Chapter 1 (Patreon)

I had to admit; waking up at the ass crack of dawn in a dark, moderately cold park in nothing but baggy sweats and mismatched crocs wasn’t the finest start to my day. I was immediately chilled to the bone, breath coming out in short misty bursts as I wrapped my lean arms around my shirtless torso and looked around wildly. The motion caused the ratty newspaper that had been draped over my body to flutter harmlessly to the ground. I ignored it in favor of more confusion.

“What the fuck?! Where the fuck am I?”

My voice, normally deep and quite monotonous, came out an octave or two higher as I half-stumbled off of the dew covered park bench I’d been passed out on.

“Josh? Bro, I swear to God if this is another fuckin’ prank…” I glared into the pale dimness of the park’s street lights, the coolness of fear warring with the heat of anger roiling in my gut.

Now, I wasn’t usually one for panic and indecision. For all the shittiness it brought into my life, depression included, the military did manage to ruthlessly yank out the majority of indecision and awkwardness that had plagued me for years in highschool. I did my four and a half years in the Army, got out after a suspicious shrink pegged me with both high-functioning autism and antisocial personality disorder, and proceeded to spend the rest of my twenty-something year old life being a proper hermit that occasionally got a check from Youtube for making shitty video-game review videos.

What a shitty way to prepare for being dropped in some random ass place at 6 AM. This was definitely not my two-bedroom apartment in East Harlem, and while it was cold - like, morning time during Winter cold - it wasn’t New York biting the nails brick’d. Either my roommate, Josh, decided to play a decidedly lame prank and dumped me in some random ass city with no warm clothes, or I was magically spirited away during the night like some half-assed isekai protagonist in a shitty webtoon.

I bit my lip, clenching my fists tightly to push down the rising panic. “Josh!”

No reply, other than a vaguely distant scream and a trio of gunshots. In spite of myself, I couldn’t stop a half-hysterical chuckle from escaping my lips. ‘Maybe this is Harlem after all’.

But of course it wasn’t. Now that my eyes were starting to adjust more to the darkness - and even then, the sun was slowly beginning to dip up in the distance - I could see that my surroundings were completely and utterly unfamiliar. I wasn’t someone who ventured out a lot in the slightest, being a self-proclaimed hermit and all, but even I had a grasp of modern-day New York architecture. The park I was in seemed…not exactly dead, but definitely not very well-kept. The hedges were growing prickly with dead twigs and sticks, the paved pathways were pretty battered and cracked, and the grass seemed like it needed a nice shave.

‘Fuck it,’ I grumbled internally, turning away from the rundown park and fishing through my sweatpants’ pockets. There was an empty pack of Spearmint gum - weird, because I didn’t even chew gum, a Zippo lighter, a battered pack of cigs that I carelessly tossed into the nearest trashcan, and a dirty wallet. It wasn’t the expensive Slytherin-embroidered leather wallet my ex had gotten me for Christmas, but it was something. I sat back on the bench, the cold temporarily forgotten in light of my most recent find, and I searched through the wallet. It reeked like months of ass sweat, I noticed immediately, and disgustingly enough…so did I for some reason.

“I can get a nice hot shower after I Uber back home,” I snorted, shaking the scent away and pulling out my rightful findings. A crumpled twenty dollar bill was in the main compartment, which I quickly pocketed, what looked like a State ID was hidden in one of the smaller flaps, and a purple sticky note that immediately stood out to me…mainly because it had my name at the top in very fancy letters. A sense of foreboding drying my mouth, I read on.

To one Jason Black,

You have been chosen.

I cannot offer you much, information or material-wise, but just know that I am looking forward to seeing what you can do. Many beings are watching in interest, so please do not disappoint.

The Celestial Grimoire is within you, always.

Rise to new heights, journey to places no one from your world has ever thought to go, and become something greater than yourself! One day, if you survive, we will meet face to face. I will answer any questions then.

Take care.

PS: I would be remiss to not tell you this: You are in Worm. Practice caution.

Silence, interrupted by the occasional jarring ambient noise of a city on perpetual fire, pervaded the area. The coolness of the wintry morning air was no longer numbing my skin. No, the absolute dread that poured liquid lead through all corners of my body and soul did that all on its own. It felt as if the rug, the floorboards, and the whole fucking house was swept from beneath my feet, leaving me drifting in a cold, lonely void of fear and indecision. I wish I could say that I was one of those crazy motherfuckers who actively wished to become the main character of some crazy manga or anime, venturing into dungeons or fighting supervillains or whatever the fuck, but…

The truth of the matter was that I enjoyed my sleepy, boring little life. I preferred my video games on my 4k monitor, not staring me in the fucking face. Not to mention the fucker decided to place me in Worm of all places. Ignoring the fact that it was just a fucked world in general, I barely even knew the plot! Something, something, world ends?!

Then again, maybe it was stupid to take this at face value. My roommate knew how much of a nerd I was, and he also knew a bit about the type of shit I read. Coming up with some bullshit mystic celestial mumbo-jumbo wouldn’t be too out of character for the friendly jackass.

A trickle of warmth livened my senses. “Yeah, this is probably still some dumb joke. Josh, you weirdo, stop hiding and bring me a fucking shirt man!” I looked around again. Nothing but darkness and unfamiliarity. Maybe he was-

A little ‘ping’ pierced through both the wintery silence and my own inner ramblings, and something in my gut pulled. Hard. Like a desperate yank of a fishing pole.

Mystic Eyes of Death Perception (Tsukihime - 800 CP): All things die eventually. No matter how clever you are or what paradox you invoke to escape it, all that which is born ‘alive into this world will eventually leave it. And now, having seen such a thing up close at some point in your life, your body has internalized it in those beautiful eyes of yours. You are able to perceive ‘death’ itself on living beings and physical objects, appearing as thin red lines. When You touch or cut along these lines, the object or being in question is immediately cut deeply regardless of their durability, and attempts at healing or regeneration are greatly stunted -perhaps even made impossible for some beings, though the lines are thinner and more difficult to target the tougher a target is. 

At first, these lines are all you can perceive and influence, but after some time passes they will become clearer to your eyes and you will eventually see circular ‘points’ on their body that the lines all trace back to. Cutting or stabbing this point of death directly will immediately kill the target in question - no form of reincarnation, resurrection, or regeneration will save them from the bitter taste of death. This is what it means to kill something. With time and continued use, you may eventually be able to understand and perceive the concept of death in less tangible things, such as the spells of Magecraft or the empty space between you and an object, though the same general rules apply- and some things can only be ‘cut’, not ‘killed’, for they have no point of death.

However, perceiving how fragile the world and existence as a whole really is...that’s something no human mind can truly bear witnessing. When your eyes are active, the perception of death trains the mind and can eventually cause a human brain to suffer a fatal aneurysm from continued use, and can also damage one’s sanity as they are constantly made to understand the concept of death all around them. Even to an inhuman mind that can sustain the physical damage and the sanity-straining view of entropy, they are tiring to use in the long-term without preparation or precautions. 

Secondly, the ‘points’ of death may never appear for certain beings- beings that were never ‘born’ or are free of the concept of death entirely, such as a True Ancestor at the peak of their power during the night of a full moon - you would have to remove the source of their immortality or introduce them to the possibility of mortality in a different way, which is beyond the scope of using these alone. The strain also increases the longer you perceive the death of things beyond living beings or physical objects, which can do great damage to your mind if you’re unprepared for it.

The metaphorical fishing line snapped like a taut tendon, releasing the broken ability back into the sea.

I couldn't even mourn its loss, however. Those feelings, that soul-deep cognizance of the Celestial Grimoire and its offered ability, was irrefutable proof of my circumstances. I was in Brockton fuckin' Bay.

My lips, chapped from the briskness of the air, began to twitch. A crooked grin, looking decidedly out of place on my otherwise ashen and horrified face, forced the dryness of my lips to crack from the sudden movement. I barely tasted the small amount of coppery blood, too busy staring out into nothingness.

A hollow chuckle erupted from my throat. “Hah!”

“Hehehe…what the fuck…”

“HAHAHAHA!”

A scant few minutes later, when a homeless old man wandered into the rundown part of the park where the choked cackling originated from, he would see a shirtless black teenager in dirty pants collapsed backwards on a moldy wooden bench, holding his stomach and giggling, even as tears ran in rivulets down his face.

Disturbed and cautious, the old man would slowly and stealthily leave.

I was, admittedly, embarrassed by my sudden breakdown once the panic and crying ceased.

I’d never been the type to fold or crack under pressure - rather, I tended to snark and snipe back until whatever pressed me was either sufficiently cowed or twisted to my benefit. I guess being kidnapped by some godlike being and placed in a death world - or what would eventually become one - was enough to crack even my emotionally-dulled brain. Now, though, with my tears successfully dried and my heart no longer hammering against my sternum, I was calm enough to approach things logically.

Or, as logically as I could with a significant lack of information and resources.

First thing to think about was my new identity here on Earth Bet. I’d thrown the stinky wallet away already, keeping the loot, and I stared down hard at the State ID. The name checked out, and so did the height and weight; Jason Black, 5'11", weighing a whopping 160lbs. My face, however, younger than the 25 years I remember being, stared impassively back at me from the upper left corner. I looked about the same as I did back when I was 17 - warm brown skin, high cheekbones, a brooding glare, stoic features…handsome if you found ‘resting bitch face syndrome’ attractive, I guess. I’d gotten better at smiling in my later years, but back then with my undiagnosed neurodivergency, it had honestly felt like the world and my own mind was against me - hence the lack of care in appearing normal and happy.

Medium length black dreadlocks were messily pulled out of light brown eyes, and I spotted the same silver stud piercings in my younger self's ears that I had as an adult. A quick glance downwards showed that my tattoos had transitioned over as well.

I let out a huff. "Making me seventeen again like my name's Zac Efron won't make up for the rest of this shit," I said dryly, glancing up at the peeking sunrise. If I had to guess, I would say that morning rush was just starting - so probably around 7 AM, give or take a few minutes. All I had on me was a lighter, a twenty dollar bill, my ID card, and a dirty pair of crocs. If the note was to be believed, and I sure as Hell believed it now, then I also had a potentially multiversal-level power compendium just chilling in my soul, but I wasn't sure if that was a bag I wanted to open up and delve into in the middle of a park with no shirt on.

For better or for worse, this was my life right now, and whining about the shitty end of the stick had never been my type of rodeo. Ignoring the anxiety that urged me to sit back down and curl back up beneath the fallen newspaper, I stood to my feet and briskly made my way towards the stretch of buildings I could see in the direction of the park's exit.

'First thing's first,' I narrowed my eyes, wincing inwardly as the cold made itself known again, 'Find a fuckin' hoodie. Does Earth Bet have Goodwill?'

Twenty minutes later found me scrounging around the dumpsters of some random mom and pop shop that looked like it had those creepy ass mannequins on the inside.

I couldn't really see through the barred windows, and seeing as the sign said they were closed until 9 AM, I figured they probably had something warm out back. The sun was pretty clear in the sky at this point, spilling light haphazardly across the dusky alleyway I was occupying, and my hackles were fucking raised. It wasn't like I'd forgotten that I was in Brockton Bay, and though my knowledge of the plot was faulty at best, I, at the very least, knew quite a bit about the setting itself. It was basically a shitty Gotham, with a shit-ton of superpowered and crime-committing assholes living in it, and if I didn't get a jacket and find a place to hole myself up in order to gain my bearings...well, I was probably screwed.

I could handle myself in a fist-fight, sure; against someone unarmed and around my size or smaller. Superpowers or switchblades kinda tipped the balance way out of my favor.

My hand slid across something warm, dry, and distinctively cotton-like, and I grinned triumphantly as I pulled a navy blue hoodie out of a dingy cardboard box. It seemed relatively new, there was no real scent to it outside of the slight mildew tinge, and most important of all...it was fucking warm. I immediately pulled it over my head without any further hesitation, tossing the hood up and cinching the drawstrings.

I sighed quietly, stuffing my hands in the pockets of the large hoodie and casually making my way out of the alleyway. A well-dressed elderly couple was making their way down the sidewalk when I emerged from the darkness of the alley, and I studiously ignored the way the woman jumped and the man wrapped his arm tighter around her waist. To be fair, I was pretty stinky and ragged. And homeless. Fuck.

"Yo, hold on," I called out to the two once it was clear that they were going to speed walk the rest of the way to their destination. At the dry gruffness of my voice, I swallowed harshly and took a step forward. I just needed information, honestly. Anything that could help me adjust. "Just real quick, I promise. I just wanna-"

"Ask for money?" They'd stopped, at least, but the man looked at me with very thinly veiled disgust. "You sure you wanna be doing that here of all places?" He looked me up and down, a sneer curling at his lip, and his wife pulled lightly on his arm with a quiet murmur of 'leave it be'.

"I don't need your money," I started again, my voice going cold and monotonous with the sudden burst of heated anger in my chest. It was pretty clear where the man's disrespect was stemming from. "Just some directions."

Before the man could open his mouth, his wife patted his hand and took a step forward. Not any closer to me, but just enough to not be hiding in the bigger man's bulk. Her voice was carefully polite when she spoke to me. "That's fine," she said slowly, condescendingly. "Where do you need directions to?" My frown deepened.

What did I want to know? My current situation was horrible, sure, but not straight up dire. I had no intentions or desire to go wailing to the PRT about what the icky sicky God did to me, mainly because I had no fucking clue what they would do to me. As far as I was aware, I had no Corona Pollentia. The Celestial Grimoire was something embedded much deeper than my brain, and who knew what the government of this world would do if they knew about the multiversal magics just chilling in my soul?

No, until I could learn more about this world and make decisions independent of fear and confusion, I was staying the Hell away from the PRT...or any other capes in general, to be honest. There was no conflict driving me - no innate need to fight or prove my dominance. That was good, because right now, I just needed...-

A sudden lurch in my gut interrupted my thoughts, hooking around an ability significantly smaller than the previous one, but no less useful.

Sorcery - Force of Spirit (World of Darkness: Sorcerer - 100 CP): Some people possess a raw, unbridled charisma that seems almost supernatural. With this ability, there is no “almost.” An expenditure of magical energy can briefly improve your social skills, at least for a single task.

As it wrapped around the ability, I felt this inner urging, asking me whether or not I wanted to accept it. Excitement temporarily warred with caution at the thought of suddenly obtaining magic, even one as benign as a charisma boosting spell. Questions sprouted in my head immediately - where would this magical energy come from? Would I get other more basic sorceries from the World of Darkness with this purchase, or just the one ability? Which, from what I could vaguely remember from my previous Vampire: The Masquerade sessions, was pretty fucking useful once you got knuckle-deep in it.

I couldn't think for too long, however, seeing as the woman was still looking up at me expectantly, waiting for a response.

Without another thought, I accepted the power and immediately felt it settle within my body, alongside a small pool of...something in the back of my head. Mana, perhaps? Regardless, drawing upon the ability felt intrinsic and instinctive. I flexed the mana that felt like a shallow, yet crystal clear pool, and called upon my first ever ability.

It felt like an egg yolk broke over my brow, and liquid gold coalesced around my tongue. I found myself smiling a bit more genuinely, in a way that brought attention to the youthful boyishness of my face. It felt unnatural to do so, and it was only the knowledge that it was the sorcery doing it that stopped my wariness in its tracks.

"Shelter, ma'am," I said quietly, just as the man was about to butt in aggressively at my silent staring. I tilted my head slightly to the right, scratching at my cheek and giving her a sheepish grin. Fortunately, my teeth were still white and straight, and they almost seemed to gleam as I lightly scuffed the tip of my croc against the sidewalk. "Just a place to breath and rest, and maybe eat a lil' bit too. It's been a really shitty week, after my pops kicked me out and everything. Something 'bout lay-offs and me being old enough to survive. He was drunk so I wasn't able to catch too much."

Half of that bullshit story was me just being a naturally good liar, truth be told, but the other half was definitely little nudges from my power, hinting at ways to mess around with the old woman's heartstrings and come off as more affable and honest. Supernatural charisma was apparently no fucking joke. I wasn't getting much from the man, though, so I figured he was a bit of a lost cause.

The old lady stepped fully out of her husband's shadow, concern now lining her fair face as she seemed to look me over a second time. Light brightened her previously cool eyes, and she easily ignored the dirt and grime of my appearance as she grabbed both of my hands in her own. "Oh, you poor boy! You've been out on your own for a week now? And you're so thin...Harold, he-"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard the boy." The older man gave me a disgruntled glare, and my cheek twitched in anger. Boy sounded awfully less nice coming out of his mouth. "What, so you wanna know where the soup kitchen is, kid?" He snorted, crossing his arms over his barrel-like chest.

"Good luck. Those lines are always long and crazy. Winter's not a good time to be out on the streets."

I shrugged my shoulders, glancing down at the mousy woman still gripping my hands. She didn't seem very intent on letting them go, still giving her husband the puppy dog eyes.

"I can handle a bit of crazy. If you could point me in the right direction, though, that would be nice." Her gaze returned to mine, and I had a feeling that I could probably push a little bit more. My sheepish grin returned. "I don't got much, but I could pay you for the address-"

"No." The woman immediately shushed me, letting go of my hands and reaching into her purse. Her face was stormy and defiant as she glared back at 'Harold' and stopped him from speaking with one steely look. She quickly extracted five crisp ten dollar bills and placed them firmly in my hand, alongside a used receipt that she messily scribbled something on the back of. "The soup kitchens are packed, but you might have better luck at the shelter. It's quite a walk from here, but I have Bible study with one of the owners, Maxine - I'll give her a call and let her know to be expecting you."

I blinked, a warm feeling pooling in my chest at the sudden kindness. I knew that it was purely due to the sudden arrival of my sorcery, improving my persuasiveness and charisma, but it still felt nice to be fussed over by a nice older lady. The appreciative smile that lit up my face was much more genuine than the last. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this helps," I said 'breathlessly', pocketing both the money and the receipt.

"Don't thank me, sweetie; you seem like a good kid. Just try to get off the streets and live a decent life," she responded kindly, patting me on the chest. Before I could go to respond, her husband finally seemed to have had enough and reached forward to firmly wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"That's enough, Clara! We've got reservations and we're already running late." He groused, physically guiding the much smaller lady away. I spied a cheeky smile on her lips before her back was to me, though.

Before she could be pulled out of immediate earshot, I quickly called out, "It was nice meeting you, Ms. Clara. I'll pay you back!"

She didn't respond, but it's not like I'd expected her to. I simply watched them walk away down the sidewalk, heading deeper into the hustle and bustle of morning-time Brockton Bay. Force of Spirit was still active, though I felt like turning it off was as simple as turning it on - simply willing it to happen. I had no idea how long it stayed active for, but that was resolved by just counting down the seconds on my way to...

I fished the receipt out of my pocket.

"Walk By Faith...? Sounds kinda kooky," I sighed, reading back over the address. Religiousness aside, I didn't recognize the street name or the zip code, but I did note the 'Downtown' portion written at the top - and, considering the fancy buildings and storefronts around me, I was pretty sure I was already Downtown. Simply walking the streets and checking the street-signs would hopefully be enough to find my way to my destination.

And, once I was finally there? Well...I would get to that when I got to it. I'd always been more of a 'figure it out on my feet' kind of guy. For now, just having a relatively safe place to sit, go over things, and stay relatively warm and clean was enough for me. I'd never had to deal with homelessness before, and that unfortunately meant that I was ill-equipped to handle it gracefully.

I also felt like I was forgetting some very important things about Brockton Bay - and Downtown in particular. It was disconcerting. Maybe a few hours of soul searching would help jog my - admittedly - shit memories of Worm.

Still, fifty dollars richer and with an actual goal in mind, I was feeling somewhat confident and tentatively eager to see what abilities the Celestial Grimoire had in store for me next.

Pocketing the receipt once again, I squared my shoulders and headed the opposite direction that the old couple went.

Perks Received:

Sorcery - Force of Spirit (World of Darkness: Sorcerer - 100 CP): Some people possess a raw, unbridled charisma that seems almost supernatural. With this ability, there is no “almost.” An expenditure of magical energy can briefly improve your social skills, at least for a single task.