The sprawling, gritty outskirts of the NQSC offered little comfort. A lone figure moved through the desolate landscape—a boy of medium stature. He wore a simple black shirt and shorts, his appearance unremarkable save for his weary expression and slightly shabby brown hair that framed intense blue eyes. Clutched tightly in his hand was a precious tube—the very last of his synthpaste supply.
"The protagonist of the Era, my ass!" the boy, Alista, spat out, his voice a raw shout of frustration that echoed in the empty air. "This world is a pain in the ass!"
Before the echoes could fade, movement exploded around him. A group of shadows descended, leaping from the dilapidated structures and landing with predatory grace. Leading the pack was a snarling face Alista recognized immediately—a man who had recently lost a significant gamble to him.
"Alista Tudor," the man growled, his eyes burning with avarice and malice. "Return it, or you're dead."
Alista sighed, a long, dramatic expulsion of breath. "Cliché," he muttered, his voice dripping with tired sarcasm. Without waiting for the ensuing attack, he spun on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction.
The chase was brutal. It was a chaotic scramble through the rubble, Alista's agility against their sheer numbers. When he finally lost them, he collapsed against a rusted wall, panting. He was covered in grime, dust, and numerous cuts—small, painful tokens of his successful escape.
"Well," he wheezed, pushing himself upright, a faint, weary pride in his voice. "I outran them."
Just a few steps more, and his grim destination appeared: the ramshackle, almost-collapsing structure he called home.
Alista pushed the flimsy door open and stepped inside. Lying on the dirt-packed floor, staring up at the cracked, makeshift ceiling as if it were the grand night sky, was a girl. She had short, curly brown hair and was dressed in a dirty white dress—an outfit as worn and exhausted as the rest of their possessions.
"Just so you know, Fors Wall," Alista remarked, his tone affectionate despite the slight edge of annoyance. "Because you named yourself after the 'Wall,' it doesn't mean you should be so lazy here."
The brown-haired girl's gaze slowly shifted from the ceiling to him. "So, Alista Tudor," she drawled, her voice holding a touch of academic weariness. "Where is your Kingdom?"
Alista sank onto the floor, the fatigue finally winning. He carefully placed the hard-won synthpaste between them. "Here is the synthpaste. Do you have anything to go with it?"
Fors stood up, her movements slow but deliberate, and shuffled to a dark corner of the room. She returned with a small, wrapped bundle of salvaged provisions. "Here. We can survive with this for a week."
The two sat on the cold floor and began to eat, their shared silence punctuated only by the quiet sounds of their meal.
As they ate, Alista broke the silence with the question that often haunted their weary existence. "Seriously, how the hell did we get transmigrated here?"
Fors took a bite of her food and shrugged. "Whatever the reason, it is up to no good."
They were transmigrators, souls ripped from their comfortable reality. Their original world was the one where the webnovel 'Shadow Slave' was merely a piece of fiction. Their birth names were completely different, abandoned in favor of the aliases they chose from another popular webnovel, 'Lord of the Mysteries'. They chose these specific names, Alista Tudor and Fors Wall, because of a bizarre, uncanny physical resemblance to the characters. Fors, once merely Alista's college classmate, had shared his fate when both of them were victims of that infamous, legendary cliché: the truck accident.
'Why wasn't I transmigrated to a peace-loving world like Haikyuu!?' Alista thought, his despair a faint, lingering taste.
Fors interrupted his lament. "So, any idea what the timeline is?"
"From my rough search, it's after the perishment of the Immortal Flame clan, and the people of the Forgotten Shore haven't come to the Waking World yet. So, we're stuck in between. How about your findings?"
Fors nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "I found that tree which Sunny mentioned. Apparently, his name isn't on it yet. So, the official story start hasn't even begun."
Alista sighed again, the weight of their predicament settling heavily. "Well, usually, the path to survival is to ally with the protagonist. But in this world, the original cohort was clearly invested in destroying other people's lives for their own sake. And on the other side... well, they took so many L's that it inevitably led them to their deaths."
"Yeah," Fors agreed, her voice resolute. "If we need to survive, we need to change the course of history, but we must ensure it's for our benefit."
When they finished the last scraps of food, they found their two dented metal cups, filled them with water, and raised them in a toast. Their voices were low and shouted:"Praise the Fool."
Weeks passed in a grueling monotony. Then, the inevitable began. For the past few days, both Alista Tudor and Fors Wall had begun experiencing the familiar, terrifying symptoms: drowsiness, overwhelming sluggishness, and the precursors to the Nightmare spell. It was becoming unbearable.
"We need to go to the police station," Alista stated, his face pale but determined.
Fors nodded silently, and the two left their shelter for the nearest outpost of civilization. On their way, Fors spoke, her eyes glittering with a strange blend of anxiety and excitement. "The only way to get the best possible Aspect is to defy the scenario in Nightmare as much as possible. I wonder what type of Aspect I will get?"
Alista's eyes narrowed. "Whatever it is, it better be Divine, or else we're goners in this world."
Fors simply nodded again.
They finally reached the precinct and walked into the sterile, brightly lit lobby. They found an officer sitting behind a terminal, his face etched with bone-deep fatigue.
"What is it, kids?" he mumbled, barely looking up.
Alista straightened his shoulders, his voice clear and resonant, cutting through the officer's weariness. "As demanded by the Third Special Directive, I am here to surrender myself as a carrier of the Nightmare Spell."
The officer's demeanor snapped from irritated exhaustion to sharp wary intensity. He quickly scanned the young man again, his gaze now piercing. "Are you guys sure you're infected? When did both of you start showing symptoms?"
"A week at max," Fors replied instantly.
The officer's face became visibly paler. "Shit." With a quick, jerky motion, he slammed a button on his terminal and roared into the microphone:
"Attention! Code Black in the lobby! I repeat! CODE BLACK!"
A flurry of activity followed the announcement, and within minutes, they were ushered into a shielded, concrete bunker. A different policeman, his face grim, addressed them.
"Do you guys know about the Nightmare Spell?"
"Well, we know a few things," Fors responded, her composure unsettlingly calm.
The officer nodded curtly. "Well, that's good. Just don't die."
Before they could protest, both Alista and Fors were strapped securely to individual medical beds. Fors Wall looked over at him, a flicker of something close to a smile on her lips. "Don't die, dumb ass."
Alista Tudor returned the sentiment. "Same to you, slacker."
With that last exchange, the world began to fade. Alista Tudor finally slipped into a deep slumber.
Everything dissolved into profound blackness.
And then, a faintly familiar voice—a voice that felt both ancient and metallic—rang out in the echoing void:
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]
===================
This is my New Fanfic,Kindly give a review for it