Chapter Text
Ike Eveland.
Many people would hear this name and would simply conclude with a general description of him that had stayed consistent throughout the years. If anyone were to ever ask what the townspeople thought of that person, they would be told that he was an eccentric little boy, always isolated, alone, lonely. Most of the time he went unseen, barely coming out of his own room, let alone coming out of the house. Occasionally, he would be seen walking alone around the busy town square, only ever buying one or a few books on those times. Rarely interacting with children his own age, they instead spot him on the desk by his bedroom window, face buried in a new book he has taken a liking to or writing on parchment paper with extreme concentration.
These people perhaps have read his own published stories when he had grown up, but that’s for the distant future and besides the novelist planned to have a pen name for his writing endeavors, so that his true name will always be just a passing thought. So, for now, he is that ‘lonely little eccentric boy who loved books more than anything else in this world.
But these stories had given him so much more from the very first time he had picked up and read one. You can’t really blame him for being so mesmerized by these stories he had grown to cherish and love, from the songs of the distressed mermaids that live deep down at the bottom of the sea, to the adventurer’s various tales of bravery, from the poisoned dragon who went berserk and had to be cured and saved, to the troubled king of the people and the ruins that once was the eastern kingdom and to the battle against the great witch that had orchestrated the chaos that had swept over the land.
He fell in love over and over again with all the different types of stories he encountered, flurries of scenarios ran through his mind, that would later be written down in piles upon piles of parchment paper, in the same room, same desk, as years and years have gone by, and these stories were all he had.
He didn’t need anything else or anyone else. His safe haven was within the sea of infinite words that led him to meet deities, guided him through the snowy forests, through desert plains, let him feel the arduous challenges, the sweet taste of victory, the grief of losing someone and the simple joy of having company and having true friends.
Friends. Many times, he has been questioned by concerned people in this little town, if he never felt alone after all this time. But being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.
The word ‘alone’ and its implications did not incur any particular feeling to him. It simply meant that he doesn't have company in his current circumstance. Most of the time it was by his own choice. He usually prefers being alone when he thinks of the stars, or rather personificating the stars. He prefers to be alone when he thinks of vast seas, treacherous mountains and the many possibilities when going on adventures to explore those different places. He chooses to be alone with himself in order to pour out himself and his heart to the waiting papers in front of him.
But it was indeed lonely, it was an entirely different thing. It was not simply being the only person in a room, it was writing down an entire scene of a fragment of yourself and a group of friends you have created in your own imagination and a sudden crash of reality that they weren't there, nor will they ever be.
Ike Eveland, the Novelist. The boy who seemed to have an outwardly uninteresting life but had living his life to the fullest in the comfort of books upon books of stories by other authors, and comfort of the friends he created with his mind and a pen within the confines of a parchment paper.
He can pray to all the gods and goddesses he has ever encountered in researching for his stories, but he knows his reality, he knows the chains that he is confined within, his limitations and his loneliness. But still, it won’t and will never hurt to dream and wish, to think that those companions were really here with him, living and talking, having an actual friendship with him and creating strong bonds together.
His imagination was unbound, that was how he became a novelist in the first place. He can conjure up the most impossible things and make it seem like it is possible, through the carefully crafted stories he had created in the room he had spent so many nights staying up late in, just to write down that trail of thought he had in the middle of eating dinner a bunch of hours ago to a fully fleshed out masterpiece…
…but apparently his imagination was not unbound enough to comprehend his current predicament.
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Mafia Boss Luca Kaneshiro can swear on his life that he was not aware of two things, one was that the man he had beat up was not a thief, but was running after an actual one, and two, that the man he saved was that thief and had ran away, leaving the stolen bag in his hands, and now it doesn’t help that this orange-clad man keeps shouting and running after him!
So, what was the second most logical way to react to his situation? He panicked and ran away, like a total coward! Why that and why is it second, you ask? Because the first most logical way for him is to beat the man up, and he is not doing that considering that it’s what got him to this situation in the first place, and additionally, he might always be down for a fight but he is not really trying to hurt anyone innocent, especially outside of the job!
Detective Mysta Rias have never gotten a single mystery wrong, therefore his brains are his power (and a keen sense of smell), and not physical endurance! The scent trail he had been following led him to this fancy looking man, that was holding the stolen bag and he just needs to ask a few questions and retrieve the bag, he did not expect a seemingly very rich person with all the fur coat and gold pins to steal something anyway, and he most certainly did not expect him to start running! And so a chase immediately begins…
“I said stop! You’re not getting away!”
ah, “ shit, a dead end .”
…and ends as quickly. Luca would facepalm at himself right now if it wasn't for the fact that he needs to think of another quick way to get out of this without just punching this man.
“Ha! I finally got you thief, now stop right there! Now, turn around, slowly.”
.
.
.
.
.
“Hello??? Hellooooo? Are you even listening to me?” Mysta asked after an uncomfortable bout of silence, while Luca gathered himself to answer him.
“Me? A thief?? Heh! I’m–”
“huh? whoa, wHOA- WOAH! WOOAAHH!! AAAHH! WAAAAHH!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaa–”
And there’s suddenly screaming and a weird purple circle? Vortex? And the orange-clad man was falling? Was being sucked into it? Luca doesn’t know.
” What. The hell. Just happened? ”
Then the air around him felt weird and he felt a strong pull towards the swirling purple thing. Wait. Oh no. Ooohhh no. He's next, isn’t he?
“hu-hUAH!! HUAAH!! HAH!! HAAAAHH! AAAAAAAAAAaaaa–”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sorcerer Shu Yamino prided himself in his quick adaptability and understanding in times of emergency but right now he isn’t sure what to make of this circumstance he is currently stuck in.
One moment, he was readying up to counterattack against some dude who wanted to show-off, apparently, by suddenly conjuring up, what is it, magical dangerous feces? It sure looked like it, but he isn’t even sure anymore…
And as soon as he commanded his fires to go towards his enemy, it suddenly surrounded him, stretching towards the sky and turning completely dark purple instead of his usual light blue one, and before he could even react, a wave of nausea washed over him.
He felt empty , he couldn't feel the usual feeling of the rush of magical energy whenever he had his powers activated and running, it was so disorienting.
Every inch of his body felt tired and heavy, leading Shu to involuntarily close his eyes, a faint feeling of a promise whispered to the wind, no words were uttered or heard but somehow, he trusts this non-existent voice to lead him to somewhere, a place to belong and it was so reassuring.
The fiery purple faded already, but he didn’t feel it immediately, but it came in waves. The sudden shift of the feel of the atmosphere on his skin, the lack of petrichor lingering around his nose, as well as the missing sound of thunder and rain on his ears.
The world he knew wasn't there to greet him, instead he opened his eyes to a brand new one. Strange buildings surrounded him, overwhelming in height, somehow using something as fragile as glass in that way. People were passing by the end of the little alley where he is, they dressed a little bit differently, and that made him a bit conscious about his clothing, and his sense of belonging. He checked his powers, still working, he successfully casted invisibility on himself.
He was oddly calm, probably because he didn't even know what had happened. Let alone an explanation for why and how, he is too overwhelmed in this brand-new world to think about that right now, he drew a blank, but then the shock catches up to him.
He is somewhere else that is not familiar to him. That made him feel a tinge of fear, a shiver crawling up his spine in the realization. He doesn't feel safe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Voice Demon Vox Akuma had never felt as threatened as this in a very long time. It completely caught him off guard when he suddenly felt a very powerful surge of energy.
He pondered for a moment the risks that come with chasing it. For the past 400 years that he mostly lived hidden, he encountered creatures, both weak and powerful, not quite surpassing him, but this sudden surge was different. He's not naive, certainly not after what had happened right before he went into hiding, call it instinct and whatnot but he is all too familiar with danger and its perks, the losses and the grief that comes afterward if not properly handled. He very much knows what he's gonna get himself into when he approaches an unknown thing with a high potential of killing him.
Vox felt an odd mixture of dread, relief and familiarity. Dread, he knew where it came from, but the other two? What the hell are his senses telling him? Why does he feel compelled to run after it? Like the moment he's been waiting for 400 years is this?
So with no better things to deal or distract himself with at the moment,
Vox gives in and he chases.
When he arrived, he was met with two screaming voices, but he never saw anyone, and when the voices somehow faded away, he was left in shock and awe of a mysterious purple vortex. It was swirling elegantly, the colors almost hypnotic, purple slowly bleeding into gold at the edges, as if a captivating canvas had presented itself to him.
Then it suddenly dispersed. Into 5 directions, the other four vanished behind the buildings and possibly beyond the horizon, leaving only one golden and purple crystal in the sky, as if acting like a landmark for something. But when he seeks out that exact thing, he had never felt such a mix of confusion and comprehension at the same time.
In front of him was a very large billboard of an agency that manages, what they call, Virtual Youtubers or VTubers. He knows them, he's watched and was fascinated by them, but what he has no idea of is why did that strong magic lead him here?
…what exactly did this mean?