One month earlier, on Earth.
"Your orders ready! Have a great evening."
A superficially cheerful voice shouted this phrase from a medium-sized print shop. The phrase was targeted at a middle-aged man that was just leaving the shop. The middle-aged man slightly waved one of his hands to show that he had heard, but he couldn't be bothered to answer.
As soon as the man left, the young man sighed and went back to the printing desk. The assitant was a young man with blonde hair, and he looked like he had just hit his 20s. A skeletal frame with almost no muscle, surviving against all logic.
Clack, thump, clack, thump!
His left leg dragged slightly with every other step, and his cane tapped against the floor of the shop in the same tired rhythm it always did.
"Next order?" his manager called from the back.
"On it," he called back.
'On it,' he thought, dead inside.
'Seven years... Seven years of breathing, bleeding, and losing sleep over my writing. Twenty seven novels, not even a more or less than it. Each one written with everything I had. Each one sent out into the world like a kid on their first day of school.'
"Yet, none of them made the fucking bestseller list," the young man whispered in frustration.
'This fucking print shop is killing me, I swear!' he thought as he "happily" bagged the prints. 'Every day with the same shit. Triston, the lamminator is jammed! Triston, fix the paper tray! Triston, a customer says the font on their flyers looks slightly too bold!'
'The font.'
'THE SAME FUCKING FONT!.'
'I wrote a four-hundred-page war between two gods. I described the exact sound a soul makes when it gets ripped in half. Three different readers emailed me crying about chapter twenty-two.'
'Chapter. Twenty. Two.'
'And this man is standing in front of me, personally offended by a font.'
Triston stared at the screen for a moment.
'I need to get out of this place before I actually lose my mind.'
This young man was Tristonsun Hoffman.
Triston for short.
And the truth about the Triston was something that he turned over in his hands almost every single day like a coin he couldn't figure out which side was heads.
He didn't know if he was good.
Triston started writing at sixteen almost by an accident,
Sadly, life didn't go his way.
He had been bedridden for three weeks after a bad fall that had damaged the nerves in his left leg, and nothing else to do he started to read fantasy novels from the stack his mother had left on his bedside table.
He finished it in two days.
Then he picked up the next one.
Then the next.
By the end of the third week, Triston had read eleven novels and somewhere around the eighth one, something had cracked open in his chest.
Not in a bad way.
In the way that a window cracks open and suddenly the room has air in it.
He wanted to make something like this.
Not copy it.
Not imitate it.
Make something that felt like that specific feeling he got when a book did something unexpected to Triston, something that made him put it down for a second and just sit with it.
So he started writing.
Triston had also grown to like watching this fighting in the web-series, and when his father urged him to do some sports, Triston decided that writing is his future.
His parents' feelings were mixed on that subject.
However, Triston self-published his first three novels. Around a few copies each... Small reviews enough to keep going.
At Twenty-one, when Triston had his first real publishing deal, he got his ass handed to him. Yet, this experience awakened a certain kind of stubbornness in him, an urge to win.
Sadly, he fourth novel came out then sixth... and after that none of them cracked the bestseller list. Well, one couldn't really consider these matches a loss since they weren't real matches. They were simply some sparring between him.
Yet, when Triston didn't clearly win a fight, he saw it as a loss.
Triston had truly believed in his work, when he read it back something in it felt true to him.Yet, he wanted to win at least one time!
So, he continued writing, and eventually, he was the same mediocre. Maybe he was good but unlucky, Triston had already written his best work and he didn't know.
It was a kind of indescribable high!
He felt like he was floating on clouds, and he felt like he was the greatest in the world!
The feeling of writing chapter by chapter, which had always annoyed him since his body hurt after it, transformed into the polar opposite.
This feeling of writing others genre wasn't annoying.
It was simply a clash between him and his mentality!
They were showcasing their power in a very primal fashion!
Triston wanted to feel this feeling again!
Triston stayed in the gym and even came more often. MMA had transformed from a chore into a hobby. The pain of sore muscles became a familiar pain that Triston even started to enjoy. It sounded cheesy, but the common phrase of every single sports coach in the world resonated with Triston.
"Pain is simply weakness leaving your body!"
As the years passed, Triston completely focused on the latest novel he was working on for the EVENT. Even his grades started to drop, which had already been average to begin with. Triston wasn't stupid, but he never paid attention in school and didn't learn anything.
Stuff like math and physics was still okay since he could often deduce the correct answers logically, which was why those grades didn't suffer much. However, subjects like history and foreign languages had it far worse since one had to actually learn for these things.
Triston had a ton of arguments with his parents over this, but Triston always said that his future was writing. He would join the EVENT, an actual competitive tournament and he would earn a ton of money!
Triston barely passed high school but decided against going to college.
EVENT was his future!
Triston trained as hard as he could!
His entire life depended on his success!
If he didn't manage to get into the EVENT, he would lose!
And one day, just after Triston's 20th birthday, he got accepted!
This was the greatest day of his life!
His dream was about to become a reality!
Triston's latest novel got selected in the first round pretty easily. His horrible win-loss record proved that.
Triston also passed the next qualification, but it was a close one.
Yet, tragedy struck at Triston's third qualification.
The fight had been going fine. There was some back and forth, and he and his opponent were pretty evenly matched.
And then, the accident happened.
Triston and his opponent had been fighting from a distance since no one managed to find a good opening to tackle the other one to the ground. Triston saw what the opponents novel is way to much good enough to takle his, yet Triston's novel background was far more exciting .
CRACK!
His opponent barely standing infront of the judges.
His opponent's novel reviews was about to announce.
Triston's novel was next and he made up for the final qualification.
A day later, Triston got the news that his bones had damaged the nerves and muscles in his leg.
They could only fix it to the point that would allow him to walk somewhat normally with the support of a cane, but that was it. There was nothing more they could do.
From the highest high of his life, Triston fell to the lowest low.
Triston had earned quite a sum of money from his novels, but he basically wasted all of it in a drunken haze of destruction over the next year.
His life was over.
There was nothing anymore.
After a year, his family held an intervention for him, and Triston finally realized that he had to stop being such a pussy. One year was more than enough to wallow in self-pity!
So, Triston planned to save up some money for college.
Right now, Triston was 22 years old, and he was working in a grocery store precisely for this reason.
Even though his past was filled with incredible highs, and even though he fell into the lowest low, Triston was still young, and he knew that he could still make something of his life. He only had to work his ass off for the foreseeable future.
Then, he would go to college, and everything would turn for the better!
Time passed in the print shop, and after helping close up the place, Triston left at around 10 pm. It was already dark out, but the streets were well lit. After all, Triston lived and worked in a less savory part of a big city.
As Triston stepped out of the print shop, his nose wrinkled. No matter how long he had lived here, he simply couldn't get used to the disgusting stench of the dirty streets.
This part of the city was for low-income families, and the state of the streets reflected that very well.
Garbage, cigarette butts, old newspapers, old furniture.
This was a common sight on these streets.
Triston tried to ignore the stench and walked home.
Triston was walking since he wanted to keep his living costs as low as possible. Additionally, Triston somewhat enjoyed the walk since he was used to doing a lot of physical exercise.
After some minutes, Triston stopped as he looked at a couple of cigarette butts on the street.
And the cigarette bin right beside them.
'Oh, come on!' he thought. 'The bin is right there!'
Triston used his cane to push the cigarette butts to the side of the closest building. He hated these people that treated the streets as their own toilet, but he didn't hate them enough to pick up the cigarette butts to throw them away.
After some minutes, Triston heard the sound of a whining kid, and he stopped.
This wasn't the usual sound of a whining person.
The kid's whining was very loud, high-pitched, painful, and desperate. Obviously, the person was in a ton of pain.
Triston searched around for that person and found it in a dark alleyway between two buildings.
That person could barely be seen at the edge of the streetlamps' lights.
Blood.
Bone.
A concerned look appeared on Triston's face as he saw the kid. Both of its hindlegs were severely broken. He could see blood coming out of its legs, and he could even see its bones poking out.
No wonder it was in so much pain.
Triston thought about if he should help it or not. It was nice to look at and interact with him, but he didn't want to bear the responsibility of owning the consequences of his own.
On top of that, it might get him into something troubles.
Yet, when Triston saw the broken legs, he got reminded of his own injury. A slight pain came from his ankle as the scene of being rushed into the hospital returned to Triston's mind.
In the end, Triston sighed.
'Fine, I'll bring you to a vet, but I won't pay much for your care.'
Triston slowly walked into the alleyway and closed in on the kid. The kid didn't move and only continued crying in pain as Triston came closer.
"Don't move!"
Triston stopped as the familiar feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins assaulted him.
There was a knife at his throat!
Triston didn't dare to move as panic took hold of him, but he calmed down somewhat when he felt a hand hurriedly searching through his pockets.
'A robbery,' Triston thought.
Triston had only been in panic for two seconds, but his old fighting instincts kicked in.
Yet, Triston didn't attack.
It was essential to analyze the opponent first. Otherwise, mistakes were bound to happen.
As the hand of the robber searched through Triston's pocket, Triston slightly glanced at the robber. He wore a black hoody and black sweatpants. It was hard to make out his facial features in the darkness while looking at him from such an awkward angle.
Triston glanced at the arm that held the knife.
'He's gripping the knife with so much force that his arm is shaking, and the knife is also not directly touching my neck. He's probably new at this. Additionally, his arm is basically touching my shoulder.'
Triston also noted the appearance and condition of the kid.
'They injured the kid to lure me into this alleyway. A clever but cruel trick.'
However, a slight smirk appeared on Triston's face.
'Sadly, you chose the wrong target!'
BANG!
Triston's head shot backward and hit the lowered head of the robber. At the same time, Triston violently shoved his shoulder upward, pushing the knife away from him.
The robber became disoriented. It was never a good feeling to butt heads with another person.
Triston was in just as much pain, but as a former fighter, he could still make rational decisions under pain.
Without hesitation, Triston lifted his cane.
BANG!
And hit the side of the robber's head with full force.
The robber immediately lost his consciousness under the attack. Triston hadn't fought in over a year, but his muscles were still more powerful than average.
The robber fell over as Triston smirked.
CRACK!
Triston's smirk froze as it slowly transformed into terror.
'No! I didn't want to do that!'
Since the aaron had lost consciousness, his body simply fell over to the side.
And his head violently hit the hard pavement.
A pool of dark blood was quickly forming below the aaron's cracked skull.
Triston's world stopped.
He couldn't comprehend what was happening.
Did… did he just kill someone?
Triston began hyperventilating in panic as his mind tried to comprehend the magnitude of what he had just done.
CRACK!
And then, Triston's mind vanished.
Triston's body landed beside the robbers.
A huge crack could be seen at the back of his head.
Behind Triston's body stood another man dressed in black, fury on his face. In his hand, he carried a blood-smeared crowbar.
This was the robber's friend, who had been hiding behind some trash in case something went wrong.
When he saw the corpse of his friend, fury took hold of him, and he hit Triston on the back of the head with his crowbar, full force.
Triston died instantly.
He didn't even know how he had died.
"Fuck! FUCK!" the second robber shouted as he didn't know what he should do now.
He had two corpses on his hands now!
While the robber was panicking, two invisible, azure wisps left the corpses.
The azure wisps traveled into the sky and seemingly left the realm of earth.
Triston didn't feel alive nor dead.
He was awake but also not awake.
One could liken the state of his mind to dreaming. His mind didn't work properly, but there were still some rudimentary thoughts that appeared.
The azure wisps entered an empty void, and they stopped.
Many other wisps were there already, and new ones joined every second.
After a minute, a bright, white light suddenly appeared in the nothingness, and all the wisps flew to it.
They were inherently drawn to it.
This was where they were supposed to go.
These were the souls of the dead, and Triston was just one insignificant soul among many.
Suddenly, the void shook!
It was like reality was being torn apart!
However, the wisps only continued to travel to the light. They didn't even notice what was happening.
Reality seemingly broke like glass as an even darker hole appeared.
Then, a gigantic hand shot out of the hole.
It was the hand of a young, adult man.
With unreal speeds, the hand shot at one particular wisp, Triston's soul.
The hand used its thumb and index finger to clamp down on Triston's soul, and Triston felt clarity return to his mind.
'Wait, what happened?'
Yet, before Triston could look at his surroundings, he felt himself being pulled into the distance.
Before the hand vanished into the closing rift of reality, Triston could hear a voice, and that voice only spoke one word:
"Ding!"