“Ship it is,” John muttered, the name settling uneasily in his mind. Standing up, he stretched, his joints popping softly after what felt like hours in the dim, humming confines of the Ship. He frowned, the more time he spent here, the more it felt like home. A sense of belonging was creeping up on him, unbidden and unearned.

  “Let’s see how this thing flies,” he said, trying to shake off the strange feeling as his eyes flicked to the Improbability Factor counter, which had ticked steadily upward to a point where he had accumulated enough points to use. He typed his apartment’s address into the glowing console, his fingers hesitant but steady.

  The map that appeared made his eyebrows shoot up. “This thing can see inside the building?” he murmured, impressed. The layout of his apartment complex unfolded in intricate detail, down to the cars in the lot.

  “Alright, then—” John gulped, bracing himself. His hand instinctively hovered over a large lever, the biggest one on the console, and with a deep breath, he slammed it down.

  The Improbability Factor counter ticked down rapidly. The Ship came alive beneath him with a deep, resonant hum that grew into a deafening roar. It was as if the world itself was shaking, and the chair vibrated violently as John clung to it with his teeth clenched. Hidden mechanisms within the Ship groaned and churned, building to a crescendo before—

  DING!

  The sound was anticlimactic, almost comical, compared to the chaos seconds before. The rumbling stopped abruptly, leaving the Ship eerily still.

  “Is... that it?” John asked aloud, his voice shaky. He glanced warily at the blinking console, which now displayed his destination coordinates. Steeling himself, he stood up and approached the double doors that hissed open with a smoothness that didn’t match the machine’s earlier turbulence.

  The outside air hit him like a truck. A slow grin spread across his face as he stepped onto the familiar asphalt of the parking lot, inhaling the crisp air that carried the weight of normalcy. His gaze shifted to his car, a battered white Toyota Corolla, sitting exactly where he’d left it. But the sight didn’t fill him with relief. Instead, it brought a grimace to his face. Something deep inside him recoiled at the thought of using it, the pull of the Ship growing stronger for a moment before subsiding. “So, we traveled all those miles in a few seconds,” John muttered, glancing back at the Ship’s plain, metallic shell that didn’t look like it belonged to reality itself. “There’s no way you flew here, right? You’re teleporting. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  The machine, of course, didn’t answer. John shook his head and headed toward his apartment while letting out a long sigh.

  “What a day,” he groaned, stepping into his one-bedroom studio. The clutter hit him immediately—dirty clothes piled on a chair, random objects strewn across the table, empty takeout boxes threatening to spill onto the floor. “I really need to clean up,” John said with a wry smile, dropping his backpack onto the bed and collapsing beside it. He stared at the cracked ceiling for a moment, letting the day’s events catch up with him. He closed his eyes, losing track of time. He could still feel the Ship’s influence crawling inside him, its ever-watching presence looming over him.

  “So... I can teleport now,” he murmured, finally opening his eyes and staring at his hands. The realization brought a grin to his face, followed by a quiet, almost giddy laugh. “I could make so much money with this. Reverse-engineer the technology, maybe patent—”

  The thought cut off abruptly as his chest seized. A cold, invisible hand seemed to wrap around his heart, squeezing until the organ stopped entirely. “N-Nevermind,” he stammered, his voice a rasp. The pressure lifted almost immediately, and his heartbeat resumed as if nothing had happened. “Forget I said anything.” He gulped, his eyes darting toward the Ship in the parking lot below.

  The machine wasn’t just mere esoteric technology—it was alive.

  His phone buzzed, the sound jolting him out of his spiraling thoughts. A text from Chase lit up the screen, an address for the party, along with an urgent demand: Bring alcohol.

  “What, already?” John groaned, checking the time. Six hours had somehow passed. “I wasted six hours in there? How—” He didn’t have time to finish the thought, scrambling off the bed and searching the room.

  “I don’t have time to go to the store,” he muttered, rifling through shelves until his eyes landed on an unopened bottle of vodka. “Yes!” he said, snatching it up triumphantly. Bottle in hand, he dashed out of the apartment. His feet, almost without thinking, carried him back to the Ship.

  “Using fifty Improbability Factor for this seems like a waste,” he said, hesitating for a moment. “But I don’t have time to drive. Speaking of Improbability Factor, I should have enough—”

  “Can’t hurt to have this around, right?” John said, falling into the chair. He typed the address into the console and grinned. The lever slammed down again. The Ship rumbled, the world blurred—and a second later, it reappeared in the yard of a house, the bass thump of party music reverberating in the air.

  “To think I’m using something like this just to get wasted,” John said, chuckling to himself. He lit a cigarette as he stepped outside, the cool night air refreshing against his face. The house loomed ahead, lights spilling from its windows.

  John’s smile faded as his eyes caught an odd shimmer enveloping the house. It was faint but unmistakable, the same eerie glow he’d seen flicker around Chase earlier. It seemed alive, pulsating in time with the thumping bass that shook the night air.

  “What’s this all about?” he muttered, his brow furrowing. His steps slowed, unease prickling at the back of his mind.

  “John!” Chase’s familiar voice broke his thoughts, snapping him back to the moment. He turned to see his friend approaching with an easy, lopsided grin. “Are you feeling—don’t tell me you’ve relapsed again,” Chase said, frowning as he pointed to the cigarette dangling from John’s lips.

  “It’s just for today, I promise!” John raised his hands in mock surrender, trying to muster a carefree tone. “Anyway, I brought something to drink.” He swished the bottle of vodka for emphasis.

  Chase gave him a long, scrutinizing look before his frown softened into a wry smile. “Alright. But don’t make this a habit,” he said, clapping a hand on John’s shoulder. “Let’s head in. Looks like the party’s already in full swing.” He pushed open the door, revealing a chaotic scene. The music was deafening, every beat reverberating through the air that was thick with the mingled scents of various alcohols and cheap perfumes. John’s nose wrinkled, but he kept it to himself as he followed Chase inside.

  John forced a faint smile as he unscrewed the cap on his vodka bottle. Chase popped open a bottle of whiskey, and they clinked their bottles together like glasses before taking swigs.

  Chase coughed immediately, his eyes watering. “Why did I do that?” he muttered, the alcohol burning its way down his throat.

  “Chase! You made it!”

  The voice was loud, booming over the music. John turned to see a man walking toward them, his stocky frame wrapped in a black tracksuit. The man’s baby face was at odds with his physique, and his unnaturally long limbs gave him an off-kilter, almost predatory air.

  But it wasn’t just his appearance. He, too, shimmered faintly, the same unsettling glow as Chase and the house.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d pull through,” the stranger said, his smile wide but strangely hollow.

  “There were some last-minute issues,” Chase replied, his tone tight, his expression strained for the briefest moment before smoothing back into its usual casualness. “But I got everything wrapped up in time.”

  “Good,” the man said, his voice dropping slightly as a fleeting, predatory smirk crossed his face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by an affable grin that didn’t reach his small, calculating eyes. John shifted uncomfortably as the stranger scanned the room, his gaze searching for something—or someone. When the man’s eyes landed on him, John felt his entire body freeze. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, but an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, like being cornered by a predator. The man’s gaze lingered for a second too long before sliding away, disinterest masking whatever he’d been searching for.

  “Right,” John exhaled shakily as the man and Chase disappeared into the crowd. He stared at the vodka bottle in his hand, grimaced, and placed it on a sagging folding table overloaded with liquor bottles. Instead, he grabbed a disposable cup and poured himself a shot of whiskey.

  The burn was familiar, grounding, and for a brief moment, he let the buzz of alcohol and the party’s chaotic atmosphere drown out the unease creeping through him.

  “And he’s gone,” John muttered to himself, noticing that Chase and the strange man were nowhere to be found. “Guess I’ll hug the walls again.” Leaning against a shadowy corner, John scanned the crowd, sipping his drink. Most of the guests seemed obliviously happy, their laughter loud and grating, their erratic dancing almost manic. But the shimmer was everywhere, clinging to them like an invisible thread. It shifted and swirled as they moved, pulsing faintly in time with their motions. “Why do I always let Chase drag me to these things?” John murmured, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. He sucked on his cigarette, only to curse under his breath when his lighter refused to work.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Here,” a slurred voice said.

  John blinked as a woman stumbled toward him, her tight top glittering under the flashing lights. She was flanked by a group of giggling friends, all swaying with exaggerated, unsteady movements. She leaned in close, her breath hot on his cheek as she snapped her fingers near the tip of his cigarette.

  A tiny spark flared to life, igniting it.

  John stared at her, startled. “I—thanks.”

  She chuckled, her laughter trailing off as she stumbled away. “How did she do that?” John murmured, shaking his head in bemusement. He took a long drag, the nicotine settling his nerves as he stepped outside into the cool night air. The stars above were faint, barely visible against the glow of the city. John exhaled slowly, smoke curling upward. “Maybe I should try to talk to some people,” he mused, his tone tinged with melancholy. “Couldn’t hurt to—”

  The sudden crash was deafening, the walls of the house rattling violently. John spun around just in time to see something—or someone—thrown through the far wall with enough force to splinter wood and crack drywall.

  He froze, the cigarette trembling in his hand. The party had stopped while the shimmer around the house pulsed, stronger than ever.

  “Come on, little wolf!” The distorted roar cut through the thundering bass and the panicked screams that followed. John’s head snapped toward the sound, his stomach churning as the voice—once belonging to the man who greeted Chase—now emerged from the grotesque mouth of a humanoid fish-creature. Its body was an amalgamation of nightmare and reality: small, gray, oil-slicked scales shimmered in the fractured light, while a bright orange fin cleaved through its forehead like a macabre crown. Its angular jaw jutted outward, rows of jagged teeth glinting like shards of glass. It reminded John of some twisted angler fish given legs and a thirst for blood.

  “What the—” John stammered, stumbling backward as his legs gave out beneath him. His voice broke into a scream, raw and terrified. “W-What the fuck is that!” He tried to crawl away, his palms scraping against the splintered floorboards, but his panic only worsened as the scene around him unfolded. The strange shimmer that had cloaked the other guests shattered like glass, revealing the truth beneath. They weren’t human.

  A woman with impossibly long ears let out a shriek as a cocoon of vibrant purple flowers erupted around her in a desperate act of defense.

  “W-What’s happening?” John gasped, his chest heaving as his gaze locked onto the rubble.

  The pile of rubble at the center of the chaos exploded outward, sending jagged debris flying. From within, Chase emerged, his body battered and bloodied as he let out a terrifying roar. The shimmer around him dissolved into nothing as his body suddenly shifted into a towering seven-foot-tall creature that resembled a humanoid German shepherd. Its fur was black as midnight, its glowing red eyes blazing with raw fury. Long, razor-sharp claws extended from its hands, each movement rippling with unnatural power.

  “Ch-Chase?” John whispered, his voice trembling.

  The creature—Chase—threw its head back and let out another feral, bone-rattling roar that silenced even the screams of the other guests. John’s mind reeled, unable to comprehend the impossible transformation.

  “What the fuck is happening!” John shrieked, his voice cracking as he tried and failed to scramble to his feet.

  The distorted laughter of the fish-creatures echoed around him, their grotesque forms encircling Chase. One of them stepped forward, its gills flaring as the skin of its bloated cheeks stretched taut before a high-pressure jet of water erupted from the creature’s mouth. The liquid moved so blindingly fast that it shattered the sound barrier, and John screamed in agony as the sound wave slammed into him. The jet had gouged a deep trench into the ruined backyard, narrowly missing Chase as he darted to the side with inhuman speed.

  A faint yellow bubble flickered around Chase, absorbing some of the blast before fading into nothingness. He retaliated immediately, the ground cracking beneath him as he launched himself forward in a streak of crimson lightning. The stench of decay filled the air, making John gag as Chase’s claws sliced through one of the fish-creatures with terrifying precision. Blood and entrails splattered across the yard as the bisected body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

  “The Wolfheart family won’t forget this!” Chase snarled, his guttural voice warped by rage as red energy crackled around his claws.

  “Chase! Behind you!” John screamed, his voice hoarse.

  From the shadows, another fish-creature lunged. Its cheeks were already bulging, ready to unleash its deadly payload. Chase spun around, his claws arcing through the air, but he was a split second too late.

  The jet of water fired, slamming into Chase’s shoulder with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed as he staggered, his growl of pain echoing across the battlefield but his focus was solely on his friend despite the worrying injury.

  “John? Shit, I shouldn’t have—” Before Chase could finish, John’s world exploded in agony.

  He barely registered the strike that hit him—only the aftermath: The lower half of his body was gone, severed cleanly at the waist. He collapsed to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him in a dark, viscous flood while his severed legs lay a few feet away.

  “C-Come on,” John choked, his hands desperately clawing at his exposed intestines, trying to shove them back inside his torn torso. The pain was overwhelming, searing through every nerve like liquid fire. “P-Please!” he sobbed, his strength fading as his vision darkened. His fingers trembled, slick with his own blood, before falling limp at his sides.

  The last thing he heard before the darkness swallowed him was Chase’s roar of anguish.

  “FUCK!” John screamed, the sound tearing from his throat as if to exorcise the nightmare that clung to him. He spat out the half-chewed sandwich he’d been eating, the taste of mustard and bread now foul in his mouth. Around him, a few passersby snickered or shot him puzzled glances, but he didn’t care. His hands trembled violently as they pressed against his stomach—whole and intact but freshly haunted by the memory of his torn body.

  “H-Holy shit,” he gasped, his words hitching as his chest heaved. His body shuddered uncontrollably, and within moments, his stomach revolted, emptying its contents onto the cracked concrete at his feet.

  “John, are you okay?” Chase’s voice cut through the haze, thick with concern as he crouched beside him, reaching out a steadying hand.

  “I-I—” John stammered, his vision swimming as his friend’s face flickered, overlaid by the monstrous visage he’d seen at the party. That massive, wolfish snarl and the glowing red eyes along with the claws that tore through flesh like paper. He recoiled instinctively, his pulse pounding as the tremors in his limbs worsened. “F-Fuck.” He forced himself to take a ragged breath, though his body refused to calm down as the phantom pain of being cut in half burned like fire licking at his waist. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs felt rooted, as though still trapped in the moment he lost them. “I— I think I might be allergic to something in that sandwich,” John blurted, the words stumbling out in a forced, shaky laugh. It was a pathetic attempt at normalcy, and he knew Chase wouldn’t buy it.

  “Are you sure?” Chase asked, his worry shifting to panic. “Allergies can be dangerous—maybe we should get you to a hospital—” Chase’s words faltered. His expression turned sharp and distant, and he clicked his tongue in frustration. “Not now,” he muttered under his breath before meeting John’s wide eyes. “I don’t know how to explain this, but— I have to go. Now.”

  John blinked at him, too overwhelmed to argue. “I-I’ll be fine,” he lied, his gaze darting to the elevator cabin in front of them. It loomed like a lifeline. Safety. All he wanted was to get inside, away from everything.

  “Are you sure—” Chase began, but he cut himself off, biting back whatever hesitation lingered. “Promise me you’ll go to a hospital!” Without waiting for an answer, he bolted, disappearing into the chaos of the nearby streets.

  John stumbled toward the elevator, his breath hitching with every step. The sleek, sterile room that had once unnerved him now felt like salvation. The moment the doors sealed shut behind him, he collapsed against the wall, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

  “That was— I can’t even describe it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he forced himself upright. His hands hovered over his legs, still checking, still needing to confirm they were there. He staggered to the leather seat at the room’s far end, sinking into it with a heavy sigh.

  “What the fuck is happening to me?” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the question.

  “I— Fuck this,” John muttered, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket. He shoved one into his mouth and lit it with trembling hands. The first drag hit his lungs hard, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes, but it steadied him. It gave him a sliver of control in a world that had spiraled into madness.

  “First there’s the Ship,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp. “Then the Authority of Permanence or whatever it was that brought me back from being... God, I can’t even say it. And now there’s mana. And Chase is... a werewolf?”

  He let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the quiet room. “I’m really losing it.”

  The cigarette burned down to its stub as his thoughts churned. He snuffed it out and buried his face in his hands. “What am I supposed to do now?” he muttered, his voice breaking. “I can’t fight those things. They cut me in half like I was nothing.”

  The memory hit him again, sharper this time. The pain. The fear. The helplessness. His body shuddered, but his mind latched onto something else: Chase’s wounds. The way he fought alone.

  “That wasn’t just an attack,” John whispered, his hands falling away from his face. His gaze hardened, the tremble in his voice replaced with quiet resolve. “That whole party... It was a setup. And Chase—he can’t survive this on his own.”

  His eyes flicked to the console, the words System Flight glowing faintly. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the button. “What am I supposed to do? Call the police? As if they’d believe a word of this. Call Chase? No, he would ask questions I can’t answer.” He winced as the mere thought of mentioning the previous timeline seized his chest. The invisible force that gripped his heart was back for a single moment before fading away.

  “There’s only one real option left,” he said softly, the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders. His hand steadied as it lowered to the button. “If I don’t do anything, Chase will die.”

  With a deep, shuddering breath, John pressed the button.