Sword God in a World of Magic Chapter 2 - Alex

~6 minute read · 1,472 words
Previously on Sword God in a World of Magic...
Wester awoke his master from a nap amid preparations for the Clan Tournament reward. Informed that the Child of Calamity had mysteriously vanished without trace, the old man signed the required seal. Sarah then mobilized the sixth legion, who transformed into golden shooting stars to scour the world overnight, testing every infant under one for unknown affinities—yet found none.
One month prior, back on Earth. "Thank you for your loyal support, and please visit us again!" A falsely upbeat voice called out these words from within a mid-sized grocery shop. They were directed at a middle-aged fellow who had just stepped out. The man gave a casual wave with one hand to indicate he'd heard, yet he had no interest in responding. As soon as the customer departed, the store's cashier let out a heavy sigh before returning to his post at the register. This cashier was a young guy with blond hair, appearing to be in his early twenties. From behind, a hint of muscle tone lingered on his build, but facing him revealed a noticeable beer gut. Clack, thump, clack, thump! The rhythmic taps of his cane echoed across the grocery store floor as he made his way back. "Hello, welcome to Stevie's!" he said with forced courtesy while serving the next shopper. "Hard day at work, huh?" the young buyer remarked to the cashier. "It's alright," came the reply with a faint laugh. "Everyone has to make a living." Yet, these words hid the cashier's true emotions. 'This damn grocery store is draining the life out of me, I swear!' he raged inwardly while "cheerfully" packing the items. 'Same crap every single day. Alex, do this! Alex, do that! I swear, once I've got enough cash for college, I'm torching this hellhole!' Naturally, these were just frustrations born from pressure. Deep down, Alex knew he wouldn't actually follow through. This cashier went by the name Alexander Hoffmann, or simply Alex. Life hadn't always been this way for Alex. Once, a promising path stretched before him. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Pushed by his father, Alex took up sports at age 12. After all, physical activity during growth spurt years greatly aided a teen's development. Alex's dad was a massive fan of the MNFA, the Multinational Fighting Association. This group pitted martial artists from various styles against one another under minimal rules. In essence, it organized mixed martial arts bouts—MMA, as it's known. Alex grew fond of spectating these clashes too, and when his father suggested trying a sport, he chose MMA. His parents felt conflicted about it. Sure, it was fantastic that their son was getting active, but MMA carried real risks if mishandled. Still, since it was amateur-level with coaches at the local gym, they consented. Soon after, in his debut spar against another kid, Alex got thoroughly beaten. But that defeat ignited a fierce determination in him, a burning drive to triumph. Regrettably, he dropped the following few practice bouts as well. Technically, they weren't official losses—just student sparring. To Alex, though, anything short of a clear victory counted as defeat. He nearly quit MMA for another sport, frustrated by how everyone outshone him. But first, he craved just one win! So, he kept grinding at training, and victory finally came. That first taste of success hit Alex like nothing before. An exhilarating rush surged through him, indescribable! He floated on air, convinced he ruled the world! What once irritated him about fighting—the post-bout aches—flipped entirely. Battling foes no longer grated. It became a raw, manly showdown of strength! Alex craved that thrill anew! He stuck with the gym, showing up even more frequently. MMA evolved from obligation to passion. Sore muscles turned into a welcome ache he began to relish. It might sound corny, but every coach's mantra struck home: "Pain is simply weakness leaving your body!" Years rolled by, and Alex poured everything into MMA. His school marks slipped from mediocre to worse. He wasn't dumb, just chronically inattentive, absorbing zilch. Math and physics held up okay—he could logic his way to answers. History and languages tanked hard, demanding rote study. Endless fights erupted with his parents, but Alex insisted MMA was his destiny. He'd enter the MNFA and rake in fortunes! High school ended with scraping by, and college? No thanks—MMA awaited! He trained relentlessly! Everything rode on his breakthrough! Failure meant ruin! Then, right after turning 20, acceptance arrived! The pinnacle of his existence! Dreams materialized! His debut pro fight was a breeze against a feeble foe with a dismal record. Match two was tighter, but still a win. Disaster loomed in the third. Things flowed evenly, trading blows without a takedown chance. Then, disaster. They kept distance since neither could close for a grapple. Spotting a gap, Alex unleashed a roundhouse kick. CRACK! His rival barely twisted in time, blocking clumsily. The elbow smashed Alex's ankle. It snapped instantly, medics swarming the cage. Next day, verdict: shattered bones had wrecked nerves and tissue. Surgery restored basic walking with a cane—nothing more. Career terminated. From ecstasy's peak, Alex plummeted to despair's abyss. Prize money from three bouts vanished in a year-long binge of booze-fueled chaos. Existence shattered. Nothing remained. Family staged an intervention after a year, snapping Alex from his pity party. Enough moping—one year sufficed! Time to man up. He resolved to stash cash for college. Now 22, slaving at the grocery for exactly that. Despite epic rises and crashes, youth favored him. Grind now, thrive later! After shift's end around 10 PM, Alex exited into the night. Streets glowed under lights in this seedy city district where he dwelled and toiled. His nose twitched at the foul reek of grimy roads—no acclimation possible. Low-rent zones showed in the filth: trash, butts, papers, discarded junk everywhere. Alex powered through the stink toward home, under a kilometer off—walkable, debatable by car. He chose feet to pinch pennies, plus he relished the exercise from old habits. Minutes later, he paused at strewn cigarette butts. Next to an overflowing ashtray. 'Seriously?' he fumed. 'Bin's right there!' Cane in hand, he nudged them against a wall. Litterbugs irked him, but not enough for hands-on cleanup. Soon, a dog's pitiful yelps halted him. Not the typical stray whine. This pierced shrill, agonized, frantic—pure torment. City dogs barked routinely, but this screamed emergency. Alex scoured and located it in a shadowy alley flanked by buildings, barely lit by streetlamp fringes. Gore. Fractures. Worry creased his brow. Hind legs mangled, blood gushing, bones protruding. Agony explained. Help or not? No pet owner himself, neutral on animals—fun to see, not to commit. Plus, costly. Those snapped limbs echoed his trauma, ankle twinging with hospital flashbacks. Sighing, Alex yielded. 'Alright, vet trip, but cheap fixes only.' He edged into the dimness toward the whimpering mutt. It lay still, mewling as he neared. "Don't move!" Adrenaline exploded through him, halting him cold. A blade pressed his throat! Frozen in terror, panic gripped briefly before a frantic frisk of his pockets steadied him. 'Robbery,' he assessed. Fighter reflexes surged after mere seconds. But no strike yet. Assess first, avoid blunders. As grubby fingers rifled, Alex peeked sideways. Black hoodie, sweats—face obscured in gloom from odd vantage. Knife arm scrutinized: white-knuckled tremble, blade hovering—not flush. Rookie vibes. Arm brushing shoulder. Dog bait noted: 'Wounded to bait prey. Smart, savage ploy.' A sly grin crept up. 'Bad pick, pal!' BANG! Alex's skull whipped back, clashing the mugger's lowered brow. Simultaneously, shoulder surged, flinging blade clear. Mugger reeled, headbutts dizzying all. Alex hurt too, but combat conditioning held—clear head amid throbs. Cane rose swift. BANG! Full-power crack to temple. Mugger crumpled unconscious. Year-plus rust? Muscles still outclassed norms. Smirk lingered as body slumped. CRACK! Horror replaced it. 'No! Not that!' Limp form toppled. Skull met concrete viciously. Crimson pool spread from fractured dome. Time froze for Alex. Unthinkable. Had he... slain a man? Hyperventilation hit as reality crashed. CRACK! Consciousness fled. His form hit pavement beside the felled thief. Massive gash marred skull's rear. A second black-clad figure loomed, rage-twisted, gripping bloody crowbar. Accomplice, trash-hidden backup. Buddy's corpse ignited wrath—he swung brutally. Instant death for Alex. Unaware to the end. "Fuck! FUCK!" the survivor bellowed, lost in chaos. Two bodies now! Amid frenzy, twin azure glows detached unseen from corpses. They ascended skyward, piercing Earth's bounds. Alex sensed no life, no death. Awake yet dreaming, thoughts fuzzy, primal. Wisps pierced void, joining multitudes, influx constant. Minute later, radiant white beacon flared, drawing all inexorably. Destiny's pull. Myriad souls, Alex a speck. Void quaked violently! Reality rent asunder! Wisps ignored, homing on glow. Glass-shatter illusion birthed abyssal tear. Colossal hand erupted—youthful male's. Blinding speed snagged one wisp: Alex's. Thumb and finger pinched gently, sharpening his haze. 'What... happened?' Pulled afar before survey. Rift sealing, final echo: "Yoink!"