Christmas Eve, seven years before the End. Somewhere in Europe.

 

A little girl clad in fluffy clothes paused before the bakery window, gasping at the shelf of toy-shaped breads under a Christmas tree.

“Daddy look! Daddy look!” She tugged on his glove.

The dark bearded man bent over, his gentle features warming further with a smile. “How pretty.”

“Daddy, look at the doctor. It looks just like mommy. Can we get it for mommy?”

Laughing with the deep rumble of a santa, the dad ruffled the girl’s hair. He knelt beside her, gave her a kiss on the brow, and handed her a crumbled bill. “Ask the nice lady at the counter to wrap it. I’m certain your mother would be delighted.”

“I will!” The girl nodded, and ran through the jingling door.

A little later, the girl returned with beaming a victorious grin. She presented a shiny blue package decorated by a frilly red ribbon to her father. He praised her and picked her up on his shoulders, as snow began to fall.

From the opposite alley, I watched this unfold from underneath a moist pile of newspapers. That night, while licking a frozen piece of moldy bread, I imagined myself as the kind man’s son. Over and over, I played out vivid scenarios where he praised me, where I was carried to a warm home, a loving mother, and a night of magic and excitement, of warmth and plenty.

It was the best Christmas I’d ever had.

It would have been even if the alley behind me had not cracked with purple lightning. Air hummed. And my hair stood upright as thick fingers struck out from a crack in reality, and pried open space.

Through the hole stepped a half-naked man more statuesque than any I’d ever seen. His muscles had muscles. His face was a sculpture of blocky masculine geometry. And, his smile warm and full of kindness.

“Looks like I made it in time,” he said, air itself rumbling with his voice. “Little child. If the world ended, what would you do?”

Can’t remember what I answered.

It must’ve satisfied him, because the man handed me a H*-Man action figurine, and said, “Study its motions, if you wish to change your destiny. They contain ten thousand scrolls worth of Alpha Cultivation techniques and secrets. With them, you can obtain immortality and become invincible, as the seventh head of the Gigachad Sect.”

 

***

 

5th of April, the day of the End. The Happyland Asylum.

 

Orderlies, doctors, and patients alike crowded around the mess hall TV. “...States military has been mobilized to suppress—” Something incredibly fast punched through the skyscrapers behind the reporter. Static distorted the feed. Sonic booms deafened the audio. 

“...ARE HERE!” screamed the reporter, scrambling to stand. “They’ve breached the defense line!”

“July we need to run the fuck away,” said a quiet man’s voice. An arm reached out from the camera’s point of view and grabbed the reporter.

They started running through a shaking street full of panicking people. Gunfire erupted in bursts. A shadow passed through a squad of soldiers, tearing them to ribbons in a blink.

“Oh my God, Jack! Oh! My! God!”

“Keep running!” said Jack the cameraman. Point of view shuffled to the shotgun seat of a van. July took the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine coughed, choking.

“Shit shit shit! Start you piece of shit!” July punched the dashboard.

Cars, people, asphalt, buildings, streetlights, the whole shebang before them turned to iridescent glass. Camera zoomed through the pearly mist, focusing on an ethereal woman floating amidst the eerily beautiful destruction.

“Jesus,” Jack whispered, zooming closer.

Robes and scarves of pearlescent fabric floated around a platinum haired beauty of icy pale skin. Her steps sent ripples through space as she walked on air, each step hauntingly slow, yet crossing space faster than the cameraman could zoom backwards.

And she was upon them, floating above the television van’s hood. Her eyes were pearls of shifting colors, pools of beauty and horror. Her voice caused the camera to fizz with static, and sent a rumble through the Asylum room.

“Heed my words, mortals of Earth. I am Hiu Le, the Eternal Pearl. Hundred-thirty-first princess of the immortal Hiu dynasty. Submit, and you shall be accepted as subjects. Resist, and face—”

“BOOOOORIIIIIIING!” Nelly, a twenty-something woman with issues, moaned. She kept clicking through channels, footages from capital cities being torn apart by cultivators, death tolls, and emergency evacuation instructions. 

“Boooring! Dr*gon B*ll is so much better,” Nelly explained, spit flying with every word. “The special effects look cringy in live and that lady was fat and wore too much make-up because nobody has a skin like that and...”

“THAT’S MY DAUGHTER! MY DAUGHTER! GO BACK!” screamed an orderly, wrestling Henry for the remote control.

Chaos erupted.

Patients laughed, hit each other, themselves, and caused general mayhem. A few staff members fled, despite Mr. Maxson’s stern commands to maintain order.

I placed my figurine on the windowsill. Its plastic joints had been worn out and patched with tape and its paint faded. No longer did it resemble H*-Man. No longer did its motions contain the Alpha Cultivation techniques, for I, Titan Maximus Chadman, had absorbed and internalized its secrets.

I touched a fist to my chest, and offered a solemn prayer to my nameless master.

The hour of action was upon us.

I drew a deep breath, preparing myself to tread the endless path of Alpha Chadness. I exhaled, and took stock of my situation.

TV had shown a total of thirteen lesser deity level cultivators invading Earth, but I had to assume there were more. Perhaps even several true deity cultivators. Our militaries were woefully outmatched, and I deemed it unlikely that our planet had hidden masters powerful enough to ward off the invaders. Earth was doomed to lose, and I was not yet strong enough to save it.

Thus I looked to my immediate surroundings. 

Thirty-four patients, one head of asylum, three doctors, two nurses, seven orderlies, and two kitchen-ladies remained within Happyland. These were friends, peers, and mentors. I owed six years of relative stability and happiness to them. As the seventh head of Gigachad Sect, I was obliged to protect them.

I grimaced, for I had merely just begun my journey on the first realm of Chadness. My body, though toned, was still merely that of a moderately athletic mortal. True power was months from my grasp. Yet, I could not falter.

Path of Alpha Chadness allowed no deviation.

No regrets.

No misstep.

No hesitation.

Only Chadness.

Thus I drew a deep breath and spoke, “I have an announcement!”

The mess hall quieted. Fights ceased.

“Thank you,” I said, “Ladies, gentlemen, friends, peers, and mentors. The apocalypse is upon us. Your destinies are yours to choose, but I, Titan Maximus Chadman, the seventh head of Gigachad sect, nonetheless offer you an alternative. I shall remain here while completing my foundation. For the time being, the Happyland Asylum and its residents will be under my direct protection.”

The news were received as expected.

 Mr. Maxson demanded that I climb down from the table. Several of my peers fell back into insanity. Fight for the remote resumed.

This mattered not, for my announcement had been made, and a true Chad would never go back on his word. Thus, it was time for me to resume my training.

 

***

 

21st of April, four days after the End. Walled courtyard of the Happyland Asylum.

 

First realm of Chadness, also known as the realm of the Outer Chad, is all about external body enhancement. Pure external body enhancement. Certain cultivation paths focused on inner strength might ridicule it, but they are ignorant to the true glory of Alpha Cultivation.

I wrapped my fingers around the legs of two chairs, and, with a manly grunt, hefted both chairs and the women seated atop overhead.

“Yaaaay!” Nelly clapped. “Higher! HIGHER!”

Grandma Tibby on the other hand remained quiet and indifferent.

I brought the chairs back down, making sure to maintain perfect and pure range of motion. Then I repeated the exercise, flexing my toned upper body as I held the chairs high.

“HAHAHAHAA! I’M FLYING! FLYING!” Nelly cheered.

Grandma Tibby, once again, maintained a companionable silence.

I did five sets of five reps, then switched up to do my pecs, upper back, and finally hundred squats and toe-rises. All were done using two beautiful women as weights. At the end of the routine I consumed an elixir of ten uncracked eggs mixed with beans and Greek yogurt.

Steam wafted off my body. My muscles burned and vessels thumped, full of strength and vigor. Two weeks of focused cultivation had increased my muscle tone to that of an intermediate body-builder, added an inch to my six feet height, and cut my body-fat close to five-percent. Moreover, I was starting to feel occasional tingles of Alphaness—flashes of insight, inexplicable calmness in moments of doubts, and a sense of certainty about myself. I was beginning to sense Big Dick energy.

Techniques engraved upon the H*-Man figurine were slowly but surely leading me on the Dao of Alpha. The secret to external Alpha Cultivation was how alpha your exercise was.

Simply lifting dumbbells would never imbue your gains with Chadness. Neither could simple crunches.

To concentrate alphaness in yourself, you need to exercise like an alpha.

You must wrestle tractors, bench bears, and engage in no-defence fisticuffs. I was making do by lifting two beauties, but I was beginning to feel diminishing returns on the exercise. Even the Chad alchemy sports elixirs were losing their effectiveness.

Another option was to begin using positive motivational mantras, but their power was best utilized after forming the Inner Chad Core...

Gunshots rang over the smoking neighbourhood. 

“BANGBANG! Ahahahaha! Bang bang!” Nelly shot finger guns.

Grandma Tibby, ever the cool cucumber, had nothing to add.

Surroundings of Happyland Asylum, an area formerly favored by doctors and executives, had deteriorated into anarchy and violence. At all hours of the day, hooligans could be seen driving by in cars marked with a blade-taloned bird, blasting music at full volume.

One of their front-armored cars busted through the iron-gate of Happyland. Two other vehicles drifted in after it, skidding on the sand-road. Twelve masked hooligans filed out, handguns, knives, and bats in hand. All wore the cream-white and black insignia of the bladed bird.

“Yooooo! Duuude. Check out that crazy!” One laughed, pointing a gun at me from the distance. “Like straight outta memes.”

Another cackled at his observation.

“AHAHAHA!” Nelly joined the laughter.

Bang. A bullet buried through the grass before her.

“Shut the fuck up bitch!” shouted the first hooligan.

“Oi, shut it shitheads. No need to bully the insane,” said a tall muscular man with hands far too large to hold a pistol. His attention passed over me, turning towards the cracked facade of Happyland Asylum. “Mr. Maxsoooooon! We know you’re here. Come on out. There’s a new rule on the street, and eeeeveryone’s gotta pay taxes or get dunked. Such’s the rules of the Humming Blade sect.”

“Have some sympathy.” The mousey figure of Mr. Maxson peeked his head through the main doors. The formerly well kept gentleman was a frazzled ghost of himself, having lost a quarter of his weight and half of his graying hair. However, hardships had not dulled the harsh determination of tundras in his icy gaze. “We have thirty-five patients and six members of staff, who—”

“Blah-blah-blah.” The tall man blahed, leaning down an inch from Mr. Maxson’s face to finish, “Blah. Didn’t ask. Don’t care. Not how the world works anymore. Now either pay up three hundred kilos of food, or we’ll start grabbing slaves, starting with those.”

His thumb pointed towards us.

Hm. I crossed my arms, weighing my options.

It was a little early to begin Chad Core formation, but if I obtained Big Dick energy and cultivated it, I could speed up my external transformation. Thus, I cracked my neck, and acted by striding forward and establishing a grim eye-contact with the head honcho.

“Representative of Humming Blade sect, I am Titan Maximus Chadman, the seventh head of Gigachad sect. This compound is under my protection.”

Calmly approaching the gigantic man, I gave no heed to the guns pointed at me or the hollering of his subordinates. His eyes scanned me rapidly, and the man stepped back, seemingly sensing something.

“Gonna blow his brains!” One guy cocked a pistol and pressed it to my temple.

“WAIT! Wait you moron!” Shouted their leader, face reddening with fury. His gaze fixed on me. “Seventh head of the Gigachad sect? Are you for real?”

“Absolutely.”

The big man licked his lips, reconsidering. “‘Kay, hold up boys. Pull back. We need to check this with Feathered Blade. Gigachad sect?”

“The one and only.”

“‘Kay. Imma remember that.” The bossman pointed at me, then at his subordinates. “Pull back! Pull back for fucks sake. Mister Chadman, may we leave peacefully?”

I gestured towards the gate, sensing an opportunity to gather even more Big Dick energy. “After fixing the gate, you may.”

The bossman’s eyes narrowed, but he shouted at his men. “You heard him! Start banging the iron straight boys, don’t care how you do it, you’re gonna do it! Thank you for your understanding, Mister Chadman.”

I pursed my lips, nodding lightly.

As the gangsters toiled to fix the Asylum gate, I sensed the tingling. Big Dick energy tickled at the edges of my senses, gathering in my body. But since I lacked a Chad Core it would dissipate. I had to make use of it and fast!

Thus, I bench-pressed the bossman’s jeep. I got a good twelve sets of three in, before the gate was repaired, and could feel my power increasing!

“Wha… What did you…” Mr. Maxson gaped mouth wide, constantly adjusting his glasses.

I patted his shoulder reassuringly. “I did as promised Mr. Maxson. This compound is under my protection.”

 

***

 

21st of April. Town headquarters of Northwind Alliance.

 

“Seventh head of Gigachad sect? Not once have I heard of such a sect, are you certain this man was a cultivator?” asked the youthful boy in feather accented robes. Feathered Blade looked like a short wimp, but Tom knew better.

The kid and two of his buddies had single-handedly massacred the town’s police forces and the hundred thirty soldiers of the national guard that had come to liberate it. Their feathered cloaks were bulletproof and cut through stone and skulls with terrifying ease.

“That’s right, honored Feathered Blade. The dude was fit. I even witnessed him bench pressing a jeep.”

“Is this a feat beyond mortal reach?”

“It might be possible,” Tom admitted, “But though he was built he wasn’t that built. You need to be a strongman to bench a car.”

“Intriguing. Intriguing.” Feathered Blade ghosted a finger on his chin, leaning back on the birthday throne at M*C Donalds. “Has the Hiu dynasty sent a mole to infiltrate our territory, or could it be the work of independent actors? We must investigate further before taking hast action.”

Tom nodded, swallowing. “What would you have us do, honored Feathered Blade?”

“Take this.” The boy dug a long piece of paper from his pocket, and, with a flash of his hand, drew an intricate diagram on it. “Place it upon the gate and mark it with blood.”

Tom picked up the strange slip of paper. “May I ask what this is, honored Feathered Blade?”

“A simple bloodthirst talisman. It will awaken lesser demonic spirits within the vicinity and attract them to the talisman. Should this man truly be a cultivator, as he claims, he will have no problem disposing of them. And, since the talisman is self destructive, he will have no proof of our meddling. And if he is not a cultivator…” Feathered Blade chuckled with his lips closed. “Then I suggest you enter this, Happyland Asylum, armed with silver blades.”