Prologue. Mornings are never good.
- Oh, where am I?
- In London, sir.
- To hell with the details, what kind of world is this?
From the chronicles of an alcoholic.
The first thing I felt when I opened my eyes was a headache. Why the hell should my head hurt was an interesting question. I don't remember being sick or drunk, especially since I'm rarely seen doing the latter (even if I do greedily drink cold water in the morning). But the fact remained – my skull was aching terribly. And also… why the hell do I have red bangs falling over my eyes?!
The last question caused a new outbreak of headache, but along with the blows of unknown hammermen directly to the brain, other impulses began to flow into it, much more useful... and much more unpleasant.
So, I got into trouble. And in the most stupid and stereotypical way - I was hit by a damn truck with a sleeping asshole driver, when I was quietly and peacefully walking home from the university, where I had the honor of serving my labor service as a teacher in order to get the coveted "hours of professorial activity" and close this issue in my dissertation. The "job" is shitty, the team is half a nursing home, and half the same "bonded ones" as me, who will work off a year or two for show and happily disappear to where they pay well, that is, into business, on the advice of our esteemed government. There were a couple more enthusiastic idealists, but, in my humble opinion, the words "idealist" and "idiot" have too many common letters. There were only two positive aspects to all of this. The first is the fact that I already have a normal job, and the connections I've made at the department will make this job much easier in the future, and the second... as one wise man used to say: a wife gets old over time, but a third-year student always remains young and beautiful. Yes, it's not the most well-mannered behavior, but what can you do? That's where the "routine" ended and the weird stuff began. Of course, I'm no expert, but shouldn't I be... well, a little hysterical? Or rushing around the room, screaming "give me back!" or something like that? Or is that hysterical? Hmm... but the fact that I'm just lying there and continuing to look askance with hostility at the bright red strand of hair trying to get into my eye is clearly not normal.
The answer came with a new portion of pain, opening up memories of how after the momentous meeting with the truck I woke up as... God knows what. A ball of light, vaguely reminiscent of a Warcraft wisp, and this very ball was hanging in front of a muzzle woven from a strange, slightly purple-tinted darkness. A dragon's muzzle. Either Apostle Peter "changed a lot over the summer", or I ended up "on the carpet" with someone else. Considering that I was, to put it mildly, not a very religious creature in life, but I was quite into all sorts of "Swords and Magic" at one time, I shouldn't have been particularly surprised. And I had problems with surprise. It was absent, almost completely.
The dragon looked at me appraisingly. I kept silent. What could I say? He obviously knew much more about this place and what was happening here. Should I ask something? Why? Of course, I was curious, but if I were to meet the souls of fallen roleplayers and escort them to Valha... um, where should I escort us, his job is to tell me everything himself, if he decided to "steal" a soul from our world for his own purposes, then he would either say what he needed, or eat it, if he was just "hunting". In any case, nothing depended on me.
- A very sensible position. You suit me, - his voice rang out in a deep bass, enveloping me from all sides. The fact that he calmly read my thoughts did not surprise me either.
- For what? - I couldn't speak in the usual sense of the word, but I could think in a targeted manner.
- You're right, I have a proposition for you. An old argument and an old mistake. Pride and disappointment. Now my brother and I need an outside perspective. You're right for it, - even my composure broke through here.
There was clearly someone powerful in front of me. I don't know how powerful, but it was definitely enough for me. And this someone wanted me to settle some dispute between this entity and a relative, who was obviously not inferior to him in strength. Of course, I was not Paris, who was invited to evaluate three goddesses with a very bad character, but I suspected that I would end up no better. But then the dragon laughed:
- No, we don't need a judge, we will judge. We only need someone who will evaluate from the outside. No more, but no less.
- So what should I do? And why do I need it?
- Just live a new life in the world we need. And then tell us what you think about it. As for your second question, you have nothing to lose. You don't belong to any of your gods, so you'll just forget everything and be born again. But… yes, any work must be paid for. Before… a long time ago, people came to us with requests. To my brother, mostly. But sometimes to me too. I didn't refuse. You can also ask for whatever you want.
- Any desire? Even to become God?
- Mortals put too many and too contradictory meanings into this concept. But I understood what you want. I can give you the opportunity to develop, but the rest will depend only on you, - he said with a light and relaxed intonation. I was dumbfounded. This was not just more than I had hoped for, it went completely beyond what I had dared to assume. Otherwise, one will give a bun, and the other will get offended and take it away. Or something else. It is better for us ourselves, quietly, according to the provided manual. - Live this life interestingly, - the dragon's voice tore me out of my thoughts, having read my thoughts again and seen conceptual agreement in them.
And I woke up. In an unknown place, in an unknown body, suffering from a hangover. And either this is a consequence of such a possession, or someone clearly overindulged yesterday. And, by the way, who?
This thought caused a new stream of the already familiar pain, and the drillers joined the hammermen in my head. But I got the answer. And…
- F*ck-f-ck, - my hand covered my face. My well-groomed hand with polished and manicured nails. I wasn't just in trouble, I was really IN . And, judging by my memory, if I didn't move, I had about a year left to live, which would clearly not suit my employer - one, I really didn't want to die so quickly again - two. But the "armor of indifference" was shattered into pieces.
So, allow me to introduce myself, Roman Torchwick. A dandy, a misanthrope, a racist, a bit of a sadist, a man with an excellent (in his opinion) sense of humor and taste (again, exclusively in his opinion). And also the most famous fucking thief in all four Kingdoms. Oh yeah, and yesterday he was just made "an offer he couldn't refuse" by a stunning babe in a scarlet dress. Well, now I know firsthand that you can achieve much more with a fireball and a kind word than with just a kind word.
So, I'm on Remnant. It's an interesting world, about which I've managed to watch three and a half seasons - thanks to the aforementioned third-year students, I learned about all sorts of interesting things in terms of entertainment and cultural leisure in a timely manner and in large quantities. But the author of the original script died right at the end of the third season, and this immediately affected the quality of the plot and the series as a whole. The successors could still pull out some of his ideas, but still. The problem was that according to the "original" script, my current body would be devoured by local "evil spirits", called Grimm, right at the end of the third season. Such is the role of secondary villains - to die absurdly somewhere in passing. Not a very good prospect. And I won't be able to just "jump off" - not after that "generous offer". That bitch Cinder will simply incinerate me at the slightest movement of my movement towards the exit. And considering who she really works for, even the option of simply "disappearing" won't work. But let's get back to Remnant and what I know about it from Roman's memory, which became mine. I didn't want to think about where Roman himself went. If my employers are who I think they are, it would have been easy for them to simply rip my soul out of my body and stuff it somewhere else. Or just send me to be reborn, or... a lot of options, in general.
So, Remnant, translated as "remnant" or "survival". A very correct name. 90-95% of the world is controlled by... and who the hell knows what to call them. Demons? Dark Spirits? Creatures of Darkness? In general, the locals called them "creatures of Grimm", there are many types, their number is innumerable, their strength varies from an almost harmless bird the size of a crow, or even a budgie, to a damn Mumak from the Lord of the Rings, a Kraken or even a Dragon. Nobody else knows anything about these creatures. After death, their bodies evaporate very quickly, and if by some miracle this creature is caught, then in captivity it also dies literally as soon as it loses hope of escaping, and also evaporates. And yes, these creatures, despite the fact that almost all of them look like mutated animals with black flesh and bony growths on their bodies, are not brainless. They are monsters, and they have enough animal habits, but they are capable of learning and analyzing the situation, up to the point of showing quite obvious signs of a full-fledged mind.
All of humanity is huddled in fortress cities, of which there are only four, one for each continent. Plus villages and small settlements one or two days' march from each other, with the ability to quickly grease your heels with lard and get to help. There are a couple of exceptions, but that's within the margin of statistical error. The total population is about fifteen million. Well, twenty at most. And throughout history, as long as the locals can remember, they have been fighting these Grimm. From what I know, I also know about a certain "Queen" who runs this whole freak show and seems to want to destroy humanity. And she is opposed by the Immortal Hero. More precisely, not immortal, it is quite possible to kill him, but this will give almost nothing - he will be reborn in another suitable body, absorb the memory of the victim and go on to be a hero. By the way, a very familiar mechanism. He himself was just shoved into Torchwick in the same way. But the version with the Queen of Grimm, or simply Salem to her friends, wanting to kill all humans looks weak, and they "announced" it in season six, or something... I don't know, I only heard about it out of the corner of my ear. In any case, the locals developed machine guns, explosives, and robots quite recently, well, let's round it up to a hundred years ago. But they've been fighting the Grimm for thousands of years! Yes, the locals can use the so-called Aura, a kind of truncated magic for one ability and a general increase in physics on top, but what can it do against countless legions of creatures that know no pain, fatigue, fear, and are capable of tearing steel with their claws? Even now, if the Grimm took people seriously, humanity would be finished — they'd just bury us in bodies. In general, it's unclear. But something is definitely wrong here. And I'll probably have to find out what exactly.
But these problems were not enough for people. However, I never doubted people - we will always find a way to squabble among ourselves, no matter what. It would seem that you are under constant siege by monsters, who, among other things, are also great at catching any negative emotions, are tenacious and over time, if they do not grow a full-fledged brain, then at least a full set of animal cunning and even an understanding of tactical schemes. What should normal intelligent people do in such a situation? Unite and Overcome, but... no, let's find those who can be bullied, because we have absolutely nothing else to do!
The thing is that some of the local population has animal traits. They are completely random, do not change the psyche and, in general, are not fundamentally different from a different skin or hair color, although they can give sharper feelings in one area or another, but here such people until recently were considered untermensch. "Subhumans", "animals" and so on according to the list of classic Nazis. Yes, cat girls are oppressed here. At the same time, everyone can be eaten by fucking demons. I just have no words. Not even obscene ones.
And the locals also found time and resources for the World War, the Revolution of the Fauns (those same cat-, hare-, monkey-, fox-, deer- and other girls and boys) For Their Rights and other cute things. In general, they happily arranged massacres and bloodletting, while the level of negative emotions was such that I personally do not understand how the Grimm, who flew off the cutting from such a thing, did not finish off everyone who survived all of the above.
And so I ended up in this magnificent swamp with the task of living my life so that my observations could help resolve the dispute. Well, most likely, I was honored to see one of the Twins, aka the "Dragon Gods". According to legend, they are the creators and patrons of the world, and then they freaked out, destroyed half the Moon and left. But the Grimm came. I was in deep. I can just smell the aromas of an epic ass. And the personnel I ended up with... at a very lousy time and position. But I want to live, and it is highly desirable to live in warmth, eat well and sleep softly. You can even with cat girls, unlike the previous owner of this body, I have nothing against fauns. Well, unless, of course, it is a crazy red-haired terrorist-racist with bull horns and the same brain... Oh, did I not mention? To top it all off, we have a local Al-Qaeda here, which started out as a protest movement of fauns for equality, then evolved into an analogue of the IRA *(Irish Republican Army. Essentially the same terrorists, but they try not to touch civilians, concentrating their efforts on the military and police force of the "occupiers", which they consider the British. *Author's note)*, and then it went as far as "death to the infidels", or rather, to non-fauns. I think they will soon start cutting down their own relatives with "wrong" views, if they haven't already...
My thoughts about the interesting situation were interrupted by a glass of mineral water that appeared in my field of vision. Having slightly moved my gaze from the glass, I noticed the hand that was holding it. The hand was graceful and miniature. It was attached to an equally miniature girl, no taller than one meter fifty, with a cute face, long hair that combined pink, brown and white colors, and multi-colored eyes: the left one was brown, and the right one was pink. Morgue. I mean, the left one was pink, and the right one was brown. Morgue. That is… a pain shot through my head.
- Neo, for the love of all that is holy, stop! I feel sick as it is... - I begged, squinting painfully at the girl's insidious punishment.
Neopolitan. A very... controversial person. The only person Roman Torchwick could call a friend and trusted unconditionally. Their relationship was extremely strange. She was always silent, he always chatted for three. He was a fairly tall and fit man, but this fragile girl always took on the brute force of operations. No one could ever tell what she was really thinking. Almost always smiling, as if she did not take this world seriously. The history of their relationship with... now, it turns out, with me, began a long time ago, more than ten years ago. Or rather, at the moment when a beggar and still not really able to do anything, a street kid of about twelve years old, who already understood that there was no good to expect from life, and the path to the top lay over the bodies and backs of others, in a drunken stupor gave his last piece of bread to a little hungry mute girl. And she timidly smiled at him in response.
It was probably the first and last right thing Roman Torchwick did in his entire life. As time went on, the unknown boy grew into an angry and cynical man who gained a reputation for being able to get anything and in any quantity... if the customer had the money to pay for it, of course. New documents, industrial espionage, banal thefts on an especially large scale, and good old robbery and burglary are not worth mentioning at all. Except that contract killings were not on the "price list". And even then, only because intentional murder in this world was, if not the mark of a finished bastard and an outcast, then certainly a reason to look askance and stay away from such an individual. And Roman did not want to alienate his "client base", so he killed only "for self-defense". And there was always a silent shadow with him. Small, unnoticeable, but so useful… able to literally disappear into thin air… and help someone else disappear. They could have been friends, they could have treated each other like brother and sister or father and daughter, they could even have been lovers, but… no. All Roman Torchwick cared about was Roman Torchwick himself. And personally, I don't understand why the "ice cream girl" he named his silent companion after still follows him around. The previous owner of this body didn't deserve such loyalty, even if he took it for granted. Well, at least I'm going to try to fix that. I don't want to be the same freak whose memories I inherited.
– (-_-)… – the illusionist, as always, kept silent, and as always, I understood her by one look, gesture, facial expression. The girl cared about the unfortunate drunkard, but at the same time did not approve of his abuse and at the first opportunity punished him a little. Nevertheless, I took the water, and immediately felt better. And the Aura of the Gifted, who had completely come to his senses, began to patch up the body, including from traces of intoxication. By the way, somehow she does it too quickly, before, if my memory serves me right, it happened two or even three times slower.
- So, my dear servant! - I began in the cheerful manner of the former Roman. The words flew off my tongue without requiring the slightest effort. - We have been offered a wonderful job, the opportunity to become legendary and the most generous payment! Hmm-m-m, is it just me or does this business stink?
– (-_o)…
- No, I remember that we are constantly engaged in foul-smelling affairs, but this smell is the aroma of very big troubles. And I didn't like the form of employment.
– (v_V)? – an ironically raised eyebrow.
- Well, I'll just get offended! Maybe I'll even join the Hunters! I'll become a Real Hero! Like that funny suicide who wanted to go to Beacon without preparation or even an open Aura, - I recalled one canon character, for whom my predecessor had made fake documents to enter the local academy of superheroes who defeated Grimm. Of course, Torchwick could have told Mr. Arc a little more and even opened the Aura, fortunately for an experienced gifted person it's not difficult, not particularly expensive and generally a matter of half a minute, but the guy only paid for the forgery of documents, so the red-haired guy didn't even deign to meet him in person.
– (v_<)… – and this look, looking me over from head to toe.
- What do you mean, "heroes don't walk around in their underwear"? - I look down. - Hmm, yes, a small flaw.
A little later.
"Okay," having dressed and tidied myself up, I returned to the conversation with Neo, "what are the plans for today?"
– (=_=)?.. – my appearance upon leaving the bathroom was subjected to a very wary look.
- Well, yeah, we're working for the cool guys now... or rather, a girl, but that's not the point! So I need to look more brutal. It's definitely not related to my laziness and yesterday's celebration - this narcissist's bathroom had more creams, jars, and lotions than some girls! At least in my world. Although no... not only in mine, Neo only has shampoo... and it doesn't matter that she's a master of illusions. I understand that Roman, having literally gotten out of a cesspool, had a couple of quirks about the thirst for fame (even if it's specific) and an obsession with his appearance, but putting mascara on his eyelashes is definitely too much, and I won't do it under any circumstances!
In response, the illusionist rolled her eyes.
- Well, since you have no ideas, I suggest we continue where we left off yesterday, but this time you will be the one taking the spiritual rest!
- (O_o)???
- How about some ice cream? - Neo's tender passion for this delicacy was difficult to describe in words. Suffice it to say that she spent most of her savings in various cafes on this very dish. And the income of a professional thief-saboteur was, to put it mildly, not small. Although it is not for a man who spends a shitload of money on cosmetics, expensive suits and cigars to talk about it.
– (*_*)!!! – this is probably how a small dog might look when its owner called it for a walk and treated it to a treat. But the girl stared at my outstretched elbow as if it were a strange little animal.
- (o_v)? - it was from me.
- (O_O)??? - from her.
– (o_v«)? – from me again.
– (o_о)… (<_<)?.. (-_~), – she shrugged and grabbed onto it.
In this outfit we left our "secret shelter". Ahead were the streets of Vale - one of the four kingdoms of Remnant, where I now had to live. And try very hard to live to old age.