Chapter 1
Two Alcoholics
The tanked song resounded through the ruined street as the man's slurred voice maintained its melody. With a vacant glass bottle influencing in his grasp, he staggered capriciously, reflecting the vulnerability in his tune.
"♪I'm going from here to there♪" he belted out, his strides as uncertain as his objective. As he moved toward a water puddle, his shaky walk continued, "♪I don't be aware with respect to where I'm going♪"
Unfazed, he kept on singing with energy, moving nearer to the water's edge. In any case, his equilibrium double-crossed him, and he went toward the side of the road, yet phenomenally figured out how to remain on his feet. "♪I'm going from here to there♪" he sang on.
As his foot ready to contact the watery surface, his dependability vacillated again, and he tumbled sideways, arriving on his back, yet supernaturally keeping the glass bottle in salvageable shape.
Noticing the container's solid state, he wove it into his ad libbed melody, "♪Oh my, I've slipped♪" he admitted, gazing toward the sky and singing the following line, "♪What have you done?♪" It appeared like he looked for a response from the god, scrutinizing the situation that unfurled.
As though because of his request, a brilliant light emerged in obscurity breadth of the sky, looking like a response from the heavenly. Meeting into a solitary splendid point straight over the man, it plummeted with reason, dropping upon him.
As the brilliant bar connected with the man's body, an extreme shock flowed through him, making wisps of smoke surge out. His hair remained on end, changing into upstanding spikes. It before long became clear that this ethereal enlightenment was not a simple light yet a heavenly thunderclap released by the fury of a divine being. Sadly, the clueless man, who had been joyfully delighting in his blasted evening, had accidentally encountered this devastating power, bringing about the unexpected and grievous finish of his life.
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In a matured, broken down shop, a sleeping kid could be found, his head settling upon the grime-shrouded workbench while his derrière involved a well used wooden seat. The encompassing region demonstrated the veracity of the leftovers of his extravagance — a grouping of void liquor bottles. It was obvious that the kid's illusory face was a result of his inebriating dream.
The gleaming shine of a singular, glimmering bulb cast frightful shadows across the exhausted racks embellished with failed to remember interests and deserted instruments. The air was weighty with the fragrance of matured wood and neglected dreams, making an air of calm despairing.
Outside, the city's nighttime orchestra consumed the space, interspersed by the far off murmur of traffic and a periodic quieted discussion. The faint gleam of streetlamps separated through the dusty window, giving occasion to feel qualms about a murky light the sleeping kid and the neglected shop that housed him.
Inside the kid's fretful sleep, his fantasies wound around an embroidery of divided pictures and feelings. Maybe he wound up meandering through an overly complex cityscape of transcending dreams and murmured mysteries, or crossing ethereal domains where existence converged in agreeable disorder.
As the night wore on, the shop kept up with its vigil, safeguarding the kid's serene rest in the midst of the exhausted environmental elements. Shadows moved upon the broke walls, appearing to murmur stories of neglected desires and untold stories.
*Boom!* In a moment, a thunderclap snapped through the sky, plummeting with accuracy upon the clueless kid, shocking him conscious from his sleep.
"Ahhhh!" got away from the kid's lips as the charging flood flowed through his body, changing his once lethargic eyes into brilliant circles of yellow light. His hair, presently remaining on end, shaped sharp, upstanding spikes, a demonstration of the electric energy that had flooded through him. The thunder's power disseminated as quickly as it had shown up, abandoning a wispy path of smoke that tenderly drifted from the kid's body.
Frightened and presently completely ready, the once inebriated youngster examined the environmental factors, hoping to observe the repercussions of the thunder's effect. However, to his surprise, the shop stayed immaculate, giving no indications of the sensational thunderclap that had struck him straightforwardly.
"Where on earth am I?" the kid shouted, his eyes extending in shock as he examined his new environmental elements. He looked at the unfilled liquor bottle in his grasp, squinting to peruse the mark. Incredibly, he was unable to perceive the brand, which was very surprising for him since he valued his broad information on each alcohol brand out there. His companions even nicknamed him Alcohol Larry as a result of it.
"Rehashed I power outage?" he mumbled to himself, acknowledging with a premonition that he should have by and by outperformed his liquor resistance. The new spot he ended up in and the pulsating migraine beating in his mind filled in as irrefutable evidence of his overindulgence.
[Welcome to Omnistore… .]
[Have found...Store found… ..Restricting with have… ..Binding...… .Restricting complete...]
[Congrats you're presently the proprietor of the Omnistore]
"What in the world, am I actually tipsy? Did somebody spiked my beverage once more?" the kid exclaimed, frightened by the mechanical voice he heard and the words drifting before his eyes.
Nonetheless, similarly as he expressed those words, a mechanical voice reverberated to him.
[I'm not a deception, and indeed, you're actually inebriated, and before long you will fall oblivious again.]
Norman's eyes broadened in shock at the reaction from the mechanical voice, and his vision began to obscure.
"Pause, what are you referring to?" he stammered, as yet attempting to fathom what is going on unfurling before him.
Overlooking Norman's disarray, the voice went on with a need to keep moving. "[Before that, have, pick one of these development methods as a gift from the framework. Pick rapidly, or there will be no gift.]"
Norman felt a feeling of tension as the voice counted down. "[You just have ten seconds... 0... 1...]"
"Please, I fail to really see what's going on," Norman argued, his dissatisfaction and disquiet developing.
The voice continued, dismissing his requests. "[Host, pick, or the gift will disappear... 4... 5...]"
Norman's look focused on the drifting screen before him, which showed a staggering rundown of thousands of purported development methods. As his vision obscured indeed, he instinctually contacted touch one of the names on the screen.
"[7... 8...]" The mechanical voice kept on including down behind the scenes.
"[9...]" Similarly as the voice announced the excess seconds, Norman's finger connected with the screen. "[Congratulations! The host has picked... D...]"
After hearing "Congrats," Norman's vision obscured, and he imploded oblivious onto the table.
Part 2
Playboy's Demise
"Coming to you live from Cerou Road, this is MBP News, and we have an unfurling circumstance to report. Toward the end of last night, at roughly 3:00 AM, a touchy like sound resounded through this region, disturbing the rest of occupants and imparting dread in their souls," the commentator, a striking figure, conveyed the report with balance, remaining before the camera in the midst of a clamoring scene.
Behind the scenes, the blasting horns of ambulances and police vehicles upset the quietness of the lovely morning light. Two people wearing defensive suits, probably legal specialists, held a cot conveying a singed body.
The commentator, who had been detailing before, put a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked noticeably shocked. Her voice loaded up with criticalness as she proceeded, "We have recently gotten an update from our central command in regards to the sole casualty in this unforeseen episode. The survivor of this grievous occasion is, in all honesty, Norman, the popular companion of Night castle."
"My partner, who was set to cover an occasion today at Nightplace, got this data firsthand from Lady Maria, who held an extraordinary spot for Norman in her heart. Our spotlight today is on this making it known," the female journalist went on in the midst of the turbulent scene, while Norman's burned body lay alone in the emergency vehicle.
In the mean time, in an alternate world, a young man lay sleeping soundly with his head on the table. The sun, apparently disappointed with the kid's lighthearted sleep, cast its beams straightforwardly onto his face. Irritated by the interruption, the kid changed his head in another course, reluctant to be animated from his profound rest.
*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* Nonetheless, an extra source upset his rest, occupying the room with a humming sound. The kid frowned in irritation, his eyes actually shut. He looked through his environmental elements and found a glass-like chunk. With shut eyes, he slid his finger across it and put it close to his ear.
"Hello..." he muttered in his tired voice, which conveyed a touch of profundity.
"Hello, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?" a voice bound with scorn radiated from the piece.
The kid, alluded to as the "Pissed-up Prat" by the disturbing female voice, remembered it as a voice he heard habitually yet couldn't remember its proprietor. With his eyes actually shut, he asked, "Who is this?"
"What do you intend to say, 'who is this'? Awaken, get back home, or have poo for breakfast on the off chance that you like!" the voice behind the straightforward piece answered prior to falling quiet.
The kid, still not completely stirred, looked at the half-opened glass piece with a combination of disarray and shock. As his eyes shot around the room, he turned out to be progressively stunned.
As he recalled the divided recollections from the prior night he blacked out, his look fell upon the entry of the shop. When old and sodden, it currently bore an alternate appearance. While not changed into a lavish space, it had gone through upgrades contrasted with its recently broken down state.
The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side embellished with wooden retires unpredictably designed. Columns of e
