Aether Shard [Neutral] – has been selected

  /////... Core Selection Complete.

  / No path has been found…

  / Class: Not available

  / Unexpected Anomaly

  / WARNING! Core [unstable]

  .

  .

  // UNEXPECTED ERROR...

  Tai couldn’t make sense of all of it, though he did catch the word ERROR just before the entire interface blinked out of existence, right as the centipede lunged.

  Tai felt, more than saw, a massive shape hurtling toward him. Instinct screamed at him to move. He threw himself to the side, diving behind a clutch of eggs just as the centipede’s enormous head slammed into the spot where he had been.

  Its mandibles snapped shut on empty air with a sound like oversized shears cutting through wet fiber — crisp, sharp, and unnervingly clean. It reminded Tai of one of those oddly satisfying ASMR videos… except this one was very real, very close, and absolutely terrifying. If he’d been even half a second slower, he would’ve been sliced in half like wrapping paper.

  He hit the ground shoulder-first, narrowly avoiding cracking his skull on a rock. Pain lanced through his arm, but adrenaline kept it at bay. Tai scrambled on all fours, crawling behind the eggs for some cover. He pressed his back to a particularly large egg sac, chest heaving, and tried to become as small as possible.

  The centipede hissed, frustrated at missing its prey. Its tentacles snaked over the tops of the egg cluster, probing. One slimy tendril slithered down the side of the egg right next to Tai, inches from his ear. He bit his lip to stop from screaming. The barb at the tip dripped some viscous fluid—venom? He wasn't eager to find out.

  Think, think! he urged himself, panic clawing at his mind. If this were a game, maybe now that he'd chosen that "shard" he had unlocked some ability? He didn't feel magically empowered—if anything, he felt a faint hollow sensation in his chest, as if something had clicked into place... but nothing else. No fireballs, no lightning bolts, not even a convenient pointy stick within arm's reach. It seemed Neutral Shard either wasn't very flashy or he had no idea how to use it. He gritted his teeth. Terrific. I probably just speedran the tutorial and skipped my only power-up.

  Just then, a streak of something bright flew through the air and struck the centipede's head with a wet thunk. An arrow? Tai blinked. Yes—a feathered arrow jutted from between two bony plates on the creature's carapace. The centipede recoiled with a screech, rearing back.

  Tai stared in astonishment as another arrow sliced through the gloom, this one burying itself in one of the centipede's many glossy eyes. The monster screamed in rage and pain, its body twisting and thrashing wildly. Eggs were knocked aside and burst open by its flailing bulk, splashing sizzling goo across the cavern floor.

  Out of the darkness at the cavern's mouth, a figure burst into view. A woman, lithe and fierce, sprinted forward with a curved sword in one hand while nocking yet another arrow onto a shortbow with the other. How she managed that one-handed was beyond Tai, but she made it look easy.

  She had fiery red hair pulled into tight braids, and despite her pale skin, her expression was flushed with adrenaline and determination. She let the third arrow fly point-blank into the centipede's maw. The creature gurgled as the arrow lodged deep inside, perhaps hitting something sensitive.

  She tossed her bow aside and drew her sword with a metallic ring. In a language Tai didn't understand, the woman shouted something that sounded both confident and... frankly, unprintable. If he had to guess, it was the local translation of "Come get some, you overgrown bug."

  Behind her trudged a stout dwarf in heavy armor etched with glowing runes. He kept pace remarkably well, considering his short legs and the massive warhammer he carried. He shouted something to the woman—probably urging caution or calling out a plan. She moved with purposeful precision, stepping aside just in time for the dwarf to bring his hammer crashing down.

  He let out a shout—maybe a curse, maybe a battle cry—as the weapon struck the centipede’s bone-like carapace. The impact landed with a deep, ringing clang that seemed to shake the cavern itself. The runes on the hammer flared like molten fire, and for a heartbeat, it looked as if the weapon was channeling the heart of a forge. Sparks burst outward and flew in all directions, as if he’d just slammed it into red-hot metal.

  The centipede recoiled violently, letting out a shrill, metallic screech. Its front legs spasmed, scraping across the stone as it twisted away, ichor oozing from a crack in its armored shell.

  Bringing up the rear was a robed figure holding a staff topped with a flickering crystal. His approach was much less athletic, huffing as he ran. Even in the dim light, Tai could see the scholarly gleam in the man's eyes as they fixed immediately on the scattered eggs.

  " …eggs!" the robed man exclaimed in that foreign tongue—Tai caught the word eggs at least, amid his otherwise unintelligible babble. The mage (and that had to be a mage, with those robes, the thick glasses pinching his nose, and that starry-eyed expression) was so enthralled by the egg clusters that he nearly tripped over the slimy, wet stone floor. He windmilled his arms to catch his balance, staff clattering against the ground.

  The red-haired woman spared him a single fiery glare. Tai couldn't understand her words, but her tone screamed focus! She grabbed the back of the mage's collar just in time to yank him away from stumbling directly into the path of the centipede's lashing tail. The tail whooshed past, narrowly missing both of them. If she hadn't pulled him, the mage would be a very flat scholar right now.

  The mage yelped something that was probably a thank you. In response, the woman yelled back curtly. Tai only understood a couple of words: "...save... eggs... not... you." It took him a second to piece it together. Did she just say she saved the eggs, not him? Despite the mortal peril, a brief, incredulous laugh escaped Tai. These people were risking their lives to fight a giant centipede, and they were bickering about priorities.

  The centipede, though wounded by arrows and the hit from the warhammer, was far from dead. It swung its massive head toward the onrushing dwarf, tentacles whipping angrily. The dwarf didn’t slow down—if anything, he leaned forward with grim determination, barreling ahead like a cannonball in armor.

  “Wounds… lessons. Let’s see.. you learned!” he barked, voice rough and booming. Tai had no idea what it meant, but it sounded serious—and somehow ancient.

  The hammer came down with a thunderous crash, slamming into the centipede’s side. A spurt of brackish ichor erupted from the wound, splattering across the stones. The monster let out a keening wail.

  For a moment, Tai thought the sheer ferocity of the blow might have finished it, but the centipede was nothing if not resilient. It writhed away, pulling free of the hammer’s impact point with a screech of grinding exoskeleton. The dwarf stumbled back a step, his warhammer briefly wedged in the beast’s armor before it came loose with a lurching crack.

  Suddenly, the wall exploded in a shower of stone and dust. Through the breach, a massive creature—easily seven feet tall—rushed into the cavern. When the dust cleared, Tai could finally make out its features: a hulking, humanoid badger-like being, covered in black-and-white fur and rippling muscle.

  “Great,” Tai muttered to himself. “As if the giant centipede wasn’t enough—now this world has giant badger people too.”

  Tai’s jaw practically dropped as the towering beast suddenly spoke—and in surprisingly clear English (wait, was it English?), though with very broken grammar. Or was the translation magic is glitching and just getting it wrong?

  “BRUK HERE!” the creature announced proudly. “IS BIG WORM DEAD YET?”

  “NO!” came a chorus of voices in reply.

  “THEN ME HELP! BIG WORM DIE NOW!”

  The beast-man hefted an obsidian battle axe the size of a coffee table above his head.

  “RAAAARGH!” he roared as he charged, which needed no translation at all.

  The giant huamanuid badger, apparently named Bruck Tai notice to himself, charged like a runaway boulder, his massive axe raised high. The centipede hissed and twisted to face him, its tentacles flaring outward in alarm. But the beastman was already mid-leap—how something that size could leap was beyond Tai—and with a booming cry of “ME SMASH!” he brought the obsidian blade crashing down on the creature’s carapace.

  The axe struck with an earsplitting crack, chipping through the outer plating and drawing a gush of dark ichor. The centipede screeched in pain, its segmented body flailing, legs scrabbling against stone. Bruk didn’t back off—instead, he swung again, and again, battering the creature like he was trying to break open a giant cursed pi?ata.

  “HA! BRUK TOO FAST FOR BIG BUG!” he bellowed joyfully, dancing around the monster with surprising agility for someone built like a wardrobe.

  But the centipede wasn’t done. It reared back with eerie speed, and one of its venom-tipped tentacles lashed forward, catching Bruk square in the side of the neck.

  He froze mid-swing. His arms locked. His legs stiffened. For a second, he stood perfectly upright, still gripping his axe.

  Then, very slowly, he tipped backward like a felled tree, his massive body crashing to the ground with a thud that Tai felt through his shoes. The obsidian axe slipped from his paralyzed hands, clattering next to him.

  “No... fair...Bruk… now nap…” he mumbled through numb lips. “Stupid big bug lucky…”

  Tai stared, wide-eyed. “Is he—?” His mouth hung open in stunned horror, completely failing to register the rest of the scene as it unfolded.

  The red-haired warrior didn’t miss a beat. She slashed across the centipede’s face and shouted something sharp over her shoulder. Tai only caught fragments—“again”… “sting”… “every moon-circl?” The rest was a blur of unfamiliar syllables, but the way she snapped it, frustrated and loud, made the meaning clear enough.

  The mage sighed and muttered something back—he definitely said “third” and “this moon-circl,” whatever that meant. The tone was tired, like it wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument.

  Tai frowned. He didn’t know the word moon-circl, but guessed it meant month? Maybe? He couldn’t be sure, but context filled in the gaps.

  The woman barked something else—short, annoyed. Tai didn’t catch the words, but she waved a hand at Bruk’s limp form and scowled.

  Yeah. He could guess what she meant. One axe short.

  Neither of them noticed Tai, still frozen near the wall, trying to look invisible.

  The dwarf cursed loudly—or something very close to it—and rushed in, hammer raised.

  The runes on the dwarf's hammer and armor flared a hot orange, casting dancing light around him. Just in time, too—the centipede's tentacles swept at him next, a flurry of poisonous whips. The dwarf moved with surprising agility, his hammer spinning in tight arcs to smack aside each tentacle that came too close. Sparks flew each time the rune-etched metal collided with chitinous limb.

  Meanwhile, the mage had finally overcome his egg obsession enough to join the fray properly. He thrust out his staff and barked an incantation. Tai heard the word clearly—Ignus Ferno!—as the translation in his head seemed to latch onto it like a trigger.

  The crystal at the staff’s tip blazed to life with a fiery red glow, like it had been pulled straight from the belly of the earth. The light grew steadily, shifting from deep crimson to bright yellow, then searing white—until finally, with a crackling hum, a ball of fire streaked across the cavern straight toward the nightmarish centipede.

  Midway through its flight, the fireball suddenly split—dozens of smaller firebolts burst outward like magical fireworks. The majority struck the centipede’s flank, exploding on impact and bathing the lair in bursts of scorching light.

  Several of the bolts veered off course, slamming into nearby egg clusters. Some exploded immediately, while others sizzled, bubbled, and burst from the intense heat.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  The creature shrieked, segments of its armored hide charred and smoking. It recoiled from the flames, thrashing in pain.

  The mage grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “…execution!” Tai heard, execution? Whatever it was, the guy looked way too smug for someone surrounded by boiling monster goo. He admired the embers like they were a fireworks display.

  The red-haired warrior spun on him mid-swing and snapped something that Tai only half caught—“…incinerated…payload… idiot!”

  The mage blinked, confused. “Payload?”

  “The eggs, you flam—” Her next word warped into static in Tai’s head, like a radio cutting out mid-sentence. “—that’s.. we came for!”

  Tai winced. The magic in his head - whatever was translating their words - felt like it was flickering, skipping phrases. He was catching every other sentence now, enough to piece together that she was furious and he was oblivious.

  Okay, so magical Google Translate was still in beta apparently…

  “Oh,” the mage muttered, glancing at the smoldering remains. “Well… they were very flammable.”

  The warrior let out a groan and parried a strike from the centipede, then muttered something that didn’t translate at all. Whatever she said, it probably didn’t belong in polite conversation.

  The dwarf seized that moment to step forward and swing his warhammer in a devastating upward arc. "For the ancestors!" he bellowed. Somehow, Tai understood that rallying cry perfectly, as if the words arrived in his mind a half-second after they left the dwarf's lips. The hammer connected with the centipede's lower jaw (or what passed for it), and with a sickening crunch, shattered a chunk of its mandibles. Fragments of bony exoskeleton flew.

  The red-haired woman was already in motion, capitalizing on the opening. She darted around the opposite side of the beast, sword in hand. With the centipede rearing back from the dwarf's blow, its underbelly was momentarily exposed. She sprang forward with a swift, practiced grace. Her curved blade flashed as she sliced deep into the softer segments between the bone plates on the centipede's underside. The monster's wail this time was weaker, wet and gurgling.

  It collapsed partially, its front half slamming to the ground, legs scrabbling weakly. The woman had to leap back to avoid being crushed by the flailing body. She tucked into a roll, popping up a few yards away with only a slight stagger.

  The centipede wasn't done yet, though. Injured, cornered, it gathered its remaining strength and spat a last, desperate defense: a spray of vile neon orange acid hurled in all directions from its maw. Tai, still huddled behind the egg cluster, ducked and covered instinctively as a fine mist of acid rained over the area. He felt tiny droplets pepper the back of his hands and hissed at the sudden burn. It was like being splashed with scalding water and bleach at the same time. He quickly wiped his hands on his already ruined shirt, hoping none got in his eyes.

  The dwarf raised an arm to shield his face as acid splattered over his rune-covered armor. The runes flared deep blue, repelling the worst of the corrosive spray. The mage was farther back, but he still yelped and frantically patted out a smoking hole that had been singed through his robes. The red-haired warrior got the worst of it—she was nearest. With a cry of alarm, she brought up her sword and forearm guard in front of her. The leather of her bracers started to sizzle, and she grit her teeth in pain but held her stance.

  Even as the acid burned her arm, she refused to give the creature a chance to recover. With a fierce shout she drove her sword straight down into the centipede's head, right between those big, ugly eyes. There was a crunch, a spurt of dark fluid, and the centipede gave one last shudder that rattled all its many legs... then it lay still.

  Silence fell, broken only by the ragged breathing of the adventurers and the faint drip of acid and ichor onto stone. Tai realized he had been holding his breath and finally exhaled shakily. The monstrous bug was dead, thank whatever gods this world had. He slumped back, only now becoming aware of how utterly tense every muscle in his body had been.

  For a moment, none of the combatants moved. The red-haired woman braced herself on her sword, still embedded in the centipede's skull, panting for breath. The dwarf gingerly prodded the beast's side with his hammer, as if to ensure it wasn't about to leap up for round two. The mage, breathing hard, carefully stepped around a puddle of acid to inspect the remains, his earlier academic excitement tempered by caution.

  Tai slowly pulled himself to his feet. His knees wobbled like jelly. He was alive, miraculously. He had front row seats to the most insane rescue mission ever, and he was alive. The adrenaline rush was fading, leaving him light-headed and slightly nauseated from the stench of burnt bug and acid. He looked down at his hands, which were trembling and dotted with a few small red burns from the acid. Not to mention scraped palms from his dive earlier. He was a mess—clothes torn and stained, one sneaker partially dissolved where a bit of acid had landed—but in one piece.

  The beast-man still lay paralyzed, though his eyes blinked sluggishly. The dwarf was already kneeling at his side, pulling a small vial from a pouch at his belt. He uncorked it and unceremoniously poured a smoking, fizzy liquid down the badger-man’s throat.

  The beast-man sputtered, coughed, and then sucked in a deep, ragged breath as sensation returned.

  “Blegh! Tastes like swamp,” he muttered hoarsely. His limbs began to twitch, the antidote working its magic.

  “Big bug worm poison... no match for me!” he added triumphantly—just before his eyes rolled back again and his big furry body flopped back onto the stone with a thump.

  Tai found himself cracking a grin despite everything. The sheer absurdity of it all—the badger-man’s comical bravado even as drool from the paralysis still glistened on his chin—was too much. A semi-hysterical laugh bubbled up, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle it.

  It came out as a strange, choking squeak.

  That was the moment the group finally turned—expressions wary and weapons still half-raised—acknowledging, for the first time, the existence of the guy they had just unintentionally saved.

  The woman yanked her sword free of the centipede's skull with a wet squelch and flicked off some clinging goo. Now she turned on Tai, eyes narrowing appraisingly. In the orange glow of the remaining eggs and the mage's still-lit staff crystal, Tai saw her face fully. She was young, maybe late twenties like him, with a spattering of freckles across her cheeks currently smudged with grime. Acid had burned holes through parts of her leather armor, and angry red splotches marked one of her forearms, but she seemed to shrug off the pain. Her gaze flicked over his appearance: the strange clothes, his lack of any visible weapon or armor, his generally pathetic condition. She said something in that foreign language, a question by the intonation of it, but Tai could only shrug helplessly.

  "I... I'm sorry, I don't understand," he stammered, shaking his head. Up until now, he hadn’t dared try speaking to them beyond his muttered self-reassurances, and he had no idea if they could even understand him.

  The group exchanged glances. The dwarf, still kneeling beside the barely-conscious beast-man, scratched his beard and eyed Tai warily. The badger-man muttered something incoherent, his head lolling slightly as he faded in and out of awareness.

  The mage stepped forward, peering at Tai with open curiosity. He said something while gesturing—first at the centipede’s corpse, then at Tai. Tai caught only fragments:

  “…you… see… glow… symbols?”

  It was no good. His brain was starting to pick up more of their speech, but it was still like trying to decipher a bad auto-translate —maybe every other word, if that.

  Seeing Tai's blank look, the mage tried a different approach. He pointed at Tai's chest, then waggled his fingers in the air making a whooshing motion toward Tai, eyebrows raised questioningly.

  Tai blinked. "Uh, sorry? I, um..." He mimicked the mage's gesture uncertainly, touching his own chest then looking around as if something invisible might have flown into him. He must have looked completely lost, because the red-haired woman stepped in with a sharp wave of her hand.

  She spoke to the mage in a curt tone—Tai could only guess she was telling him to drop it. Her body language radiated authority; clearly she was the leader here. The mage sighed but nodded, though he continued to give Tai a thoughtful side-eye.

  The woman turned to Tai again. This time, she spoke slowly and clearly. "Name?" she asked, in accented but understandable speech. The single word cut through, and Tai realized with relief that the magical translator (or whatever it was) had finally decided to earn its keep. Her voice was low and even, not exactly warm, but not hostile either, despite the fact that she looked ready to skewer him if he made one wrong move.

  Tai exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He tapped his chest. "Tai," he said. His voice came out in a croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "My name is Tai." He gave a small, shaky smile and raised his hands in what he hoped was a universal sign of I am harmless and very grateful.

  The woman nodded, processing that. Then she gestured to herself briefly, and to her companions. She didn't give any names, just said a few words he mostly didn't catch, though he did hear "...adventurers…mersneries…" Tai assumed that's what they were: an adventuring party. Just like a group out of a game. He'd have found it ridiculously cool if he weren't the hapless guy they’d just fished out of certain doom.

  The dwarf stepped forward and asked gruffly, “How you come here?” His English, or whatever the language it was, was a bit broken, but understandable. He looked Tai up and down, taking in the odd clothes and every other clue that screamed not from around here.

  Tai glanced at his own outfit and had the decency to look sheepish. He probably looked like a walking disaster: burned, slime-coated hoodie with a ridiculous quote, shredded gym shorts, shoes not even fully intact... and relatively clean-shaven, with hands that had clearly seen more keyboard than sword. Not exactly a hardened explorer.

  “I...” Tai began, then faltered. How did you even start explaining something like this? “I don’t know,” he admitted, raking a hand through his short black hair, making it stand up in wild, messy tufts. “One moment I was home... and the next I woke up here. I don’t remember how.”

  His words felt clumsy, like the translator or whatever magic was processing his speech was still buffering.

  The trio exchanged glances at his explanation. Did they think he was lying? Crazy? Just stupid?

  It sounded unbelievable to them, no doubt.

  Hell, it was unbelievable to him, and he had lived it.

  ...Hadn’t he?

  The woman narrowed her eyes at Tai, as if measuring the truth of his claim. He couldn't blame her for being suspicious. If he were in her position, he'd suspect some ill-prepared adventurer or a fool who wandered in by accident. But his clothes, his manner of speech... nothing about him said "local." In fact, as Tai glanced at the four of them—these armed, armored, battle-ready individuals—and then at himself, it dawned on him how utterly out of place he must look. Like someone had plucked a random guy off the street and dropped him into a D&D session.

  Which, to be fair, is exactly what happened.

  The mage began babbling excitedly to the others, his hands waving animatedly as he gestured—first at Tai, then at the cave around them, then at the dead centipede. Tai caught a few scattered words that sounded like “Outsider,” “Prime,” or *“Ancient Fragment”... maybe “Relic?” He repeated that one several times.

  The red-haired woman raised an eyebrow and held up a hand to stem his chatter. She nodded, as if the mage had confirmed something, but at the same time, she didn’t look pleased.

  She addressed Tai once more, slower than before.

  “You... world-new? Not from... around?” she asked carefully, suspicion tightening her tone.

  Tai’s heart skipped a beat at the recognition. Not from here?

  Didn’t that seem obvious?

  He gave a hesitant nod. “I guess so…?”

  He forced a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really appreciate the rescue. If you guys hadn’t shown up when you did...”

  He let the thought trail off, shaking his head. Being eaten by a centipede or dissolved in acid wasn’t exactly the ending I had in mind for today.

  The badger-man, finally coming back into consciousness, stirred with a groggy grunt. He tried to sit up, his limbs sluggish and uncoordinated like someone shaking off anesthesia. His face scrunched with effort, and when he finally managed a grin, it was lopsided—more gums than teeth, with a bit of drool trailing down his cheek.

  “Big bug... no problem,” he slurred proudly, his words thick and slushy. “We save... small human. You owe drink!” he declared, wobbling slightly as he pointed a slow, unsteady finger at Tai.

  The dwarf rolled his eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

  The red-haired leader just pinched the bridge of her nose as if fighting off a headache.

  Tai couldn’t help but laugh—part relief, part sheer disbelief that he was alive… and talking to a real, living dwarf and a huge, slightly drooling badger-man.

  “Sure,” he managed between laughter that was quickly slipping into hysterical. “Drinks on me. Absolutely!”

  He had no idea how he’d fulfill that promise, considering he had no money in this world (and his wallet was likely sitting uselessly back on his nightstand at home), but it felt like the right thing to say. And honestly, after the night he’d had, he could use a drink too.

  “Small human broken?” Bruk asked thickly, blinking in slow motion. “Small human... bit by big bug?”

  He aimed the question at his companions, his words still slurred, but his concern oddly sincere.

  The woman murmured something to the dwarf, who nodded and began rifling through a pouch. He produced a small glass vial—similar to the one he’d given the badger-man earlier, but filled with a softly glowing pale blue liquid this time. The dwarf offered it to Tai.

  “Drink. Help body,” he said simply.

  Tai didn’t hesitate. Whatever it was, it likely couldn’t make him feel worse. He took the vial with a nod of thanks and downed it in one gulp. The liquid was cool and surprisingly pleasant, tasting faintly of mint and honey. Almost instantly, a soothing sensation spread through him. The ache in his shoulder from his earlier tumble eased, and the stinging burns on his skin cooled, as if he’d just applied aloe vera to a sunburn.

  He let out a slow, contented breath. “Thank you... I needed that,” he said earnestly. He offered a grateful smile to the dwarf, who grunted something that might have been approval.

  The dwarf extended a hand—surprisingly gentle for someone built like a small mountain, and helped Tai up from where he sat slumped against the cavern wall. Tai wobbled a little, knees shaky, but the pain was gone. His body felt lighter, stronger, even.

  For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, he thought, Maybe I’m okay. Maybe I’ve actually got a chance.

  Then the world tilted.

  Not metaphorically—literally. The ground swayed like the deck of a ship. His vision smeared at the edges, shapes warping and colors bleeding together. Light danced at the corners of his eyes—strange, shivering halos that pulsed with each heartbeat. The cavern seemed impossibly far away and far too close at the same time. A soft, high ringing hummed in his ears.

  “Wait…” he mumbled, reaching to steady himself against the dwarf, who caught him with both hands.

  “Hey—easy now, lad,” the dwarf said, his voice rough but laced with concern.

  Tai blinked hard, trying to focus, but the dwarf’s face shimmered like it was underwater. The glow of the mage’s staff doubled, then tripled, then fractured into swirling starbursts.

  Behind them, the red-haired warrior rolled her eyes. “Rookie,” she muttered, “They always drop right after the first rush wears off.”

  Tai opened his mouth to protest—or maybe to thank them, but no sound came out. His limbs went oddly weightless, like they didn’t belong to him anymore.

  The cavern spun. His stomach churned, that deep, nauseating lurch of a hangover right before you know you’re going to be sick.

  And then the world faded, spiraling into black.