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Hit the tambourine: Prologue
🕑 Added 2024-03-16 19:56:05 +0000 UTCPrologue
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The young man, who might more properly be called a lad than a man, came out of his apartment a little gloomy and visibly darkened by a severe lack of sleep. Yes, the credits will never pass themselves. And no one will care that you did not drink with friends on a bench in the park, and lay in bed with pneumonia, because the adult world, such a bastard, has no mercy.
That's for sure, but it would be better if Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin had taken bribes than had he been so diligent in hammering science into immature student minds! With this would agree even the most greedy or crystal honest representatives of the student fraternity. They would gladly give that bribe, just to finish communication with this individual. In principle, he had already learned the basic materials, but he just wanted to forget about everything and take a nap for a thousand minutes. The morning shower, a horse dose of caffeine, quickly made sandwiches and, of course, loud metal in his headphones didn't help. Moreover, it seemed that the demonic howling of the vocalist in my ears imperceptibly folded into a tender maternal lullaby.
"Good morning." He muttered, yawning desperately as he stepped into the miraculously caught elevator, meeting only the distracted nod of its only passenger.
They were as different as heaven and earth: of medium height, with a not particularly expressive, but pleasant face, dark hair, and red-green (red from lack of sleep) eyes, the last one to enter the elevator might even seem handsome, especially if given a good night's sleep, while the second one was.... he was. Lean, almost round in his fatness, with greasy, russet, and incomprehensible hair, pimply, had not washed his hair for a long time and despised deodorants, and completed the image with a greasy and stupid smile, like Beavis and Butthead at once.
They were Stepan and Stepan, two neighbors, two namesakes, two individuals burning their youth in different ways. No, Stepan the Normal, as even Stepan That One's parents probably addressed him behind his eyes, did not get on his namesake, did not show any aggression, and even sometimes talked to him about the high culture of anime and computer games. Of course, being a hardened PC gamer, he anathematized That One for his passion for mobile wankers, but even this disapproval was good-natured and non-confrontational. It just so happened that in the whole town, Stepan the Normal was one of the few yearlings who didn't bully his peer at all. It just happened somehow that they became not exactly buddies, but had a normal relationship.
Still, That One had his bright qualities and virtues hidden deep within him. Very deeply hidden. So deep that they had died under layers of fat and were now decomposing.
Without even a word to each other, immersed in their own world, and completely satisfied with this immersion, they went down to the first floor. The elevator, as always, shook slightly at the end of the way, forcing Stepan, who had not slept well, to step forward, keeping his balance, and the other Stepan, who was watching hentai from his phone, to lean back against the back wall of the elevator. So it turned out that they slightly changed places and the young man, who wanted to sleep and who was going to get out of the elevator second until the last second, got out of it first. Neither of the Stepans was distracted from their occupation - trying to fall asleep standing up and watching obscene cartoons - so they got out of the elevator completely blind. But for nothing, because if any of them had looked forward, the story of Stepans and one extremely unusual world would have taken a completely different path.
Alas, history, like Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin, could not tolerate the subjunctive mood.
Stepan stumbled and fell, stretching out on the snow-white marble floor, and nearly crushed his nose on it, but he managed to save his brand new phone from turning into rubble and didn't even tear his headphones. Cradling his elbow, he swore for a few seconds at the moron who had made the floor in the entrance with slippery and hard stone, and then he realized that in the entrance of a simple block of flats, this marble could not be physically, as well as the huge space in which he found himself.
With his throat constricted and the thought that he had played with the sleep mode, he jumped up and looked around. He didn't have long to do that, because a moment later he was nearly scalded by a stern and languid voice coming from behind him, for which any sex worker would have sold her soul, silicone implants, and a popular account on OnlyFans.
"Hello, Stepan-chan." The boy, who jumped up and only due to his constricted throat didn't squeal, turned around and stared at the woman who had spoken. "I see you have a lot of questions, but you know what the answers will be, my chosen boy."
Stepan had no idea, although there were thoughts, the case and the situation were textbook, but he was afraid to object to the lady sitting on the majestic throne. The huge hall, as if hovering in the complete emptiness of space, in absolute blackness, where there was not even light, but everything remained quite visible and vision also mysteriously worked. Apart from the throne, the woman who had spoken, and Stepan, there was nothing here, not even oxygen, it seemed, but that didn't stop him from breathing. The enormous throne was on a slight rise, just enough to make it easy to look up, but it wasn't the throne that attracted attention, not the one that would make the Emperor of Mankind weep with envy, but the one who sat on it.
She was tall, twice or even three times as big as a man of average height, like Stepan, who was frozen in front of her. She resembled a mixture of a kind aunt, a strict teacher from the fantasies of pubescent schoolchildren, and Lady Dimitrescu, who had become a meme. In general, it was because of such pretty girls that decent people got into accidents, hit their heads on a lamppost, or got neck sprains, especially while she was wearing such clothes, combining classic and lush near-Victorian style with a strong corset and a very prominent neckline. At the sight of such beauty, even if just in a picture, not to mention the live face, it is said there would get a boner even the dead. At the dead, but not at the deadly frightened, who does not want to become a protagonist-dumbass and to swear at least somehow to the entity, which seems to have snatched him right out of the elevator even without the help of the world-famous truck. Though, of course, there was a thought in his head that it was possible to dress like that, but only counting on a certain reaction. He didn't want to check on himself how painfully she would react to this reaction, so Stepan decided to look at the patterns on the throne.
In vain, because these patterns turned out to represent such plots and pictures an Indian book about love and married life would simply burn with shame. And the modern Pornhub would inevitably blush right in the source code of the site because of some particularly fascinating plots. Swallowing hard and standing on his feet, hiding his phone in his pocket, breathing heavily, and suppressing panic, Stepan prepared himself for the most difficult conversation of his life. Ironically, it turned out not to be an answer to Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin in an exam, amazingly enough! And again he had no time to react because the conversation began without his participation.
"Yes, that's right, Stepan-chan, you are indeed the Chosen One, chosen by me, for a great and important purpose." Stepan wanted very much, amazingly strongly, to ask to return home, to sleep deprivation, to the coming session and, of course, to Rodislav, to go to Hell, to torture Satan inhumanely there, to Gastoldovich, to knock down his three-meter-wide log, to Janin. "You are destined to go to a completely different world to carry my great will there, for only you have a chance to bring this will.
The voice of this goddess, or whatever she was, was more powerful than any Afro- or even Eurodisiac, forcing him to spend all his strength on self-control because without it he could easily get stuck on tits and then... hell knows what afterward, He he didn't really want to check. Instinctively. He somehow realized that to be in the place of a hero isekai - this is not the way a normal person would want to go. No, no, no, no, Stepan doesn't want to go to Disneyland, bring him back, he's already tired.
"Listen, ma'am, I feel very uncomfortable...." It was scary as hell to contradict such an entity, but even the attempt to start a dialog failed because the goddess of big tits and sexy mega-milfs continued talking.
"That's right, as the Chosen One I will give you the System, which will stay with you by default, but there is something else you can take with you, whether it's an artifact, a true masterpiece from my treasury of your choice, a random artifact, only much more powerful, a masterpiece standing above the masterpieces, or even my special blessing, Stepan-chan." Suddenly, it came to Stepan, interrupted right on the half-word, that it was as if this lady was talking, well, not to him. "This blessing will bring you good luck, increase your chances of finding a really noble prey, obtain especially valuable rewards from the System, and it will also fulfill your deepest desires.... but you'll have to start with nothing more than the most basic survival kit."
It's a recording! flashed in Stepan's mind and a moment later he realized it was a recording tailored to all the reactions of a particular person, he even guessed which one. A recording that knows exactly what will be answered and asked..... Stepan, my neighbor, damn!"
The thought of not only being in the isekai, but also taking someone else's place in it, gave him hysterical panic and no less hysterical hilarity, making him grin, then chuckle, then laugh, and then realize that he was in some serious shit. Or rather, even more serious, because he didn't trust the choices his namesake should have made! He wouldn't even trust him to buy toilet paper! Meanwhile, a little away from the throne, countless portal windows opened up, leading to small stands with a variety of different and not simple items, starting with assorted staffs and swords, continuing even with dishes, among which some samples looked like Aladdin's lamps, and ending with a beaded and pink-painted Kalashnikov assault rifle with "Hello Kitty!" on the butt. All the samples are signed. There is a manual in an understandable but unfamiliar language written in purple ink.
It would take a month just to look through the catalog without even reading it!
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, honored one, I'm choosing an artifact. An ordinary one, by choice, something from the protective and providing maximum survivability, not only from enemy attacks, but also from diseases, environment, and even hunger!" Not being an experienced survivalist hiker, Stepan, who had already accepted the inevitability of what had happened, nevertheless had a good idea of what it was fraught to find himself in the medieval world, not possessing these skills and a stock of equipment and provisions. He was not sure about the promised starter kit. "Some kind of traveler's tent, oh, that one, that'll do just fine!"
"Yes, I will be able to send you in such a way that you go out into the new reality unnoticed, my dear Stepan-chan." Meanwhile, the auto-response goddess confirmed his worst suspicions. "Yes, they can all be yours, my dear, as you wish. Of course, my blessing will see to that. You have correctly understood its reverse implication, my clever Stepan-chan, but it will only be better for you, won't it? If that's what you want? Yes, I'm very glad I chose you to appear before me."
The panic of realizing the situation had gone to the worst possible scenario had reached its limit, replaced by a wild and furious rage. At himself, at his namesake, who, it seems, having gotten here, would have behaved like a stupid sperm-toxic sack of shit, who was being conned like a sucker, and he couldn't understand. To be fair, if the record had been tailored to Stepan himself, he probably would have let himself be tricked too - even in such a broken state, the words, gestures, facial expressions, and general demeanor of this Big MILF truly overwhelmed the will, but anger mixed with horror did a good job of counteracting it.
"Ah-ah-ah, bitch, you called the wrong one!" Already desperate, he began to rant and swear, hoping to get through to the support, admins, or even Rodislav Gastoldovich Yanin, in case one thing would eat the other, and he had already gotten used to his old acquaintance. "I wasn't fucking called, but I'm here, and I didn't come here by myself! Call tech support, admins, Granny Butt, the ghost of communism, the explanatory brigade, or anyone else, you stupid record!!!!"
Alas, even the worst blasphemies, mentions of all known gods and demons, including the Macaroni Monster and Chuck Norris, elicited zero attention, three pounds of scorn, one mere ignoring. It wouldn't be long before the system itself would give him the class of berserker, or even the incarnate Avatar of Burning Ass Burning.
"So be it, Stepan-chan." The recording of someone's divine nature cooed sweetly, causing Stepan to shriek and almost stop his heart. "Accept my blessing, Liarat si Merrinal, the Lady of Gifts and the Giver of Gifts, the faithful servant of Innelas Innelay, my mistress, and then go and take this new world for you!"
"Stepan, if I come back, you'll be..."
And there was light.
And darkness.
It was too.
And there was nothing more.
Just a loud mental swearing.
