Chapter 02
Man's Best Friend
Jon's fingers clung to the cold metal pole with the desperation of a man holding onto the last vestige of reality. The semi-invisible hands, large and unyielding, grasped him with a force that seemed to mock the laws of physics and common sense. "Help! Someone, for the love of—this can’t be happening!"
The alley around him blurred, the dim light from the street creating eerie shadows that danced mockingly on the walls. Jon's mind raced, a jumbled mess of panic and disbelief, as he prayed to every deity he could think of, and even a few he made up on the spot. "Not like this," he pleaded, "What the actual fuck is even this?" he gasped, his voice cracking as the invisible force dragged him further away from the safety of the street.
In this dire tableau of absurdity, a figure appeared at the alley's entrance—a ray of hope in human form. Jon's eyes widened, a surge of relief momentarily dulling the fear. "You! You there!" he yelled, the relief in his voice tinged with hysteria.
The man, pausing, looked at Jon with wide, fearful eyes."What. The. Fuck." he mused, seemingly not quite believing his eyes, a random guy being manhandled by a giant transparent hand in a dark alley, crying for help. A normal reaction, by all measure.
"No, no, don’t be afraid, come on, man, I need help!" Jon implored, face drenched in sweat, the desperation in his voice making him sound like he was negotiating for the last piece of pizza at a party.
But the man, after giving Jon a very familiar look of 'I’ve seen this movie, and it doesn’t end well for the guy who helps,' turned tail and ran, his terror echoing Jon's earlier fears. Jon's heart sank, shouting after the retreating figure, "Hey, don't do that! Listen, I—"
It was too late.
The giant hands pulled with renewed vigor, yanking Jon from his metallic lifeline. As he was momentarily suspended in the air, time slowed, a cruel director drawing out the scene for maximum dramatic effect.
Jon's life, rather than flashing before his eyes, decided to highlight a particularly embarrassing moment from his eighth-grade talent show.
Then, in the absurd theater of his mind, the important thing he had forgotten earlier struck him with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I needed to call the police for that guy in the alley, he realized, the irony hitting him harder than the realization itself. Now the universe was evening the cosmic score by making him the random alley guy. "Karmaaargh!" Jon’s scream was a symphony of rage, tears, fear, and disbelief, a perfect crescendo to the madness unfolding.
As the darkness engulfed him, Jon’s desperate eyes caught a glimmer of light, a circular portal from which the gigantic, semi-invisible hand emerged. The light growing increasingly intense, blinding him with its stark, cold brilliance.
His pleas to the unseen force were met with silence, the hand unyielding as it dragged him closer to the circle of light. Jon’s tears mingled with the dirt on his cheeks as he begged, his voice cracking, "Please, no!"
Reaching the circle's edge, Jon clung to it with a desperation he hadn't known he possessed, his fingers digging into the unknown material, resisting the inevitable.
In this dire moment, a dog, shubby and indifferent, wandered into the alley, its eyes locking onto Jon's panicked form. With a flicker of hope, Jon called out, "Hey, boy, come here, help me out, you're a good boy, aren't you?" He tried to sweeten the deal with promises of treats, his voice softening, a stark contrast to the looming dread.
The dog tilted its head, considering the man dangling from the cosmic doorway, then, it's eyes meeting jon's with a calmness that belied the chaos of the scene, lifted its leg. What followed was the ultimate act of canine contempt: the dog peed right on Jon, dousing his face in a warm, humiliating stream.
For a few seconds, Jon was stunned into silence, processing the ignominy of his situation.
As the realization sunk in, he got pissed—pun definitely intended. "I see. if I'm going down, you're coming with me, buddy," Jon muttered darkly, the edges of his mouth twitching into a maniacal grin and seizing the dog in a swift chokehold.
The dog yelped and thrashed, its panic setting in too late. Jon’s laughter echoed in the alley, a manic sound that danced with the shadows. "Hehe, hehehe, hahaha!" His laughter grew as they both were pulled into the portal, the light swallowing them whole.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the alley was quiet, the portal vanishing as if it had never been. The echoes of Jon's laughter faded, leaving behind an empty space where he and the unsuspecting canine had been just moments before.
Jon and his accidental companion, the stray dog still locked in a chokehold, hurtled through the void, their journey mirroring the psychedelic whirlwind that Doctor Strange endured when that bald woman punched his astral form out of his body. They were swept into a maelic stream of colors and sounds, a torrent of cosmic chaos that defied logic and physics.
The universe unfolded around them in a kaleidoscopic frenzy, portals snapping open and shut like the blinking eyes of a thousand celestial beings. Through each window, snippets of life played out in fast-forward: a woman laughing with tears in her eyes, a child taking his first steps, a galaxy swirling in a dance of creation and destruction.
Voices, a din of distant cries, laughter, and whispers, melded into a symphony of existence. Among the myriad sounds, Jon caught a distinct cry, a man's voice shouting "Adom!" with a desperation that echoed across the cosmic expanse. Each scene, each sound was a fleeting glimpse into a life, a world, a moment in time.
Clutching his best friend tighter, Jon's senses were overwhelmed. Reality stretched and twisted, the boundaries between self and the universe blurring. When did this evil little pee machine become my best friend? he thought absurdly, the dog squirming in his arms now part of this insane journey.
They were not just moving through space, but time as well, witnessing the birth and death of stars, the rise and fall of civilizations in the blink of an eye. The surreal experience disoriented Jon, his mind racing with thoughts, memories, and visions that weren't his own. Time lost meaning, the past, present, and future melding into a single, incomprehensible now.
The maelstrom of cosmic vistas and temporal whirlwinds ceased abruptly, as if a celestial switch had been flipped. Jon, clutching the dog, felt a sudden jolt, a force ejecting them from the astral conveyor belt. Instinctively, he curled around the canine, bracing for impact. They hit the ground with a thud.
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He was vaguely aware of the dog growling beside him, but it sounded muffled and distant, as if he were underwater. Jon's lungs strained for air as panic gripped him - his breaths coming in rapid, shuddering gasps. Spots danced across his vision and he felt dizzy, the stone floor tilting queasily beneath him.
This couldn't be happening. One minute he was safe on the road, the next violently tumbling through cosmic horrors and interdimensional chaos utterly beyond his comprehension. The visions, the sounds, the reality-shattering sensations he'd experienced - they rushed back in a suffocating torrent, overwhelming his senses.
Jon doubled over, retching dryly as his body tried in vain to expel the existential overload flooding his mind. He was distantly aware of concerned murmurs rippling through the crowd around him as he shuddered and gasped, cold sweat pouring off his brow. Memories, thoughts, and half-coherent images flashed through his addled psyche in a disorienting blur.
A hoarse, trembling moan escaped Jon's lips as his head swam dizzily. He needed to vomit - purge this overwhelming, debilitating experience from his mind and body. But he couldn't, simply dry heaving helplessly as his world fragmented into terrifying delirium. Was this real? Some horrific waking nightmare?
The tremors wracking Jon's body intensified as he crouched on the stone floor, eyes squeezed shut against the encroaching delusions. He clung to the corporeal - digging his nails into his clammy palms, the sharp pain a tether to reality amidst the untethered chaos of his mind.
Focus on your breathing. Jon's own mental voice cut through the overwhelming torrent, a lifeline in the sea of madness. He latched onto it desperately. In through the nose, out through the mouth - a learned technique from dealing with past panic attacks. Slowly, laboriously, he willed his ragged gasps to level out into a calmer rhythm.
As his breathing steadied, Jon became hyper-aware of his other senses in heightened clarity. The firm ground beneath him, cool against his skin. The soft material of his clothes clinging with sweat. The jumbled sounds and odd smells filling the chamber. It was all viscerally, undoubtedly real.
Tentatively uncurling, Jon dragged the back of a trembling hand across his damp brow, blinking around at his surroundings with new lucidity. People - dozens of them in strange robes and garments - watched him with mixtures of concern, curiosity, even wariness.
A sharp pinch on the soft underside of his forearm made Jon's teeth grit, but brought his consciousness into fully grounded focus. This was really happening. He had been violently ripped from his world and flung into...into what? Where the hell was this place?
Glancing down at the dog by his side - his erstwhile nemesis now the sole, gnarled thread still tying him to a sense of familiarity - Jon took a fortifying breath. Okay, get it together. Don't lose your shit. Not yet, at least.
Positive thoughts. Happy memories to cling to. His favorite comic books as a kid, reading for hours in his treehouse hideaway. That ratty old plush pig he'd had since birth that always made him smile when he was scared or upset. His late grandma's legendary chili recipe and how the whole family would come together on holidays, laughing and joking around her rickety dining room table.
As visceral anchors to happier times steadied Jon's addled mind, he cautiously rose into a crouch, scanning his bizarre surroundings with new intentions. People in robes and tunics with wide belts...ornamental swords and talismans...a strange yet tangible power suffusing the air...
"Oh, you gotta be shitting me," Jon muttered under his breath, realization dawning. He knew these aesthetics, had seen them portrayed countless times in the xianxia novels and shows that had fired his imagination since childhood. The tropes, the archetypes - they were unmistakable.
Which meant...he had been isekai'd. Displaced from his own world into the realm of cultivators and celestial energies. A realm of kung-fu sorcerers and mythical adventures.
The dog growled again, as if sensing Jon's swirling mix of disbelief, fear, and slowly building resignation. This was really, truly happening. No matter how unbelievable, how earth-shatteringly surreal, he could no longer deny the evidence of his senses.
Jon wiped a sleeve across his damp face, exhaling a shuddering breath as he attempted to steady his nerves. Okay, stay calm. Don't panic. Just...just figure out what fresh hell you've stumbled into first, then go from there.
The dog, ruffled but resilient, gave a soft "arf", as if acknowledging their shared ordeal.
The chamber was lit by fire torches set into sconces along the walls, casting a warm, flickering light that danced across the faces of the onlookers and the ornate writings that decorated the walls.
Turning to the dog, Jon sighed, “Looks like we’ve been isekai’d, buddy.” The dog responded with a growl, its eyes fixed on the gathering crowd, visibly not happy about this predicament.
“Hey, don’t be mad at me,” Jon whispered to the dog. “You’re the one who peed on me, remember?” Another growl from the dog, and Jon scoffed, his external calm a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts inside him.
What in the world was happening? “I was in my room this morning, and now...” he muttered under his breath, his gaze scanning the room filled with what he suspected to be actual cultivators.
From the throng emerged a wizened elder, hobbling forth with exaggerated feebleness while leaning heavily upon an ornate cane. The old man's eyes were almost comically narrowed to mere slits, giving him the air of a confused gremlin who'd gotten loose from the nursing home.
As the stooped figure approached, the murmurs and whispers among the gathered cultivators subsided in thick, expectant silence. Jon felt like a zoo animal being observed with equal parts fascination and vague pity by its zookeepers.
When the ancient one at last stood before him, he straightened with surprising vigor, fixing Jon with an intense, appraising look that seemed jarringly at odds with his decrepit facade. Then, he spoke - and Jon startled at the sound of archaic, heavily accented Mandarin.
"It has worked, indeed," the old man proclaimed, his reedy voice carrying weird ceremonial weight. "The lord will be satisfied."
What the...? Jon's brow furrowed, his mind instinctively grasping at the linguistic familiarity like a lifeline, trying to anchor himself. Okay, Mandarin...that's something, at least. Coherent language in a sea of crazy.
Scrambling mental files pulled from his xianxia novel obsession prompted Jon to respond with the typical polite greeting - bringing his fist to his opposite palm and bowing slightly.
"Greetings, venerable cultivators," he said, proud of how impressively level his voice remained despite the storm of what the actualfuckery raging within. "This humble one is honored to be in the presence of such esteemed... gentlemen."
The formal phrasing felt unnatural spilling from his mouth, like one of those black-and-white karate movie translations. But he hoped it conveyed the appropriate respect their apparent status demanded.
"May I inquire as to where I have been brought?" Jon continued, fighting to keep his accented Mandarin clear and audible across the chamber. Might as well go full Orientalist while stuck in the role.
The old man's remaining eyebrow arched quizzically at Jon's linguistic prowess. "How come you speak our tongue, summoned one?"
Jon glanced sidelong at the dog still growling at his feet, as if the mangy beast could offer sage counsel. Redirecting his gaze to the old man and assembled cultivators, he replied, "In my world, your language is one I have studied."
A civilized way to phrase the implausible reality that he'd absorbed their language via fantasy novels and TV shows, he figured. No point blazing a trail of honesty here that would just lead to awkward conversations.
The people around him started murmuring again, probably not expecting that.
The old man's voice echoed with ceremonial gravity. "Is that so? How...interesting. You stand in the sacred Sun Moon Divine Cult, a place of power and learning revered by all in the Jianghu."
Jon felt his heart plummet into his stomach, a queasiness gripping his gut. He knew that name. He knew it very well from the xianxia stories that had been a beloved escape for years. The Sun Moon Divine Cult...better known as the Demonic Cult. One of the most nefarious, depraved villains across countless tales of cultivation.
As the old man's words became a dull droning in his ears, Jon's gaze flitted across the assembled group with new, unsettled scrutiny. The archaic swords and blades. Bizarre totems hanging from their belts. An undercurrent of simmering power that set his nerves edging.
Somehow, some literally inconceivable way, he had been dumped into the heart of darkness for this whole demented fantasy realm. A cold sweat broke out across his skin as his mind whirled.
"Well..." Jon muttered under his shuddering breath, trying to reconcile the insanity. "Shit."