Dim lighting. Concrete floors. A faint smell of oil and bad decisions.
My wrists were chained to a chair, but the chains felt… weak. Standard iron.
I sighed.
Another kidnapping attempt.
I looked up.
A group of young, overconfident gangsters stood in a semi-circle, glaring at me like they had just caught a legendary beast.
One of them, the apparent leader, stepped forward. He was trying very hard to look intimidating—gold chain, leather jacket, a sneer that probably worked on regular people.
“You know who we are?” he asked.
I stared at him.
He took my silence as fear.
He smirked. “That’s right. We’re the Shadow Kings.”
I sighed again. “That’s a terrible name.”
The entire gang bristled.
“What’d you just say?” the leader snapped.
“I said,” I leaned back in the chair, “your gang name sounds like something a twelve-year-old thought was cool while making an online gaming clan.”
Several gang members looked uncertain.
One whispered, “I told y’all we should’ve gone with Blood Fang.”
The leader glared. “Shut up, Marcus.”
The leader turned back to me. “Listen up, tough guy. We know you work for the Serpent Crew.”
I blinked. “The what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “We’ve seen you all over town, lurking, watching, showing up at crime scenes.”
Ah.
I rubbed my temples. “You think I’m some low-level enforcer for another gang?”
He crossed his arms. “That’s exactly what I think.”
I sighed. “I’m going to give you a chance to let me go. Now.”
The gang laughed.
The leader grinned. “Oh? Or what?”
I tested the chains. They rattled slightly. “Or this ends badly for you.”
His smile faded slightly, but he covered it up with bravado. “Nah, see, we’re gonna be the ones asking the questions.”
He turned to one of his guys. “Bring in the tools.”
A wiry man with too much enthusiasm ran over, holding a metal toolbox.
“Oh boy,” I muttered.
The wiry guy opened the toolbox with dramatic flair.
Inside was…
A pair of pliers, some duct tape, a wrench, and a car battery.
I raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do with that?”
The leader smirked. “We’re gonna get you to talk.”
I stared at him. “Have you ever actually tortured someone before?”
He hesitated. “…That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is,” I said. “Because this is already embarrassing.”
The wiry guy eagerly grabbed the car battery. “Alright, big guy, let’s see how you like electric shocks!”
They attached jumper cables to the battery.
Then they clamped them onto my arms.
The leader nodded. “Hit it.”
The wiry guy flipped the switch.
…
Nothing happened.
One of the gang members frowned. “Uh… is it on?”
The wiry guy checked. “Oh. Hang on.”
He flipped the switch the other way.
A weak shock buzzed through the cables.
It felt like a mildly annoying static charge.
I blinked.
Then I yawned.
The gang watched in horror as I looked them in the eyes… and fell asleep.
"Uh," one of them muttered. "Why isn't he screaming?"
The wiry guy frantically checked the battery. "I don't know! Maybe he has some kind of nerve disorder?"
I slowly opened my eyes.
"Are you done?" I asked.
The gang collectively tensed.
The leader forced a laugh. "Oh, you're tough, huh? No big deal. We got other methods!"
The wiry guy held up the pliers.
I gave him a deeply unimpressed look.
"If you pull a tooth," I said slowly, "I will make sure you never chew solid food again."
The wiry guy immediately put the pliers back.
The leader gritted his teeth. "Alright. Enough games. Maybe we just skip to the part where we put a bullet in you."
I sighed.
"See," I said, finally getting tired of this, "that’s where you messed up."
The leader smirked. "Oh yeah? How?"
I broke the chains.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The sound of snapping metal echoed through the warehouse.
Every gang member froze.
I stood up slowly, stretching. "You guys really need better chains."
The wiry guy dropped the toolbox. "…Oh f***."
The leader staggered back. "What the—"
I tilted my head. "Now. I’m going to leave. And you’re going to let me."
Silence.
Then the leader grabbed a gun.
Bad idea.
Before he could pull the trigger, I closed the distance between us and gently placed a hand on his wrist.
Then I crushed the gun.
Metal squealed as it caved under my grip.
The leader’s eyes went wide.
I leaned in. "Are we done?"
He nodded rapidly.
I turned to the gang. "Anyone else?"
They all shook their heads.
I patted the leader’s terrified shoulder. "Smart choice."
Then, as I walked to the door, I paused.
"Oh, and one more thing."
The gang flinched.
"You really need to change your name."
I kicked the door open and walked out.
Behind me, I heard Marcus whisper, “I TOLD y’all it should’ve been Blood Fang.”
Darian vs. the Cell Phone Store
Darian had faced demons, gods, and horrors beyond mortal comprehension. He had once bested a warlord in single combat while trapped in an active volcano, outmaneuvered a celestial tribunal bent on his destruction, and survived being swallowed whole by a cosmic leviathan. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the absolute torment that was buying a new phone.
His last one? Obliterated mid-battle when a particularly stubborn eldritch creature decided to explode upon defeat. The remnants of the device had vaporized in his hands, leaving nothing but a faint smell of burnt circuitry and regret. Arias, of course, had laughed for a solid five minutes before gleefully informing him that "even you need modern technology, bro," before shoving him toward the nearest electronics store.
And now, here he was, standing under the flickering fluorescent lights of a cell phone store, trying to maintain his patience.
The store itself was an assault on the senses—blaring pop music, pushy salespeople, and an aggressively enthusiastic mascot on the TV screens looping a commercial about LIMITED TIME DEALS! Darian already felt a headache forming. He glanced toward the entrance, weighing his options. If he turned around and walked out now, would Arias chase him down and physically drag him back in? Probably.
A too-eager salesperson spotted him immediately and locked on like a predator sensing vulnerable prey.
"Hey there! Looking to upgrade today?" she chirped, already brandishing a tablet.
Darian sighed. "I need a replacement phone. My old one broke."
"No problem! Do you have an account with us?" she asked, fingers poised to type.
Darian frowned. "No."
Her fingers hesitated. "Oh. Uh. Okay! Well, do you know what kind of phone you had?"
"Black. Rectangular. Fit in my pocket."
The salesperson blinked. "Right. Any specific features you need?"
"Something durable," Darian said. "Preferably able to survive fire, extreme impact, and possibly a dimensional anomaly."
The salesperson laughed. Then she saw he wasn’t joking. "Oh. Uh. Well, we do have some rugged cases…?"
Darian sighed again, rubbing his temples. He had fought beings that twisted reality itself, and yet, this was testing his patience more than any battle. "Just show me the options."
She guided him to a wall of sleek, glowing devices, each labeled with absurd names like UltraMax Pro X and Galaxy Infinity Titan+. Darian’s eyes narrowed. "Why are there so many? They all look the same."
"They have different features! Like higher refresh rates, better cameras, and—"
"I don’t need a camera. I need something that won’t explode if I drop it."
"Well, there’s this model with reinforced glass and water resistance!" she offered, pointing to a particularly expensive model.
Darian studied it for a moment. "Would it survive being thrown through a wall?"
The salesperson hesitated. "Well, no. But—"
"What about a high-energy blast? Or extreme gravitational shifts?"
She blinked. "Uh, sir, I think you might need a military-grade communication device…"
Darian exhaled through his nose. "I’ll take it."
She blinked again. "You… don’t want to hear about the plans?"
Darian’s jaw tensed. "No. Just the phone."
"Right! Okay! That’ll be—" She glanced at the screen and winced. "Well, uh, do you want to finance or—"
Darian pulled a handful of gold coins from his pocket and set them on the counter.
The salesperson just… stared. "Sir, we, um, we don’t take gold."
Darian exhaled through his nose, then pulled out his black metal credit card. "Try this."
Her eyes widened as she ran it through the system. The screen flashed APPROVED so fast it nearly broke. She swallowed. "Oh. Uh. Right. Let me just—uh—get that activated for you."
Then came the real torture: the activation process.
Darian braced himself as the salesperson's smile widened unnaturally, like a predator sensing weakness. The entire atmosphere of the store seemed to shift, the fluorescent lights humming with an almost malevolent energy. She tapped at her tablet with the enthusiasm of someone who thrived on customer suffering.
She handed him the box with a too-bright smile. "Okay! Now we just need to set up your account! Do you have an email address?"
Darian stared at her. "No."
"Oh. Okay. Well, do you want us to set one up for you?"
"No."
"You’ll need one for your account—"
"Fine. Make one up."
The salesperson hesitated, but eventually typed something into the system. "Okay, next, we need a security question! Like your first pet’s name, or—"
"Never had one."
"Okay! Uh, mother’s maiden name?"
"No."
"...Favorite teacher?"
Darian gave her a look.
"Alright, I’ll just set it to ‘What is your favorite color?’ Okay! Last thing—do you want phone insurance?"
Darian took a slow, measured breath. "No."
Several agonizing minutes of setup later, Darian left the store with a new phone in his pocket and a deep, unshakable loathing for cell phone stores.
Arias, waiting outside, grinned. "That bad, huh?"
Darian shoved the receipt at him, rubbing his temples as if physically trying to press the frustration out of his skull. "I have to come back in three days to ‘finalize the account details.’ I am considering burning this entire building down."
Arias patted his shoulder. "Proud of you, bro. Welcome to modern life."
Darian growled and walked off. He needed a drink.
Behind him, the store’s automatic doors shut, trapping another poor soul inside. He heard the same chipper salesperson’s voice echo behind him.
"Hey there! Looking to upgrade today?"
Darian shuddered. Never again. Next time, he was enchanting his phone to be indestructible—even if it required forbidden magic and a blood pact with an eldritch entity.
Darian & Arias vs. Comic-Con
Darian had fought in wars, battled eldritch horrors, and even survived bureaucracy. He had once outdueled a god of war in single combat, escaped a collapsing dimension by punching a rift in space-time, and argued tax law with a demon for three days straight. But nothing had prepared him for Comic-Con.
The sheer scale of it was overwhelming—thousands of people in elaborate costumes, flashing lights, blaring music, and the unmistakable scent of overpriced convention food. He had been dragged here by Arias, who insisted that “even a brooding ancient warrior needs some fun.” Darian had been skeptical. He was even more skeptical now.
“I don’t get it,” Darian muttered, watching a man dressed as a cybernetic barbarian take a selfie with a child in a cape. “Is this some kind of mass illusion spell?”
“Nope,” Arias said cheerfully, adjusting his own ridiculous costume—a too-tight superhero suit that left little to the imagination. “This is pure mortal creativity at work.”
Darian took a cautious step forward, nearly colliding with a group of people dressed as vampires. He tensed before realizing they were just teenagers in plastic fangs. One of them gasped. “Dude, your cosplay is amazing! Where’d you get the armor?”
Darian stared. “I… didn’t.”
“Whoa, staying in character! Respect.” The teenager gave him a thumbs-up and scurried off.
Arias smirked. “You’re blending right in, big guy.”
Darian wasn’t convinced. He crossed his arms, scanning the crowd with a wary expression, as if expecting some grand deception to unfold before him. "What exactly is the purpose of this event?"
“Celebrating stories, fandoms, and all things nerdy,” Arias explained. “Think of it like a giant festival, but instead of sacrifices, we have panels and collectibles.”
Darian raised an eyebrow. “And the merchants?”
“Right over there.” Arias pointed to a sprawling vendor hall, where booths displayed everything from comic books to mystical-looking weapons (probably fake, Darian assumed) and towering cardboard cutouts of famous characters. One booth even sold enchanted-looking trinkets that, much to Darian’s concern, were almost magical.
Darian hesitated. "And you… enjoy this?"
Arias gestured wildly to a man in an inflatable dinosaur suit dancing next to a fully armored knight holding a bubble gun. "How could you not enjoy this?"
“Oh, absolutely,” Arias grinned. “And so will you. Just wait until you see the artist alley.”
Before Darian could question what that meant, he found himself being yanked into the chaotic heart of Comic-Con. What followed was a whirlwind of bizarre encounters:
- Panels he did not understand – One featured a discussion on “Multiversal Power Scaling,” where a very animated group debated whether a particular space wizard could defeat a titan in hand-to-hand combat. Darian, much to Arias’ delight, ended up joining the discussion and winning the argument with cold, tactical logic.
- Awkward autograph encounters – Arias insisted on taking Darian to meet a famous voice actor. When asked for his name to sign the autograph, Darian just said, “Darian.” The voice actor, assuming it was a roleplay name, added Lord of Shadows underneath it.
- Merchandise confusion – Darian was reluctantly convinced to buy a plushie because, according to Arias, “it builds character.” He held the small, round, smiling creature with mild suspicion the rest of the day.
- An unfortunate incident with a malfunctioning animatronic dragon – Arias had insisted that the interactive dragon exhibit was harmless. This was proven false when the animatronic beast glitched and started spewing real flames. Darian ended up tackling it to the ground, earning a standing ovation and a very unimpressed security guard threatening to ban them.
By the end of the day, Darian was exhausted but… he had to admit, it wasn’t the worst experience he’d ever had. That honor still belonged to the time he spent three weeks trapped in an underground labyrinth designed by a particularly sadistic trickster god. At least here, the only traps were overpriced merchandise and the occasional aggressive cosplayer with a foam sword. He even found himself appreciating the sheer enthusiasm of the people here. No magic, no divine intervention, just humans celebrating their love of storytelling. It was… oddly wholesome.
“I still don’t entirely understand the appeal,” he said as they left the convention center, his arms now inexplicably full of merchandise Arias had convinced him to buy, including a poster of a warrior that suspiciously resembled him.
Arias clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, bro. You’ll get it next year.”
Darian frowned. “Next year?”
Arias just grinned. Darian sighed. He had survived Comic-Con, but apparently, this was just the beginning.
"Oh, by the way," Arias added casually, "I may have already signed us up for the Fantasy LARP convention next month. It has live combat tournaments. You'll love it."
Darian stopped walking. "You what?"
Arias took a few quick steps ahead, laughing. "No backsies!"