World Hopping With Gacha

Have you ever seen one of those scenes in movies or comics where the protagonist is sitting on a pile of bodies, blood dripping from their hands, while the world around them burns? If not, let me paint you a picture-because that's where I am right now. How did I end up in this grotesque masterpiece of chaos?

Let's rewind a few hours.

The day started innocently enough. I had just stepped out of the Italian restaurant after my meeting with the mafia boss. He wanted a batch of Kevlar vests and a few sniper rifles-SSG 08s, to be precise. Nothing unusual about that; just another day discussing firearms with one of the most dangerous men in the region.

To stay extra cautious, I'd altered my appearance using [Shapeshifter]. Gone was the golden hair and emerald-green eyes. Instead, I sported my old look—dark brown hair and matching dark brown eyes.

After the meeting, I decided to wander the streets. There was something oddly comforting about the busy streets of the city at night-the glow of streetlights, the hum of distant chatter, and the smell of late-night food carts. I let my guard down, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.

That's when it happened.

A sharp prickle ran down my spine, my instincts screaming at me. But before I could react, something struck the back of my neck. My vision blurred, and the world spun as I collapsed onto the cold pavement.

I woke up to the shock of icy water being tossed over my face. Gasping, I jolted upright, my arms restrained behind me. The room smelled of rust and damp concrete-a warehouse, judging by the towering shelves and the faint echo of dripping water.

A man stood before me, smirking. His greasy hair was slicked back, and he wore a cheap suit that reeked of second-hand authority. Flanked by a dozen armed goons, he paced back and forth, clearly enjoying himself.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he sneered. "You've been busy, haven't you? Cozying up to our mutual friend."

I didn't respond. Years of conditioning—Which I had skipped—taught me the value of silence. He hated it.

"Cat got your tongue?" He crouched to meet my eye level. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Marco. And you, my friend, are about to help me send a message to your new bestie."

Ah, so this was the so called rival the Boss had told me about. A petty thug with ambitions far larger than his brain. But I had to admit, he wasn't stupid. Kidnapping me to get at his rival was a bold move. Unfortunately for him, boldness doesn't guarantee survival.

Marco straightened up, launching into some long-winded speech about power, betrayal, and revenge. I tuned him out. Instead, I used the time to evaluate my situation. My hands were bound, but the ropes weren't tight enough to prevent movement. A quick flex of my wrist confirmed that I could slip out if needed.

The room was filled with goons, each armed with various weapons-pistols, bats, even a crowbar or two. The odds weren't great, but I could face worse. And then there was Garuda, perched silently in the rafters, watching.

"Any last words?" Marco asked, his voice dripping with mockery.

I smirked beneath the mask. "Yeah, just one: run."

Before he could respond, I activated [Doppelganger]. Two clones materialized beside me, instantly catching everyone off guard. Using the distraction, I slipped out of my restraints, grabbed the nearest goon's gun, and fired.

The warehouse erupted into chaos.

Bullets flew, men shouted, and the metallic clang of weapons hitting the floor echoed through the room. My clones were weaker than me, but they were faster and stronger than the goon due to reinforcement, taking out several thugs before dying.

Marco's smug expression vanished as he scrambled for cover. "Kill him! Kill him now!" he screamed, his voice cracking.

I ducked behind a crate, using it as cover while I assessed the situation. There were still about eight of them left. I took out Caliburn, channeling my mana into it. A golden light enveloped me, and I stepped out from behind the crate, aiming at the nearest thug.

"Time to die."

With a swing the light shot out like a beam, hitting the man square in the chest. He screamed as his body convulsed, the power tearing through him. I didn't stop, targeting the others one by one. The air grew heavy with the scent of burning flesh, and the remaining goons dropped their weapons, terror etched on their faces.

Marco, however, wasn't giving up. He lunged at me with a knife, his desperation making him sloppy. I sidestepped easily, grabbing his wrist and twisting until the blade fell to the ground.

"You should've stayed in your lane," I said coldly before delivering a punch that knocked him out cold forever.

The warehouse was silent now, save for the occasional sound of dripping water. I looked around at the carnage-bodies strewn across the floor, blood pooling beneath them. I didn't feel guilt, only a strange sense of calm. They had chosen this path, and I had merely defended myself.

But there was one thing I was disappointed about was the despite me being able to use Caliburn as a Holy Sword my power output was still much lesser than Saber (Lily).

Garuda swooped down, landing beside me. "Arthur, the authorities might be on their way. We should leave."

I nodded, wiping the blood from my hands. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

Now here I am, sitting on a pile of bodies in the middle of a burning warehouse. The fire was Garuda's idea—flames would destroy any evidence linking me to the scene.

Even so as we flew away into the night, I couldn't help but think about how far I'd come. A year ago, I was just a kid trying to survive.

But with power comes responsibility-or so they say.

"Garuda," I said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Remind me to never eat at that restaurant again."

He chuckled, his golden feathers glowing under the moonlight. "Noted."

---Note

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