Chapter 2: A Descent into Arcadia
Fluffysky, a tiny beacon of iridescent light, still nestled comfortably within the untamed emerald strands of Terrchel's newly acquired hair. She cleared her minuscule throat with an exaggerated puff, her voice, though small, resonating with unexpected gravitas. "The Light Realm has given you a chance to fulfill both your destinies in one. Do not ponder too much on the details. As the days pass by you will see it's all meaningless and The Light does as it pleases. Use this opportunity wisely lest it be snatched up like a thief in the night." She giggled, a sound like tiny bells, and unfurled her delicate wings, lifting gracefully from his head to hover beside the brilliant manifestation of The Light.
Terrchel stared after her, a flicker of disbelief crossing his cerise eyes. "Seriously, you sat on my head knowing you could just fly off!?" he exclaimed, a note of incredulity in his voice.
The Light, a silent, powerful presence, resonated with a hint of sarcasm, yet its tone carried an undeniable sternness. "Terrchel, for a being that promised to do better than the average human, you surely are starting splendidly."
Terrchel swallowed hard, an awkward smile playing on his lips. "I have so many questions. Won't the humans be alarmed by this Arnold Maximus person being alive suddenly and a change in... I don't know... EVERYTHING? Because I'm me but I'm him at the same time, weird." The confusion was palpable in his voice.
The Light remained steadfast. "Child, do not bother me with your many questions. Go and do not make me regret my decision. I've altered many aspects of your appearance and soon you will be leveling up your abilities and become aligned with this current version of yourself. You might think you're connected to Arnold, but I assure you, there's a reason for this."
Fluffysky, seemingly oblivious to Terrchel's growing unease, offered an innocent smile. "Plus, most the humans that built relationships with Arnold died in the waiting period while your souls dwelt in The Light Realm awaiting your next destination. It's simple."
I've pestered them with enough questions. I wouldn't want to lose my new life before I experienced all the possibilities. So, it's best I remain silent and just nod, Terrchel thought, forcing himself to suppress the torrent of inquiries swirling in his mind.
When Fluffysky observed Terrchel's resigned nod, she chirped a command, summoning someone by the name of Lady Luciel Leghorn, also known as the General. A formidable figure materialized, boasting a cybernetic leghorn appearance. She carried herself with the poised confidence of a top executive, though a curious stutter punctuated her otherwise authoritative voice. What in the sass-fueled, high-powered robotics is going on here? Terrchel mused, a flicker of amusement despite his apprehension. The Light, sensing his unspoken thought, gave him a knowing look, causing Terrchel to do a double-take, wondering if his internal monologue had somehow become audible. At the same moment, Lady Leghorn fixed Terrchel with a chilling death stare. Without a word, yet maintaining intense eye contact, she raised a peculiar weapon and discharged it, ripping open a shimmering portal in the fabric of reality.
The whoosh of the portal's sudden appearance sent a powerful gust of wind through the ethereal space, whipping through their hair. For a heart-stopping moment, Terrchel feared the cybernetic chicken-looking lady was going to shoot him directly. He exhaled slowly, a wave of relief washing over him as he realized his life was being spared once again. Now, he could truly begin his new life, to live it to the fullest.
Stepping into the pulsating, floating portal, he braced himself, expecting to emerge into a paradise, a beautiful existence on the other side, like opening a door to a utopian garden. Instead, he plunged straight downwards into a dark, disorienting spiral, flashes of blinding pink and blue light assaulting his vision. This dizzying descent felt eternal, leaving him panting uncontrollably, with no time to process the unfolding chaos. Then, with a jarring jolt, he landed abruptly on a fluffy cloud. Terrchel's mind, still reeling from Arnold's fragmented scientific knowledge, immediately churned with gestural explanations and complex calculations, attempting to rationalize how he was suspended on what was essentially a collection of tiny, insubstantial water droplets. Yet, none of his scientific understanding made an iota of sense in this surreal landscape.
He decided, with a weary sigh, to discard all logic and simply allow it to be. The cloud, impossibly, felt warm, and inexplicably, it smelled distinctly of buttered popcorn. His mind screamed in protest, "IMPOSSIBLE, this is supposed to be a rain cloud, what is going on!". The internal battle between scientific understanding and the utterly fantastical reality he was experiencing pushed him to the brink of insanity, making him yearn to be rid of Arnold's meticulous expertise. By deliberately going against everything his past self knew and, instead, trusting his nascent human instinct, he allowed himself to sink deeper into the fantastical nimbus. His entire body instantly felt a profound sense of peace and calm. The relentless scientific nagging ceased, replaced by the simpler, more instinctive perspective of his former fly self: This feeling was definitely not like anything I've ever experienced before.
He nearly abandoned his new, promised life, a thought forming with unexpected clarity: "If I could stay here forever, I'd be happy." But just as he began to truly savor the moment, the whimsical cloud evaporated beneath him without warning. Terrchel plummeted once more, landing with an unceremonious thud into a dumpster in a gloomy, dark alleyway.
He looked up at the bruised night sky, a faint glimmer of stars piercing through the urban haze, and exclaimed aloud, a mix of disbelief and resignation in his voice, "A trash can, wow, is this because I'm a flyman? How rude and stereotypical!" Yet, a small, undeniable thrill snaked through him. He would be lying if he said the intoxicating aromas of dirt and rotten treasures weren't sending him into a euphoric state of peculiar nostalgia.
It was undeniably nighttime in Arcadia, the stars, though few, glistened with an otherworldly glow. He scanned the alleyway, its contours illuminated by flickering yellow lights. The environment appeared perpetually run down, as if locked in a losing war with nature, which stubbornly attempted to reclaim territory from a failed cyberpunk renovation. Faded, glitching lights and tattered advertisements clung to crumbling walls, distant echoes of a grander vision. Tall skyscrapers, their upper reaches lost in the urban haze, peered over the grimy skyline in the nearby vicinity, seemingly detached from the grimy reality of his current predicament. The streets, though unseen, hummed with a rowdy energy, as if it were still bustling daytime.
He felt a door swoosh open before he even registered its movement. He sensed a single person emerging from behind it, their presence a distinct ripple in the stagnant air. He turned his head so fast he heard a distinct crack in his neck! The pain, sharp and immediate, brought him back to himself. I really need to get used to this body and the speed and agility I'm moving at, he thought, wincing slightly.
An elderly man appeared in the dim yellow light, wearing a dirty apron and a stained chef's hat. In one hand, he carried a bulging dirt bag, and slung over his shoulder was a soiled cloth. The man seemed to spot Terrchel immediately, his slow, deliberate steps carrying him closer. A subtle panic began to set in. This would be Terrchel's very first conscious encounter with another human since his reincarnation. His eyes darted from the old man's hands to the cloth draped over his shoulder. Is he going to hit me with that cloth thing on his shoulder? I recall seeing humans use this for various reasons, including killing flies! But I'm human now so I shouldn't worry, he reasoned, yet a persistent thread of worry unspooled within him.
"I haven't seen you around The Undergrid alleyways before," the restaurant owner said, his voice raspy with age.
"W-What is The Undergrid?" Terrchel stammered, the question tumbling out before he could compose himself.
The owner paused, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, as if expecting a joke. But seeing the genuine, attentive look on Terrchel's face, patiently awaiting an answer, he continued. "The Undergrid used to be a hidden network of abandoned infrastructure left behind in Arcadia... you know, after The New Arcadia City up ahead was built, where those skyscrapers can be found. Most of the Undergrid remains abandoned but these parts we've brought to life." The old man gestured vaguely towards the distant, glittering skyscrapers.
"Uhm, no, I don't seem to recall any of this, but I'm sure it will come to mind sooner or later," Terrchel replied, his stomach rumbling loudly, betraying his true priorities. "[stomach GROWLS] All I care about right now is starvation. Do you plan on tossing that dirt you're carrying with you in here, perhaps? Or was the swat cloth intended for me instead?"
The restaurant owner chuckled, a dry, incredulous sound. "Hahahah. What a strange sense of humor. It's the year 2050; nobody does dumpster diving anymore. You certainly bumped your head, or you're high?" He looked at Terrchel with open confusion, shaking his head. "You kids really ought to stop smoking all these Dark Market nonsense, it's clearly popping your brain cells." He then walked up to Terrchel and, instead of the anticipated violent toss, gently placed the bag of dirt next to the trash can. This small act of unexpected courtesy was entirely new to Terrchel's fly-self. A vivid memory surfaced: being pelted with dirt while foraging in trash cans as a fly, the frantic rush to anticipate every movement to avoid being crushed. The stark contrast was jarring.
"Kid, I don't know who you are or what your case is, but you can't stay here," the owner warned, his voice softening slightly. "Find your way home before the night alley Arcadia Patrol finds you. This might be The Undergrid, but that Lawrence Abstainace guy has everything under his control regardless of not taking care of this part of town."
"Yeah, yeah, I got you, old man. I'm heading out now," Terrchel mumbled, already turning.
The restaurant owner watched Terrchel one last time, shaking his head. After a long day of work, he simply didn't have the energy for some drunk kid dumpster diving. So, he decided to walk away, as if the entire bizarre encounter hadn't happened. He knew his kindness could only extend so far before it invited unnecessary problems.
Terrchel swiftly hopped out of the trash can, grabbing the dirt bag that had been plopped so unceremoniously beside it. As he walked down the dark alleyways of the Undergrid, a strange realization settled over him: the restaurant man had been unexpectedly kind. Both the part of him that was still a fly and the new human within him hadn't been treated with much pleasantness during their previous existences. He couldn't help but wonder if this time, things would be different. He knew, with a sudden pang of reality, that he had no idea where he was going. His best bet was to find a bench to sleep on until the sun rose, hoping to then find his way to the main city.
This part of the city felt entirely unfamiliar to Terrchel, despite the swirling, fragmented memories of Arnold colliding with his own. No specific recollections of being in the Undergrid surfaced, leading him to believe that Arnold must have lived in the main city—what was it the old man called it? The New Arcadia City. The Undergrid, he surmised, must be for the unruly, the less fortunate, a forgotten shadow where the elites of New Arcadia City paraded their gleaming perfection.
As he wandered out of the alleyways, searching for his next temporary refuge, a faded sign caught his attention on an abandoned road. It read: "New Arcadia City this way." The sky above, a soft lavender, was already hinting at the approach of morning, yet stars still gleamed overhead. The road ahead looked unpleasant, a broken ribbon of asphalt leading into the uncertain distance. Stumbling along, his mind raced with questions: Who was he, truly? What was his purpose in this new, bewildering life? And what strange adventures awaited him in this wondrous, yet fractured, city?
As he ambled down the deserted road, he sensed eyes watching him from the shadows, a prickling sensation on his skin. But each time he looked, there was no one. It felt like an illusion, a trick of his mind. Yet, the distinct sensation of being observed persisted, and he knew, with a strange certainty, that it was only one person. He shook his head, pushing the unsettling thought aside.
He looked around one last time, taking in the sights and sounds of the Undergrid. From this new perspective, it was a world unlike any he had ever known, bathed in a surreal lavender sky where constellations were visible even in the pre-dawn light. Terrchel knew he had a long journey ahead of him: a quest to discover his true identity and purpose in this strange new existence. But that, he decided, was a worry for tomorrow. Right now, all he craved was a place to finally crash.