Chapter 1: Fallen Sword, Shattered Soul

I was once the greatest swordmaster in all of Silver Hollow. Now, my only weapon is the chipped mug in my trembling hand.

Back then, even grabbing a burger at Denny’s meant catching folks at the counter sneaking glances, whispering my name like it might bring luck. I could practically feel the weight of my reputation as soon as I walked into a room, like the whole town was holding its breath, waiting to see what I'd do next.

It was no easy feat to break through the Gates of Heaven and ascend, but just as I did, I ran headlong into a rampage in the Heavenly Court.

I’ll never forget that moment—the sky above Silver Hollow splitting wide open like a summer storm, and suddenly, I was somewhere else entirely. The air crackled with energy, wild and raw. I could taste ozone on my tongue, and everything smelled of burnt metal, like the time the transformer blew outside the high school gym.

A wild monkey—looked straight out of a kung fu cartoon, but real—wielded an iron staff, locked in a fierce battle with a three-eyed man, and the shockwaves from their clash shattered my soul. The world spun, my ears ringing like the Friday night tornado siren back home.

It felt like watching a tornado rip through the county fair. One moment I was on my feet, the next, tossed around like a ragdoll in a hailstorm. That iron staff came down with a boom you’d hear clear across the state, and the guy with three eyes—he just grinned, his spear glinting with a deadly light. I didn’t even have time to curse before the world went white.

When I opened my eyes again, everything had changed.

My ears rang. My vision blurred. It was like waking up after a night of bad whiskey, only worse. The world was both familiar and wrong—a strange, echoing silence, broken only by the soft ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere I couldn't see.

An ugly old woman, calling herself the Great Black Madonna, demanded my life.

She glared at me with eyes like coal, her voice a rasp that chilled me to the bone. Her wrinkled hands, speckled with liver spots, clutched a rosary so black it looked carved from midnight itself, and she loomed over me, smelling of mildew and bitter herbs, like the haunted house on Main every Halloween.

I laughed.

Not the gentle kind either—it was the sort of laugh you give when you're staring down a loaded shotgun and you don't really care anymore. The absurdity of it all struck me hard, and for a split second, I remembered every joke I'd ever told in Silver Hollow’s only bar.

I couldn’t defeat the Great Sage himself.

That much was obvious. I mean, the guy with the iron staff could bench-press a freight train, and I’d barely had time to draw my blade before everything went sideways.

And you, a petty evil spirit—are you even worth making me draw my blade?

I stared her down, the ghost of a grin curling my lips. If the old me was arrogant, the new me was too tired to be scared. Some fights just aren’t worth the trouble, especially when you’ve already lost everything.