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Artemvian Moneti Delacreu stalked back into the alleyway.

He still hadn’t released the two from the simple gravity binding, holding them in place with mental effort.

Artem pointed at the one with the purple hair, releasing him.

“You. Undress.”

“Wha-what?”

“Don’t make me say it twice. Undress.” Artem rubbed his face, wiping the water out of his eyes. “Quickly.”

The man took off his cloak with sleeves, which looked like a long sleeved tunic made of black leather. Artem took it from him, which were followed by the man’s pants. The man shivered, dressed only in his underpants and a white chilton.

“Give me that too.”

The man’s eyes widened and pointed at his underpants.

“Not that, you disgusting- ugh. Your chilton! The chilton!”

“You mean… my shirt?”

Artem’s eye twitched.

“No… he’s right. I need to blend in.” Artem muttered to himself.

“This is obviously not Naraka… or Helheim. It’s not any afterlife that I know of. And even if it is, people walking around the streets without being supervised means there’s a lot of autonomy. I should just treat this like another Dimension altogether.”

“Uh…”

“What are these things called?” Artem asked.

“That’s a leather jacket… and jeans…”

“And your boots too. Give me those. What are they called?”

“They’re called boots…”

“Give it.”

It took a few minutes but Artem was soon dressed exactly the same as the man was. He waved his hand again and formed another reflective surface out of water. He looked at himself, dressed in a white t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans and black boots. The fabric was soft, albeit a bit cold from the rain. Artemvian debated using a simple mana exercise to get all the water out of his clothes but decided not to.

Who knew what dangers this world held.

“Do I look like I’ll fit in?” Artemvian asked the purple-haired man.

“Y-yes!”

“Like a citizen of Nero City?”

“Yes!”

Artem looked at his reflection again. Something was missing…

“Give me those things on your face.”

“What?”

“Those things covering your eyes. Give it.”

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“My sunglasses?...”

Artem snapped his fingers and the sunglasses in question floated off of the man’s face and settled themselves on Artem’s face. He looked at his reflection again.

“Much better.”

Afterwards, Artemvium grilled the man endlessly and the man answered without resistance.

Trash Cans, Cement, Cars, Motorcycles. Prosthetic, Exotics and the like. The list of things to learn was endless.

Speaking of Exotics…

“Oh, I forgot about you.” Artemvium walked over to the alligator-man-hybrid who had gone unconscious. His jaw… or snout, was twisted at an odd angle and blood continued to mix with the rain around him. If his partner was worried, the man made no protest.

Artemvium picked up the weapon that the man had been wielding.

“What’s this called?” He asked, trying to channel mana into it. Nothing.

“It’s an Electric Switch Knife. Uh… you just click that switch there and-”

The dagger came to life, summoning a blade made of sheer energy which crackled and popped under the rain. Artemvium tested it by bringing it to one of the plastic garbage bags, cutting through it with ease. In addition, the cut was instantly cauterized. Even better, it required no mana from him whatsoever.

“I’m taking this.” Artem muttered, turning it off and shoving it into the pockets. “Next. I need gold. Silver. Copper. I’ll take whatever coins you have.”

Artem stopped as his fingers brushed against something. He took it out, a see-through rectangular object no bigger than the palm of his hand. There was a single stripe running through it and looking closely, the stripe was moving. Although the stripe itself was black, there were small green numbers –only 1s and 0s– constantly moving throughout.

“What is this thing?...”

“That’s… uh…”

Artem fixed him with a look.

“That’s a Doilly card! It’s money! Cash! Please don’t hurt me!”

Artem felt bad for the man.

Almost.

“Ok. Last question.” He jerked his chin at the unconscious alligator-man. “You two gentleman obviously don’t make… doillies through honest work”

The man frowned at the word daemons but Artem ignored him. He leaned in close, so close that the fog from his breath washed over the trembling man.

“I need a place with people who can answer questions that you might not be able to answer. An Information Guild if you will. You know a place like it?”

The man nodded like a parakeet possessed by a ghost who died by hanging.

“Riley’s! You’re looking for Riley’s Joint!”

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Artemvian walked past cars traveling at nearly starspeed, all the while trying not to stop and stare at the otherworlders that walked past him.

Technically, he was the otherworlder.

This wasn’t the first time Artemvian had been placed in the middle of nowhere with nothing but his Wit and Spells to survive. Back in his own world, Artemvian had served Magus Causas in his younger years, an agent of the crown. He infiltrated demon strongholds, forged alliances with elves and more in the name of the Crown. More often than not, it meant that he ended up naked with a nearby building on fire.

So, it wasn’t the first time he had turned the table on bandits.

He’d left those two alive for many reasons. One, he had no idea what kind of consequences would follow if he killed other worlders while in their territory. Two, Artemvian didn’t want to get into the habit of killing. Perhaps spending all those years in the Library had made him softer, more romantic. He regretted the choices he made as a young man and the blood he had spilled in the name of the Crown and for what? All he got in exchange was a nice office where he was kept under guard, fear that he might divulge state secrets.

Never allowed to wed. Never allowed to make real connections.

Funny how it just started with him wanting to make the world a better place for people.

Riley’s Joint was a small building in the corner of nowhere, though to be fair, this place called Nero City was just bland. Everything seemed to seamlessly blend in with one another, gray concrete buildings standing in rows, similar heights and even the denizens –despite their flashy attire– didn’t stand out from one another. A Flamingo might look flashy when compared to crows and chickens but among a flamboyance of its own?

If Artem didn’t know better, he’d say the whole city was under an obscure spell.

The pub had big flashing letters that read ‘Riley’s Joint’, switching from yellow to purple to orange with a hypnotic pattern. Opening the swinging doors, Artem walked into a pub the likes of which he had never seen.

Flowing purples drapes and tapestries made of red adorned the walls, combined with a wooden bar counter made of perfectly polished mahogany. There were a couple of tables spread around the room in no particular pattern. Yet, none of them had been overtly done. The drapes weren’t real fabric but a non-physical imagery; what the man had called a ‘hologram’. The walls had paintings of people smiling, frowning and just living life in general. A mixture of refined tastes and a somewhat homely lived-in feel.

“Can I help you?” said the pale-skinned woman standing behind the bar, polishing glass.

The woman was dressed in a black shirt that had buttons lined down the middle, with a red-colored sleeveless tunic. Her hair was white, not pale silver or gray with age, but pure white that stood out against everything else in the bar so that your eyes were subtly drawn to her whether you wanted to or not. She wasn’t what Artem would call well blessed by Aphrodite in terms of the curvature of her body, there was a sort of an elegant attractiveness to her slim profile.

Artemvian realized he was staring.

“I asked if I can help you?” She arched an eyebrow, accentuating her gray eyes.

Artemvium stumbled over to the bar and took out the doily, passing it to her.

“I’ll take a mug of ale.”

She stared at him.

Artemvium stared back, realizing that she was only an inch or two shorter than him.

“...Brant? Brant?! Get out here!”

“Yeah, coming boss!”

A tanned young man with smooth combed black hair stumbled out from an entryway next to the bar.

He was dressed similar to the woman, except without the sleeveless tunic. There was a set of sunglasses resting on the top of his head, though unlike Artemvian’s they were joined together in one large reflective surface, not two rectangles. He sported a goatee and intelligent gray eyes which looked at Artem in surprise.

“Oh, a customer.”

“No. A weirdo.” The woman sighed, muttering under her breath. “Business is slow enough as it already is and the stupid rain emptied the place out today. And now this cosplayer-”

“Roleplayer. He’s not in costume.”

“Roleplayer,” Riley corrected herself, rolling her eyes, “comes in and asks for a mug of ale.”

“What do you think this is? A fantasy webnovel?”