For many, childhood is the brightest time of their life. For some, it is Hell. Mine was infinitely closer to the latter type. My parents cared about me as much as of their own health—which meant, barely at all, that with their love for alcohol, drugs and unprotected sex. Why couldn’t they have enjoyed just some good old rock’n’roll? 

Many times I was shooed away from my own home so that they could have some fun partying without the nuisance that was their kid. Thankfully, I was rarely forced to spend the night at the street—my neighbors were very kind and caring people, despite being as dirt poor as my parents. 

The most dear memories of my early childhood were related to staying the night at my neighbors’ place and sleeping in one bed with their daughter, a few years my senior. I was only a brat at the time—not even in my teens—so no one was particularly bothered by this arrangement. The reason why those nights stuck to me so much was the story the girl was telling me.

That was a story of a boy who was all alone and had no friend nor family. A boy who was even more pitiable than me. One day, when the boy lamented his fate and prayed for a change, a kind Goddess responded to his call. She offered him a chance in a different world. A world of magic and monsters, a world of danger and opportunity. There, the boy was given power as well as a mission. There, the boy was revered a hero. He befriended the beautiful princess and won her heart after growing up and saving her kingdom from an evil dragon. The boy was a knight as well as a wizard, and no one could rival his might. In the end, he married the princess, and they spent their long lives in happiness. 

I didn’t love that story for the happy ending, nor for the romance. I was too young to understand the matters between men and women, anyway. What truly touched my heart was the power the boy held—the power to change his destiny, the magic to flatten mountains, the sword to slay any enemy. What excited me were the adventures he had experienced on his way to power, not the destination at the end. 

One day, the girl and her family disappeared. They moved to another place without a warning, leaving me alone yet again. A part of me even doubted if they were even real to begin with. For some reason, I couldn’t even remember their names. Perhaps the girl and her caring family were just creations of my wild imagination, a hallucination to escape the harsh reality of neglect at home and bullying at school. 

Oh yeah, the school. . . The school taught me how cruel people could be. As well as how to protect myself with wit instead of brawl. I was just a scrawny white kid in a ghetto school, so it was only natural that I would be a priority target for bullies. Except, inspired by the stories of another world, one day I decided to fight back. And won. Since then, I learned how to adapt. How to win even before a battle started—with a clever word and, if this wasn’t enough, with a sucker punch. At the time I graduated from elementary school, no one saw me as someone to be trifled with. That was at least one problem less. 

I tried hard to get good grades, but trying wasn’t enough when your parents neglected you and teachers at your school couldn't care less about education. Inspired by the story from my childhood, I wanted to become someone who saved lives—be it firefighter, cop, or doctor, there was a broad choice of professions. None of which were available to someone like me. 

I was kicked out of my home as soon as I hit eighteen. After living with my friends and one minimum wage job after another, I eventually found my forte—scamming people. Well, that was putting it a bit too harshly… I was good at selling things. I could’ve made a fortune if I decided to become a real con artist or, even worse, agreed to the proposal of my former classmate and sell drugs. I’d rather die than do the latter—if I hated anything in my life more than my parents, that would be what had made them into who they were to begin with. 

One thing anyone could do and still earn decent cash was multi-level marketing. Which was exactly what I started to do for a living less than a year after becoming an adult. At last, I earned enough to rent an apartment and always having something to eat. And the best thing? My conscience was almost clear. Almost. 

The next couple of years I spend giving people an opportunity of their lifetime, giving them one exception offer after another. And I even barely needed to lie, because some of my products were almost as good as the price tag on them. Almost. That was also the time when I started to actively meet women. For better or worse, nothing developed further than a couple of casual flings. To put it frankly, I wasn’t ready for anything serious—not with the baggage of my past and not-so-stable financial situation. Also, I didn’t feel old enough to start a family.

My life continued between earning cash, picking up girls at bars and clubs, and—perhaps the best thing out of the three—playing video games and reading novels. At last, I had a personal computer of my own and enough free time to put it to use. At last, I could become the hero I’d always wanted to be—even if only in games and books. But even those hours of pure bliss as I dived into imaginary worlds didn’t stop me from feeling that I was doing something wrong with my life. On the contrary, that discomfort only intensified, and I had no idea what to do with it. I’d always wanted to become someone important like a hero and to see the world as an adventurer. Instead, I became a sleazy salesman. A very good one, but still. 

Sometimes I had that silly thought that it would be great if I found myself in another world. Just like that little boy from the stories of my childhood. Just like the protagonists of the books I read. Maybe then I would make a diffence. Maybe then that annoying feeling would be gone. I had those thoughts while having no idea what future was waiting for me. Perhaps I should’ve been more careful with what I wished for…

A week after my twenty-first birthday, I spent half of the night drinking to my heart’s content. It was kind of silly that in the USA you could drive a car—an activity in which a single mistake could cost lives—while still being underage, at sixteen, and yet, you couldn’t drink for the entire three years into your adulthood. Not like that had stopped me or my peers back at high school… This time, though, I was enjoying the dubious pleasure of whisky and cocktails without breaking any laws. I wasn’t even in the mood to pick up girls and even rejected a relatively cute blonde that tried to hit on me. 

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

After I had consumed more alcohol than was healthy for my liver, I left the bar and made my way towards my apartment through the night backstreets of New York. My tolerance for the alcohol wasn’t half-bad, in fact it was high enough that even after spending hours drinking I still could focus my thoughts and attention to some extent. That was why I didn’t miss two loud voices from the dead end of a certain alley. 

“C’mon babe, don’t be so stubborn,” a hoarse male voice said with sadistic playfullness. “We’ll just have some fun at my place and no one will get hurt.” 

“P-please, let go of me…” a shaking female voice replied.

“Don’t worry, as long as you agree to follow me of your own will, I won’t be rough with you, babe.” 

“I-I can give you m-money, just let me go, I beg you…”

“Money? Why would I need your money when you can give me something much better?”

I didn’t like the sound of it. Even in my current state I could understand what was going on there and it wasn’t anything good. And yet, the most logical decision would be to pretend that I heard nothing and just pass through. That situation had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t some sort of big and scary gangster and I hadn’t even took my gun with me. And my only weapon—my tongue, perhaps not silver just yet, but at least bronze—was severely blunted by intoxication. Even the most charismatic person in the world wouldn’t be half as convincing when he could barely hold a normal conversation. And I was just an a bit above average salesperson. 

And yet, for some reason, my legs carried me to the source of the two voices before I knew it. Perhaps the alcohol in my blood gave me too much courage. Or perhaps that was the nagging feeling that had been bothering me at nights, making me unable to fall asleep at times. The same feeling that made me dream of being a hero. And now I had an opportunity to become one. But at what cost? 

As I entered the scene, two pairs of eyes locked on me. One frightened with a glimmer of hope. Another, frightening with a hint of cruelty. One belonged to a frail young woman who was, at most, in her late teens if not underage. Another belonged to a dangerous looking man, one head taller than me—I was only 5’8’’, so that wasn’t that impressive—and tattoos covering both of his muscular hands. 

“Hey, man!” I smiled to the guy while waving my hand in greeting. “Boss was looking for you everywhere, and here you are, trying to have some fun, huh?!”

I had been just speaking out of my ass, improvising on the go even despite being wasted. I was stupid enough to show myself, but not so stupid as to tell him let go of the girl or try threatening someone who could’ve kicked my ass even when I was in my peak state. My half-assed plan was to confuse the shit out of guy, making him leave both me and the girl alone. 

“Who the fuck are you, boy?!” the man barked as he creased his brows. He also let go of the girl who he had been holding by the wrist until now. Also, I, at last, noticed a terrifying detail—the bastard had a knife in his other hand. 

What the Hell, dude, you’re a scary as it is, and yet you need a weapon to threaten a girl? I thought. That’s an overkill! 

“Huh?!” I exclaimed, pretending to be shocked and offended. I also burped, which probably made my performance even more ridiculous. “You don’t know me?!” 

“Don’t test my patience, boy,” the man said and glanced to the girl, freezing her just before she was to take a step away from him. “Scram before I test my toy on you, hear me?!”

I shook my head. “Sorry, man, but I have orders from Boss. You know Lex? What about Joe? Johnny? Roy? Jimmy? Harry?”

I didn’t miss the slight change in his expression when I mentioned the name Jimmy. That was a simple trick when trying to make someone believe that you knew some kind of dangerous guy. I knew the names of some gang leaders back at the ghetto where I’d grown up, but that place was far from here. And of course I didn’t want to really borrow the names of the criminals who could actually know who I was. I was just trying my luck this time and I won, Kind of. 

“Who’s your Boss?” The man frowned as he focused his attention on me. The girl started to slowly distance herself from him. It would’ve been problematic if she didn’t. 

“Jimmy, of course,” I shrugged. “He sent me to take you to him.”

“You know Jimmy?” the man asked as he made a step towards me. “Jimmy the Crook?” 

“Know him?” I chuckled. “I’m his right-hand man! Well, almost. Anyway, yeah. I’m with Jimmy the Crook, and he wants to speak with you. I’m just here to deliver his message.” 

“So he sent you after me, huh?!” The man gave me a predatory smile as he approached and stood just a dozen feet away from me. Perhaps if I’d been sober, I would’ve noticed that something was off. But at the moment, I was just glad that he completely forgot about the girl. Who at that moment silently sneaked away from the alley and run away, leaving me alone with the armed bastard. 

“Yeah, he’s waiting for you at Babushka’s Café in ten minutes.” I just mentioned a place not far away from here. “You should come alone, so I won’t accompany you.” 

“Don’t worry, boy,” the man said, only now did I notice that there was a glint of madness in his eyes—he was definitely on something, “You and that damn Crook will meet each other soon, anyway... In Hell!” 

It took me a long while to understand what had just happened. First came pain. And then, warmth changing into scorching hotness. I lowered my gaze only to see a knife sticking from my gut. The man twisted the knife without taking it out, making me feel even more pain. I screamed. And cried. And then I fell down on my knees. 

“Ha-ha-ha, die, you Jimmy’s scum!” A maniacal laughing thundered above me as a realization downed on me. My life was about to end. In some unknown backstreet, just because I decided to help a girl whose name I didn’t even know. That had been a silly decision. I should’ve been feeling regret, and yet I was strangely satisfied. Perhaps alcohol was screwing with my mind. 

A part of me was satisfied. That strange part that strived to become a hero. To do something that made a difference. And I’d done it, hadn’t I? Who knew what horrors would’ve waited for the girl if I’d decided to ignore her plight? That psycho was crazy enough to stab me to death for no apparent reason. Would he risk her reporting him to cops? Or would he rather get rid of her after getting what he wanted? My real regret was that I was about to die and leave that piece of human trash to do as he pleased. 

I still had the knife plunged in my gut, and my murderer was still hysterically laughing. I still had some time before I fainted from the blood loss. So, gathering the little strength that I could muster, I took out the weapon from my body and stabbed the mad beast before me. The first monster I had to slay in my life.

The monster was confused. Just like when I’d been when it attacked me. Before it could react, I stabbed it again. And again. After the fourth time, I could move no more. My eyelids got heavy, and my body keeled over like a broken doll. I was down, but so was my enemy. 

Before the absolute darkness could claim my consciousness into the everlasting oblivion, I heard a voice. A melodious, beautiful voice of a woman. A voice that fascinated and awed anyone who heard it. A voice that I would like to listen to forever, and yet there was something disturbing hidden in it...

“Do you want another chance at life, Christopher Rogers?” the voice asked. “A new start in a world different from your own?” 

Yes! I screamed the answer in my mind. Fuck yes! 

“Then welcome to Etherland, Chosen of Chaos… May the luck be with you.” 

That was the end of my old life. And the beginning of a new one. And even Gods couldn’t know what Fate had in stock for me… 

p.s. I decided to try another story with the same protagonist and prologue as The More The Merrier, as I thought that Chris would be perfect for something more dark than I initially planned...