„Once there was the Original Creator who created this universe. "He" stood for everything known and existing. Even for contradicting concepts. "He" loves and hates everything the most at the same time. "He" has the strongest desire.
"He" split "himself" in many parts, which lay the foundation for how the world is now.
But at the beginning of time wasn't just the Original Creator. After the Original Creator split up, that mysterious existence disappeared "they" said. Nowhere to be found again. The split parts of the Original Creator were only left with a faint memory of its existence. Which just happened to be "his" honorific name.
Oh, Unknown Shadow not from this world,
Existence behind Illusions and Secrets,
The One to switch between Truth and Lies,
The Forgotten One. "
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An ear-exploding shot ripped through the silent, yet so dangerous, air of the East Borough in Backlund. The crimson moon shining through the window colored the water of the last rain in a bloody red shine.
No reaction. These people are already accustomed to nightly shooting of gangs who fight for each other's territory. A silent warzone. One whole family could disappear from one day to another. No one would even bat an eye.
Just one person was in shock. It was someone, who knew that the shot came from his roof.
The young man had neck-long deep black hair. With the scar on his right cheek, he would look like a ruffian in a 90s gang movie, but the look in his eyes betrayed him. They were full of worry, shock, and the desire to have overheard the revolver's shot.
These contrasts fought each other for a criminally long time on his face.
The revolver shot came from his roof and there was only one person on said roof. That person also shouldn't have a revolver. Only the ruffian-look-alike had one. He also always kept it hidden from his friend on the roof that he bought one from the money he earned as a part of the gang, which he joined to make enough money to support both.
In a frenzied state he began directly looking for his revolver in the niche under his bed.
With uncoordinated, frantic steps he ran towards it, he almost tripped on the way.
After pulling away the blanket with which he tried to partially hide the existence of a niche there, he looked at the wooden hole, hidden in the floor.
He hoped he would find the revolver there and he just misheard the shot. The shot could have come from outside and possibly because of bad sound isolation it would sound like it has come from the roof.
'Or maybe there has been no shot at all?' That is what Theo hoped, but his hopes got shattered to delusions as he didn't find a gun in the dark niche where his revolver always lay.
Theo woke up from his frenzied state when he regained his calm. He began to steel his mind for what has happened upstairs as he saw some crimson fluid flow down the gray stone stairs coming from the roof. The crimson moon gave the blood the look of wine dramatically flowing down the stairs.
Slowly he stood up and walked over to the dark wooden chair, he earlier sat on. Theo contemplated whether he really wanted to see his friend's body today or maybe tomorrow when he slept over the pain of losing his best and only friend.
Whatever… He grabbed the last cigarette from the tin box and put the tip into the burning candle. Now, isn't the time to care about that. He will care about that when he gets those watery drops away from his eyes.
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A shot made his eardrum explode and want to scream for help. After that an excruciating pain followed and he fell sideways from the chair he was sitting on.
Then it stopped as if it was never there. Disappeared like it was a breeze of air on the sea. Heavily breathing, David Emerick Smith began to make clearer thoughts.
David Emerick Smith?
David Emerick Smith is a citizen of Backlund's East Borough, twenty-one years old, has been living together with his good friend Theo for over ten years.
This information seamlessly appeared in his mind as if it has always been there.
David began to question reality as he looked up at the not so starry sky of the night. The smoke of Backlund reeked in the air of this lawless Borough and hid most of them. The houses and streets around him reminded him of steam-punk games he used to play when he was younger.
'What is Backlund? East Borough?' Am I not on Earth?' David was confused. Very confused and not thorough enough in his thought process to get a good grasp on the situation.
However even more confusing was the moon, which was bloody red as if someone killed billions of animals and painted it in that color.
David wondered where he got so much imagination for supernatural things. He must have read too many fantasy novels to come with such an illogical thought.
'Where am I?' Lying on his back looking upwards, David stared at the covered stars in the sky. There weren't that many stars to see, but definitely more than usual compared to the city he lived in.
'Am I somewhere on the country side? That many stars aren't commonly seen in the city during the night, because of the lights.'
'…'
By throwing away all those useless thoughts, David began trying to make sense of the situation by considering the supernatural.
'Have I been transmigrated?' That red moon is something he had never heard of before. Okay, maybe once. Only while playing a certain game where the main character is muted and can only speak in "Heh" and "Hah".
Couldn't it have been a truck? At the very least I would have some overpowered skill that could always safe my life. A system would also be nice.
'…' The silence of the night was louder than any word he muttered.
"That would have been the perfect moment to get it. Something like: Being a deadbeat father in another world will make me overpowered." David cursed jokingly.
Then a heavy headache started to make itself noticed. It felt like someone had hit him with a hammer precisely at the same spot on the back of his head. Not just one time, but many times.
He began touching the back of his head and felt a thick fluid in his snow white hair. His hand, now soaked in that fluid, felt quite weird. Pulling back the hand to his face, he recognized the fluid.
It was blood. Blood shining in the reflection of the crimson moon. It gave off a strong metallic iron stench. David wrinkled his nose as he was now more than just sure that it was blood. His blood.
Wanting to find out whether the wound was still open he carefully felt with his fingers along his head, but except excessive amounts of blood and some white cerebral fluids, he didn't find anything.