Viga stood still, surveying the dreamlike landscape around him. His eyes scanned the twisted, decaying buildings and the swirling kaleidoscope of colors in the sky above. Despite the familiarity of this bizarre world, a sense of unease crept up his spine.

He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking as his fingers tightened. Viga took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Why now? After all these years, why was he being pulled back into this world?

Memories of some of his previous visits flooded his mind – the strange, distorted objects that seemed to mirror the emotional states of their owners, the monstrous rat-like creatures that had once attacked him, and the warmth that had blossomed from within, granting him newfound abilities.

Viga's brow furrowed as he tried to understand the reason for his return. He had an idea, and he was certain it was connected to the return of the dream. But why now? It had been so many years since he had that dream, and he thought his adventure in the bizarre world was over. The only connection he still had to the bizarre world was the Land of Faith.

Viga's gaze dropped to his hands, clad in supple leather gloves – a relic from his younger days spent adventuring in this realm. His fingers traced the worn material, memories flickering behind his eyes.

A slight shift of weight made him aware of the reassuring weight across his back. Reaching over his shoulder, Viga's hand closed around the smooth wooden shaft of his spear. He pulled it free, marveling at the meticulously carved haft and deadly steel tip. This treasured weapon had seen him through countless battles in this world.

These two items stood in stark contrast to the simple clothes he had been wearing back in the real world – his khakis and casual shirt from his go-to outfit when going out. Viga was startled by the sudden change; whenever he traversed into the Land of Faith, his attire remained the same as what he was wearing before traversing. But now, as he was finally back in the depths of the bizarre world, remnants of his former self resurfaced.

He remembered the first time the rules had changed, when he crossed over at sixteen years old into the Land of Faith. Before then, his adventures in the bizarre world had transported him fully, garbed in the battle-worn armor, weapons, and clothes befitting an intrepid explorer—items he had collected over years of adventuring.

But on that fateful day when the Land of Faith first called to him, everything shifted. His outfit remained the same as what he was wearing before being transported, and he could no longer use the full weight of his bizarre world garments and gear.

Viga sighed, giving the spear an experimental twirl, reacquainting himself with its balanced weight. He thought he had lost it forever...

Viga tightened his grip on the spear, the familiar weapon feeling like an extension of his arm. But as reassuring as its presence was, he couldn't help but wonder where the rest of his gear had gone. His eyes scanned the area around him, searching for any sign of his other belongings.

The twin kampilan swords that usually hung at his waist were nowhere to be seen. Those blades had been his constant companions, perfectly balanced for the intricate arnis martial arts techniques he had honed over the years. Viga felt a pang of loss at their absence, like he was missing a limb.

His fingers twitched, longing for the smooth texture of his bamboo bow and the reassuring weight of the quiver filled with arrows. He remembered the day he had acquired them during a fateful field trip to the museum. He hadn't expected to be transported into the bizarre world during that trip. It had been one of his earliest adventures, taking him outside his usual area and filled with narrow escapes and close calls with the strange denizens of that realm.

But as much as Viga missed his trusted weapons, there was something else weighing even heavier on his mind – the absence of his most prized possessions, his collection of bottles. Those unassuming glass containers held far more importance than any blade or bow.

Viga closed his eyes, picturing the rows of bottles he had curated over the years. Each one contained a memory, a piece of his journey through this world. The very essence of the bizarre world seemed to be captured within those bottles.

Those bottles were more than just mementos - they held unimaginable power. Even having just one with him at this moment would be more helpful than his weapons. Viga hoped that, like his spear and gloves, those bottles and some of his other things would return.

Tightening his grip on the spear as he stood there, lost in thought, he finally noticed the changes. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, charged with an energy he could almost taste. It was as if the bizarre world itself was holding its breath.

Viga's fingers flexed, and he could feel the familiar warmth stirring within him, like embers being stoked back to life. This energy, this inner fire, had also come back alongside some of his things. He thought he wouldn't have any of this anymore. Ever since that fateful day of being transported to the Land of Faith, this warmth was also gone, not gone per se, much more like sealed. He could feel that it was there, but it seemed like he couldn't use it.

Then the bizarre world, as if releasing its breath, converged on Viga, making the warmth inside him grow slowly. Then, as if the plug in a drain was released, it came gushing forth. The warmth grew in speed. He could feel the changes it wrought in his body.

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Viga gasped as the warmth flooded his veins, a searing yet invigorating sensation coursing through him. His muscles seemed to thrum with newfound vitality, and he could feel his senses sharpening, becoming more attuned to the strange energies permeating this world.

The air around him shimmered, and Viga could almost see the currents of power swirling, beckoning to be harnessed. He instinctively reached out, grasping at the invisible strands, and the warmth within him responded, coalescing into a tangible force.

Viga clenched and unclenched his fist, marveling at the tangible force he now held. This was a new ability, one he didn't have in his younger days. He could also feel warmth pulsing through his veins, responding to his mere thoughts.

Flexing his fingers, Viga watched as the energy coalesced into a shimmering orb, hovering just above his palm. He reached out with his other hand, gingerly poking at the orb. It was solid, yet seemed to ripple like liquid at his touch.

This is real, he thought, a sense of wonder washing over him. After all this time, his abilities from the bizarre world had returned, upgraded into something new. But what could he do with this orb? It didn't come with an instruction manual.

Viga was beginning to wonder when the orb suddenly dissipated and was absorbed. He felt the warmth converging around his chest, centering on the familiar spot where a circle had always been. As the energy concentrated there, the circle began to appear on his skin, glowing with a soft, pulsing light that bled through his clothes.

Viga gasped as intricate lines started etching themselves within the circle's confines that started from the dot on the center. One by one, they appeared, weaving an intricate pattern that seemed to thrum with power. He recognized some of the lines from his younger days—they had been faint then, but now they were clearly visible. Others were entirely new to him.

The sensations were overwhelming, and Viga found himself sinking to one knee, his breath coming in ragged pants. He could feel the bizarre world's energy saturating his very being, attuning him to its rhythms and patterns in a way he hadn't experienced before.

Viga remained on one knee, his body trembling as the energy coursed through him. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume him. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his muscles burned with the strain of containing this newfound power.

Gradually, through sheer force of will, Viga began to regain control. He focused on his breathing, drawing in deep, steadying breaths. With each exhalation, he could feel the energy within him settling, becoming less chaotic and more aligned with his own being.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Viga felt the turbulence subside. The warmth still thrummed beneath his skin, but it was no longer a raging inferno threatening to burn him from the inside out. It had become a steady, pulsing flame – powerful, yet tamed by his own resolve.

Bracing himself against the shaft of his spear, Viga rose to his feet, his legs still slightly unsteady. He rolled his shoulders, marveling at the newfound strength and vitality he could feel in his limbs. It was as if the bizarre world had imbued him with a level of prowess he had never known before.

Viga's gaze fell downward near his collarbone, drawn to what was underneath his clothes. He immediately pried them open and was greeted by the intricate lines etched onto his skin, glowing with an inner light. He traced the familiar markings with his fingertips, a sense of awe washing over him. These were the remnants of his past adventures, the echoes of the power he had once wielded in this world.

But there were new additions as well, lines after lines that he didn't recognize. Viga could feel the energy emanating from these new markings, a tantalizing promise of untapped potential waiting to be unleashed.

As he studied the lines, a realization began to dawn on Viga. This transformation, this infusion of power – it wasn't a mere whim of the bizarre world. No, this was a reward, a culmination of all his efforts and triumphs in the Land of Faith.

For years, he had fought tirelessly to defend that place, vanquishing foes and protecting the faithful. Yet, throughout that time, he had received no tangible rewards, only accolades and recognition from those who knew about the Land of Faith. The only other compensation was the knowledge that what he thinks he was doing was right, upholding the beliefs and safeguarding the faithful.

But now, it seemed that the bizarre world had a different idea. And in its own enigmatic way, it had returned what seems rightfully his – a wellspring of power unlike anything he had experienced before.

As for the orb, it wasn't a new ability as he thought, but rather some sort of essence that accumulated over time, saved and stored by the bizarre world for him. Could the orb be akin to a large amount of fairy dust?

Viga clenched his fist, feeling the energy thrumming just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He didn't know the full extent of his newfound abilities, nor did he understand the reason behind this transformation. But one thing was certain—he was excited to discover what he could do with this newfound power. The bizarre world had become more exciting than ever. He was truly back, and more powerful than before.

A determined gleam shone in Viga's eyes as he straightened his stance, gripping his spear with renewed purpose. The bizarre world had seen fit to reward him, and there was no better way to thank it than by embarking on a new adventure. However, he would be more cautious than ever before—no new power can save anyone from stupidity. From what Viga knew, there were no free gifts in this world. If the bizarre world granted something, it also meant facing corresponding challenges, often more difficult than the strength bestowed. This was based on his experiences in his younger days.

Viga surveyed his surroundings with a renewed sense of purpose, the weight of his spear grounding him in the present moment. Although the reasons behind his return to the bizarre world remained a mystery, he knew dwelling on unanswerable questions would only hinder his progress. Time would reveal the truth when it was meant to be known.

For now, his focus shifted to the more pressing matter at hand—determining his next course of action. Lingering out in the open left him vulnerable, especially in this urban area teeming with fog-like creatures that thrived in chaotic places mirroring the situation of their real-world counterparts.

Viga's brow furrowed as he considered his options. Staying put was ill-advised, but blindly wandering into the unknown carried its own set of risks. He needed to find a secure location, a temporary haven where he could gather his bearings and formulate a plan.

His gaze swept across the dilapidated buildings, searching for any sign of shelter. Many of the structures appeared rundown and decrepit, their walls crumbling and windows shattered – a reflection of whatever problems the people live there was plaguing real-world counterparts.

His keen eyes searching for any glimmer of hope amidst the decay. While many buildings mirrored the turmoil plaguing their real-world counterparts, he knew there had to be exceptions – places where resilience and joy still thrived despite the challenges.

With a deep, resolute breath, Viga began to walk forward, his steps crunching against the debris-strewn pavement. He moved with a purposeful stride, his spear gripped tightly in his hand, ready to defend himself if needed.

He had barely taken five steps when a piercing scream rent the air, shattering the eerie silence that had enveloped the area. Viga froze, his body tensing as the sound reverberated through him, stirring a sense of familiarity that sent a chill down his spine.

Without hesitation, he whirled around, his gaze sweeping the area as he tried to pinpoint the source of the scream. A knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach as he recognized the voice—a voice he had heard earlier, one that was not easily forgotten.

Gripping his spear tighter, Viga rushed back the way he had come, his feet pounding against the pavement as he raced toward the origin of the scream. His heart hammered in his chest, fueled by a desperate hope that he would reach the source before it was too late.