The Third Gate: American Isekai, #1

By Curtis Yost

Jacob Smith is a man who loses his life trying to save a young girl from an accident.  Upon dying, he comes across an angel that sends him to a second world ruled by the Devil himself.  The devil refers to himself as the Demon Lord has ruled the lands without people knowing.  Jacob must grow up and evolve to become the one whole defeats the Demons Lord and bring peace to the world while fighting his own curse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Curtis Yost
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223083023

Curtis Yost

My name is Curtis Yost and I have been creating content for over twenty years.  I never felt that I had enough life experience to talk about things.  As I got older, I realized that having fun while writing was what I wanted to do and published my first series. American Isekai was a two year planned series that is now be writen every single day until I finish it.  The books are completely character based on some of the most flawed people you could imagine to save the world.  I'm proud of it and hope that when it ends, people will want to enjoy their own dark fantasies after.

Book preview

The Third Gate

Part 1

American Isekai

––––––––

By

Curtis Yost

Chapter 1

My name was Jacob Smith.  And I hated waking up.  I'm thirty-three years old and live in a shitty one-bedroom apartment.  I had no real life to speak of.  I would come home after work and watch tv and play my Zbox every once in a while.  The same stuff that everyone my age does when they live alone.

I was a child of the foster care system most of my life.  Some of the families were nice, and some were horrendous.  I miss the good ones, though.  There was warmth in their hearts, and they took care of me.

The horrendous ones were the reason I became a paralegal, to begin with.  I was tossed around and beaten by more than one family.  They just wanted the money from the foster care system and often starved us kids.

My last family helped me get into school to be a paralegal.  I graduated with honors from the University of Wicatona.  I met a few people there who helped me through some tough times.

After I graduated, my girlfriend died.  I blamed myself for many years for it, but in the end, I eventually had to move on.  My girlfriend's death was one of the main reasons I stopped planning too far ahead.  I needed to remain grounded in the now because the apocalypse could happen tomorrow, and I would look back and say.  I wish I lived my life a little better.

My alarm goes off at six, so I have time to get around for work.  I would hear the noise going off and felt like stabbing myself.  The alarm was as loud as the sirens you hear when a bomb is about to hit the city.

I woke up one morning, and there I was thirty-three, single, no promise of a prosperous life or family.  The typical New York life.  Everyday, I would ask myself the reason for my existence.  I was a little depressed, but nothing severe. 

I had a Superman poster in my room that I could see when I woke up.  There was a moon behind him and his hands on his hips.  His gold mask covers his face.  The blue shirt and green pants were made of Sinomian steel.

My friends and I always laughed at Superman because it always looked like he had a massive bulge in his pants.  The swelling looked twice the size of any ordinary man.  He could fly and punch anyone he deemed a villain.  He had two swords bigger than him that he would use to slice any man he didn’t like in half.  Superman was a god amongst the people.  He could do anything his heart desired and more.

I looked to my right, and there was a window peering into another building.  A blond haired busty girl was there that always went running in the morning.  She would leave her bedroom curtains open for the world to see.  I would say she was in her early twenties with a body that wouldn’t quit. 

The peep show would always be the bright side of my morning.  I had my three hundred-dollar binoculars right next to me.  The girl would always strip her sports bra off.  In this age, that is considered the form of clothing.  God Bless America.

Her tits were always perky and had a nice bounce that would get me hard every morning.  After she was done stripping, she would jump in the shower.  The show pretty much ended from there.  I know it seems gross, but I’m a guy get over it.  It was like a sexual rejuvenation for my spank bank.

I would grab a morning shower after that.  I would start by rinsing my head.  The water would trickle down my back and slide off like a spout.  I would spend a good hour in the shower every morning.  The shower would wake me up better than any coffee on the market.

I WOULD SHAKE OFF LIKE A DOG when I got out of the shower.  The water would disappear later anyway, especially since the water I always used was at full temp.  I needed the scalding temperatures to feel good every morning.

I would go to the bedroom naked and go through my clothes.  The windows were open, so it felt like paying it forward thing.  I'm nowhere near as attractive as that girl was.  I'm sure someone cougar out there liked a good peek.

My closet was to the left of my bed.  I had three suits, each only worth about two hundred dollars.  I was living on a paralegal's salary, so I couldn’t improve in the dressing up department.

Next to my suits were my real clothes.  I had a purple Guardians of Virtue shirt.  The shirt was one of my favorites.  Though the shirt was only twenty dollars, I loved the shirt.  I lived in them while I was off work. 

I wasn’t in the best of homes.  From age 8, I was in the foster care system.  The people would buy me a comic and put me in a corner so not to bother with me.  I spent most of my childhood that way.  It was the most incredible escape from reality.  I would wish every day to be a superhero.

Since my hair was short, I didn't need to comb too much.  I never combed my black hair.  That's what happens when you get a military-style haircut.  The barber just called my haircut high and tight.  I didn't know what the name of the haircut was.  All I knew was that I'd been wearing this haircut for almost ten years.  My ex seemed to like the haircut.  So I've kept it all these years.

I would brush my teeth in a particular way.  For the top row, I would do it three times on each side.  Then three times on the bottom of each side.  I would repeat while counting for three minutes.  Three always seemed like a lucky number to me.  The number three always seemed natural.  I would knock on a door three times.  God is in three.  We see everything around us in three dimensions.  My mother had three kids.  The Latin word for this is omne trium perfectum.  The phrase means everything that comes in threes is perfect.  Little things like this have given me a bit of obsessive-compulsive disorder.  But being a little organized isn't such a bad thing when you're a paralegal.

Every morning, I would then sit down on my black pleather couch.  The couch was a cheap knockoff that my neighbor wanted to eliminate.  I asked if I could have it, and they gladly said yes.  They didn't want to drag it down three floors to the sidewalk.

If you looked out the window, there was a historical building with many gargoyles on the edges.  My couch was next to the window, with a gargoyle staring at me.  I would sit on my couch and try to relax.  The gargoyle would stare at me.  I think the beast's eyes were following me.

That building was great because of the jogger, but terrible because of the gargoyles sitting on them.  The gargoyle that was right outside my window had fangs for teeth.  The eyes on the gargoyle were bulbous.  They stood out like the eyes of a frog.  Its back was hunched over and would act like a spout out of its mouth.

The gargoyle was made of pure stone.  All I wanted to do was enjoy my television in the early morning, but that damn gargoyle staring at me would always bother me.  There was no getting around it.  The city had gargoyles everywhere.  I had to get used to them.  Even the bank across from work put them all over their building as if it was going out of style. 

I would talk to the girl at work, Jamie, about the gargoyles.  She was a girl that worked for social services.  We often discussed things when she dropped off documents for our court cases.

Jamie seemed to think it was a fear of demons.  The original gargoyles were placed on buildings to remind the people of demons everywhere.  They needed to come to church to help be warded from those demons.

Later on, the meanings changed.  The gargoyles would be used to protect those in the church.  They believed that they needed guardians to keep the evil spirits at bay.  I may believe in God, but the gargoyles kept me from the church.  I must be an evil spirit.  Jamie got into that stuff because of her fantasy role-playing sessions.  I'm anti-social, so I never got into it, but she loved playing a game called Dungeons and Druggs.

It was time to leave for work.  I opened the door and walked into the hallway.  Looking down the hallway, you would see three apartments down each side of the building.

There was a black and red carpet in the hallway.  The carpet was torn up and completely flat in certain parts.  There was also a weird smell like someone hadn't cleaned it in years.  I turned around and made sure that my door was locked.  I had two deadbolts on it.  My neighborhood wasn't the safest to live in.

A young black boy would ride up and down the halls.  He was a good kid, but his mother never paid him attention.  She let the boy run off wherever he wanted and only wanted him for the check she received each month.

Due to his mother's neglect, the young black boy would ride the halls from morning to night on his tricycle.  I swear that boy was the most dangerous person in the building with that thing.  He would run that thing into my leg at least once a week.

I saw him coming after I got done locking my door.  He pulled beside me and said, Morning, Mr. Smith.

I said, Morning, Buddy.

The black kid continued to drive off and turn around.  He narrowly missed me every time.  I just prayed he wouldn't accidentally fall down the steps.

Right around the corner was a stairwell.  I would have to walk down every morning.  There was a metal door that people would leave open all the time.  The door remained open, and the kid would be wild while driving.  That's why I worried about the boy.  One bad move and the kid would be a goner.

The stairs went up six floors, and I lived on the third floor, so it was alright.  The worst part was when you had to bring up groceries.  I would have to walk three blocks and up those steps.  I wasn’t getting younger and severely out of shape, but managed.

The building had an elevator, but it was broken for six years.  A six-year-old went into the elevator and randomly hit buttons.  The child got stuck in there for six hours.  The damage to save the kid was bad enough that it became unusable.

I left the building and went down one block to the bus stop.  The outside always sucked because it smelled of bum piss everywhere.  The homeless were all over the city.  They would shit and piss in the alleys and streets slowly destroying the city.  The government always claimed to be doing something about it, but things never changed.  We dealt with the same situation throughout the city for years.  Luckily, I don't deal with those legal matters.  I'm a paralegal that deals in divorce and custody.

I realized this at an early age.  It was hard to adopt kids and harder to protect kids.  My job was to look at the information and sort it out.  The lawyers would enter the courtrooms with the information I had given them.  A good paralegal can sort through and make the best cases work.  I would work closely with the social services to ensure the kid's best interest was at heart.  I know it sounds terrible, but if the partner was evil.  I would call up and ask for a consultation with the winnable party member.

My lawyer, whom I work for, was a rich scumbag that only cared about winning.  I was always more focused on the children, so it evened out.  I picked the cases, so his success in the courtroom was excellent due to my vetting process.

Chapter 2

I jumped on the public transit bus.  I put my coins in and would always move toward the back.  I always ensured the elderly and the pregnant had the front row.  That was what it meant to be a civil human being back then.

I would sit three rows from the back.  The person behind me looked like they were about overdose.  He was coughing and hacking.  The saliva was getting on my neck a bit.  I felt so gross.  There was a woman to my right was riding with her son.  They both looked like Asians, but it was hard to tell because they both were covered in clothes from head to toe and had cloth masks on with thick glasses. 

I could hear a crying baby in the front.  I wish these mothers would do something with their kids because all I heard from the mother was her screaming at the kid to shut up.  That was not being a parent.  There had to be better ways, but I'm no hero, so I would let it go every time.

The trip would take about thirty minutes to get to work.  I had to be to work earlier than the lawyers to make sure the paperwork was all put together.  The part that drove me crazy was that my boss was late every morning and would yell at me to speed up so he could get caught up on a case. 

I entered through the rotating doors made of glass to get in the building.  The doors would only move to the right.  The movement of the doors always led to a bunch of confusion.  The janitors would always have