As Damien readied his sword, the world began to fade into black, leaving him unable to react.
One moment, Damien was standing in the humid, spore-choked jungle of the Abyss, his sword drawn against the encroaching shadows.
The next moment, he blinked.
The smell of rotting fungus and ozone was gone. Instead, the air smelled of stale dust, cheap beef flavoring, and mildew.
Damien looked down.
He wasn't wearing his black trench coat. He wasn't wearing the mask of zero,The heavy, reassuring weight of the Pantheon Sword was missing from his hip.
He was wearing a stained grey t-shirt and pajama bottoms. His hands were pale, thin, and trembling with cold.
He sat on a wobbly plastic chair in a small, cramped room. A fluorescent light flickered overhead with a maddening buzz-click-buzz.
Apartment Block 404.
On the cheap laminate table in front of him sat a cup of instant noodles, the steam rising in the frigid air. A cracked smartphone lay next to it, the screen dark.
