The smell of smoke roused Rowan from his sleep. It was noisier. Like he was in the urban part of the city. People were yelling, cars were speeding and birds were chirping. All the sounds coalesced into a buzz that made it impossible to keep on sleeping and his eyes snapped open.

The ceiling was different, the walls were different, the floor was different, his desk was different. Everything that he could think of was different. His head ached but the rest of his body was free of any injuries. Both eyes could see and standing didn’t hurt. Like he hadn’t gotten the beating from yesterday.

“Best case,” mumbled Rowan and snorted. He shook his head with a grin on his face, “It’s the damn best-case scenario. I really did get spirited away.”

This was absurd. There had to be strings. He just had to find and exploit them. If the specter had gotten his soul out of this bargain, there wouldn’t be any problem. Hopefully, selling his soul meant that he’d simply die outright instead of reincarnating or being assigned to some awkward afterlife for all of eternity.

He looked down at his hands and he could see that they were smaller than before. The thin layer of fat that adorned his body was gone and he could see his wiry frame underneath. For the first time in his life, his abs were showing but it didn’t feel rewarding. His biceps looked like a girl’s and his thin frame made him appear smaller.

Rowan walked over to the window, closed in the same fashion as a door. He pushed it open and was assaulted by the smell of days’ old sizzling oil.

Instead of the silent, suburban villa he expected to see, he was met by a bustling street that looked right out of a painting of a bazaar. Some were horseback and he could see carriages dragged by several. Salesmen were shouting nonsense that faded into the background and countless stalls lined the walls of the buildings.

Wherever he was, this wasn’t home.

“Breakfast’s here!” yelled a familiar voice and Rowan slowly turned to the door, mouth agape. It could only be Liz. That was her voice. Had to be.

Did the entire world morph into a fantasy world?

That meant… no, he couldn’t think about that.

Rowan descended the worn-out stairs. The house was smaller. Whereas they had four rooms upstairs, there were only two of them now. The lack of a toilet was distressing but he couldn’t get everything.

The first floor was perhaps the part with the most change. Instead of the stove he was so used to seeing, there was a stone furnace built into the cobblestone building and a large pot resting on a compartment for cooking. Much like the second floor, the walls were made of cobblestone and smooth rocks jutted out of the walls. The ceiling, meaning the floor of the second floor, was built with dark-colored wood.

“Sis,” mumbled Rowan as his eyes rested on her. She wore a brown tunic with a belt tied around her waist. From it, hung a sheathed sword. Her dark brown hair was tied into a ponytail that reached her neck instead of being set loose, giving her a different image altogether.

“Stop staring and eat. You’re already running late,” said Liz while munching on a loaf of soft bread the size of a coffee mug. There lay another loaf and a large wooden mug with frothy liquid in it on the wooden table, placed with blatant disregard for any germs.

Rowan walked up to it and took a seat on one of the chairs, also wooden. He grabbed the loaf and tore off a tiny bit of it, then placed it in his mouth.

“Late for what?” asked Rowan while staring at the mug. If the world was tossed back into an idealized version of the Dark Ages, this couldn’t be soda.

“The Academy,” grumbled Liz after she downed the contents of her mug. She slammed it into the table and sighed, “I know the boys play rough, but you need to become strong. No one respects a weakling. If you don’t succeed, you’ll be selling bread all day like that loser Desmond.”

“Are we… thinking about the same Academy?” asked Rowan, slowly. Then he mumbled incoherently afterward, more to himself than her, “And world.”

“Hurry it up. If you fail, they will be the least of your worries. I’ll personally rough you up,” said Liz and stormed off after glimpsing at the sun through one of the open windows. Through that came an immense amount of noise but his ears had already started to filter it out. There weren’t any stalls or a bazaar on that side, though.

The issue was that he didn’t know a thing about this world and he was now expected to attend a school he didn’t even know the location of. Unless it was where his other school was.

Rowan sipped on the liquid in the mug and reeled from the taste. It was ginger ale, that much was apparent. It was a taste that he abhorred but it at least had some alcohol in it. So he washed down the bread with the beer and followed his sister’s example, leaving the crumbs and the mug on the table.

He didn’t exactly spot a sink, either.

Before he left, though, Rowan had to find the key. Regardless of worlds, he kept his key in one place and only there: on his desk. If he was going to go upstairs again, he could take a tour of the smaller house for no real waste of time.

There was one toilet on the first floor and that was missing. The storage room under the stairs was still there but the backdoor it led to wasn’t. This made the entire first floor one large room. There was only a desk, a few chairs, and a wardrobe for cooking utensils on the first floor. Then there was a rocking chair.

The second floor had two rooms, one on each side. One of them belonged to Rowan and the other one belonged to Liz. There was a bed, a drawer, a desk, and a closet and that was all of her furniture. The desk was completely empty save for a single scroll lying on it, making it impossible not to spot it.

“Well, that’s a first,” mumbled Rowan and stepped into the room. If she found out that he was in her room, he’d get a tongue lashing but that was nothing new. It was unlikely that she’d find out, too. The floor was already covered in a thick layer of dust and was riddled with footprints that couldn’t be made out.

The floorboard creaked underneath his feet as he walked over to the table. Each step made him feel tidbits of guilt that added up to feeling bad about opening what could possibly be her diary. That guilt turned into worry after he remembered the sword that his sister was dragging around without batting an eyelash.

He turned around and took his first step, but stopped. The pessimism that pervaded his every conscious thought was defeated by his curiosity. It wasn’t the first time but his negativity was scarcely defeated by anything, be it fear, curiosity, or sheer willpower.

Against his better judgement and best survival tool, Rowan grabbed the scroll and looked it up and down. The knobs on both sides of the scroll were golden but the material of the scroll was black. Its length was the same as the length of his forearm.

He tried to open it but it seemed like there was no proper way to open it. It was like a roll of toilet paper that hadn’t been opened yet and didn’t have a wedge to pull from. In cases like that, Rowan resorted to peeling a part of the outer layer off but this wasn’t an option with something he couldn’t damage.

After an exaggerated sigh, Rowan placed it back on the table in the exact spot it was in, careful not to get caught.

That’s when it struck him.

There were only two rooms on the second floor and there was nothing like a sofa. That meant their mother didn’t have a room of her own or a place to sleep unless Liz had moved out, which didn’t seem to be the case.

“What the hell is happening?” Rowan mumbled and promptly left the room to enter his own.

It was smaller than his room in the other reality but the lack of furniture made it look more spacious. It had everything Liz’s room had but his desk was full. There were several thick books on the table, making it apparent that scrolls weren’t the norm even in this reality. A quick glance over the titles of the books revealed that the world wasn’t as mundane as the other one.

“History of Uzaz?” he said out loud, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, “Art of Combat. Demon War Records.”

Two of them seemed to be history books and the third one could be about martial arts. It was difficult to tell without reading as the covers of all the books were dark red and the title was written in bold, golden letters.

He just hoped that the word ‘Demon’ was used metaphorically.

Right next to the books, he found an oversized bit key that was at least twice the size of a normal, flat key. There were no pockets in his tunic nor pants and there was a small, brown pouch that was the size of a tiny handbag with two straps with a hole for something to pass through them.

It was clear what had to be done.

Rowan unraveled his belt and tied it again after running it through the pouch. That secured the pouch at his waist. Within, he found a few copper coins and a card with the consistency of a credit card. It was out of place in the time period it seemed to be in.

“Well, here goes nothing,” said Rowan and breathed out.

If the so-called school was where Ascot High previously stood, he’d make it there. If not… he’d just have to ask around.

The door of the house was to the opposite side of the bazaar, making it far easier to maneuver through the streets. Rowan’s spatial awareness was good, so much so that he could effortlessly find his hotel if he was on a trip but even that couldn’t save him from the sprawling mess that Ascot was in this new reality.

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It seemed far larger than he remembered it to be.

The lack of familiar buildings that operates as checkpoints added up to the confusion but as he kept on walking down roughly the same path as the one he used to go to school, he slowly started to realize that the names of the road were the same but they were longer or shorter —the layout was the same but the proportions were different.

The signs that stood at every crossroad, showing which road the paths led to helped him keep his pace until he finally reached the school.

It wasn’t the same old school building that he saw on a daily basis. Instead, in its place stood a marvel of architecture built from stone and had tall windows with stained glass. Spear-like protrusions stuck out of the building and it reminded Rowan of his trip to Oxford.

Studying there was a pipe dream but he once visited England when his father was still alive and they weren’t struggling to make ends meet. It had gotten better after his sister started working but for a few years, it felt like the end of the world.

Students were pouring on, making it apparent that he was on time. Some faces, he recognized. Not anyone he knew personally, but ones that he passed by in the corridor far too many times.

“You’re braver than I expected you to be,” said Simon, his deadpan voice a stark reminder of the fact that everyone existed in this world. That meant Peter was present. Whether he had gotten a beating from them or not, Rowan didn’t know.

His body seemed alright.

“I’m tired of keeping my head down,” said Rowan and turned around. Unlike him, Simon wore a jacket over a neat white shirt, making it clear that he was wealthier on this side as well.

“I heard you the first time,” said Simon and passed by him, gaze averted from him.

The events of yesterday seemed to have transpired.

Now that he’d found his way here, Rowan had to figure out where he had to go but everyone seemed to have the same direction. They were all marching to the center of the academy where there was a large open space the size of a soccer stadium.

There stood three stone platforms that rose out of the ground, all of them the size of a classroom. All the students seemed to be converging around the platforms so Rowan took his rightful place among them.

Everyone’s eyes were on Rowan before he noticed Simon standing in a different part of the field along with the rest of the seniors. After a quick look around, he realized that there were no other seniors in the group that he stood in.

With bright red ears, he walked over to the seniors and made his way to the edge. Unlike the neat rows and columns that the others stood in, they stood side-by-side with around a meter’s distance between them.

“So you didn’t run away,” resounded Peter’s voice from his right, and Rowan closed his eyes, bit his lips and clenched his fists.

He wanted to smash the bastard’s nose in after that beating.

“From you?” asked Rowan and scoffed, “No, I’d never.”

“That’s new,” said Peter with a self-confident smirk on his face, “The offer to kneel down and beg for mercy still stands. I’m nice like that.”

Much like Simon, Peter wore better clothes than him. He had a dark blue coat that reached his knees worn over his shirt, all its buttons buttoned save for the highest one. To add to the aesthetic, he wore white leather gloves that covered the forearm.

It was clear that the offer wasn’t offered to him. Perhaps to the other Rowan and perhaps that Rowan hadn’t lashed out.

“You should know your place,” said Grace, the one that Rowan proposed to but got rejected, “You might actually die.”

She was a beauty. Had black hair that reached her shoulders which was often tied into a messy ponytail. She was fit back in the normal school but now she looked stunning. It looked like everything that he liked about her was taken and magnified to the maximum. Her eyes were far more mesmerizing and he struggled to pull his eyes away, but he did.

“Go to Hell,” Rowan hissed at Peter and walked past him to stand at the edge.

After a few minutes of standing that somehow didn’t make Rowan’s feet ache, the principal made his entrance. Instead of walking onto one of the platforms, he flew up into the air and hovered there with a soft smile on his face.

As he did in the other reality, the principal wore a suit but had abandoned the glasses. His hair wasn’t neatly combed like a nerd but left loose, letting it flutter in the wind. That made him look a dozen years younger than he was. The same weary eyes caused by years of working in a school were present along with the slightly blue bags under them.

Rowan stood there, staring up at the old man with a poker face.

“A deal from a shadowy demon. I should’ve guessed,” he mumbled underneath his breath and turned to Peter.

If he could also do something as absurd as that-

“Today is the day you have all been waiting for,” started the principal with a booming voice that reached all of them. It seemed like he was talking through a loudspeaker without any tool, “It’s the day of the Graduation Ceremony! After six grueling years, it is now time for us to weed out the incompetent ones from those that would bring glory to the Empire for the last time. This is the last gift that I offer you, students of the Imperial Academy. Do you accept?”

All the seniors brought together their legs and put their left hand behind their back in one fluid motion. Afterward, they sharply slammed their chest with their right hand and yelled out, “Yessir!”

Rowan’s words were quieter and it was clear his salutation came out wrong. Thankfully, the principal didn’t notice but one of the students did, resulting in a piercing glare.

“Now, then. Who wishes to start?” asked the principal and turned his gaze at the seniors, but it was clear that his eyes were focused on Peter. Answering the call, Peter stepped forward with a solemn expression on his face. He gave the principal a nod, garnering a response out of him, “Very well, then. Peter Moore is the first to go.”

In one light leap, Peter got up on the one-meter tall platform in the middle. It didn’t seem like it required any effort, as if he was hopping over a short stair. He turned to Rowan and pointed a finger at him.

“Excellent. You’ve been chosen as Peter’s opponent, Rowan Gallagher,” said the principal, and his piercing eyes landed on Rowan, “Please, come up to the stage.”

After exhaling slowly, Rowan took his first step. Each step made him regret his decision. If Peter was stronger than him in this world, it meant that all his bravado would be for nothing. When he jumped up to the platform with far more effort, the difference between them became more pronounced.

“Just so you know, I’m already a Cultivator. You’d do well to give up sooner than later,” said Peter and raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t the type that you did to show curiosity. It was the kind you did to show pity: only the inner side rose, “And I might let you walk away with both of your legs.”

“Fuck. You,” said Rowan, splitting up the words for maximum emphasis.

He’d promised himself that he’d never keep his head down. If a little bit of fear made him grovel, what would he be? If there was a promise he’d never break, it was one that he made with himself. Even if he was beaten half to death or crippled, he’d stay true to his ideals.

“As you all know, anything is allowed as long as it does not result in murder. The fight will not be stopped unless a winner is determined whether it be by withdrawal, ring out, or making the opponent unable to fight,” chimed in the principal helpfully and Rowan got an idea of the rules.

Kiting Peter and then pushing him off the platform was the best option.

“Take your positions,” ordered the principal and they stood facing each other with a distance of five meters.

The intensity of the situation sent adrenaline rushing through Rowan’s entire body. It was obvious that it’d be a single match and in the old reality, all Rowan wanted was a chance to fight him one-on-one but whether he had a chance in this reality… he’d know soon.

“Start!” shouted the principal.

Peter dashed forward with excessive speed that was difficult to react to after a bright red light covered him and slammed a fist deep into Rowan’s abdomen. All the wind escaped his lungs and tears welled in his eyes. There was nothing he could do but kneel to the ground and gasp for breath after Peter pulled back his fist.

“I haven’t even started yet,” added Peter and kicked Rowan in the chest, once again covering his body in the red light for a moment to send him flying a few meters.

Finally, he found himself sprawled on the ground, his entire body aching as if he’d been beaten up by five others like before but that was only two moves.

“Wait,” said Rowan and held a hand in front of him, breathing heavily. It was an impossible match-up. There was no shame in not continuing if he had no chance at all. He turned to the principal and yelled out, “I give up!”

The principal looked at him, lips pursed and eyebrows raised in confusion. Then the principal asked out loud after turning to his opponent, “Do you agree to the terms, Peter?”

“I told you, didn’t I? If you kneel and beg, I’ll let you go,” said Peter and gave him a wink.

Kneel before someone else…

“I’ll give you to the count of ten,” said Peter and started to steadily count down.

Before Rowan even realized it, he was on his knees, staring at the ground in defeat. It was impossible. If Jason, Minion Number One, was a big guy that had a natural advantage against Rowan, Peter was an insurmountable opponent. It was like comparing a big human to a truck.

The difference was drastic and he had no chance in this matchup.

“You don’t even know how to kneel properly? You have to put your forehead on the ground,” said Peter and let out a cackle. He shook his head slowly but before he finished the sentence, Rowan’s head was already on the ground, “Well, the bravado from before is completely gone, huh? If it was anyone else, they’d have smashed your head into the ground but I’m generous so I’ll let you off if you… hmm, let me think. Ah, right. You can shine my boots with your hair. Then I’ll let you surrender.”

To add emphasis to it, Peter placed his shoes atop Rowan’s head and fidgeted it, uncomfortably rubbing his forehead on the ground. The stone drew blood with all the friction and that was when Rowan had enough of it.

He couldn’t keep it up.

Even if he died, he didn’t care anymore.

Letting himself be humiliated like this wasn’t something he’d stand for. He had patience but something like this…

“Pathetic,” said a deep, female voice that he recognized—the demoness from before, “Just like all the others. I’ll start searching again, I suppose.”

Rowan started to feel his eyes blacking out like last time but this time, he fought back. Even as his eyelids became as heavy as dumbbells, Rowan’s willpower kept them wide open. He didn’t give up an inch

“Wait,” he growled and exhaled, “I’m not done yet.”

“Oh? You want me to do it some more?” asked Peter and pushed Rowan’s head harder into the ground, making it feel as if his head was about to explode.

“I haven’t killed the bastard yet,” whispered Rowan and the pressure atop his head instantly disappeared. He could feel footsteps tumbling away from him and he could hear hushed breaths from all around. Far louder than before, he shouted, “I’ll murder him!”

The pressure on his eyelids seemed to lift as well and Rowan looked down at his hands, now covered in an oily black smoke that rose from every inch of his body but the volume was incomparable to Peter’s.

There was too little of it.

“I’m sick of this bullshit,” said Rowan, his voice crisp and clear, which was rare when he was in front of others. Tears flooded down his cheeks but he didn’t feel a thing, “I’m tired of bullies. I’m tired of all of you. The moment you get some money or go to the gym, you toss your sympathy away and oppress those below you. The moment someone you know shows vulnerability, you walk all over them.”

No one answered.

The volume of the smoke increased exponentially, to the point that it obscured his features save for his eyes.

“Beg for mercy? Kneel down? Shine your boots?” asked Rowan, each word filled with such hate and disgust that made him want to vomit. He turned to the principal, nose scrunched but conveniently hidden by the darkness, “The one that’s winning has to agree to the terms? That rule’s screwed up!”

The volume of the darkness was now equal to the light that covered Peter before.

Rowan dashed for Peter like last time, but this time, he didn’t tackle him to the ground. Instead, he made a fist and threw a punch. It had a wind-up and he didn’t use his body. Rowan’s emotions had gotten the better of his common sense and that resulted in a subpar punch, but it still landed on Peter’s cheek and forced him to turn away.

“You… broke through,” mumbled Peter and his eyes sparkled thanks to a stray tear, “You broke through just like that?”

Rowan received a punch to the cheek but it didn’t send him flying away nor did it hurt as much.

This time, Peter was covered by the red aura just as Rowan was covered in the shadows. Despite his training, it was clear that Peter, too, had given up his technical mastery thanks to rage.

What ensued was a flurry of blows that struck across both of them all across their upper body: ribs, chest, shoulders, and the face. Five seconds in, it didn’t matter whose attack was hitting. What mattered was that an attack was hitting at all, both sides slumping from exhaustion.

The duo pulled away for a moment and pounced at each other again. A satisfying hook was on its way to strike Peter’s chin but before the punch connected, Rowan collapsed to the ground and the darkness faded away as if it wasn’t there, leaving him unconscious on the ground.