Joe's gaming chair creaked like old bones as he shot forward with a lopsided grin on his face. "This is it guys, the moment we've all been waiting for..."

Finally, all those hours grinding through levels in Isekai Cultivator: Immortal Realms were about to pay off. They were ready to delve into the dungeon at the base of Immortal Mountain.

“Today's going to be a great day, I can feel it.”

A pop-up flashed on his screen. His AI Butler sent him a notification from his bank. Choosing to ignore it, he flicked it away with his mouse not wanting it to sour his good mood.

The familiar squirrely voice crossed over the comms. "Did you hear the one about the goddess who got truck-kun’d?"

He shook his head, watching every movement on the screen. “Quit goofing off, Kyle...even gods can die in this game...everyone needs to stay sharp."

He winced as a deep-set voice thundered in his ears. "I vote we take a break." His college friend Raya had always been one to crash at his pad before Joe had gotten more serious with ditching the bachelor pad at his girlfriend’s request.

Joe sighed. "Ah come on man, we made it this far, just one more hour."

Raya’s deep-set voice boomed back. “Nah man! We've work in a few hours. You're braver than me if you can face the wrath of Mike for eight hours straight while sleep deprived."

"Junior, you dare?" Kyle, first to respond over the clicking of his gaming keyboard.

Laughter filled the comms. This was Joe's favorite place to be—far from the pile of bills and the ghost of a relationship gone south.

He grabbed another seaweed snack, careful not to rustle the packet. Kyle’s hearing was so good he could hear a mouse fart a mile away.

"I don't know how you can eat so much of that stuff." Kyle’s healer stopped in front of a long passage.

Joe shrugged, though no one could see him except his AI Butler, the only thing he managed to build nearly free of cost from broken returns found in the hardware store. "My crappy salary barely covers the rent on this 'cozy' apartment. Butler is thrifty, bought a ton of it online at a discount—cheaper than ramen."

Kyle’s clacking stopped. "I'm telling you man, make Samantha cover some rent, she's practically moved in."

"Now that's funny!” Raya’s laughter boomed through the headset. “She's tighter than a camel's hole in a sandstorm."

Joe’s shoulders sagged. "She left..."

Silence.

Kyle drummed his fingers across his keyboard. "Okay thirty more minutes, and then I'm punching off the clock."

There they stood ready to enter the dungeon and complete the Immortal Mountain Divine Quest. Joe’s mouth went dry. He licked his salty lips.

Everything in him crackled and hummed above the restless city outside.

Joe crushed his salted seaweed wrapper in his hand and tossed it in the bin.

Kyle cleared his throat. “Before we get all serious I never finished my joke. Did you hear the one about the goddess who got truck-kun’d?”

A knock at the door jolted Joe forward in his chair.

Damn!

Prank pizza order? It wouldn’t be the first time.

The knock came again, louder this time. “Joe Grant. Please open the door…”

That did not sound good.

Hey, Joe typed in the chat. I’m going mobile. Kyle you lead the way, and Raya keep an eye out for ogres.

Joe paused the game and switched to his cell before he stood, a knot forming in his stomach. He lurched toward the door and peered through the peephole, his heart skipping a beat.

Two figures stood outside, stern and official, dressed in black suits.

Why the hell's Mulder and Scully looking for me?

Butler: Perhaps they are wondering where all the money in your bank came from? I can explain it to them if you like.

Joe checked the notification he'd ignored earlier.

His eyes widened. There were too many zeros going in the wrong direction. “Butler!” His conversation with his AI only days earlier about pulling in money from the monopoly of Mattress Mick stores around the block must have been misinterpreted to solve his debt problems.

“We’re coming in!” A quick bang against the door resonated like a steel-toed boot kicking the wood. The door frame shuddered and sent his heart racing.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Game over." Joe whispered, a wry smile fading as he backed away from the door and grabbed his hoodie.

As another set of loud thuds slammed against the door, he ran to the small second story balcony. With a surge of adrenaline, he slid his sneakers down the sides of the fire escape, landing with a quick thud. Yelling followed from above as he sprinted into the alleyway and turned, bumping into the pedestrians in the crosswalk. At the last minute he leapt out of the way of a cyclist. Breathless, he slowed behind a group of older ladies window shopping the antique storefronts. The displays showcased an array of intriguing artifacts and glassware.

Distant shouts shifted his gaze over his shoulder. He needed a hideout. Nodding a quick apology, he ducked underneath a pointed finger and grabbed the metal handle. “Excuse me, ladies.”

He dismissed their gasps as the door swished open, accompanied by the gentle jingle of bells. Blinking, Joe took a moment to readjust his vision to the dim overhead lights. A sweet aroma of incense filtered through the packed air, barely overshadowing the musty collection of dust layered thick on copper kettles.

A woman dressed in a white nightgown and thick rollers covering her black hair eyed him as he stepped further inside, the end of a long cigarette dangling from her downturned mouth. She turned, speaking what sounded like Cantonese as a thin man stood from a chair.

Joe flashed him a smile as the shopkeeper grunted and gestured to the back.

His wife grabbed the rolled newspaper from the counter, and the old man flinched. “It’s your turn to deal with the snot-nosed punk.” She exhaled, a trail of smoke filtering into the old man’s face.

The old man’s eyes flickered with displeasure as he wafted the lingering cigarette smoke away.

Keeping his distance, Joe’s eyes widened as he swore he saw the light gray puff slither into the shape of a dragon before disappearing.

Shuffling his feet, the old man’s long beard trailed along the counter. “You come here in search of something special?”

Joe scratched the back of his head before raising his hood. “Just browsing.”

“People don't come here to browse. They come here to buy, buy something that you've been missing from your life.” The old man smirked.

Joe had been missing a lot from his life. He walked over to a bookcase in the far aisle, giving him a slight view outside from the dark-tinted windows. Glancing at his phone, his shoulders tensed—bad reception.

The old man released a long, drawn-out chuckle. “You might find something useful there if you actually open a book.” His eyes twinkled underneath the dim light.

Shadows ran by the windows, and Joe side-stepped behind the bookcase. He winced as he bumped into a display wall of antiques, their rattling indicating their fragility. Turning, he palmed the edge of a plate from falling, but it shifted every other object to the further end.

In an instant, the old man’s hand appeared, catching the teapot. “Be careful, junior.” He placed the antique pot into an empty slot.

“It’s been a long morning already.” Joe grabbed a cloth-bound book, its rough texture similar to dirt-filled burlap. “A Titan’s Core.”

The old man stroked his beard. “If you wish to rest and look over before you buy, there is seating near the back.” He gestured down the aisle.

Joe chewed his cheek as he glanced back through the windows. He didn’t know how long the authorities would be searching the area, but there would be no way he’d risk stepping out front into the open.

Nodding, he tucked the book under his arm and squeezed past a few more delicate display cabinets.

“What?” He scoffed, glancing at the scratched cushion that had more burn holes than thread to keep it together. Shaking his head, he peered through a cracked door. Storage with space to walk and empty crates.

Settling into the back, Joe's eyes caught the slow movement of a plastic paw from one of those lucky cats he'd seen grace the entrances of many restaurants in the south side of town. It clicked with each movement like it was hung up on a broken piece. He raised a brow, causing a drop of sweat to trail down the corner of his eye. He couldn't have picked a more cramped, humid store for a hideout.

The book’s spine cracked as he opened it to the first page, attempting to bypass the time without adequate satellite connection.

Even the gods can die.

Joe chuckled at the irony, glancing at his phone—still only one bar fading in and out of existence. The chat from Kyle and Raya showed the three blinking dots like Kyle was still typing the answer to a long-winded joke. He sighed and swiped to form his own words in the chat, the subtle vibrations from his haptic keyboard providing him a sense of hope he’d reach one of his gaming buds. If his fingers weren't so thick, he would have punched his message with the tiny keys to prolong the distraction he needed from his thoughts.

Eh, what's the punchline?

He waited, his message delayed in sending across his ghost IP in the back of the little shop. Squatting on an empty black crate, sturdy enough to hold his weight, he grimaced. Worse than a clock, the plastic cat’s wide eyes stared at him from the corner shelf.

He glanced back at the book and continued reading A Titan’s Core to drown out the endless clicking of the cat’s paw.

> …Time passed in a pain-filled haze.

>

> Baldor sighed with relief as soon as his senses returned. His lip curled in disgust as the titan core absorbed the crimson red splashes as if mocking him with a blood pact. He slammed his hands down. He’d take the immortal titan core and find a way to destroy it for good.

Reaching the last page of the chapter, Joe related to Baldor's warring emotions of fear and courage. Closing the book, he let his hands linger over the title's faded gold lettering. The scent and texture of the old pages brought back warm memories of his grandpa's library.

Joe loved reading, and this story had really caught his interest. He wondered how much time had slipped by—maybe half an hour, perhaps a bit more.

Time to move on before he wore out his welcome.

Joe meandered to the front of the shop, lingering long enough for the old man to return from distant bickering. He peeked through the tinted window. Things seemed calm outside.

The old man nodded. “My books always find their right owner.”

“Yeah…I hope it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.” He tapped the counter with his card, hesitant to use stolen cash, but more than eager to leave the stifling shop.

The wrinkled hand of the old man gestured in front of him. “Your money's no good here. Take it, and you’ll owe me a favor.”

No matter how little money Joe had, he always insisted on paying his own way, but now wasn’t the time to argue. He made a mental note to keep it as an IOU, nodding his thanks.

He shoved open the door, inhaling a breath of fresh air as the phone beeped in his hand. Stepping off the curb, he glanced down—full bars and a notification from Kyle.

Turns out immortality ends at a crosswalk.

He laughed with satisfaction and glanced back up only to find two men dressed in black yelling and holding out their hands.

His muscles tensed, but his body jolted with the sudden impact of steel metal. The sickening final image seared into his mind as his limbs twisted at unnatural angles before everything went black.