Was Vincent going insane? He twisted and turned, taking in his surroundings. All around him lay ruins—crumbling and damaged buildings that appeared spherical, their surfaces made of warped metal and shattered glass. The scene was apocalyptic. The sky was barren of birds, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of exhaust and smoke.
To make matters worse, many of the buildings were ablaze, consumed by black flames that burned hot and heavy, defying natural logic.
Was this the "unknown condition"? Had he been teleported to some random place? No, it had to be tied to that "champion" nonsense.
Jesus Christ, he thought, what kind of condition is this?
Vincent stared at the black fire in disbelief. What could even cause flames like that? Was there some lunatic running around, burning everything for fun? Or was this a chemical reaction—or worse, something far more sinister?
Either way, black fire, whether from science or magic, was bad news. He looked around uneasily. Was he in the middle of a war zone? If so, it wouldn't be long before he got caught up in it.
He pressed a hand to his face, groaning. He had expected something terrible when he agreed to the terms of the condition. This? This was far worse than he had imagined. It made a sick sort of sense.
"Okay, but what if this isn't real?" he muttered to himself. "Maybe it's all a hallucination."
Testing his theory, Vincent crouched down and pressed his hand against the ground. The coarse sand scraped his palm. Acrid chemicals and smoke stung his nostrils, and the oppressive heat from the flames brushed against his skin. Every sense confirmed the reality of the scene.
His faint hope vanished. He didn't even have his phone to contact that weirdo who'd roped him into this mess.
For a moment, he didn't know how to feel. Relief that he was alive clashed with despair over his predicament. Survival wasn't his only goal—he also wanted to see his family again, to apologize for his sudden disappearance. But Gervio had made that impossible, cutting off any contact with Earth.
Vincent clenched his fists. His hopes of ever returning to his family or friends were slipping further away. Instead, he was stuck in this nightmare world, likely to die in its ruins.
"So much for freedom," he muttered bitterly. Sure, he wasn't bound by Earth's rules anymore, but he was hardly free.
He began moving, each step cautious and deliberate. To his surprise, his limp was gone. His right leg felt strong again, and despite the grim situation, a small smile broke across his face.
Two years of limping because of Gervio, gone just like that.
The thought of that bastard made his blood boil. A part of him wished Gervio would appear here, vulnerable and alone. Vincent would find him—and make him pay. No influence, no friends, no gun. Just justice.
He shook off the thought and focused on his surroundings. For now, he needed to find shelter and avoid getting caught up in whatever calamity had befallen this place.
Ahead, he spotted a damaged building that wasn't on fire. Picking his way through shattered glass and twisted black metal, he entered cautiously.
Inside, the building was dark and trashed. Pipes and beams lay strewn across the floor, creating an obstacle course. The air reeked of rotting flesh and old blood, confirming that whatever had rampaged through here wasn't human.
Vincent called out softly, "Hello…?"
The silence that followed was oppressive. Not that he expected anyone—or anything—here to understand English, but he couldn't help trying.
As he moved deeper into the building, he passed strange pieces of furniture—some shaped like eggs with flat tops, all in various states of destruction. The rotten stench worsened, making him gag.
Determined to be prepared, Vincent picked up a meter-long pipe. Rusted and bent, it wasn't much, but it would do as a weapon.
Minutes passed as he searched, finding nothing of value. Then, a flash of black streaked across his vision, accompanied by disjointed images that sent a chill through him.
"You can see me, can't you?" he muttered to the unseen force. "If so, how about explaining what the hell your deal is?"
No response. The silence grated on his nerves. Whatever this entity wanted, it clearly wasn't interested in helping him.
Vincent's eyes fell on a skeleton nearby, its charred remains resting amid the debris. He shuddered. Whatever caused this destruction wouldn't spare him, either.
Against his better judgment, he decided to follow the visions. The images pointed him deeper into the building, toward a wall partially obscured by rubble. Climbing over broken columns and precariously balanced debris, he eventually reached the spot.
A glitchy blue aura illuminated a treasure chest nestled against the wall.
Vincent frowned. "Really? A treasure chest?" He sighed and approached it cautiously. "Better not be filled with cash. That'd be completely useless here."
Taking a deep breath, he opened the lid. Inside lay a longsword, its silver blade glinting faintly in the light. The chest itself seemed bigger on the inside, its space a glowing void of white.
Here's the revised section with the humanoid monster replaced by a small dinosaur made of metallic bugs:
Vincent hesitated before picking up the sword. It was surprisingly light, its balance perfect in his hand. He gave it a few experimental swings.
"Well, it's not bad," he muttered. "But I wouldn't mind a staff that shoots ice balls, either."
A guttural sound, like the grinding of metal against stone, echoed through the room, sending a shiver down his spine.
The noise—a dreadful cacophony of clanking and buzzing—came from beneath a pile of debris. Vincent turned slowly, his blood running cold as he spotted the source.
A creature emerged, a grotesque amalgamation of form and movement. It was dinosaur-like in shape, standing slightly taller than Vincent, with a long tail that swung menacingly. Its "skin" was no skin at all—it was a shifting, writhing mass of metallic insects that crawled over one another, forming the outline of muscles and bones. As it moved, the bugs clicked and chittered in an unholy symphony.
The creature turned its head toward him, its glowing red eyes—clusters of insects themselves—fixating on him with an unnatural intelligence.
Vincent froze, gripping the sword tighter. The thing let out a metallic screech, the sound tearing through the air as it stepped forward. The bugs composing its body shifted and rearranged, creating sharp, jagged protrusions along its limbs.
"What the hell is that?" Vincent whispered, his throat dry.
The creature's tail swung behind it, scattering a few loose bugs onto the floor. With another screech, it charged, its heavy steps rattling the ground beneath it.
Vincent reacted instinctively, sidestepping just as its claws came crashing down where he'd stood. He swung his sword, aiming for its flank, but the blade barely scraped the dense cluster of bugs, scattering only a few.
It turned on him quickly, swiping its tail. The blow connected, sending Vincent sprawling across the debris-strewn floor. Pain shot through his ribs, but he scrambled to his feet, gripping the sword like a lifeline.
The creature advanced, its jaws opening wide to reveal a shifting maw of churning metal bugs. Vincent's heart pounded.
I have to kill this thing, or it'll kill me.
With a yell, he lunged, aiming for its head. The sword sliced through part of its jaw, sending a cascade of metallic insects clattering to the ground. The creature screeched in fury, its remaining bugs surging to fill the gap.
It lashed out with its claws, and Vincent barely managed to dodge, the sharp appendages grazing his left shoulder. Blood seeped from the wound, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.
The creature reared up, towering over him. Vincent saw his chance. He darted forward, driving the sword into its exposed underbelly. The blade sank deep, severing the connection between clusters of bugs. The writhing mass began to collapse, insects scattering in chaotic disarray.
The creature let out one last, earsplitting screech before it crumbled entirely, the swarm of metallic insects dispersing like a wave retreating from the shore.
Vincent stood there, panting, his sword still gripped tightly in his hand. Blood dripped from his shoulder, the pain pulsing through him as the adrenaline wore off.
From the remains of the creature, a dark energy leapt toward him, coalescing into a black coin that floated in the air.
Vincent stared at it, baffled. "A… coin?" He picked it up, examining it with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. Bitter amusement crossed his face.
"So this is what being a 'champion' gets me," he muttered. "I'm so damned."