It was often around this time that he expected his brother, and his brother went out here to get some fresh air. But more than that, he came out here to smoke.
Meanwhile, Junjirou recalled again the changes made to the front of his house and to the garage, even as he stared at the palm tree foliage above him. While it cast a shadow, it was barely anything, since it was the only one here around this specific spot. Only further down in either direction could one see the set of trees flanking the road.
Anyway, he registered the loud music playing from their neighbor's house. He was taking mushrooms or something he was told. But that was a feature of their life now.
He had never really reflected upon his life until now, but this was who he was now, even if his past said so much more.
A portal opened up in front of him. He raised his brow,
Before they could reach, it swallowed them both up: Junjirou and Malkov.
Elsewhere, in another part of their region, his cousin got swallowed up as well.
By the time their cousin’s fate was sealed, the two had been dropped on a strange verdant forest. It was a mountainous area, and there were countless trees, with vegetation congesting the ground. It was suffocating.
But strangely, the air was full, even more oxygen than that aforementioned palm tree could ever give.
He looked and noticed the wet ground, feeling the smudgy mud under his feet. He was wearing a shift and shorts, but his older brother was too. This was good, but they needed to think fast.
Malkov was quick on the uptake, telling his brother: "There's no way to confirm what happened. Let's go. Keep moving. We can't stop here. We have no one who knows us or is looking for us. Let's find shelter fast. If we get soaked, that's a one way ticket to sickness."
Upon climbing a hillside, Junjirou felt his eyes zoom out, as he took in the landscape. Malkov was moving quicker, already stepping in front of him. Even if he might be called a shirker by some, he actually had convictions. This was the perfect opportunity to show what he had long been capable of.
Junjirou watched his brother almost trip, but he looked behind him, gulping. Whatever was here in this forest would probably kill them both.
But that was not what Malkov was worried about. He was more alarmed about hunger, thirst, and, the worst of all, disease. He reminded Junjirou of these as they marched about across the rough landscape.
Junjirou was quick to nod. "Yeah..." They knew well what happened to people dumped on a place like Africa. Malaria and all manner of death was likely. Fewer than half surviving. That was common. If Malkov died and Junjirou survived, what would he do?
Malkov kept him alert instead of drowning in his thoughts. Junjirou had been awake longer than he had, and Junjirou tended toward just letting the moment dictate things for him. But Malkov often tended toward external expression, being a lot more affronting possibly.
Nevertheless, they were going to survive this.
Motivation imbued them with enough energy to pass the first of 10 stretches, but they were ignorant of this progress. They only hoped that all of this eventually made sense, because they were at best savages waiting to prey on their next meal, the source of which could not be secured unless they could establish a thread to civilization. Nature was a brutal motherfucker, just as much as it was the Mother of all things.
During the journey, Junjirou passed through several different threads of thought, happening upon a series of concerns:
What’s the most important thing to me right now, if I died right here right now?
I’m not entirely sure if we can cope with the rain at this point.
One drop, and he might just end up falling away. It would get cold, he knew.
Malkov, on the other hand, kept to the principles that he bulldozed into his head throughout the years, having grown exhausted with hesitation and with a life lived in “buts.” This was his domain, but he was not an intellectual, structural, or idealistic person. He preferred to get dry and dirty, and that was all he demanded from himself—the capacity to stick his hands inside the mud and take out the rudimentary things he needed, whether it be food or water, whatever floated his boat. He lived in the physical and natural world, where the dirt had a pungent smell.
The specter of ambition was looming over them, as, some kilometers away, three emerging wizards floating in the quiet coming rain got a glimpse of a flash in the distance. It was a magical one that indicated the presence of the two interlopers—indeed, it was Malkov and Junjirou. Their presence was now registered, and a record of enforcement actions against trespassers was beginning to buzz.
Malkov lacked info on the purpose of their approach, whether it was friendly or malicious, so he entrusted Junjirou with running toward the nearest city or village if they ever got split up and could not find their way back. This was procedure to him.
The jungle retained its complex web of connections and, as if drafting plans, opened up space and “catch-alls” for the soothing, brisk rain, as the two began jogging away underneath its shiny canopies. The cloudy gray atmosphere was degrading vision and the spark of life, because this was not a process seen from behind a glass window, but a massacre happening in the now.
Just about ten seconds later, the wizards already loomed directly above, watching them closely from a distance they could not simply hit with a projectile, like a rock.
The quiet winds started adrift, but quickened their pace and placed their hands against the mast of the jungle, circulating wind like floodwaters in a great flood, as if embracing the whole earth.
The screams of the trees joined hands with the swiftness of the air, soon developing into raging foliage rustles.
The two men in the face of the increasing size of the shadows of the wizards contemplated their previous and next steps, coalescing toward a resolution.
The night collapsed upon them before they could reach a village.
An explosion of light entered the world, and it came from the darkness of nothingness, dashing toward their targets—the two men.
The sky looked like day for a moment in the perspective of the two. The perpetrators—the flying spell-casting wizards—were only starting their barrage. A blast of wind, fire, and light culminated forth, striking the leaves and trees, but dying before a wildfire of any sort could ignite.
“No!” exclaimed Junjirou, his voice weak and starting to lose faith in his bodily mechanics. It was like he was born in a world full of sorrow, and this was his baptism.
Malkov started to see double, as the darkness occluded clarity and hope. He deepened his attachments to the dirt and bark, even as he lost his primary form of interaction—sight.
Junjirou followed like a pet duck in a human crowd. It was nigh time for death, he imagined.
The morning was an impossibility.
The heroic fervor of the casting angels of wizardry poured forth their harmful incantations, continuing the assault.
The light closed one last time.
Malkov emerged, with Junjirou emerging closely behind. The night swallowed them enough that the wizards were struggling to piece together an available pathway for their attacks. Each attack was thudding helplessly against the ferocious defense of the foliage and trees. A closer inspection was too dangerous for them, which was why they wondered how nothing had occurred yet to the two. It was as if the jungle was empty, and they were the only two bearers of flesh.
They hid, entering a safe zone.
The wizards saw them, but declined any more engagement, wishing only to recover and replenish their mana bars.
The morning eventually rose, and Junjirou was a wreck of a man, seeing the swallowing dirt appearing to come up to him, only to realize that he was indeed in a foreign, alien place, where nothing but the dirt spoke in tongues to him.
Malkov was measured, but disgruntled, his eyes forever fox-like, his soul forever embedded into the landscape, like a pig with its feed. This was naturalistic assimilation.
“Where... what, huh, what I am doing here? Do you know where we are...”
Malkov knew Junjirou was still grappling with the previous events, and he gave him enough time to let it all out, because he, too, could not say a word about any of it. Magic never had a real face. Seeing the magical light for the first time literally made him go temporarily blind, and it also made him lose touch with the separation between fact and fiction. This was enough to slap him toward the grasses, by which he felt only enthralled.
Junjirou stopped abruptly, hearing things and his thoughts.
I can’t think straight. Why am I doing this? Why is this... Argh! No! Huh! This is fucked!
“What was it?” Malkov said. “What did they use?”
Junjirou’s eyes widened, seeing a giant in those words. Malkov was implying that this was supposed to be normal now, as if this was part of assigned readings for tomorrow’s class. But he wasn’t in class right now. He was in some kind of hell.
His throat was biting itself all over, as if bleeding from dehydration.
His arms were feeble, and his hands were unable to grip as hard as they should. It was like being impaled throughout his nervous system—an image that he could not comprehend but made sense in the experience that now was increasingly defining him. His aversion to it only reinforced the physicality of bodily degeneration.
Heat, cold, humidity, and infections were starting to appear first as dismissible hints, but they were now grabbing the two by the necks. Starvation, drop in blood sugar levels, and dehydration were peeking out from behind the slightly opened door and smiling ominously.
Like being lashed in the back, Junjirou endured standing up and walking.
Malkov was similarly incapacitated, currently unfit for combat, but with enough resources, he could refit himself with that privilege. He flung himself up and forward, like he was tossing darts at a dartboard.
He saw the proposed steps on the plain jungle ground, and all were vying for his attention. His nausea made stepping difficult, as he could not even discriminate between steps and gradations on the terrain.
Puking, Junjirou collapsed, being sickly. He saw the light steadily approaching.
The light was a wizard.
It was one of the three.
“How do you do? I have food. Want some?”
The two stared at each other before looking back at the giving stranger.
Okay was their response—a helpless compromise in the face of oncoming headlights.
The Wizard opened up space in the jungle by blasting all of the obstructing plants away and then having all three of them sit down on the ground.
“Well, what a nice day. I talk lengthily, so listen closely. Acknowledge my words and don’t just give me a curt yes. Respond and quietly dismantle your pride. Whatever you do now will decide your life.” The voice was not ethereal or sagely, but “imminent” and urgent.
With the nods of the two, the Wizard smiled. “Then, I’ll start.
“What you do now, especially now, is important. I want you to hand over your decisions for life, which means I get full control of your bodies and your cadavers if you do die. I want to see how well you adapt, so take seriously this request. I want you to eat this, because we are leaving.” He magically produced from thin air plates with food on them, straining by stretching himself forward just to hand them over. “I need you to be there and stand in front of a person that I need protected. Your bodies and lives will be shortly spent if an attack occurs, but at the very least, you die there than here in this wasteland.”
“Why?” Malkov said, as if begging. He was replenishing his hunger bar, as did Junjirou. The voracity in their feast combined with their mixed expressions throughout it said enough. ”Why would you help? And take this time?”
The Wizard clasped the air, and in that same clasping right hand, a wand was magically produced, already held. “I need expendables, and you guys have timely arrived. Don’t know how you guys got here in this situation. Don’t care. Just do as I say, and I can move on with my life. You guys too, if the attack is foreclosed.”
Junjirou thought he found a window to include himself: “Foreclosed? You mean ‘stopped’?”
Ignoring the question, the Wizard stood up, moving away excitedly. “Okay, let’s go.” The two had attached themselves to him, like sheep behind their shepherd. The plates they carried were leftover food for the journey. Realizing this, the Wizard magically stored the plates. “And you can eat those later.
“I am ‘mathmaster102’ by the way.”
Junjirou and Malkov eyed each other.
Wait a minute, Junjirou managed to think. Is this guy... Are we in a fake world? A simulation or something? What?
After they arrived in a deforested area, where all kinds of megafauna roamed, grazing on both flanks of the path they traversed, emerging from the ground were all kinds of men and women who wore rainbow textiles.
Mathmaster102 slammed Junjirou against the wall. “Do you have any idea what you’re here for? Listen up!”
Junjirou stared.