It's Just Business (Worm, Dual OC-SI, Celestial Grimoire)

Salvatore

April 1st

Brockton Bay

Evening

I came to with a sense of weightlessness, eyes flickering open in what could only be a dream. How else would someone begin to explain falling through the air and plummeting toward dark water? It was so unbelievable, so out of left field, that it could only happen in some kind of dream.

Naturally, the world chose to spite me when I hit the water and lost all the air in my lungs.

When you were falling toward water, it was important to at least have the proper form or break the surface tension first. Hitting it like I did only managed to make me gasp at the impact. I was floundering, sleepy eyes now wide and panicked as I thrashed in the water. Floundering felt like a good word for how I felt in that moment, if I had to pick one.

Kicking my feet in half-remembered reflexes, I rose back up to the surface and took a gasping, shuddering breath of air. My arms were still pumping me up in the cool water though, as I frantically attempted to try and take in my surroundings. Because wherever I was, it didn't look familiar to me in the slightest.

For one, I lived nearly a hundred miles away from the coast. Two, if someone wanted to kill or kidnap me to get back at my old man there had to have been better ways to do it. On the supposition that I'd been taken by one of my dad's enemies, I probably shouldn't have woken up.

Three…

Well, there wasn't a third reason. Not one I was able to come up with, cold, pissed, and trying to get my bearings.

"Merda!"

There was a hissed swear above me - shit, in Italian - before another body collided against the surface of the water I was doing my damndest to tread. A massive splash disturbed what little control I'd managed to grasp, and more cool water slammed against my face, sending me sputtering and spitting the invasive liquid out of my mouth and nostrils.

In the dim darkness of wherever the fuck I was, as I wiped my eyes and blinked through the piss-scented water, a cold hand gripped the front of my collar and tugged. Hard. Intense, piercing hazel eyes glared at me through soaked eyelashes, and even despite my confusion and burgeoning panic, my body knew what to do when confronted with a threat.

I kicked my feet, floating up through the tumultuous waves just enough to shove the bastard off of me. His hand didn't release easily, and my knee flew up to nail him in his ballsack - only to slam against an open palm and be pushed downwards. That freed my collar, though, and as I lunged forward to slam my forehead against this shadowy figure-

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw him.

Angelo. My younger brother. As far as I knew, the same younger brother who'd been securing a business deal with the Antonios in Miami, Florida.

Judging by his wide eyes, he recognized me too.

"Sal. Buonasera," he panted, floating in the murky blackness like a bobber. His cold features eased into a small, lopsided grin - ever adaptable and flippant, despite the many, many unknowns. "Fancy meeting you here, brother. Never took you as the skydiving type."

It was hard to hear him over burbling water and crashing waves, as I shot him back a grin. "I get the feeling that we're not exactly in our neck of the woods anymore." A case of me stating the obvious, as I began to swim toward the docks nearby. "Let's get the hell out of the water and try to figure out what the hell is going o-"

[CELESTIAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED]

[FIRST QUEST: CRASHLANDING]

[YOU'VE JUST LANDED IN A NEW WORLD. SURVIVE THE INITIAL MISUNDERSTANDING, WHETHER THROUGH WIT OR FORCE!]

[REWARD: 1x Minor Erudition Perk, 1x Minor Might Perk]

​

…Huh?

"I'm confident they didn't slip me any drugs…" Treading the water on his side, cutting through the gentle waves with lazy dips of his arm, Angelo blinked and shot me an inquisitive glance. "Do you see these words, Sal? They look like… a video game?"

I'm not sure if I'd call it a video game directly, admittedly. "More like a litrpg, actually," was my two cents, as I reached the edge of the water. There was a short, rocky shoreline where we were beaching ourselves, my breath a little beleaguered from the cold and the exertion of the swim. "If we're both seeing it, I don't think we're drugged."

Though it was late and dark, the moonlight seemed to shine brighter on the shore, just enough to reveal just how dirty and unkept the sandy ground was. Angelo wasted no time in crawling out of the water after me, standing to his feet and brushing wet trash from his swim trunks. He was damn near naked outside of the black shorts, meaning he was most likely at some sort of pool party before this happened.

"... Right," he shivered, rubbing heat into his tattooed arms and glancing around. "LitRPGs. Fantasy shit, yeah? You know more about that stuff than me - any clue what the hell the 'Celestial System' is?"

It wasn't quite a personal attack on me, even. I was a little older than my younger brother, and definitely had hit the ground running when it came to memes and internet brainrot. He was objectively right in that I had some suspicions as to what our situation might have been.

"Usually when you get isekai'd, or dumped in another world, it's a little more fantastical than this," I commented, looking out to the Bay we'd just come out from. Besides the weird oil rig sitting there, I didn't see anything too out of place. "But having some sort of cheat system is part and parcel for the situation. Celestial System sounds like it could be related to some kind of CYOA collection, though."

It was clear by the arched, pierced brow and narrowed look that a couple of the terms I'd used flew completely over Angelo's head. Thing was, while he wasn't necessarily the biggest gamer or novel reader, he was book smart, streetsmart, and clever - a big part of why he was the one running to New York to brush shoulders and talk business with other criminals. Father trusted him with shit like that. Already, his eyes were darkening as he glanced around again, taking the proffered information and parsing it for the useful bits.

After about five seconds, he clicked his tongue.

"... Weird. Fucking downright strange… but we've gotta make do with what we got, no? Left my piece at the penthouse, but if this 'System' is claiming there's some sorta misunderstanding, it probably means trouble. You got anything on you?"

That is a good question. I began to rummage through my pockets, but I was only on the train whenever I'd been snatched. That meant I only had my wallet, filled with cards I wasn't sure would even work anymore, something like a hundred bucks in assorted bills, and an exceptionally illegal switchblade.

Still, he wasn't going to be asking about our financial situation. "I've got my knife, but nothing else that'll help us."

Another click. Angelo nodded his head, spilling drops of suspect water across his chest. "At least you've got something sharp," he smirked, though the expression had no genuine amusement. "'Through wit or force'..."

Far away, yet echoing loudly in the relative stillness of the beach, was a trio of gunshots.

And then a trio more.

Somewhere else, the familiar blare of police sirens cut through the chaos.

The ambient noise of crime and poverty seemed to liven Angelo up a bit. He straightened, running a hand through his wet brown hair. "Seems like we're in some shitty ghetto. I'd say Chicago, but this damn sure isn't Lake Michigan. Smells worse, too." He was moving as he spoke, walking closer to the water to pick up a discarded beer bottle and casually toss it up and down, gauging its heft.

Satisfied, he held the glass by the neck. "A 'new world', and people still can't pick up their own fucking trash. Asshats."

I snorted.

Here we were, two teenagers of questionable morals and occupation, dropped, quite literally, into an unknown world with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the items in our pockets. It was dark, compounded even more by the lack of streetlights nearby. You'd have to be blind to miss the city in the distance, maybe a ten or fifteen-minute walk from the shore we had washed up on, but the ever-present sound of danger made me hesitant to make a beeline straight for it, Celestial System or not.

Between us and the city, partially illuminated by the dim glow of the moon, was some sort of trainyard. I could see at least half a dozen boxcars from my position alone.

Shelter, if nothing else.

"People are the same wherever you go, Ang," I responded as we walked along toward the trainyard. "You're gonna find idiots getting into trouble, no matter the world."

His smile seemed darker in the gloom, colder; a flash of white amongst shadows. "Touche. Let's see just how much trouble we can get into, then."

It didn't take longer than a few minutes to encroach upon the mess of boxcars, rusted scrap, and overgrown grass. Off to the right, what seemed like a train station loomed ominously against the backdrop of the night sky, but the railroads were corroded and cluttered with debris, leading me to believe that the station - and this trainyard overall - was abandoned by the city. The scent was revolting, many times worse than the dirty beach had been, and a couple of the boxcars had legs or arms hanging out the ends.

Smell aside, it was almost impossible to tell if they belonged to dead bodies or sleeping hobos.

We'd just been walking past a notably large boxcar when two wide, beaming headlights flashed through the darkness, nearly blinding me with its sudden brightness. Angelo hissed an Italian swear beneath his breath, twisting behind the rusted boxcar with feline-like agility.

I didn't hesitate to follow suit, not intending on being seen if I didn't have to be. The types of characters that hung around places like this tended to be a bit sketchy. After all, we were lurking around here and we were plenty sketchy.

Whether or not we were seen, the vehicle where the lights came from trundled along in our wake. The sound of crunching gravel echoed through the crisp night air, giving us a good view of the van in question. Boxy, big, and white, and beyond the series of scars and dents, it was pretty innocuous. Perfect for whatever kind of questionable business that ne'er-do-wells had planned.

More concerningly was the fact that they were coming to a stop not all that far from us, slamming on their brakes and spinning in the dirt to face where we were hidden.

"Shit…" As I whispered over to Angelo, we weren't nearly as well hidden as I might have liked. "What are the odds that-" Oh. The System had hinted that we'd be getting caught up in something right away, didn't it?

His responding look was equal parts wry as it was intrigued. Because, of course, Angelo wasn't Angelo unless he was getting himself into trouble.

"… Yeah. Pretty high, I'd imagine," he murmured in response, his grip on the beer bottle tightening. The headlights flashed again, their rays illuminating the ground around us in a pale, fluorescent white glow, and Angelo's face shifted. Cool ambivalence twisted into a loose facade of dazed drunkenness, and out the corner of his lips, as suspicious voices rose from the van, Angelo spoke, "Let's try wits first, eh?"

There was no time to reply. A tall, waspish-looking man with an afro hopped out of the passenger side of the battered white van, his hand placed rather obviously against a bulge beneath his hoodie. "Yo, what the f- Y'all two, get the fuck from behind there! Tryna be all sneaky, huh? Fuckin' retards. We already saw you!"

What qualifies as wit by my brother's standards? Because my first instinct was more or less to just beat the shit out of the guy, but that wasn't always the smartest option. Instead, I'd try to play it smart for once.

"Hey, hey, we're just minding our own business," I called out, not inclined to step out from the cover of a boxcar. "We didn't see nothin', and we didn't hear nothin'." Which was the truth, but there was no guarantee this bozo would see it that way.

The afro guy snorted, noisily hocking up a disgusting amount of phlegm and spitting it into the yellowing grass at his feet. "I ain't say flap your lips, faggot. I said come. The fuck. Out." His rasped words were punctuated by his grabbing the hem of his stained hoodie and yanking it up, revealing a pistol tucked into the front of his pants.

Bastard wasn't wearing underwear.

In response, Angelo just winked at me before pushing himself off the side of the boxcar - hard. He stumbled out into the open, barefoot and half naked, waving his beer bottle around like it was some sort of magic wand.

"Ehi, dov'è la droga?" He 'slurred' loudly, his voice rising to a higher pitch that one would more normally associate with a boy his age.

Hey, where's the drugs at?

The foreign language clearly confused the thug. He paused, and in the ambient glow of the headlights, it was easy to see just how much of a back foot he was put on by the - admittedly - decent act my brother was performing. It wasn't like he was unfamiliar with being piss drunk, though he usually kept it classier than this.

"I- The fuck you just say? Speak English, motherfucker!"

Angelo stumbled to a stop, raising his other hand as if to announce something important, and-

RETCH.

Bent over to the side, gagging and coughing out saliva and bile. The thug groaned, dropping his hoodie back down to cover his gun, and the driver's side door of the van slammed open to reveal another man - this one wearing a baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He was pale, with a thin, patchy beard and acne scars lining his cheeks.

"The kid's drunk, Terry. 'Prolly high too." He called out to his partner, tired voice an odd mixture of amused and disgusted. "Hurry up, man. Deal's goin' down in like ten minutes."

'Terry' let out a humorless chuckle. "Bet he one of our customers an' he ain't even know it. Fuck him- yo, I ain't forget about you behind the fucking box! You got five seconds 'fore I light that bitch up. Fuckin' junkies."

I stepped out, but there was a wan smile on my face the entire time, hands clasped together in front of me. "You called us faggots, right?" It was good to keep the roiling anger boiling inside of me from spilling out, without ensuring that I understood precisely how we'd bee insulted by this random schmuck.

Angelo liked to be tricky, to play an angle or an act, but there was a time and a place for those sorts of ploys. Then, there was a time and place to ensure you weren't disrespected. It didn't matter if we weren't on our world, or in an unfamiliar city. The principle of the thing was more important than anything else.

It was clear that the phrasing of my question struck some hidden, insecure nerve in Terry's brain. His jaw tensed, teeth gritting together as he glared across the fifty or so feet between him and I.

"Yeah," he spat, wrenching his neck to the side. It didn't crack the way he wanted it to, causing him to grimace. "You got a fuckin' issue with it, pussy?"

The spindly thug pulled his hoodie up again, revealing a malnourished, pot-bellied abdomen that looked like it belonged on an ant more than a human. His pistol wasn't anything expensive or modified - worn and grimy, if anything - but a gun was a gun. The driver sighed, ducking back into the car as Terry began swaggering towards me, ignoring Angelo, who was still bent over and groaning.

The following events were why flexing your piece to strangers was fucking stupid.

My brother only gave me a breath of a moment to react.

Angelo abruptly straightened, his theatrical groaning faded into silence, and lunged the short distance to grab and yank the pistol from the thug's crotch. He didn't even spare Terry a glance, rolling to the left, pulling up on his knee in the detritus of trainyard trash, and leading the sight of the pistol straight at the driver's side windshield.

The gun barked in his grip.

CRACK.

And blood stained the broken glass crimson.

Terry stumbled forward, the explosive bang of the gunshot revitalizing his senses and bringing his mind into the present time; a time where he'd just gotten his pistol snatched, and had an angry, muscular Italian bearing down on him from the front.

"Yo, what the fu-"

Frankly, I'd had enough at this point of pretending like violence wasn't my first option to resort to. With Angelo moving, it just meant that I could put up the faintest pretense that we'd tried to be diplomatic. Now it was time for my way of handling things.

I'd been put through my paces in boxing classes for almost ten years. Oh, me and Angelo both knew how to fight, but I was the only one who had stuck with the routine, and that ingrained muscle memory was easy to draw on. Fists up, stance wide, and slamming a mean right hook into Terry's face with every muscle power I could draw on.

Who would win? Terry, five foot nothing, with a skinny-fat build and a total lack of preparedness? Or me, six foot three, and utterly prepared to pound his face in for the blatant insults levied our way?

Understandably the man was rocked back, though I'd have to attribute most of his injury to the impact of my fist against his nose. He was staggering, eyes wide and more than a little shocked, reeling from the first blow. Which only made the ones that came after all the easier to land.

"DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU'RE TALKING TO?!" I bellowed, blows raining down on the man, each one eliciting a groan, or the feeling of something breaking underneath my strikes.

My dad would say that I was a little too hot under the collar after just some insults, and true, I likely was. Angelo and pops had ice in the veins, and they'd sit on a slight for days, weeks, hell, even years to see it repaid. Me? I took more after Ma, hot and easy to rile up at the drop of a hat.

My guidance counselor called it 'A systemic history of anger issues'. I liked to think of it as a low threshold for being disrespected. It wasn't as if I liked hurting people, but there were some lines that a man shouldn't allow to be crossed.

The guy I was pummeling was trying to put his hands up to defend himself, for all the good it did him. When he went down, I only followed him after; my hand balled up in the collar of his shirt to hold him still while I wailed on his face. At least until I was satisfied that whatever bloody mess I'd left of his face, he'd had enough.

He breathed, something wet and raspy, letting me know that he was alive at the very least. For how long, given I hadn't really gone easy on him, no one could say. Distantly I was aware that I should have felt...guilt, I guess. But those feelings felt so disconnected from me, from the ringing in my ears, that I couldn't even muster them up. It left me with the low, dark satisfaction of a job well done, if a messy one. I was probably like the rest of my family, where I had some awful wires crossed upstairs that just made it hard to care when I did stuff like this, even if in a moral sense, I could recognize that it was wrong. Yet when it came down to me, or these idiots... Well, I picked which was more important.

My knuckles stung, and my breath was hot and ragged as I looked up to see what my brother had been up to.

Of course, he was watching me, a detached sort of amusement dancing in his gaze. The dirty pistol he'd taken from my… 'victim' was still hot and smoking in his right hand, and another bullet hole had been shot through the left side of the van's windshield as well. Two bodies were slumped against the console; the one with the hat and glasses, and another one in darker clothing - though he seemed like he'd been pulling himself out from the back.

Angelo instinctively went to holster the gun on the side of his chest, paused at the lack of clothing, and sighed. "Got all your anger out?" He asked, not unkindly. More curious than anything.

His control over his temper, and my subsequent lack of one, often saw us handling business separately. That didn't mean we didn't make one hell of a team when shit hit the fan.

I gave one last shuddering breath, getting back up to my feet and wiping my knuckles on the back of my pants. This wasn't the first time I'd bust them up beating someone half to death, and it was doubtful that it'd be the last time. "I'm good. The other two sorted out?"

Whatever had happened between the intervening period of me going into a rage, and right now, was a bit of a blur—another bad habit of mine. I'd just get so angry and then it was like whatever happened was sucked into a black void. Or, sometimes, it'd be like it wasn't me, and I was just watching someone do…whatever.

Hardly healthy methods of coping with our issues, but hey, it worked for our family.

Whatever Angelo saw in my expression, he didn't press any further. Giving a short nod, he jammed a thumb back towards the van, which still had its headlights on. "Like fish in a barrel. They were talking about some kinda deal. Most likely drugs. Crystal, probably, going by his fucked up teeth. That or crack."

He walked over to the passenger side of the van, whipping through the center of the glass with one sharp, violent swing of the pistol. Shards of glass exploded everywhere, but Angelo just shoved his hand through to push the door open. "Let's grab what we can and-"

[MISSION COMPLETED: CRASHLANDING]

[Through both might and wit, you've survived your first hostile encounter in this brand new world!]

[Rewards: 1x Minor Erudition Perk, 1x Minor Might Perk]

Whatever Angelo was about to say was interrupted by more ominous, dark text hovering before us. It materialized, but not without two more pop-ups for me.

Jujutsu(Base) - Jujutsu Kaisen

In this world, all but a few humans possess a form of spiritual energy known as cursed energy, which is produced when feeling negative emotions such as anger, fear, or grief. Most humans, however, they have no control over this energy. As such, it leaks freely from their body, causing it to congregate and coalesce into cursed spirits. There are an incredibly rare few who are born with the ability to control this cursed energy, though – people known as sorcerers.

You are now one of these sorcerers, granting you the ability to manipulate your own cursed energy. While you aren't capable of anything particularly special with this alone, there are a good number of benefits to this. For one, you are able to perceive cursed spirits and other spiritual entities with your senses, something usually impossible for non-sorcerers without specialised tools. Additionally, you're able to channel this cursed energy into your body to enhance your physical abilities to superhuman levels, with greater results coming from greater investments.

The above are but the most basic of uses of cursed energy – for more specialised and powerful ones, you'll need cursed techniques. With this alone, you're capable of some basic barrier techniques, which let you create (often spherical) walls of cursed energy to close off an area. The most common form of this is a curtain: a large, pitch black sphere that prevents those outside the barrier from seeing what's happening within. Barriers can also be hardened to make entry or exit more difficult, though be aware that the more difficult it is to leave a barrier, the easier it is to enter and vice versa. In addition, you also have the capability to summon shikigami: creatures resembling cursed spirits created from your cursed energy. These require an intermediary such as a talisman to summon, tend to be rather straightforward in terms of abilities, and won't be particularly strong, though this may be changed with some practice.

Unfortunately, aside from barriers and simple shikigami most cursed techniques are innate, and as such cannot be learned. It's also entirely possible for a sorcerer to be born without a cursed technique, and as such you will not receive one from this alone. The Cursed Technique section later on will allow you to purchase one for yourself, though certain other, riskier methods may also allow you to obtain one.

Perhaps unexpectedly, the amount of cursed energy a sorcerer has is also something determined at birth. By default, you have a rather good talent for jujutsu, granting you a respectable reserve of cursed energy which will replenish by itself. This is more than enough to stand on the same level as the majority of sorcerers, though there are a fair few who still dwarf you in the size of their reserves.

[MIGHT REWARD CALCULATING…]​

Fighter - Generic Dungeon Crawler

You deftly wield one category of melee weapons, such as swords, axes, flails, or polearms. You are also more healthy, with greater strength and endurance.

One moment, I was me. And the next, I had the closest thing I'd ever be able to relate to a religious experience. Not even during my confirmation did I feel this connected to something vast, a cosmic superhighway running from deep inside of my soul, to…somewhere. To the ocean of power, I could scarcely manage to understand, resting just out of reach.

Then, the burning started.

No, that wasn't a good enough description for it. It felt like something rising up, bubbling inside of my gut. All of that hatred, malevolence, and violent passion, surging forth from every pore. An ugly sort of awakening, as something cursed flooded through me, and throughout my mind.

The knowledge that writhed through my brain was foreign, yet settling in comfortingly as I breathed in and out, flexing my hands to soothe that roiling malice and rancor in my spirit. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised that I got something so decidedly fitting for my rotten mean strike. Someone upstairs seemed to have a sense of humor.

However, I did glance over at my brother to see how he was doing. I had a much better idea of what was happening now, given these perks felt like they were from the Celestial Grimoire, but that wasn't to say all those perks were safe or equal. Some of them could be transformative in profound ways. It didn't matter if some unknowable cosmic entity thought they were doing him a favor; I'd fistfight a god for my little brother until it fixed him.

"You alright over there?" I inquired, rolling my neck in slow, tight circles, coming down from the fight.

It took him another moment to stop staring into space.

When he straightened, taking a step away from the door, there was an… excitement to Angelo that I didn't get to see very often. While it was probably inaccurate to say that the pressure of the family business dimmed his 'light', it was true that he - sixteen years old - had to grow up faster than most teenagers. We both did. But now, for the first time in years, there was a genuine grin on his face. A boyish one, and not one of those fake smiles he forced during meetings to appease the old bastards.

"Pazzesco," Angelo breathed, shaking himself out of his stupor. The dichotomy between him holding a murder weapon and the innocent excitement on his face was oddly fitting for our fucked up lives. "Some 'LitRPG', huh? Fucking actual magic, Sal… I can get used to this Celestial System."

He raised the pistol, aiming it at some far-off target in the distance, and his grin grew wicked. Sharper. "This changes things. Greatly."

There was a weight to his words, of thoughts and opinions left unsaid. However, we both knew that here and now wasn't the best time to breach any potentially emotional or volatile subjects. Not after shots had been fired, and we were standing beside a van potentially loaded with Class A and B narcotics.

"Let's get out of here. Are we taking their van or just the stuff in it?" In a well-practiced motion, I was already patting down the guy I'd beaten to a pulp, readily palming his cheap prepaid flip phone, and an assorted collection of eighty-seven dollars. Better in my pockets than his.

There were a few cards there, too. Two gift cards, one to a Radioshack and the other to some business called Fugly Bob's. Something about that name sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't quite place where I'd heard it. Was it just some old brand of fast food restaurant that we weren't familiar with?

Angelo dipped around the back of the van for a moment before coming around from the other side, opening up the driver door and feeling his hands along the inside. "No license plate," he called out nonchalantly, gripping the dead driver by the collar of his jacket and yanking him out the seat. The body made a dull thud when it fell against the ground. "No VIN, either. 'Least not in the obvious spots. It's probably a trap car."

Coming back around to the passenger side, Angelo pulled out the man in the darker clothing, grunting with the effort. "You might want to check the back, see what kind of drugs they were selling. I'm gonna take this guy's clothes."

I didn't need to hear the offer taken twice. Personally, drugs weren't precisely my favorite part of our family business to deal with, but even I recognized that they had their uses as a product. As long as the people that got hooked on them made the choice of their own volition, that was enough for me to wash my hands of any involvement regarding controlled substances.

At the end of the day it wasn't my job to police what people put inside their bodies. If the government wanted to fight that war, they were more than welcome to it.

Sauntering onto the back of the van, I flexed and felt my cursed energy activate, wrenching open the doors with ease. That was a level of strength beyond me before, yet now? If what I was packing now was any indication, my strength when reinforcing my body was bound to be far more impressive than what I could muster before. "Let's see what we've got here…"

The back of the van was unimpressive, all things considered. I'd gotten used to seeing duffel bags upon duffel bags of sealed narcotics be traded between hands and loaded into vehicles, but the majority of the trunk was taken up by half-eaten candy wrappers, empty water bottles, and a couple of stained sleeping bags. There were a few empty ziplock bags lingering amongst the trash, and even a couple used syringes, but it wasn't uncommon for dealers to use their own product.

It was stupid as fuck, but 'Terry' didn't seem like a high-level criminal.

No, what immediately grabbed my attention was the small, navy blue backpack tucked into the corner, near one of the sleeping bags. It was already unzipped, crusty bluish-white gunk staining the top, and as I reached in and yanked the backpack towards me, I saw it; tiny ziplock bags filled with clouded crystal, stuffed and packed down close to the bottom. Methamphetamine.

The backpack had some heft to it despite its small size. There had to be at least twenty grams in total, eyeballing the amount of zippies stuffed inside. Maybe even an ounce. I didn't really deal in drugs like that.

Before I could announce my findings, the sound of approaching footsteps thudded against the ground to my left. I turned immediately, fingers beginning to clench, only to find Angelo walking out of the darkness, clad in the shadiest looking outfit imaginable; torn denim jeans, untied black work boots, a gray baseball cap, and a black hoodie stained darker around the chest region from dried blood. He had a wallet in his hand, and a complicated furrow to his brow as he stared down at it.

"Sal," he began, a cold seriousness to his voice, "... Why the hell does 'Brockton Bay' sound so familiar? Says this guy was born there, but I can't put my finger on it. Or why it's giving me such a foreboding feeling."

Oh. That's why Fugly Bob's sounded so familiar. I was in the middle of picking up the backpack when my brother spoke, and it felt like shockwaves ran through my body as I froze, dropping the bag right onto the ground.

"Are you sure it says Brockton Bay? If you're doing a bit right now, Ang, it's the worst fuckin' time to be doing a bit." On the off chance that he was serious, we were in danger. Potentially fucked up beyond all recognition, depending on where we were in the timeline.

Rather than respond, he simply tossed me the wallet in an easy underhand, which I caught with a flick of the wrist. A state License was halfway pulled out of one of the billfolds, and some pasty white guy's face scowled out at the camera like a mugshot.

David Spinner, it read, born in…

Brockton Bay, Massachusetts.

I stared at the card, as if my glare would will it to change to something else. Gotham. Jump City. Somewhere less screwed up than where we were currently at stuck at. "Fuck," I breathed in, eyes wide as I ran my hand back through my long, brown hair.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" It was a full-time effort to keep myself from falling into a proper panic attack, and even then my breath was still ragged and long. "Okay. Did you ever read any of those web serials I sent your way? That's…important. Before I explain how screwed we are."

My tone of voice seemed to settle something in Angelo's mind. He clicked his teeth - a nervous habit - and gestured towards the backpack of drugs with a tilt of his head. "Shit, I skimmed through a few. Look - let's talk on the way, Sal. We've gotta load up and move. This spot's hot right now."

Movement sped up by a new sense of urgency, Angelo hurried past me, circling around the left side of the van and hopping into the driver's side. Not even a second later, the vehicle came alive and with a puff of exhaust and the kitten's growl of a weak, unhealthy engine.

After tossing the backpack inside the trunk and slamming the doors shut, I climbed into the passenger's side, but my nerves were shot at best. It'd be one thing if we were dumped into a stereotypical superhero setting, like Marvel or DC. Those had their dangers, sure. Compared to Worm, they might be considered hugboxes when it came to the actual threats within.

They didn't have Endbringers, monsters able to go toe to toe with some of the heaviest hitters in other settings. Those other universes didn't have a powerful cabal run by one of the most bullshit precognitive powers in fiction. That was before you got into the many different issues that made this entire ass-end of the multiverse just a fantastic example of the trickle-down effects of bad decision-making.

The squeal of rubber burning out filled the previously silent air of the trainyard as Angelo slammed on the gas, expertly palming the wheel and sliding the battered vehicle into a controlled tailspin. I turned to my brother, my breathing somewhat under control at this point. "Did you ever get around to reading Worm? The one about the leggy brunette going apeshit with bugs?"

Not the most tactful way to explain Taylor's whole plotline, but not untrue either.

Angelo didn't say anything for a little while, leaned back against the blood-covered leather of the seats as he drove through the cluttered trainyard at near sixty miles per hour. His eyes were glaring through the broken windshield, looking past the brain and offal in order to see the mess in front of him.

"… Yeah," he finally said, a considering dip in his voice, "Taylor Hebert, the bullied chick sucking at life in Brockton Ba- … Ohhhh. Oh shit."

He paused, sliding his tongue over the surface of his front teeth. "I skimmed, Sal. The prose was too fucking dry for me to sit through a million words of the crap. Speak to me; what're we dealing with? Heroes, villains, those big ass monsters - I remember all of that. Anything else?"

The van finally reached a path that looked somewhat like an actual street. The suspension groaned as we bounced onto the blacktop, driving down an empty straight shot directly into the Docks.

It'd been long enough since I'd read Worm that the hard details were a little fuzzy. The sequel, Ward, had never even ended up in my reading list, so whatever happened there was out of my mind too. Right now I could only speak to what I knew happened in the story.

"Um, the big golden guy in the sky is depressed, and when he stops being depressed he's going to destroy the world," I explained, swallowing thickly. "He's the, uh, avatar for a gigantic autistic annelid, and powers come from him and his dead wife."

Not the most elegant description of the plot, good enough for a short and succinct understanding. "We're talking about a guy that could box Superman, y'know?" I'm not sure who'd win that fight, either. It took making him suicidally depressed to beat Scion, and even then, that was just his avatar.

But good ole' Clark Kent was a pulp fiction icon Angelo immediately recognized. Names like Scion, Armsmaster, Eidolon, they'd mean nothing to someone who only casually skimmed through the web serial before dropping it. Big pop culture icons like the big blue boy scout were a lot more recognizable.

Most of his calmness evaporated, wrinkles creasing his brow. "Superman," he repeated dully, the worn leather of the steering wheel groaning as he gripped it even tighter. "Shit. And we're, what, dropped in this hellhole with a couple magic spells and some fuck-ass 'LitRPG' system? To, what, play superhero?"

His cheek twitched, face going stoic once again. The car let out a weak little honk when he slammed his palm against the wheel. "Fuck that."

Why was my little brother so dramatic? He was such a Chuuni, without even knowing what that word meant.

"No shit, Sherlock," I snorted at his exclamation. "Besides, you can be a villain just fine in this setting, and get paid. There's like, a dozen different ways we could make it work. Honestly, this city doesn't even have a family like the one we're used to." Though, I had to remind myself that calling Earth-Bet a 'setting' was a bad idea. This was a world filled with living, breathing people that wouldn't act like the caricatures that fiction so often turned people into. Forgetting that these people had agency and the ability to make decisions independent of us now was important.

Because if we did this, we would have to play for keeps, and take this seriously. Anything less would see us dead, thrown in the Birdcage, or subjected to any number of fates worse than death.

Angelo side-eyed me, righteous frustration fading away into a dry amusement. "Oh? That's a lot of confidence from the guy hyping up autistic Superman and intergalactic worm people. Or whatever overcomplicated mess that shitty author came up with."

My words seemed to have eased whatever internal turmoil he'd been going through, though, because his knuckles began to regain color as he eased his grip. "… Still. There's no organized crime family carving this city up, you say? Just superpowered neo-nazis and dysfunctional, hoodrat coglioni from what I remember reading. That's not a bad spot to do business in. Not the best, but definitely not bad."

His voice became slightly distant as he gazed out the broken windshield, eyes glazing over thoughtfully. The van slowed from a speedy seventy miles per hour to a more legal fifty as we entered the city proper, the lone road transitioning into a desolate, decrepit neighborhood overcome by urban decay. The sound of sirens and gunshots felt like they were mere blocks away.

"If we clear up the docks a bit, get some people inside of the Union, it'd be just like the old days for dad," I offered, prodding my brother right where I knew it'd poke him the most.

His ambition.

"Nazis will definitely be a problem, but that's more of a long-term one. The Asians are going to be a bit tougher in the immediate sense." It depended on whether or not they'd recruited Bakuda, and where we were at in the timeline. Between the two of us, we could take on Oni Lee…maybe. I was feeling confident, yet Oni Lee was also a veteran Cape in his own right. It'd probably be closer than any of us would like.

Lung was a much different story, especially if he'd been given the ability to ramp up to any real degree. That guy had fought Leviathan to a standstill and only lost because his Shard decided to take its toys and go home. Bakuda was a much different kind of threat, mostly because she was a special kind of insane, and her bombs were fucking dangerous.

Angelo stared at me for a moment before smirking. "Mentioning father's glory days isn't fair, fratello," he chuckled, turning back to the road. "But you know me well. And I know you. What is it that this System gave you that makes you want to fight so badly? More than usual, that is."

There was a grin on my face, and whatever manic energy I had lurking in the back of my mind had to shine through my eyes at that moment. "I got the good shit, Ang. Cursed Energy, from Jujutsu Kaisen. You?"

Back home, I had to keep myself held back because I didn't like making trouble for my mom or dad. It meant I had to restrain my responses even more than I already did. Here, not going balls to the wall and beating the shit out of every threat was seen as a weakness for a supervillain.

I had a mandated excuse for me to knock any idiot's lights out. God, this was going to be great. Besides the whole being stranded away from our family thing, the impending apocalypse, and the other world-ending threats just casually hanging around? It'd be like a vacation.

Angelo whistled, visibly impressed. "I actually know that one. Not bad." He slowed the van down even more as we approached a four-way stop, coaxing the car down to a smooth stop once we reached the stop sign. All around us were dilapidated brownstones, cracked sidewalks, and graffiti.

Bright red and green graffiti. ABB.

After the legally obligated second passed, he continued driving, one hand on the wheel. "I think you'll like this. Look towards the windshield."

As soon as my head turned forward, I felt something get plucked from the sleeve of my jacket.

"Fallax." The whispered words sounded foreign, yet powerful.

Before I could even think to turn back towards him, the massive spiderweb cracks in the windshield seemingly faded away into nothingness, leaving behind a smooth, clean, and wholly unmarred pane of glass that looked almost too good to be true.

Naturally, I reached out to poke at it, trying to see if it'd break underneath my touch. To my surprise though, it wasn't fixed so much as an illusion, as I felt the broken glass underneath my digit. "Some kind of illusion magic?"

I didn't recognize the spell, which wasn't saying much. Many of the magical abilities in the Celestial Grimoire were from franchises that were arcane or niche, even to me.

Angelo smiled and waved his hand, a dark string of cloth from my jacket wrapped snugly around his finger. The illusion faded away like sucked away smoke, revealing the broken and bloodied windshield in all its gory glory.

"Dungeons and Dragons magic," he replied, twirling the piece of loose string around his knuckles. "My first perk, the 'Erudition' one, made me an actual wizard. I've got all kinds of magic spells and rituals shoved into my head now. That was just a cantrip; doesn't use any magical power. Just a piece of string."

A small grunt escaped me. "Sounds like you've got an awful lot of book learning in your future. I'll stick to being able to punch my problems out of existence." Oh, being a D&D Wizard was great, but very resource intensive, even at the highest echelons of power. It wouldn't be a quick and dirty path to power, though it'd probably help him with the researching side of magic.

Eventually, I'd likely join him in being a proper Wizard, just by the dint of random chance with the roles from the System. For now, though, I could enjoy my current fate of having to duke it out with my bare hands and having an excuse. "So, what's the next move? Find somewhere to park and crash for the night?"

Angelo had half zoned out in the brief few moments between conversation, probably mentally categorizing what spells he had access to. At my question, the newly minted 'Wizard' tilted his head and yawned. "You've seen some of the spots we've passed, yeah? How fucked up and abandoned they look?"

The van abruptly skidded to a sliding stop, Angelo brute-forcing the wide-bodied vehicle into an alley that we'd just started driving past. After pushing the stick into 'park', he turned the engine off, looked at me, and shrugged.

"I say we sleep the night off in one of 'em, clear our heads, and approach our planning with fresher minds in the morning. I've got an Alarm spell that should last for about eight hours."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, looking around for a suitable building to temporarily squat in. "We'll get some sleep, and then…a plan of attack."

"Heh, good. I'll grab the bag, you pick out the spot."

"On it."

Nothing more needed to be said; we were in sync, our bodies and minds long since toughened against the perils of rough and dangerous street life. Once you got past the alien parasites and ridiculous superpowers, there wasn't really much this world could throw our way that would snuff out our fire.

One way or another, we were going to make our names in this city.

It was either that or die trying.

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Angelo's Perks:

Wizard (Baldur's Gate 3): Wizard, you alone have the potential to reach the pinnacle of all creation with your shrewd mind and arcane potential. No one can even become as half good as you are, when it comes to matters of the arcane. Although some may call you frail or weak, in time you may compensate for all your weaknesses with the appropriate spell or ritual. Temper your ambition with wisdom though, this path has been the doom of many wizards. Just ask poor Karsus.

Star Blessed (King Arthur): You are blessed by the stars in the constellations. this gives you a minor power based on the constellation you chose. Can be bought a max of five times.

Antlia - Can instantly refill anything that requires gas.

Aquila - Can see great distances

Ara - Can receive thoughts through prayers.

Caelum - can modify the shape of wood.

Cetus - Always completely aware of anything within hearing range.

Chamaeleon - Can make your skin transparent

Canis Major/Minor - Shapeshift into a Chosen Canine

Circinus - Never lose your way

Columba - A Calming Presence

Corvus - Can sense death

Crater - Detect Poisons

Grus - All movements are fluid and graceful

Horologium - Always know what time it is

Lepus - Boosts how high you can jump

Mensa - Give anything a Flat surface.

Musca - Easier to go unnoticed in crowds.

Pavo - Hypnotize weak willed people.

Pictor - Can draw small objects to life. stuff around the size of a pen.

Reticulum - Perfect Aim with any ranged weapon.

Vela - Can Stop the wind's flow.

May be Purchased Multiple Times

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A/N

Turncoat: Hey there! This is something I've been working on with my good friend Wasted Ink, and I'm privileged to finally share it with everyone. This is the culmination of us reworking some of the Celestial Grimoire's mechanics to be more balanced so there's not the same explosive, unwieldy growth curve that you may find in other fics. We're hoping that people find themselves enjoying this new system, and we're extremely open to feedback, comments, criticisms, and points that people feel need to be made. With a pretty sizable backlog of chapters, we're going to be eager to share a lot of what we've been cooking here, and hopefully inspire more fics in the future. For now, thank you for reading.

Ink: Yo, what's good everyone? At this point I'm sure you all know about the Celestial System and its quest-based progression, but here's a bit of background for those not in the know-

There's four main Categories for the Celestial System: Might, Dominion, Artifice, and Erudition. The perk rewards for the quests are based around these categories, and which type is given is dependent on the quest. You'll see as the brothers progress.

Angelo is written by me, and Salvadore is written by Turncoat. We have up to ten chapters already completed, so we'll be trickling them in over time! Hope you enjoy this criminal romp.