Chapter 1. The Cold of a Strange World
The first thing Adam realized before opening his eyes was the cold. It wasn't just the low temperature of the air; it was a damp, clinging chill that seeped into his bones, soaked through the fabric of his clothes, and settled heavily in his lungs. It felt as if the very air itself was made of frozen suspension.
He took a deep, cautious breath. The air carried a distinct taste of wet concrete, rusted iron, and some faint, sweetish rot. This was the smell of an old, weary city, one with too much history and too little sun.
Adam slowly opened his eyes. The world around him was gray, blurred by a dense curtain of rain. Water fell from the sky in a solid wall, hissing as it broke against the dirty cobblestones of the dark, narrow alley hemmed in by walls.
He was sitting with his back against rough brickwork, feeling icy trickles run down his neck. His favorite hoodie was soaked through, his jeans unpleasantly clinging to his legs.
"Well..." his voice came out hoarse, alien in the noise of the endless downpour. "I'm not dead. That's not a bad start to a new life."
Adam raised a hand to his face, wiping drops from his eyelashes. The hand was his—the same hard calluses on his palms from the barbell, the same scraped knuckles from the punching bag. He quickly patted himself down: ribs intact, no dizziness, his feet felt solid ground. His body, hardened by years of training and a Spartan life in the orphanage, was quickly getting into gear, pumping hot blood through his veins.
He stood up. The movement was springy, light. Despite the penetrating cold, a strange, unfamiliar energy pulsed inside him—as if he'd just drunk a liter of strong espresso, but without the hand tremors or rapid heartbeat. His mental clarity was absolute.
He looked around. The alley was a narrow, gloomy well. Tall Gothic buildings towered over him, blocking out the sky. Dark stone, pointed windows like embrasures, gargoyles snarling from the cornices. Somewhere in the distance, at the end of the tunnel of walls, a neon sign flickered, reflecting in the black puddles with crimson, blood-like gleams.
"This isn't Russia," Adam stated, peering at the sharp spires of the roofs. "And definitely not a tourist resort."
Suddenly, the reality before him wavered. Right in the air, at arm's length, space condensed and formed a translucent window glowing with blue light. The text on it was clear, ignoring the raindrops flying through it.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
[Welcome, Traveler.]
[Location: Budapest (Alternate Earth)]
[Setting: "Underworld" Universe]
Adam froze. He had read enough books and seen enough plots to understand the concept, but it was one thing to follow heroes on screen, lying in a warm bed, and quite another to stand in a wet alley of a different reality.
"Underworld," he whispered, a puff of steam escaping his lips. "Vampires, werewolves, eternal war. Of course. Why couldn't I end up in some peaceful farming world?"
He knew this movie. Knew it by heart, frame by frame. Grimy noir, blue filters, latex, silver, and endless rain. Now that rain was falling on him, and it was real.
A second interface tab smoothly unfolded before his eyes.
STATUS: TRAVELER
Name: Adam
Age: 24
Race: Human
Unique Talents:
[Photographic Memory]: You remember everything. Plots, maps, faces, texts, movements.
[Super Reflexes]: Your nervous system works 10 times faster than a human's.
[Teleportation]: Instant movement to a known location.
[Absolute Copy]: You can copy any ability, skill, or lineage of a creature from this world.
WARNING: 1 charge available for this world.
Adam read the last line twice. One charge. This was his only trump card, his "golden ticket." A mistake in choice would cost him his life. In this world, humans were just food base or random victims in the war of immortals. To survive here, he needed to become something more.
A large, heavy drop of dirty water fell from the roof ledge above him.
Adam hadn't planned it; his body acted on its own, on instincts now amplified by the System.
The moment the drop crossed the line of his peripheral vision, the world changed.
The noise of the downpour turned into a low, vibrating, viscous hum. The falling water slowed, hanging in the air like flies in thick amber. Adam saw that specific drop slowly rotating on its axis, the light from a distant lamp distortedly reflecting within it.
He raised his hand. It felt like he was moving at normal speed, but in this slowed world, his hand was a blurred streak. Carefully, with two fingers—thumb and forefinger—he caught the drop right in mid-air, without crushing it.
An instant—and time returned to normal. The hum vanished, replaced by the familiar sound of rain. The drop simply slid down his fingers, cold and wet.
"Holy shit..." he exhaled, looking at his wet palm. "I'm faster than I think."
Somewhere in the distance, cutting through the monotonous city noise, a police siren wailed. Following it, on the edge of hearing—a horrific, guttural growl. It wasn't a dog's bark or a human cry. It was the sound of a creature built to kill, a sound of rage and hunger. It made the hair on the back of Adam's neck stand on end.
The reality of the situation slammed onto him like a heavy concrete slab. This wasn't a movie. There was no scriptwriter to save the hero at the last moment. If whatever made that growl found him now—an unarmed, soaked guy—no reflexes would save him from a torn throat.
Adam clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He had grown up in an orphanage, where every day he had to fight for his right to exist. He didn't drink alcohol, to always keep control of his mind. He didn't smoke, so his lungs worked like bellows. He trained until the seventh sweat to be strong.
The rules here were the same, only the stakes were higher.
"Alright, Traveler," he told himself, trying to calm the treacherous trembling in his knees. "Panic means death. Use your head. You know the plot. You know the city. You know the players."
He walked to the alley's exit and cautiously peered out onto the street. Budapest slept a restless, gloomy sleep.
He needed shelter. He needed food. And, damn it, he needed dry, warm clothes.
Adam stepped out into the rain, hiding his frozen hands in his pockets. His journey had begun, and he was determined it would not end in this back alley.