Navigating through the decaying cityscape he had always held in disdain, he had no hesitation in plundering clothing stores to procure attire suitable for his oversized physique. Fortunately, he was aware of a niche establishment catering to individuals broader than they were tall, conveniently situated near his desired destination.
Delving into the nearby shopping center in search of shoes and cigarettes, he also seized the chance to cleanse himself in the public restroom sink.
*I can lift cars and unleash unparalleled chaos, yet here I am, resorting to wet wipes. Fantastic. *
He thought as he dried himself off, still butt naked but now at least with some shoes and socks on. He made his way toward the clothing store for the generously proportioned. Standing before it, he couldn't help but chuckle a bit.
With his enhanced senses, he could actually feel the weight and pressure of the people who frequented here, along with the sickly sweet sweat that clung to the door handle. Still cautious, he decided to allow himself to experience more, to take notice of his surroundings.
He had all these new possibilities and he intended to make use of them.
Inside, he found some dark sweatpants and a black t-shirt size XXXL that somehow still hugged tightly around his chest and shoulders. He topped it off with an even larger zip-up hoodie to complete the look.
Looking at himself in the dressing room mirror, he scowled. "Great, I look like a typical hooligan," he muttered, exhaling deeply. "Fine, whatever. I'm not going to a fashion show, I'm going to get drunk."
Stepping outside into the bustling street filled with shops, he paused. *Gotta get myself a wallet, * he thought, *I still have some cash on me in storage, but reaching for it every time to pay for drinks from my chest will be annoying.*
Robbing another nearby store to procure a nice, compact leather wallet and some extra cash to fill it, he made his way into the isolated heart of the city district. Exiting the shopping center area, he traversed the labyrinth of towering buildings, step by step, inhale followed by exhale. Cigarette smoke wafted through the gaps in his cheeks and throat where chunks of skin had yet to regenerate.
It hurt, but in a good way. It grounded him in the moment, in his body. It was familiar, something under his control, a part of his routine. It was calming, even as the itchiness when the smoke pushed back against the charred flakes of skin on his throat made him cough and hurt even more.
Entering the old industrial warehouse zone, he noticed the road turning rugged, transitioning from a mismatch of asphalt and grey brick to gravel and large patches of cracked concrete, emitting grating noises with each step.
From a distance, he could hear blaring music and smell the gathering of people, and he smiled, his anticipation growing.
Taking out the ring Monsoon left him, his grin pulled back to a saddened scowl. Not thinking about the price of it, refusing to, he slipped it on and traversed the Veil.
The ring's effects were instantaneous and unexpectedly great. His body folded on itself, and his Avatar in the real showed no scars nor damage. He felt a thin film cover him from head to toe and constrict him tightly; he was worried for a second, but as he moved a bit, it fit him snugly. It became a true fascimilie of what he was, of what he would be right now.
His senses were dampened even more so, and he could feel some sort of spell matrix shutting him out from the world surrounding him. This, combined with his Void-given distortion and aversion of the world towards him, made him unnoticeable.
He looked at his hands, and through his sight, he could see how the now smaller, still roughed and calloused hands yet unblemished by wounds and scars were superimposed over the massive and torn palms, moving perfectly in sync. Even the sickly color of his skin improved in the Real; he was still pale as a ghost but without that creepy, eerie vibe.
No longer looking like a dead man walking.
His build remained the same, just more compressed, and the clothes sagged on him a bit. He was actually happy for that. As he took in his transformed appearance, a twisted smile formed on his lips, his eyes glinting with newfound potential given to him by his mentor.
Making the last thorough check with his powers, he scanned himself. He could feel his powers were more restrained than usual, not drawing at all from the ambient energies.
Not that this made much difference to him; he already knew he was an exception amongs the magical with his immense power generation that sustained him and his magic without the need of replenishment from the outside.
Honestly, he always had more power than he could use or even knew how to use it properly. Like a faucet always turned to the max, just pouring the unending content without reprieve.
As he delved deeper into his own being, a sense of unease crept over him. *hmmmmm, that's weird * he thought as the scan reached his heart. It was still there, it was still generating power, just...weakly, it seemed doused. The roaring flame turned to timid embers, still keeping the Void at bay, just now they seemed... like the silence after a mighty roar. The realization sent a chill down his spine, a flicker of uncertainty in his mind.
The scan allowed him to truly understand how damaged he was right now; the superficial wounds of the flesh seemed inconsequential compared to the damage his innerself suffered after the fight with Klaus.
He was drained of power, with his magical pathways fried and tangled, slowly trying to reconnect and rebuild. With some careful tests, he determined he was less than at 20% of his previous power, and that his body was changing, yet again. He had no idea into what.
The healing matrix kickstarted by instinct was doing its job, but it would take a long time before he fully recovered.
“ Why do I always get fucked up so badly, honestly, shit luck...” he complained absentmindedly as the Club's neon bright lights loomed closer.
With each step, their light showered him, piercing into his eyes, just as the music started pounding not only into his ears but also violently shaking his chest.
"Ahh, the roofie capital of Poland. Some things never change," he said with a melancholic tone in his voice.
He got in line, where about 15 people were already standing outside, eagerly pouring into the building. Looking around, he noticed the parking area surrounding the warehouse was littered with trash, cigarette butts, and people engaged in chain-smoking and small talk. It all felt unnaturally natural to him at that moment—just plain weird yet so familiar.
Moving forward, he couldn't help but wince as his injured ankle protested with each step.
"Fucking Schnitzel," he muttered under his breath, the expletive escaping in a pained whisper as he shifted his weight onto the throbbing limb.
"What did you just say?!" a voice bellowed at him. Startled, he glanced up. He found himself already at the entrance, facing an enraged bouncer. Instinctively, he braced for potential violence, his muscles tensing, but managed to rein in his impulses a split second later. He held back a punch that would break bones at the last second.
An unfamiliar face caught Lukas's attention, prompting him to wonder what else had changed in this place as he observed the bouncer's expression. To his surprise, the man wasn't yelling at him over his remark; rather, he was simply trying to outshout the blaring music. Lukas couldn't help but grin.
"I SAID I WANTED TO ENTER!" he bellowed in response.
"20 ZŁOTYCH! AND DON'T CAUSE ANY TROUBLE!" the bouncer retorted as he scrutinized Lukas.
With a nonchalant shrug, Lukas agreed, handing over the money. As the red rope was lifted aside, he stepped into the crumbling building.
Lukas had nothing to leave at the cloakroom, so he navigated through the tunnel toward the dance floor. The walls pulsed with the thumping bass of the subwoofers, the sound reverberating through the concrete hall, drowning out all other noise, both external and internal.
Coming to a standstill before a plush, ruby-red velvet curtain, Lukas swept it aside with his right hand, revealing the sensory onslaught beyond.
In a mere half-second, he found himself engulfed in the blinding onslaught of strobe lights, their frenetic reflections bouncing madly off the human-sized disco ball suspended from the lofty ceiling. Lukas instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, allowing them to gradually adjust. Suddenly, a forceful shove from behind propelled him forward, thrusting him several steps into the chaotic maelstrom.
Upon opening his eyes, his grin widened. The oppressive darkness of the surroundings was systematically sliced by neon lights, while the air was thick with a putrid scent—a blend of overused, expensive perfume and the stench of sweat. The atmosphere was suffocatingly humid, saturated with the heat emanating from the writhing bodies lost in the frenzy of the dance floor. Scantily clad women spun on stripper poles, their movements fueled by intoxication or drugs, while men indulged in posturing and mindless drinking. It was a scene of raw, primal indulgence, and Lukas reveled in it. He could practically taste the desperation in the air, mingled with the sickly sweet scent of lust and the allure of reckless abandon.
The dance floor was square-shaped, surrounded by benches separated by thin walls, where patrons shouted over one another amidst their drunken revelry. Three tiers of floors with seating encircled the space, but Lukas had no desire to ascend to the highest level. Content to remain downstairs, he scanned the area and spotted a vacant stool near the bar counter. With determination, he began navigating through the tumultuous sea of bodies to reach it.
After a struggle of a walk, Lukas made his way to the counter, using the lingo of an advanced alcoholic, the sign launguage of the deftly thirsty in a room drowned by noise, he indicated to the bartender who cought his eyes.
First, he pointed at her, then at himself, followed by a victorious V sign with his pointer and middle fingers. Next, he used his thumb and pointer finger to indicate the approximate size of a shot glass, finishing by pointing at the counter and nodding with a smile.
The bartender returned his smile and, with practiced ease, conjured two shot glasses filled with clear liquid, each adorned with a lemon slice atop. A crown on a drink meant for royals.
Without a word, they lifted the miniature vessels and, amidst the cacophony, silently toasted each other before effortlessly downing the contents in a single gulp. Neither bothered with the lemon slices—how could they?
With a satisfied smile, Lukas shouted to her, "And a beer! With coconut syrup!"
"WITH WHAT?!" she responded, clearly puzzled by his request.
"COCONUT!" Lukas yelled so forcefully that his throat clenched up.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Though surprised, the bartender complied with his demand, unfazed by his intensity, and handed him the peculiar concoction, complete with a straw that promptly caused the beer to spill across the rubber counter. With lightning speed, Lukas snatched up the glass and began to eagerly drink the frothy overflow. Once the initial frenzy subsided, he withdrew his mouth from the amber liquid and grinned.
"Some things just don't change."
Extracting a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he lit one up, the tiny blaze illuminating the tip of the cigarette. Lukas became transfixed by the mesmerizing sight of the individual strands of tobacco heating and igniting—a private light show of his own creation.
And so, his evening began, a refuge where he could confront his thoughts. Shot by shot, and beer by beer, his turbulent mind slowly succumbed to the numbing embrace of alcohol, making his inner turmoil more manageable. By the time he began to slur his words, requesting his self-invented drink, the Tears of the Macho Man, several hours had slipped away, and the clock had long since struck midnight.
An all-too-familiar impulse washed over him.
His nose began to itch.
"The Great Devourer," he chuckled to himself.
Deciding it was an opportune moment to stretch his legs, Lukas slid off the metal stool with a stiff landing. Drink in hand, he extended his long arms, allowing his shoulder blades and elbows to emit loud cracks as the thick muscles surrounding them flexed like coiled serpents. Next, he twisted his neck from side to side, the muscles and tendons straining and protruding like taut cables.
CRACK.
CRACK, CRACK.
POP.
"Aaaaaahhhhh, just what I needed," he exhaled contentedly, slamming back his drink and placing the empty glass on the counter. With a pointed gesture to the bartender for a refill, he settled his dues and left a generous tip before turning on his heel and making his way to the upper decks. There, he intended to soak in the panoramic view and seek out something a bit more crystalline to brighten his evening.
Moving forward, Lukas found himself increasingly distracted by his heightened magical senses. The densely packed crowd in the cramped space overwhelmed him, and the alcohol coursing through his veins only compounded his struggle for self-control. Ever since unlocking his Gaze, which granted him deeper insight into the magical world, he had become more sensitive and twitchy to his surroundings. Much of it remained unknown and unsettling.
On a whim, he decided to invoke the Lock In technique taught to him by Jerzy. With focused intent, he ran the knuckle of his right thumb against six specific spots on his body in a precise order and rhythm. Completing the sequence with a gentle knock on his brow, he felt his entire being constrict and his perception narrow. He staggered slightly.
"UFF," he exclaimed, surprised by the sensation. It had been many months since he last locked his body to the level of a purely mortal. Without the influx of magical signals from the outside world, his passive enhancement ceased, leaving only his physical prowess, still above average but no longer bolstered by external power. It was almost fitting for his stature. Even the magical healing matrix shut down, allowing the dull ache of his body and the lingering effects of alcohol to assert themselves more prominently.
With his magical abilities now requiring his full conscious focus and will to cast, Lukas felt a surge of heat spreading through his limbs, enveloping his entire body in warmth. Absentmindedly, he began to entertain the thought that he might be teetering on the edge of alcoholism. Determined to avoid such a fate, he intensified his search for dealers with renewed fervor.
Grasping the metal pole that marked the beginning of the railing on the industrial stairs, Lukas swung his body around to take the first step, careful not to spill his drink in the process of indulging in this fleeting moment of amusement.
As his feet descended onto the stairs, causing them to tremble slightly, Lukas noticed the telltale signs of rust hidden beneath a thick layer of paint. It crumbled only slightly under his grip. Lukas couldn't help but smile at the discovery, pausing for a moment to block the staircase as he stared dumbfoundedly at his tightened palm, like an idiot staring at a wheel of cheese.
* I could rip this metal pole into to with a swipe, I could punch those walls down, given some time I could probably explode this place in one move or maybe collapse the ceiling, killing everyone here in just a moment. Crazy, all of this is just plain crazy...*
Lost in contemplation, a sudden jolt interrupted his reverie. Someone rudely shoulder-checked him, nearly causing him to trip and spill a precious drop of his liquid sustenance.
Chuckling at the near mishap, Lukas caught the eye of the offender, who turned around with a surprised expression.
"Sorry, sorry, don't mind me," Lukas cheerfully apologized to the cocky individual, all the while knowing he could effortlessly snap the man's spine with a single fluid motion.
Continuing his ascent up the 20 stairs, Lukas took in the sights of the dance floor below, marveling at the scene as if observing a theatrical performance. To him, it seemed far more akin to magic than any fireball ever could. The intricate tapestry of Fate that wove together the lives of the people gathered in this space fascinated him. The convergence of their daily experiences culminating in this singular moment was nothing short of mesmerizing.
After ascending to the first floor, Lukas began to circle the building along the guardrails, his palm gliding gently against the lukewarm metal, slick with the accumulated perspiration of the gathered throng.
He observed the bodies below, twisting, jumping, moving almost in unison to the same tempo, the same rhythm—a sight reminiscent of an occult ritual unfolding before his eyes. The energies they generated—kinetic, thermal—mingled with the smells of sweat and exertion, the cacophony of sounds, the sensations of touch, and the tastes of the air. It was a complex tapestry of experiences woven into something so commonplace. Never before had he been so acutely aware of it, yet now he realized he had always been drawn to it, to that primal behavior.
Absently, Lukas shoulder-bumped someone shorter than him, offering a brief apology before attempting to resume his circuit around the building.
Feeling a push against his back, Lukas turned to find himself confronted by a manlet—a knockoff of a known brand adorned with cheap gold-laced jewelry, attempting to size him up. Lukas was caught off guard by the encounter, unprepared for the confrontation.
Locking eyes with the stranger, Lukas immediately discerned the truth: the man was high. His dilated pupils, surrounded by beads of sweat and veins pulsating beneath the surface, betrayed his altered state. A clenched jaw, teeth grinding, and a manic glint in his eyes further confirmed Lukas's suspicions. As the man's fist trembled, his shirt, drenched in sweat, clung to his pig-like belly, the droplets of perspiration merging into a larger pool by the moment.
But it was the eyes that unsettled Lukas the most. Despite his extensive experience with drugs, ,,Boosters” and research chemicals, he had never encountered an effect quite like this. The veins in the man's eyes appeared abnormal, streaked with hues of bronze and purple—a detail that would have required a mortal to strain to notice, but to Lukas, it was glaringly obvious.
* Weird.* he thought.
Luke just bowed, apologising profiously and made distance as quickly as possible. No need to make any unnecesary trouble.
Lost in contemplation, Lukas continued his journey, eventually arriving at the restroom on the first floor. The pulsating crowd had mesmerized him, each individual adding to the intricate tapestry of thoughts and ideas swirling through his mind. The physical, in itself, was a maze of thought and ideas that would take hours to travel through, but even through his dampened senses he could expierience the etheral. The mystical.
It was remarkable how such a seemingly mundane location held such intensity for him.
As he traversed the dance floor, Lukas could feel the dense energies swirling around him, resisting his touch as he traced his fingers through the air. The intent, the will, the desire—it was all palpable, rich with potential.
Lost in his reverie, Lukas arrived at the restroom almost unconsciously. Taking stock of the occupants inside, he noted five men standing shoulder to shoulder, their attention focused on their respective tasks. One individual was washing his hands, while two stalls were occupied—one being emptied and the other suspiciously occupied by a man in a hoodie, his demeanor guarded and eyes darting around.
Lukas had found his target.
Approaching the man with purpose, he made direct eye contact, ready to confront the suspicious figure.
"Sup, man? Got anything good for me?" Lukas asked the dealer directly, catching him off guard with his straightforwardness.
"Do I know you?" the dealer responded suspiciously.
"No, but we can quickly become best friends, buddy," Lukas replied with a smile, flashing his wallet filled with paper bills.
The sight of the bills seemed to entice the dealer, who smiled in response and began reaching for his fanny pack.
Greed, Lukas observed, another constant in the ever-changing world. More powerful than reason or instinct. The realization threatened to engulf him in melancholy, but he shook it off—there were more pressing matters at hand.
"What you got?" Lukas inquired, licking his lips in anticipation.
"I got this new shit, man, it will rock your world. These eyedrops, The Blitz, we call it. It just sends you flying," the dealer responded eagerly, twitching at the mere mention of the drug. Lukas frowned at the reaction; it reminded him of crackheads and heroin enthusiasts, and he wanted none of that.
"Nah, nah, nah, none of that. Mephedrone and speed, got that?" Lukas objected firmly.
"...Yeah, got that too, but you're missing out, man. This shit rocks. How much you want?" the dealer replied, rummaging through his stash.
"3 grams of speed and 5 grams of mephedrone. Speed to dry out the nose, mef to clog it," Lukas declared proudly.
The man froze, giving Lukas a quizzical look. After a moment's pause, he shrugged, indifferent to the buyer's peculiar request.
"Sure, sure, here you go. If that gets boring, you know where to find some better shit, man," the dealer remarked casually as he exchanged the goods for money.
"Yeah, yeah, thanks," Lukas replied, swiftly pocketing the package before making his way to an empty toilet stall to test the product.
The sound of crystals being crushed drowned out the chaos from outside as Lukas focused intently on his task. The light from the lone bulb above cast an eerie glow on the reservoir.
Exhale, inhale, and then the pain followed.
His pupils dilated.
The saltiness hit.
"AAAAAAH!" Lukas exclaimed, squirming to shake off the overwhelming sensation coursing through his nervous system.
"I missed this. I missed this so much," he whispered to himself as joy flooded his senses, the fuzziness enveloping his mind. In that moment, he was content.
But he could be more.
He packed another two lines up the nostrils, and as the trembling took over and his teeth grinded, he left the toilet. Not even sparing a glance at the dealer, he started traversing the balcony once again, a watcher above the dance floor.
He walked around aimlessly, passing row after row of sofas, chairs, and tens of people. The place bustling with movement like an anthill.
On the end of the terrace, just behind the stairs to the upper floor, which Luke had no intention to even look at, he saw some erratic movement and got interested.
He moved closer and rested his back on the guardrail, just close enough to see what was happening in the dark corner, and far enough not to seem too interested in it. For anyone who would care to look, a tall man was just resting his elbows on the balustrade while enjoying his drink and sniffling a bit too much.
He rested his tired elbows on the flaking paint, allowing his body to relax as the tension drained away from his muscles. His head drooped, surrendering to the flood of chemicals enveloping his senses.
This, this was the moment of respite he craved so badly.
Peering discreetly, he surveyed the scene. Behind the staircase were three couches arranged in a U shape, with a table nestled amidst them. Smoke billowed from the concealed alcove, carrying the unmistakable scent of pot mixed with tobacco.
Luke wrinkled his nose in distaste; he detested that smell.
The couches were occupied by a mix of individuals, mostly men with a smattering of women, their bodies subject to groping and teasing by eager hands. Joy radiated from their faces, fueled by the attention of their admirers. Luke scrutinized them more closely, noting the telltale discoloration in their eyes, reminiscent of the man he encountered earlier, though more pronounced, more visible.
Luke made the connection.
"The Blitz," he muttered to himself, recalling the dealer's mention of eyedrops. He had initially dismissed the offer, preferring substances he could snort, but now his curiosity was piqued. The men appeared to be under the influence of higher doses, their eyes reflecting the effects of the drops. Though obstructed by the staircase, Luke could discern enough; small bottles of eyedrops littered the table, mingling with ash and spilled alcohol. Some droplets of the fluid remained, their colors matching the bronze and purple hues that now dominated the whites of the users' eyes.
With the gaze of a seasoned specialist, he began scrutinizing the afflicted with newfound intensity.
The club pulsated with heat and humidity, yet it failed to justify the profuse patches of sweat and glistening droplets on their foreheads. Sweat trickled down their bodies in rivulets, accentuating the pronounced veins that snaked across their skin. The bold ones were so veiny and pulsating they looked like erect members. Luke was certain it was some form of stimulant; even the fattest among them bore the telltale signs of vascular engorgement, reminiscent of steroid abuse.
They shook, trembled and couldn't stay still for even a second, more proof of the stimulants, but their behaviour was more erratic, they responded subconciously to the flashing lights and blasting music much more than normal person would, one may be possible but the whole group? The drug must have enhanced the senses, Luke knew how MDMA can make you more sensitive to touch, or some Acid or DMT can make you perceive colors and sounds more vividly but this seemed diffrent.
Intriguing.
Lost in contemplation, Luke observed as someone emerged from the shadows, presumably concealed behind the stairs. And what a revelation she proved to be.
Tall, towering over Luke by half a head, her lithe form moved with a fluid grace as she retreated swiftly. Each step she took was rapid yet composed, imbued with a subtle rhythm that resonated with every stride. Her legs were a sight to behold, seemingly endless, with thick thighs barely concealed by a short skirt and encased in black pantyhose. They stretched skyward, culminating in hips that held a mesmerizing allure for Luke, captivating him like nothing he had encountered in the past year. Broad and perfectly contoured, with well defined lines separating them from her juicy legs. Though he only caught a glimpse of her profile, he couldn't deny the beautiful shape of her butt, even as a twinge of guilt and shame flickered in his mind at the thought, unable to tear his gaze away from her.
With each movement, her hips swayed in a hypnotic rhythm, offering fleeting glimpses of breathtaking curves yet withholding complete satisfaction, the hem of her skirt skimming just above her thighs, accentuating her form and highlighting her flat stomach. Though her muscles were not overtly pronounced, their subtle definition spoke volumes of her dedication to physical fitness and core strength.
Lifting his gaze, Luke noted the porcelain likeness of her skin, reminiscent of moonlight; flawless and unblemished, it gleamed under the harsh club lights, its unnaturally smooth texture akin to sculpted, polished marble, a living piece of art.
Her upper body held an undeniable allure, epitomizing feminine grace and elegance. Draped in a form-fitting top, her torso displayed a subtle curve at the waist that melded seamlessly into the gentle swell of her hips. The black fabric caught the club lights, accentuating the contours of her figure with a mesmerizing gleam. Though veiled in shadow, the elegant slope of her petite shoulders hinted at a hidden sensuality, drawing the eye with subtle grace.
Her neck, slender and graceful, emerged from her shoulders with effortless poise, leading the eye to the pronounced collarbones that peeked through beneath. Long, sleek strands of black hair framed her face, interwoven with strands of white that added a striking contrast. Though partially concealed by her dark locks, her collarbones hinted at a quiet strength, enhancing the mesmerizing beauty of her neck and shoulders.
Luke was entranced, swept away by the moment and ensnared by the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes, perched above flushed, prominent cheekbones, shimmered with a radiance that outshone the neon lights. Their mischievous sparkle mirrored the playful curve of her lips. A hue reminiscent of her own complexion, they were gray, hazy, and reflective, hinting at depths untold. Though they exuded an air of playfulness, they concealed a multitude of unspoken truths, piercing yet serene, belying the complexity that lay beneath their seemingly carefree facade.
So lost in the moment he was, Luke barely registered the man lurking in the shadows beneath the stairs, his intent written across his sweat-soaked brow as he lunged towards the woman with manic fervor. Reacting on pure instinct and fueled by a surge of adrenaline, Luke sprang into action with lightning speed.
With a rapid motion, he raised his knee and brought it crashing down with the force of a sledgehammer. Just before he would hit the ground, he tethered the telekinetic magic to the assailant, targeting the vulnerable joint of the man's right knee just as he shifted his weight onto it. The impact was like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves rippling through the assailant's leg and sending him crashing to the ground in a whirlwind of pain and curses.
Though the woman's initial surprise was palpable, her reaction was not what Luke had anticipated. Instead of fear or relief, her gaze bore into him with a newfound intensity, as her head snapped to the site and their eyes met, her smile blossomed even more.
She immidietly started walking towards him, the sway of her wide hips even more hypnotizing as she face him.
He had to focus, frustrated, he switched where he looked at, there were more man coming out from under the stairs, some helping their fallen comrade, others purely looking for trouble, itching for a fight.