This is the forsaken city.
A place of refuge for the unwanted, unfortunate, and dangerous criminals all around the world.
To be born in a city like this was a curse from fate itself.
Kazmir knew this all too well, despite just having transmigrated over.
Why?
Because he plotted the beginning, the marathon of the middle, and the end of this story's original manuscript.
Although he wasn't sure how the company handled this unfinished work after his supposed death, he knew such considerations were beyond his control.
For now, he needed to prepare himself for the first turning point in the plot—the greatest, cruelest, yet briefest World War witnessed in human history—all scheduled to erupt together with the beginning of the main plot in three years.
Seated on a broken rock near the divider that separated the upper city from the middle city, Kazmir lit up a cheap cigarette and drew in a deep puff of smoke.
He exhaled, dense smoke obscuring his face, its shade matching Kazmir's thick white hair. A pair of golden eyes gleamed through the smoke, vividly clear in contrast with his light chocolate skin.
As he waited, the guests for the night arrived.
Two rough men, one blind in the right eye, the other blind in his left.
"Tell me it's some good news," Kazmir turned back to look at them. He didn't get up or jump down from the rock.
The two glanced at each other, and the one with a blind right eye took a step forward and shook his head. "You and your friends weren't granted access rights. You will operate in the middle and lower blocks for now."
"Well," Kazmir turned back to look up, admiring the bleak night sky. "I wasn't expecting much to begin with, I guess it's time to start plan B."
"What plan B?" the other guy asked, curious.
"None of your business," Kazmir answered bluntly, jumped off the rock, and walked back toward the middle blocks.
A vein popped on the man's forehead. He wanted to lash out, but his colleague stopped him and gestured to the flanks nearby.
From the alleyways, two figures walked out silently. A boy and a girl, teenagers with renown in the middle and lower blocks as Kazmir's wings.
Maz and Rubicon.
One was found in the makeshift graveyard on the outskirts of the lower blocks, the other dropped from the sky together with a load of biohazard waste.
The two moved silently and quickly, Maz stepping to Kazmir's left while Rubicon locked her fingers into his right grip.
Kazmir held her small hand and smiled faintly.
"You two didn't have to follow me; I can handle a little skirmish on my own. Moreover, I have enough friends around these blocks to guarantee my life as a bottom line."
Rubicon's small and thin eyebrows locked together, and while the face mask concealed the lower half of her face, Kazmir could imagine her chewing that lower lip in displeasure.
"Say no more, Boss; we've long since pledged our lives to you. We agreed that living on is your exclusive right in the unfortunate event of our death. This isn't a two-way deal."
Kazmir wanted to say something, but he noticed Rubicon's head bobbing furiously.
Her big and round eyes were sharp, filled with determination.
Kazmir sighed, feeling a little guilty.
The only reason he took these two under his wings when they were newcomers was to take advantage of their ridiculous talent and future potential.
To prepare for the future World War and the collapse of order and civilization, he decided to recruit some talents and build a team.
Since he had knowledge of which characters had great potential, their temperament, and backgrounds, recruiting talent was the last issue on his mind back then.
Only, he never anticipated getting emotionally invested as he spent time with them and watched as they grew up.
He almost treated them as his younger siblings by now. However, they treat themselves as his tools—disposable if necessary.
After all, they were "trash" picked up by him when no one else needed them.
Kazmir sighed. "Let it be. In time, you might appreciate human life more, and with greater attachments, you'll naturally desire living for yourselves even more."
Maz and Rubicon didn't say anything and silently walked beside Kazmir.
Behind, the man with a blind left eye frowned. "I have a bad feeling about this; Kazmir's influence in the middle blocks is very strong. As for the lower blocks, they almost worship the guy as both a mentor and a saviour. If he's hellbent on causing trouble..."
"You worry too much," his partner waved it off. "No matter how big a wave ordinary people cause, it's just a splash in this city's deep waters."
"That's the thing... I'm afraid Kazmir is no longer an ordinary person. I'm not sure why, but I feel like he knows about that matter."
"Even if he knows, so what? As long as they don't know the method to open that door, it'll remain an unattainable dream. That threshold; it's an absolute."
"I hope you're right about this... Sigh, let's go back and report things as they are."
...
Kazmir's house.
A humble stone house with one bedroom, one dining hall, and a kitchen. He didn't have a shower room or a bathroom in the house, but he could always go to the church for some hygiene.
In the bedroom, both Maz and Rubicon sat side by side, listening to Kazmir's explanation about the Arts of Mystery.
"Over ninety percent of the population lives in a closed-loop world of birth, aging, sickness, and death. They pursue the mundane existence: career, car, house, marriage, and posterity.
"The remaining ten percent are different. They go through life with higher expectations, and they pursue the mysterious arts that our ancestors discovered with their wisdom. Sadly, that wisdom unlocked the gate to some horrifying things. The first, second, and third World Wars were a natural consequence of those discoveries. Now, the fourth is on the horizon."
Kazmir lit up another cigarette, inhaled a puff of smoke, and let it drift naturally from his parted lips. Eyes closed, he went silent for a heartbeat.
"Even today, many are in the know in regards to those arts; they just lack the fundamental method of how to touch that unreachable realm. It's a wonderful state of absolute tranquility and elevation of both mind and spirit—Zen.
One must enter the Zen state, a mind clear of all distractions and active thought, following the rhythm of nature, and touching the walls to the Fifth Dimension. Once you pierce that thin membrane with your inner heart, a natural baptism follows, and the gate to the Arts of Mystery will be within reach."
Kazmir turned around. Heading for the door, he said, "From this day onwards, other than eating or sleeping, your only task is to pry open that gate and receive the Fifth Dimension's baptism. In the storm to come, ordinary people are of no help to me."
With a soft click, the bedroom's door swung shut. In the dimly lit room where starlight cascaded through the window, Maz and Rubicon exchanged glances.
They didn't doubt a word Kazmir said because they had witnessed it with their own eyes the day they pledged loyalty to him. He called it his Gift, a bestowal from a higher power, exclusive to extraordinary people like himself.
Now, it was their turn to be baptized, awakened, and hopefully create Gifts suitable to their needs. However, Kazmir only required them to awaken. Hence, the matter of the Gifts can wait.
With this understanding, both youngsters closed their eyes and cleared their minds. To people like them who minimized their presence on a daily basis and considered themselves worthless trash with no sense of self-value, entering a state of Zen wasn't particularly difficult.
...
Living room.
Kazmir found the couch and rested on it. He exhaled, counting the minutes in his mind.
Midnight.
Ultraviolet light twisted in his mind. A shadow of a translucent butterfly flapping its wings and darting about, each flap of its wings absorbing the colors from the world all around like washing oil from a painting.
With the colors gone, so was the butterfly. No, it wasn't gone—it was there dancing in Kazmir's golden irises, circling his dilated pupils.
This is a wonderful state of existence, and Kazmir's foundation in this dangerous world, Midnight Fantasia.
The power to project fantasy onto reality.
Until his spiritual energy was depleted, in the realm of the Midnight Fantasia, Kazmir exists in a parallel reality drafted from the concurrent timeline. He can view himself, others, and the entire frozen world from an omniscient and omnipotent perspective.
He can even review and edit some details to his own advantage, as long as he can handle the spiritual backlash from imposing his will on reality. The higher the magnitude of change, the more severe the backlash.
Understanding that he could barely make any further changes to himself since he had already used Mindnight Fantasia to tailor a suitable Gift for himself, Kazmir's thoughts shifted to Maz and Rubicon.
He instantly appeared by their side, eyes focused on their meditating forms.
As of yet, these two were ordinary humans, yet to associate with the Fifth Dimension.
Offering them a helping hand would barely be within the tolerance limits of his current spirituality. He decided to hasten the process of stabilizing their astral projections, and by extension, making it easier to enter Zen and traverse the distance between the material and spiritual planes.
Since he decided to take underlinings, he might as well help them all the way.