Bryn awoke to a pounding headache.
"Ow, my head," he groaned as the teen slowly sat up.
He was cold, very cold, and very damp.
Bryn tried to blink but his vision was completely foggy and refusing to focus. The oppressive darkness of the strange room he was in, wasn't helping. After a few extra minutes of futile blinking, Bryn finally gave up. Attempting to ease himself upright, he struggled pitifully, pulling himself up slowly, with a hand, struggling to not slip. Losing his grip, Bryn slipped and slumped against what he could barely register as a roughly textured wall, landing in a bloody heap with a heavy thud.
"Huff, huff, huff," came Bryn's ragged breathing as the splintering pain in his head redoubled, threatening to send him careening back into the darkness of deep sleep.
'Why am I so tired, why does everything hurt so bad?' He thought wretchedly to himself, too exhausted to attempt to speak.
After taking a moment to catch his breath, his hands slowly inched forward. Beginning to reach for anything around him, Bryn tried desperately to give himself some kind of information as to where he even was. It was then, to Bryn's sharply rising shock and horror, that he realized he only had one hand, in fact, his entire left arm was completely missing.
'....But.... Why?' He whined internally, crying and screaming aloud a feral noise heavily lacquered with his desperate, ragged rage, pain and frustration.
Eventually, through slowly shuffling around on his knees, stopping briefly to feel the immediate area around him with his only remaining hand and also to catch his breath, Bryn came to the conclusion that he was inside a cave of some kind. The oppressive darkness and his persistently fucked up vision, made any progress extremely slow. And so, Bryn had to take many breaks to rest from both exhaustion and the growing sense of hunger he was beginning to experience.
After about an hour or two had passed, Bryn had crawled far enough that he eventually started to hear the sound of distant falling water. Having no other options and desperately in need of something to drink, the battered boy began to shamble and crawl, slowly and pitifully, towards the sound. An extra 30 minutes of crawling later would reward Bryn with a much more clear sound of the waterfall, and also, he could see again. It was still foggy, a far cry from his usual 20/20 vision, but at that point, Bryn could almost cry with relief.
And then he paused, and cried with relief, briefly, before he promptly passed out.
After the 9th time he had passed out and awoke, desperately hoping to be back safe in his bed, only to be deposited firmly back in the midst of whatever hell he'd somehow been dragged to, Bryn eventually accepted the fact that he was probably not dreaming.
He did not take that well.
20 minutes of solid weeping while clutching himself also didn't do his need for sustenance and water any better, but at least he'd gotten to empty out all of his much needed tears. Something in Bryn's sore and exhausted mind, which was still being besieged by the most vile migraine he had ever experienced, told him with absolute certainty that there probably weren't going to be many more moments to just sit and cry in the immediate future.
At slightly after 3 hours since Bryn had first awoke deep in the cave, he had finally managed to see light and an opening at the end of the long tunnel he'd been in. He'd been walking for a while, albeit slowly, and more akin to shambling, but Bryn was just grateful to no longer be skinning his knees anymore, crawling along the cave floor. The teen had his right hand resting against the cave walls, guiding him and keeping him upright. Though even with the godsend the wall was, Bryn had still fallen at least 6 times since attempting to walk, and was now sure he was missing more than a few teeth.
Now that he could see marginally better, Bryn paused his advance to once again take stock of how he was actually doing.
It looked as if his body had gone up in a bare knuckle fight for his life against a dream team comprised of a tiger, a polar bear, a Floridian with a bottle of Everclear, a forest fire started from the gender reveal party of a lifetime, and an industrial meat grinder. Mangled was a complement. At least, to the lumps of deeply charred jerky he had where there had once been skin across many areas of his body, it felt like a complement. Other parts of Bryn's body though, were in much worse shape. The ribs that weren't currently completely shattered within him along with various other bones, making Bryn sound like a human sized maraca as he shambled forwards, were jutting out of his abdomen. He had gaping holes in parts of his thighs and other parts of his body, were just gone. But, as Bryn noticed, a cold sweat running down his spine, none of his missing body parts looked like clean cuts. They instead looked like they'd been forcibly torn and or mauled off.
Marveling at how he was even still alive considering the full extent of his injuries, Bryn almost didn't recognize an eerily familiar symbol embossed upon the belt buckle, forged to the tattered remains of what seemed to be a belt he was wearing. It was the symbol... of the Storm Reaper coven his wizard Axelrod was a part of... the Storm Owl Coven...
Bryn's breathing began to slow to faint, strained puffs. It wasn't just the buckle, Bryn realized, he'd been wearing the miserable, tattered, sogging wet, yet somehow still smoldering rags that were the remains of Axelrod's once glorious fated legendary gear set. Slowly, Bryn leaned his shoulder to the cave wall for support and reached around to feel between his shoulder blades. At first he only felt his cold, clammy, wet, burnt skin, which at this point was a point of comfort for him. But, surely enough Bryn's fingers soon brushed against a texture that made his blood run cold.
Bryn squeezed his eyes shut and began to feverishly pray, silently pleading desperately, one last time, that he was still just dreaming. His fingers began to slowly close around the texture and slightly tug down. A quick, but sharp pain was the first of two rewards given to Bryn for his efforts.
The second, was a single, massive, jet black feather.
His chest began seizing violently.
His breathing began heaving out, wet and ragged panting, as the panic attack of the millennium began to set upon Bryn. It was only then, after all he had already gone through, that Bryn began to feel real, true, primal fear.
'It can't be,' his mind quivered. His eyes began filling with the last few tears Bryn hadn't even realized he still had.
Falling back down to his injured knees, Bryn clutched his thundering heart in a vice grip. Gritting his aching teeth to the point he feared they'd shatter, Bryn fought through what was quite possibly a shock induced heart attack, and pleaded with his worn out brain to provide an explanation.
One that wasn't the truth he was currently trying to flee from with all his remaining might.
However, no matter what avenue he considered, no matter what line of reasoning Bryn attempted, every thought he had came back to the same place. The same dreaded conclusion.
Somehow... Bryn had woken up... inside Wizard's Quest... as Axelrod...
For a long, long while all Bryn could do was sit and ponder his dreaded fate. Taking repeated, shallow breaths, and beginning to finally comprehend how doomed he probably was, slowly, Bryn began to rise to his feet and continue his journey towards the light. The sound of an unbelievably large choir of thousands of massive waterfalls were now a roaring, behemoth symphony. One that was threatening to deafen Bryn, shaking both his body and his resolve to the broken teen's very core. And yet, the boy knew he had to press forth.
As Bryn finally arrived at the mouth of the tunnel, he screamed bloody murder and promptly ran back deep into the cave, completely disregarding his wounds. Eventually, he crawled back out and got a proper look at his surroundings. Looking around, mouth agape, all thoughts meandering in the celestial's worn out brain, slowed to a crawl. Time itself slowed to a crawl.
Bryn finally realized where he was.
There was no way he could forget.
Sounds of 11 horrifying battles resurfaced in his ears. His battered knees shook terribly and Bryn wobbled in fear, as he struggled to find his balance.
Slowly his eyes rose.
Visions of a massive dragon slamming into the walls of the massive cave overtook his sight. Spells, and conjurations far larger than even the tallest of skyscrapers had left horrifying damage and scorch marks of lighting that had decimated the environment. Magic more complex than anything most could comprehend, had violently enacted catastrophic damage across what was once a beautiful, massive underground realm.
Bryn's foggy vision saw, with crystal clarity, a divine dragon and a celestial, locked in viscous combat for one's right to godhood.
Slowly... his eyes fell.
Just as he remembered, the massive cave realm was truly bottomless. Even the mouth of the tunnel Bryn was currently standing in, was so high up, that there was a thick layer of cloud obscuring his vision of the rest of the cave floor. But, the clouds couldn't even begin to obscure the thing that Bryn had found himself unable to tear his vision away from for a very long time.
The dead body of Volrab.
Bryn couldn't believe how hard his exhausted brain had tunnel-visioned, ironically, on the body of Volrab, that he had almost completely missed the comically titanic golden gates that effortlessly dwarfed the impossibly huge body of Volrab.
Behind the corpse, standing unimpressed by Bryn's suffering and unbothered by any of the savage, catastrophic battles that had transpired there, were The Gates of The Deific Planes.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Bryn screamed again.
He shut his eyes.
It was too much.
Finally giving in to his brand new panic attack, Bryn dropped to the ground like a bag of rocks, in a fetal position. His fear had managed to fully numb the horrifying pain the fall had shot through his desecrated body, which helped because he was already screaming his burnt and bloody throat raw.
Bryn couldn't tell when he had eventually passed out, but when he woke again, he just lay there on the cold, cave floor silently weeping dry tears. There was nothing left for him to cry out. His exhausted eyes stared into Volrab's many cold, dead ones.
12 gigantic heads, even in death, were mocking him, degusted that he be the one to survive their bout. Beckoning Bryn to join them... on the other side...
3 hours later, Bryn was sitting against the wall of the tunnel mouth, head between his knees, pondering what he was supposed to do now while the waterfalls continued to roar nonchalantly in the background.
He could try to fly, he reasoned.
Remembering that the game allowed players with wings flight so long as they weren't fully destroyed, the option gave Bryn a tiny iota of hope. The flying would be shoddy, shaky and slow, but it would work.
There were just two simple problems with that for Bryn.
One, he had no idea how to actually fly anymore, or if wherever he was was even Wizard's Quest. He wasn't even sure he could even fly with the tattered mess that remained of his wings if he even was in Wizard's Quest.
Two, there was no fucking way he was going to pop his flying cherry in the Cavern of Hallowed Heroes.
Bryn never had a fear of heights, but actually being inside the utterly massive lair of Volrab and having to consider flying to escape, was a great way to gain a fear of heights.
'But,' Bryn gulped, remembering the thing that had filled him with the tiniest amount of hope he felt since he arrived in the cave, 'the Gates of The Deific Planes... are right next to Volrab's body...'
The gates. He just needed to get to those gates. Becoming a ranker was a process that completely deconstructed and rebuilt the player's in-game body. It burnt away all mortality within the wizard, replacing it with awesome, immortal divinity. Whatever was wrong with his body, and Bryn could tell, many things were currently terribly wrong with him, would be repaired, if only he could make it to godhood before...
before...
His wounds ached for the loving touch of the gate's cold, unimpressed and unfeeling metal doors.
Bryn summoned his remaining strength, forcing himself to his ruined, skinned knees. If only to just stop the unceasing pain and his awful migraines that had refused to ebb even slightly, he would've thrown his body from the tunnel mouth and just hoped for the best. Even with his one remaining, left wing.
"So close, yet so fucking far..." the exhausted teen mumbled to himself.
Slumping back to the floor he muttered, "how'd I even manage to lose my left arm, but my right wing is the one missing, not the lefty?" He gave a slight, whimper chuckle, "that doesn't even make sense."
With a resigned, depressed sigh, Bryn closed his eyes. Sinking his head into his knees gently, eyes closed, he began desperately trying to remember anything he could recall about Wizard's Quest that could possibly help him save himself. Suddenly, as if like a molten hot knife through butter, a single thought pierced the veil of pain and mental anguish clouding Bryn's thoughts. And his eyes shot open.
His right hand raced towards his waist, feeling desperately. A hard, thin surface met his fingers, his scabbard. But there was no handle of a blade, no weapon populating its protective shell.
'Where the fuck is Neverwinter?'
A faint memory of seeing a faintly glittering thing in the darkness next to him where he had awoke, sent Bryn scrambling to run back the way he'd came. Even as he hobbled painfully and stumbled a few times, he would not let up, he would not fall. Desperately Bryn ran, hoping, praying his memory was true. Eventually, Bryn crawled back into the deep cave pocket he'd first appeared in. The ability to see again helped Bryn make out more details of the cave pocket, but unfortunately Bryn hadn't accounted for how much sheer panic would be flooding through him. Redoubled by returning to the place where this nightmare had begun for him, Bryn's body began to seize violently in periodic spasms, before momentarily stilling.
In a mad dash, racing against yet another massive panic attack threatening to overtake him, Bryn searched through the darkness, feeling the pocket floor desperately with his one good hand. When it seemed even that was taking too long, Bryn began worming around on the ground, hoping some fateful spec of light would illuminate wherever Nerverwinter lay. Bryn felt that if he passed out now, before he found his blade, he wouldn't get a second chance to look for it...
As Bryn felt the mounting dread begin to overtake him, his struggles became more desperate and wretched. But it was too late. His arms began seizing and locking, his legs spasmed, he was beginning to dissociate too hard.
'I'm dying,' he finally admitted quietly, though to no one in particular.
He'd been passively aware of it for a while now, and had been constantly surprised at how long he'd remained breathing. Though, he'd eventually chalked it up to the body of a celestial taking a while to finally die. But, it seemed his numerous, grievous, wounds were finally starting to catch up with him. His time was nearly up.
Darkness closed in on Bryn's vision.
A single sad tear, dropped from his left eye.
There he would die, alone, in some miserable cave, alone... After just appearing in what was probably the game he'd carefully mastered over 11 years. Something that had once been his greatest desire for since Bryn was 7 years old.
"I-ironic..." he murmured weakly, the last of his strength beginning to leave him.
Before the darkness finally claimed him, he finally saw it.
A faint glimmer. His final ray of hope.
How beautiful it was...
Without any thoughts, his charred right arm shot out towards it, and with the final dregs of his life, Bryn's fingers latched around the hilt of Neverwinter, sealing with a death grip.
'Master?' A voice spoke tentatively and softly into Bryn's dying mind. Noticing the current state of Bryn, its voice changed, becoming harsh and furious, even demanding. 'No!' the sword proclaimed aloud, with rigid finality, shaking with rage, 'this will not do!'
Oceans of celestial power began emanating from the blade. The ferocity of the epic winds and unyielding frost and god killing devastation of the Great FimbulWinter magnified by Bryn's own titanic god storm I'Ieravnos, met the awful scourge of the endless woe manifested from the waters of the River Styx Neverwinter was quenched in. The violent, deadly energy was then compounded by the power of a virulent catastrophe known as Bryn's Grand Pestilence embedded within the weapon, and poured into the body of its master.
Bryn's eyes shot open, every orifice he had shone like a beacon with deep purple energy. Death and storm celestial energy tore through his desecrated body till it found the dried out husks of his dual affinity, arcane cores. Instantly, the energy slammed itself into them, and the severely depleted cores of the young celestial greedily drank their fill. As they did, Bryn's many, many fatal wounds, finally began to heal. His brain matter started un-swelling, reaerating from his horrific loss of neurons, and his pounding headache at last, finally subsided. Bryn's legs began to heal and reshape, stitching his muscles and knees back together. Finally Bryn's burnt, and mangled skin flaked and fell off, revealing new, undamaged cells.
The blessed relief from his suffering hadn't distracted Bryn from noticing that his left arm and his missing right wing, had also regenerated.
Tears streamed from his eyes as Bryn slowly rose to his newly restored feet and silently examined his resurrected body.
"I'm... I'm alive?" He whispered, mind blown.
Staring wide eyed at Neverwinter, still glued to his hand, still pulsing purple mix of death and storm energy into his body, passively attending to the less critical repairs, Bryn's mouth hung agape.
'Yes master,' the calm voice spoke into Bryn's mind again, 'though it is more accurate to say thanks to your celestial death affinity, the moment before you died, I forced your celestial death core to hang onto your soul stopping it from ascending, while your celestial storm core kept your brain and organs from failing, pumping them with overwhelming storm energy.' The voice went quiet, though it sounded robotic, Bryn detected an obvious sense of pride mixed with panic, 'you were hurt... and I saved you. I consumed your remaining Supreme Script to repair your dual death and storm affinity cores. Is there anything else you may need, master?... Have I done well?'
Now that he wasn't preoccupied by dying, Bryn could discern that the voice coming from Neverwinter was distinctly female. It held a faint, hallowed tone, one that gave hint to the awesome power and craftsmanship of a weapon created by a god and a celestial, but it spoke to Bryn in complete deference. It promised every ounce of its power to him with absolute loyalty. The faint notion that the voice held an oddly Scottish accent didn't escape Bryn's attention, but he was currently preoccupied with experiencing a brand new type of headache. One that wasn't born of fatal injuries, but from now being able to begin attempting to fully cope with his new current reality.
"You can do that?" Bryn asked, dumbfounded, "since when could you do that? SINCE WHEN COULD YOU TALK?!"
Suddenly he clutched his forehead, his breathing turned shallow and clammy.
"Wait a minute..." he murmured.
"Oh god," Bryn whispered, Neverwinter's question suddenly completely forgotten, "how do I get home? How did I even get here? Am I the only one?"
'Your body and consciousness were transported to this plane of existence by The Great Ritual of Ka'Toori, master. The entirety of humanity was summoned to this realm of reality, not just master. Though, master is the only human currently residing within this particular space. As to how master may return to his original plane of existence? That I am completely unsure of, forgive me master,' the psychic voice of Neverwinter listed, matter of factly and robotically, though also tentatively and unsure of itself.
Raising his right hand to stare at the long, crystalline sword in his still clenched grip, Bryn said nothing for a long while.
"I'm sorry... what did you say?" He croaked, mouth drying out with fear.
'Of course master,' Neverwinter replied deftly, 'an existence I am currently still unsure of performed The Great Ritual of Ka'Toori, it is a powerful trans dimensional spell that brought the entirety of the population of humanity to the realm of reality previously thought to be the game 'Wizard's Quest.'
"Everyone is here?" Bryn asked again, but his voice was hollow. His mind, millions of miles away from his body, was wracked with stress unimaginable. "No, no, no, no, no," he muttered feverishly, pacing about randomly.
'Are you alright, master?' Neverwinter asked cautiously into Bryn's mind.
"No I'm not fucking alright!" He screamed aloud in a shrill, high pitched voice. "My tech illiterate parents and dumbass younger brother and only part time gamer girlfriend, and his even less of a part time gamer girlfriend... are now stuck in a universe of massive, world ending monsters, where crazy people are a dime a dozen and armed to the teeth with various kinds of literal fucking magic that thanks to the way magic worked in Wizard's Quest, I have zero idea what class or magic they'll pull up with! Some of those crazy fucks are now also gods! And if that wasn't bad enough, the entirety of humanity got fucked along for the ride too! Bringing a whole new cast of psychos and criminals and naive people, to a universe where they too can maybe become gods, or more likely, get eaten or blown the fuck up! Either by themselves or in the next fucking Stellar War! And I'm stuck in a goddamn cave! Talking, to a goddamn sword!" Bryn yelled, his words were an unbridled mess of a rant, a rushed stream of babble, as he dipped further and further from sanity to deliria.
Neverwinter sent a jolt of electricity up its hilt, directly into Bryn's body, shocking the 18 year old out of his spiraling with a loud, pained cry.
"...Thanks," he muttered, sourly and embarrassed.
'Anytime master,' Neverwinter cheerfully replied, before it began humming softly into Bryn's mind as the sword continued healing him.
After a few rounds of slow, deep breathing, Bryn felt he was ready to reattempt thinking. After a few more jolts from Neverwinter to break him out of the next three consecutive panic attacks he then sustained, Bryn was truly ready to try and figure out what was happening.
"The last thing I remember was going to sleep," he pondered aloud, half to Neverwinter, half to himself, "yeah I'm pretty sure that's the last thing I was doing, I was dreaming about how dumb the plot of the movie was." Bryn sighed as he continued walking down his path towards the tunnel mouth. "Guess none of that matters anymore though," he resigned sadly, shoulders sagging.
Bryn and Neverwinter were traversing back to the mouth of the tunnel that Bryn had found earlier. Bryn had been grilling the sword for every bit of information it could offer him as he slowly tried to piece together a plan for how to escape the cave dungeon.
'Master,' Neverwinter started, gently grabbing Bryn's attention, 'if we are to escape The Cavern of Hallowed Heroes, you must fly, there simply is no other way.'
Bryn gave a fearful, dry gulp.
Remembering how high up they were in the gigantic cavern scared him shitless, but there was something that scared him even more.
By now it had been at least half a day since Bryn and the rest of humanity had been brought to Wizard's Quest. The thought of spending a minute longer while his loved ones could be in any flavor of potential dangers, while he was literally staring godhood in the face, drove Bryn to move his legs forward. Despite everything in him wanting to turn and run back into the cave pocket huddling in the shadows with his wings wrapped around himself, his friends needed him. His family needed him. His guild mates needed him. They needed the absolute wall of power, the ultimate heavy gun that the magic of a ranker, of a god, could provide. They needed the absolute power he stood a chance of gaining.
Bryn grit his teeth.
There was no way he could accept failure.
Not here.
Not after, he realized, he'd somehow gotten his blessed second chance at godhood.
Bryn sighed, "you're right Neverwinter, but how do I even do that now? I've never even played VR Wizard's Quest with a reality pod, my family's far too broke for that pipe dream. And my mom certainly would never pay for a pod over a college tuition. I'm way out of my element."
'I'm not sure what the problem is then master?,' Neverwinter asked, deeply befuddled, 'as master accurately deduced, the humans that were once amongst the reality pod players have basically already trained themselves to interact with a relevant version of the reality you now occupy.'
"...So," Bryn slowly began, "I just need to learn the VR controls? Or something similar to them?"
'Indeed, master!' Neverwinter responded into Bryn's mind happily.
Bryn thought for a moment.
"Hey Neverwinter," he began.
'Yes, master,' the sword replied.
"Can you call me anything other than master?" He asked tentatively.
'No,' the sword responded simply, before returning to its cheerful humming.
"...ok," Bryn said quietly, blushing from embarrassment.
As the Celestial Storm Reaper and his weapon eventually reached the edge of the tunnel mouth, the two observed the dead body of Volrab and the gigantic Deific Gates behind it.
"Ok Neverwinter," Bryn said, trying desperately to not look down and begin another hyperventilating fit, "run me through the steps one more time."
'Of course, Master,' Neverwinter replied, its voice attempting a soothing and comforting tone, but also appearing stern and militant, 'step one: expand your wings and crouch. Step two: feel for your arcane cores and pull on them, gently, very gently, flight only requires a miniscule amount of magic to work. Step three: push off the ground with your feet, think hover with all your might, imagine a hovering motion and your wings will respond.'
Bryn nodded quietly, far too afraid to speak. Stilling his emotions, he tightened his grip on Neverwinter's hilt and began following through the steps. Dropping into a low crouch, Bryn closed his eyes and breathed out. Clearing his mind, he pictured an eagle soaring high in the sky, it's wings majestic, wide and outstretched, exuding pride and a sense of entitlement of the very sky itself. As if attempting to greedily grab every ray of light that it could.
The sound of feathers softly ruffling accompanying a slight wiggly, ticklish feeling running along his spine, tore Bryn from his meditation. As the teen opened his eyes and turned to his left, still maintaining his crouch, he realized he could no longer clearly see the mouth of the tunnel. A large mass of jet black feathers were blocking his vision. A wing was blocking his vision... his wings...
"Ok," Bryn said with a slightly panicked chuckle, "freaky, but that is cool as fuck though." Running a finger along one of his wings, feeling his soft, flight feathers, Bryn gave a low whistle of amazement. "Damn these shits clean," he whispered, attention completely ensnared by admiring his outstretched wings.
'Master...' Neverwinter called admonishingly into Bryn's mind, slightly impatient.
"Sorry," Bryn replied sheepishly, in a small voice.
Resetting his focus and returning to his meditative state, Bryn began picturing the only thing he could think of as a winged, hovering model. A massive hummingbird appeared in his mind, flapping its wings for dear life to stay in the air.
Bryn then began screaming in agony as his wings began wildly thrashing about, threatening to tear themselves off from his back.
'Stop master!' Neverwinter yelled firmly into Bryn's mind.
"I-I can't!" Bryn screamsd back desperately, struggling to speak through the pain.
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Another series of fierce jolts of energy, sent from Neverwinter into Bryn's body, finally, and forcibly electrocuted the wizard out of his self-imposed torture.
"T-thank you," Bryn called out weakly, collapsing into a sweaty mess.
Neverwinter sighed, 'no problem master.'
After a brief rest, Bryn reset and got back to attempting flight. This time, he tried instead, to recall what Axelrod had always looked like while flying. It had been well over 6 years since Bryn had gained his first pair of normal grade wings. His legendary grade, storm reaper's wings had been with him for at least 2. Hundreds of hours of gameplay of Axelrod flying, hovering, and performing complex maneuvers came easily flooding into Bryn's mind.
'Good master,' Neverwinter cooed in motivation, somehow catching a glimpse of Bryn's thoughts, 'remember master, one must crawl before they run. Focus on your memories of hovering, and tell your body to hover.'
Nodding his head, eyes still shut, Bryn shut out all other memories except those of Axelrod explicitly hovering. Bryn focused on the beat pattern of his wings in the memories, he counted the seconds and ingrained the movements of his wing strokes into his mind's eye. He took his time and internalized the minute curves of each of his different types of feathers, all working in tandem to keep Axelrod aloft.
Gentle, ruffling sounds, thumping in a soft pattern, alerted to Bryn that his efforts were heading in the right direction. The whooping and cheering coming from Neverwinter that came cascading freely into Bryn's mind, confirmed his wings were now ready for him to add magic and actually fly.
Bryn reached inside himself and felt for his two arcane cores. His celestial rank storm core and his celestial rank death core immediately flared to life in the presence of their wizard, ready to offer him all of their might.
'Remember master,' Neverwinter cautioned one last time, 'you're still critically low on both mana and celestial aether, please be careful and try not to pull too much energy, you only need a small tug.'
Bryn nodded, "right small tug, small tug," he gulped. "No biggie, none at all, small tug..."
Mentally picturing two hands, Bryn imagined them each picking a core, and slowly they pinched a slight sliver of energy out from both cores. Holding the mental image of both strands in his mind, Bryn focused on the memories of hovering again, and forced a thought to sear itself into his mind.
'Hover!' He screamed internally.
Shooting off into the air from his crouching position, Bryn kept his eyes glued shut, and waited for his feet to fall back down and hit the ground. Seconds turned to minutes and Bryn's feet still couldn't feel anything beneath them. Slowly opening his eyes, Bryn looked down and nearly shat himself.
"Oh Fuck! Oh Fuck! I'm flying!" he yelled, laughing maniacally with hysteria as the nth panic attack threatened to overtook him.
As he was about to look down again, past the tunnel edge, Neverwinter sent another jolt into Bryn's brain, stopping him from an obvious mistake.
"OK ok," Bryn said, shaking his head, "what now?"
'It's simple master, pick a memory of you flying forward and focus on it, pick a direction and there we will go,' Neverwinter replied cheerfully, 'I do suggest we leave this dungeon as soon as physically possible though, especially when the exit to this particular dungeon will finally give my master godhood.'
"That is a good point," Bryn acknowledged, but then his attention turned back to the body of Volrab. "I just can't help shaking the feeling that I'm supposed to loot that corpse though," he said, thoughtfully, "it's not even gamer greed, I somehow survived that fight, the dungeon is still somehow open, Volrab's body somehow is still here and hasn't despawned yet, and you're somehow sentient now."
Bryn's bottom lip pursed in the way it usually did when his brain was hard at work.
"I just get the feeling that I'm going to really regret it if I don't at least attempt to find some boss loot dropped from the Gate Guardian itself," Bryn said with certainty.
'So be it,' Neverwinter said relenting, 'at least let us make haste master.'
"Right," Bryn affirmed. Taking a deep breath, Bryn manifested a memory of himself soaring through the skies over the Crown of Mountains, and began to feel wind softly whipping across his face. Opening his eyes again, Bryn realized he was soaring towards the body of the massive crystal dragon. Each of its 12 gigantic, crowned heads lay strewn about over many different areas hundreds of yards apart, so Bryn chose the nearest head, and began changing directions to fly towards it. Instinctively, Bryn felt his feathers start to tilt and lean, curving and stretching as Bryn began to bank a left, 45 degree turn while slowly descending to be beside the head.
Staring at every beautiful, individual golden and black crystalline scales that lined the great crystal dragon's body, Bryn for the hundredth time that day found himself thoroughly baffled at how he had managed to kill the beast. He could remember the entire fight with crystal clarity, but he still couldn't believe his magic had actually managed to take down something this big.
"11th times' the charm huh, looking good Volrab, you trying out a new skin routine?" he murmured sarcastically. "Hey Neverwinter, how do I loot this thing anyway?"
"Oh that's a relatively simple process, master," the blade began, "you must lay your hand upon the skin of the Gate Guardian and just think 'absorb'."
"Sounds simple enough," Bryn said quietly, hovering next to the massive, crowned head. Slowly, the celestial reached out with his left hand to touch the forehead of the deceased dragon. Softly he whispered, "absorb."
A massive flash of golden green energy began emanating from Volrab's corpse. Slowly the ocean of shimmering energy began to rise from the massive dead gate guardian and collect into Bryn's body.
A massive ["CONGRATULATIONS WIZARD!"] Message flashed in front of him, scaring Bryn so much he momentarily forgot to maintain his hovering and dropped a couple feet. But hundreds of messages kept popping up, flooding his vision. Scanning through them as fast as possible, Bryn's mind tried to focus on whatever seemed to be important.
["Congratulations, you have acquired, '30x' Scales of the Gate Guardian."]
["Congratulations, you have acquired, '1x' Miracle in a Cup."]
["Congratulations, you have acquired, '5x' Claws of the Gate Guardian."]
Bryn tried his best to dismiss the unrelenting torrent of general messages, trying to scan for all the scattered loot alerts, but one stopped him in his tracks. It wasn't very hard, considering how big this alert message was.
["Congratulations, blessed wizard! Valiant Hero! Master of magic and the arcane way! Your battle in the Cavern of Hallowed Heroes against the holy Gate Guardian, the blessed Saint Volrab, has been witnessed by the stars, and the heavens have deemed thee worthy! You have acquired, The 12th Emerald Crown of the Gate Guardian!"]
"Neverwinter," Bryn asked hurriedly as the body of Volrab began to break apart and disappear, turning into exp that began flowing into Bryn's body, "what is an emerald crown? And how do I get it from my inventory?"
'I'm unfamiliar with whatever these Emerald Crown artifacts are master,' the sword began, 'though the nature of the alert makes it seem like it's something you should try very hard not to part with.'
"Huh, ok, so... should I equip it? It seems like a headset gear piece," Bryn observed.
'Couldn't hurt,' Neverwinter ventured, 'might as well see whatever it is. To call upon items from your inventory, you must mentally think of its name, and just like with flight, you only need a small pinch of energy from your arcane cores. Though for basic actions like retrieving and storing items and equipping them, a single arcane core is far more than enough.'
Shrugging, Bryn thought to himself, '12th Emerald Crown, of the Gate Guardian,' and gave a slight tug to his death core for some energy. With a sound that resembled rushing air, a medium sized crown appeared from the void, and dropped into Bryn's outstretched hands. Licking his dry lips in anticipation, Bryn placed the crown atop his head. Suddenly the crown clamped down on his head, hard.
"Arrgh!" Bryn yelled, almost dropping Neverwinter into the void below in a fit of pain. Quickly sheathing the sword for the first time since he'd found it, Bryn tried, with both hands, to remove the crown of green rock from his head, but it would not budge.
Screaming again in frustration, Bryn unsheathed Neverwinter and was about to request his sword's aid, when a far larger message than anything he'd yet seen, appeared far above him.
Way up in the sky, announced in a loud, thundering voice, glorious fanfare adorning it, a message was proclaimed.
["REALM WIDE MESSAGE,"] it screamed aloud, supported by a glorious heavenly choir, harking aloud in a grand voice, ["The Gate Guardian has crowned its 12th scion! The 12th Monarch of Emerald has been found. Oh rejoice ye wizards! Rejoice humanity! The Emerald Court is soon at hand! Requiem shall be with you, if your 12 pillars prove up to the task of bearing the weight of fate! For the next 3 hours, all exp for all humans gained, is tripled."]
Bryn hovered, dumbfounded and deeply confused, until another far more pressing message appeared in front of him. Though this one was more reasonably sized, it scared Bryn far worse than the realm wide message.
["Valiant Hero, Cross the Gates of the Deific Planes and claim your godhood. The dungeon will terminate itself in 20 seconds."]
"....what do they mean by terminate?" Bryn asked cautiously. Horrific groaning then began swelling. Like the slow hum of a bassoon rising in iambic pentameter, the noise hailed the starting of the dungeon beginning to fall apart around Bryn and Neverwinter, giving a deft answer to his question.
"...Oh," he said in a small voice.
Raising the sword to his face he yelled to it, "Neverwinter! Get us the fuck out of here!"
"Affirmative master, but I will need momentary control of your arcane cores, is this permissible?" Neverwinter asked.
"YES! YES! JUST FUCKING DO IT! PLEASE!" Bryn scream pleaded.
["14, 13, 12..."]
As the seconds counted down, more and more of the massive dungeon began to erode away into nothingness around them. While thousands of massive rock formations that easily dwarfed the great pyramids, broke apart and rained down arbitrarily from above.
Bryn felt a seizing feeling that was quickly replaced by a warm, soft embrace as Neverwinter took control of his body. Instantly Bryn shot up into the air, easily dodging around and in between an endless array of gigantic falling debris, as his body pulled a wide summersault. Righting itself in the direction of the still open gates right as his body reached its zenith, Neverwinter yanked as much magic as Bryn's cores were still able to give, and in a massive explosion, the celestial's body exploded forth. Giving up on acrobatics to save time, Neverwinter cloaked Bryn's body in a heavy blanket of his remaining death and storm energy. Barreling themselves through anything that dared get in between the sword, it's master and the gates.
Against all odds, Bryn's outstretched fingers crossed the gate thresholds just as the dungeon's destruction timer hit zero. Bryn and Neverwinter were spared from having to face the sudden collapse of the dungeon as whatever remained of the massive cavern suddenly folded in on itself, and returned to the void, while wizard and weapon were dragged off to wherever the gates had in store for them.
***
Bryn's eyes slowly opened. Looking around, he was shocked into silence by how beautiful the massive hallway he was laying in was. Palace was the closest word his mind could fathom to explain the beautiful, solid gold marvel of engineering. Exotic, shimmering plants dotted the great hall, purple vines hung around the many massive marble columns, and horrifically affluent artifacts, gently humming with world ending power, populated the area.
Realizing his hands were empty, Bryn immediately panicked again as he swung around feverishly, desperately searching for Neverwinter. Seeing the long crystal blade lying on the opulent yellow and purple carpet a few meters from him, Bryn dove for it without a second thought, scooping up and softly cradling the weapon. Suddenly a shadow loomed over Bryn, appearing out of nowhere.
Slowly, he looked up to the sight of a masked man in a slim fit, yellow suit, and white bowtie standing above him, bending over and staring down at Bryn.
"Ahhhhhh," Bryn screamed, hefting Neverwinter between him and the masked man as he scooted as far back from the weird person as possible. All the while, he never stopped screaming.
"Oh sweet Vala! Would you fucking shuuuut uuuup?!" came an annoyed and bitter voice yelling from behind the mask. A massive wave of power washed over Bryn and forcibly shut off his manic screaming instantly. "Filthy loud ass celestials," the masked man continued in disgust as he twirled a hand, manifesting two plush, golden chairs with a round table between them, and sat in one of them. Looking over at Bryn, who still had Neverwinter pointed at the masked weirdo, whom Bryn was now sure was also probably a racist, the man sighed.
"I really, really hope I don't need to tell a candidate for godhood to take a seat after one is provided for them," the man said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
With a pissed off expression, and still not dropping Neverwinter from being pointed at the masked man, Bryn slowly rose and walked over to the seats. As he sat, Neverwinter reached out to Bryn's mind.
'Master, I have a tiny bit of power left from healing you, it's not much, but it should be enough for you to wield a spell or two,' the blade spoke dutifully into its master's mind.
"Oh save me the theatrics," the man groaned, "I thought at least one of you would have some goddamn sense of decorum." He gave a heavy sigh, "but lesser deities shouldn't be judged for their inherent stupidity so just this one time, you both will get a pass."
"Hey!" Bryn yelled, getting to his feet, Neverwinter still pointed at the man, "now wait just a go-" Before he could finish, the masked man, without speaking, simply raised a finger. A massive pillar of energy crashed down upon Bryn. The celestial and his blade both struggled with all their combined might to resist, but within seconds, Bryn was brought to his knees. The energy within Neverwinter was now completely spent. The man pointed his finger towards Bryn and gave it a flick, sending the teen blasting back firmly into the ornate armchair.
"No," the man said simply.
Bryn glared at him, but offered no further rebuttal. Even Neverwinter, seething with rage as she was, refused to utter another word. Both she and Bryn were now uncomfortably aware that the strange masked man could somehow hear Neverwinter's psychic speech.
"Finally, some peace and fucking quiet," then man said, sighing with exasperation as he slumped backwards into his own armchair. "Now that that's over with, let's try this again" he began, in a starkly different, incredibly cheerful attitude, clapping his hands together with delight, "now we can get on to reading your papers!"
The heavy contrast between how the masked man was acting now and how he'd been acting all the while before, sent deep waves of distrust coursing through Bryn. But, he noted, eventually dropping Neverwinter, laying the sword in his lap in submission, he desperately needed information and godhood. Messing with this guy any further was probably not going to aid him in either effort, and so Bryn bit his tongue and allowed the man to continue.
"Good choice," the man said with a satisfied chuckle, "you know, I have literally no idea who you are yet, but a couple of us watching you flounder around the dungeon on AstralNet, started nicknaming you DeathWhish." He laughed aloud in Bryn's face, "and that 20 second mad dash for the gates? Man, you really know how to entertain a crowd, you're fucking viral. At least there's still one good use for a celestial, thank Vala."
The man sighed contently, showing absolutely no regard for the visage of raw rage and embarrassment that was stuck on Bryn.
"You know," he continued, nonplussed, "that's what finally got you that nickname, a lotta folks lost out big time betting against you, hahahaha!"
"Oh fuck you!" Bryn screamed back in retort, "who gives a nigga only 20 seconds to escape a dungeon?! Especially one that fucking large?!"
'Um, master,' Neverwinter quietly interjected, 'technically they gave you 16 hours.'
"Oh now you're on that motherfucker's side?!" Bryn cried incredulously towards Neverwinter, hurt and betrayal heavy in his voice, "what the fuck dude?" Lifting his head to face the masked man, he shot back, "and in case you've forgotten, asshole, I was busy slowly dying for like, 13 of those hours!"
The man made a hand puppet with his left hand, mocking Bryn as he yelled.
"Yap, yap, yap," the masked man replied, completely uninterested. "Cry me a river, please," he went on in a bored voice, "what about a thank you for not just instantly collapsing the dungeon instance you fucked up by being too stupid to cross the gate thresholds the first time, who do you think was tasked with giving your stupid ass a second chance?"
"HOW DO YOU EVEN FUCKING KNOW THAT?!" Bryn screamed in rage.
"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?" the masked man returned innocently, laughing out loud again, without a care in the world, while a stack of golden papers appeared in his hands. "Ok," he said with a small grunt, cracking his shoulders as he recorrected his posture back to lounging in the plush chair flicking the papers and beginning to thumb through them, "now let's figure out just whom we're dealing with here."
Slowly the man began thumbing through the stack of golden papers.
"Oh shit..." he said softly. Thumbing through more papers, he muttered again, "oh... shit..."
The masked man's fingers became a flurry. He scanned the thousands of pages before coming to a stop.
"Awwww fuck," he whined, throwing the stack of papers down on the table in a fit of rage, "damnit, it's important."
"What?" Bryn asked, completely lost.
"You dingleberry, apparently you're important," the man said. Though he wore a mask, the man was visibly annoyed, picking the papers back up, giving them a second, annoyed look through before dumping them back down on the coffee table in anger. "Very fucking important it seems," he murmured, "I can see now why they gave your dumbass that crown. You had me going there DeathWish, really thought you just somehow stole it. And no, not for the obvious reasoning either."
Bryn's mouth just hung agape. The unabashed racism of the masked man, across so many levels, stumped the young teen just as badly as the brief but appreciated inflation of his ego from learning that at least someone above this asshole thought Bryn was important.
"Lucky fucker," the masked man said, "if you were a nobody, I was planning on crashing your Karma score past the Underlands themselves and given you the shittiest ranker class I could to teach your impudent ass a lesson. Sadly if I do that, some really important people will get very angry with me."
Bryn just stuck his middle finger out at the masked man.
"Unfortunately," the man continued, "that sword will have to be destroyed first, all mortal gear you have must be destroyed before I can offer you any classes. Your gear is already rags, but the sword has to go."
"WHAT?!" Bryn screamed in rage, blasting to his feet, Neverwinter again aimed at the masked man's head, "over my dead body! You will never take Neverwinter from me!"
"Thank Vala!" the man cried, getting to his feet and hungrily rubbing his hands together, "finally a reason to kill y-..." He paused, letting Bryn's words resonate with him. "Did you just call that sword Neverwinter? The Neverwinter?" he asked, truly shocked.
"Uh..." Bryn started hesitantly hefting his blade into a defensive stance, "yeah... why?"
The man gave a loud, exasperated sigh, before slumping back down into his chair, rubbing his temples.
"Because," he muttered darkly, "I'm actually supposed to give it a blessing. Apparently it's the first weapon ever crafted by any human to ever become a god-"
"A god AND A CELESTIAL!" Bryn cut in rudely.
"Exactly what I said, the first weapon ever crafted by a human god," the masked man resumed, ignoring Bryn, "and therefore not only is it considered by the heavens a true masterpiece, despite being born in the wretched mortal world, it was also bestowed a name. I can't destroy a Named Weapon, that's well above my pay grade."
"Damn right it is," Bryn spat, as he also retook his seat.
Neverwinter hissed at the masked man, marking its allegiance with its master.
The man gave a long sigh, hanging his head back.
"Oh well, make hay while the sun shines I guess," he said, giving his hands another clap as the room they were in began to shift and change.
Bryn's grasp on Neverwinter's hilt tightened instinctively. At long last, he was about to experience something he had at least some frame of reference to.
In the past, whenever a wizard reached the next 100 level barrier, they would be instantly drawn into a private, mental realm. It was always comprised of stars and galaxies, and always had silver pathways leading to columns that held the next possible classes the player could pick between.
While the class advancement realm always looked the same, no matter the player, the classes they could choose that would be standing atop the pillars were completely unique to the player. The usual, 5 possible choices were influenced by the affinity of the arcane core or cores of the player, their karma score, and any unique titles they had managed to attain at the time. By the time players were level 500, it ranged from very rare, to utterly impossible, to find another player with the same list of classes as another player, even if they had the same affinities, unless it was intentionally done.
The beautiful palace vanished, and in its place, Bryn saw the familiar landscape of stars and galaxies. Though, this time, instead of 5 silver paths, leading to 5, tall marble columns, there were only 2. Bryn smiled, excitement mounting. He was expecting this. The precious bits of ranker information Bryn and Alan could scrounge, alongside Alan's own god class picking, had led them to deduce that there were only ever two options given to a player at the precipice of godhood. Based on the karma score, affinities, and titles of the wizard, the ranker classes could either be Heavenly, Holy, Hellish or Demonic.
Bryn gulped.
Storm was a notoriously underplayed affinity due to the horrific slash to a wizard's physical and magical defenses that came with it's unique, almost unfair boost to both base damage and critical damage stats. Amongst the almost 11 million total players Wizard's Quest managed to garner, a generous 1,000 had either a single storm affinity core or attempted the arduous task of pairing a storm core with another affinity core. None else attempted anything to do with storm magic, and so, the ViewTube channel Bryn's wizard Axelrod had been posting its streams to, had been largely responsible for uploading 95% of the world's content on storm magic and potential storm classes for Wizard's Quest. Before Bryn, there hadn't been a single wizard in all of Wizard's Quest to get to level 700 with a storm affinity of any kind.
Thus, there Bryn sat, about to become Wizard's Quest's first storm ranker. Unlike Alan who had deduced the steps to increase his chances of getting Heavenly Star Forger, as a class option, Bryn had absolutely no information to clue him in to what his options were going to be. No one did.
The masked man's voice rang aloud, shattering Bryn's train of thought.
"First," the being said, all previous playfulness and malice in its voice was gone, replaced by stoic, rigid professionalism, "is the reading of the cores."
Raising a hand, a massive scale appeared. On one side of the scale, a massive pool of suffering and darkness hovered. On its opposite side, an equally massive, writhing mass of purple lightning hovered, thrashing about, wildly lashing out at both everything and yet nothing at all. A few times, the scale tipped to either side, but eventually the gigantic structure leveled out.
The masked man spoke again, ritualistically and robotically, "the High Court recognizes this applicant for godhood." Turning to look at Bryn for the first time since they appeared in the class picking realm, he asked, "what name will the applicant present for godhood? Bryn or Axelrod?"
"Bryn!" The teen replied hurriedly, blushing deeply. He wouldn't be caught dead ascending to godhood with a name he'd picked when he was 7.
"Applicant Bryn," the man began, "the High Court recognizes your two arcane cores, both at an equal weight for perfect celestial mastery." "...Congratulations," he said dryly. Bryn swore he could almost detect a hint of sarcasm in the man's words though the being was very careful to hide it.
"Second," the man said aloud, "is the reading of karma."
The massive scale was now accompanied by an equally large pond that appeared beneath Bryn, the masked man and the scale. From the waters, several bubbly orbs began to rise, each depicting a different part of Bryn's life in the game.
"The High Court recognizes a hallowed hero stands in its midst," the man droned on, "it recognizes a war hero, an advocator of peace, one deemed worthy to sign The Stellar Peace Conventions."
Orbs depicting the horrors of the 2nd and 3rd Great Stellar Wars that Bryn and his friends had fought in, began to rise from the water. Similarly orbs of the signing of the Conventions brought back happy memories to Bryn. A single tear fell from his eye.
"However," the masked man interjected, his voice breaking Bryn from any semblance of happiness he had felt, "the High Court also recognizes a warlord stands in its midst. A vicious and savage warrior, one championed as, 'The Storm Executioner'."
Bryn felt his hopes begin to fall slightly. He'd always been proud of his achievements leading up to getting him the unique title, and everything he'd achieved since donning it, but the masked asshole wasn't wrong. The orbs that appeared next, gave unfortunate proof of this. An untold quantity of foes he'd mercilessly torn apart in wars, across countless battlefields, in territory struggles and inter-guild conflicts, were meticulously shown to him, one after another.
Bryn hadn't realized he'd taken so many lives. Before, it had just felt like a simple game, but now, now that he was living those consequences, Bryn wasn't sure if that excuse held up. For all of his paranoia, Bryn knew it was far too late to do anything about his karma score now. All he could do, was pray his overall karma was positive enough to keep him from the Hellish or Demonic paths.
After a brief pause. The masked man's body began to glow with blood orange energy.
"The High Court has deliberated, and a verdict has been decided upon," he whispered saying nothing else for a while and leaving Bryn sweating profusely.
"Finally," he began softly, "is the reading of the titles."
A long, golden scroll appeared before the masked man, clearing his throat, the being began to read off what was written.
"Applicant Bryn, for welding the first named weapon, forged by your species, gaining great fame and spreading the wrath of storm to the furthest depths of the mortal world, you have gained the unique title The Pioneer of Fate," the man read. Bryn couldn't tell because of the mask, but he felt the man was giving him the most unbelieving of side eyes. "For creating a truly unique Final Script, born from extreme dedication to mastering the hardest of arcane arts and simultaneously oneself, you have gained the unique title The Storm Executioner," the man continued.
As the man spoke, silver balls of fire, each representing a different title he had attained, flared to life, before floating gently into the pathway illuminating the road to the two, large marble pillars that stood far behind the masked man, shrouded in darkness.
"For being the first of your species to bring a celestial storm affinity, a celestial, storm arcane core to the doors of godhood, you have gained the exclusive title, First of An Era, The Storm Bearer" the man continued, nearing the bottom of the scroll. "And for donning the 12th crown of emerald, for accepting the 12th throne of the Gate Guardian, for joining the ranks of the fabled scions, you have gained the exclusive title, 12th Monarch of The Emerald Court," the man read, closing the scroll with a snap of his fingers.
This time, a massive green flame roared to life. It greatly dwarfed any of the silver flames that had come before it. Bryn was far too captivated by the majesty of the green fire, to notice that the forgotten crown of green rock, that was still fused to his skull, was now pouring out emerald light. Something far more important to Bryn was happening. When the green fire fused into the silver path. The orb sent a massive burst of light illuminating the rest of the path and revealing the figures standing atop the pillars for the first time.
The first thing Bryn noticed was their gazes, cold and unfeeling. Down they stared from aloft their tall pillars, bathed in divine light, radiating unimaginable power.
Whenever a wizard stood before their usual 5 pillars of their possible paths, the visages that stood before the wizard usually had a few similarities. Reports would later confirm across the entire game, that the visages would always have the face of the wizard's character, and would always be a representation of the strongest version of that class that the wizard could become.
This was what Bryn faced as he walked down the silver illuminated path, helplessly clutching Neverwinter in both of his clammy, wet hands. Figures with his face, yet bearing the awesome power of gods stared down at him silently as Bryn slowly approached them, their eyes following his every moment.
Upon one pillar, there was a version of Bryn with deep blue skin, it bore golden hair and had deep, black voids for eyes. 4 Massive shining wings adorned the deity, a halo of pure death and thunderbolts illuminated its head, promising a savage, merciless end to all of its enemies. The sense of almighty lightning and death vibrating throughout the entire realm from the being, awed the teen into silence long before he even read its name placard. Embossed in gold at the base of the platform atop the pillar the visage stood on, read ['Holy Thunder Titan'].
Bryn forgot how to breathe. It was all too real now. The High Court had deemed his karma worthy for the ranker classes of light.
Looking to the other illuminated pillar, Bryn's excitement began to grow. Another divine creature, again bearing his face, stared back down at Bryn, unblinking. This one had weird, glowing, shimmering violet antlers, and a heavy black mask, resting to the side of its face. Around it's neck were myriad necklaces made of bone. Black and blue runes decorated its powerful body, and a long, merciless whip made of pure lightning was held in its right hand. Upon its own black name placard read, ['Heavenly Charged Abomination'].
So lost was Bryn in his compulsion to break down and attempt to understand his long awaited chance at godhood, at becoming a proper ranker, that he was almost completely ignorant to a progressively itching sensation growing in the back of his head. Breaking from his thoughts, he realized the itching sensation had actually been Neverwinter.
'Master!' the sword called again impatiently, yelling into Bryn's mind for what was probably the millionth time in the last 20 minutes. Realizing that she'd finally gotten Bryn's attention the sword hurriedly rushed to alert him, 'master before you pick, did you notice the third option?'
"Third option?" Bryn murmured, genuinely confused, at least until he finally noticed that the paths had indeed split again.
A deep, emerald colored path led further back than the first two pillars, to a third one that Bryn couldn't believe he'd missed. Compared to the first two pillars, this one utterly dwarfed them.
It was also a deep, forest green.
Atop this large column, there was a large emerald throne, and on the throne, sat a third being, also bearing Bryn's face. And yet, this one was definitely different from the other two. It wasn't just the throne. Bryn eerily realized that the being atop the green column was the only one of the three that was wearing a similar emerald crown to the one still lodged on Bryn's own head. Though, compared to the emerald crown Bryn currently wore, the crown sitting on the being's head of blue snake hair, crackling with wild purple electricity, was far more regal. The being had deep green eyes, and its body crackled with... green lightning? It was shirtless, yet the robes it wore on the bottom half of its body were jet black, adorned with various depictions of green epic monsters and creatures. Beside the being, embedded blade first into the column, sat a massive broadsword with a long, thin two handed hilt. The majestic weapon had three large, black diamonds fused into the broadside of its large blade, and runes that foretold awesome power, lazily pulsed with green energy along the weapon's edge.
But what truly consumed Bryn's attention was that the blade was completely made of crystal. Sure the hilt of the being's weapon was composed completely of what looked to be green wailing souls, pouring out of a handle made of bones, ending in a ram skull as the pommel that had green soul fire pouring from its eyes. The large, crystalline blade of the weapon protruded from the mouth of a dragon skull, mounted as the handle guard.
Bryn looked down in shock, staring at his own, crystalline, long and slender blade.
"....Neverwinter... is that, is that you?" Bryn asked, mystified.
'I... I do not know, master,' Neverwinter replied slowly, 'its energy signature... it feels like me... but also, like so much more...'
"That's because it could be you, if I bestow upon you the blessing of that class, Named Weapon," the man in the yellow suit replied, cutting in to their conversation.
Bryn whipped around to see the masked man lounging in his chair, filing his nails.
"What do you mean by that?" Bryn asked suspiciously, his voice rough with distrust.
"What I mean by that, Named Weapon," the man continued, addressing Neverwinter and ignoring Bryn, "is that dependent on any of his 3 potential class choices, which he most certainly doesn't deserve, you will receive that class's blessing I mentioned earlier instead of being torn apart atom by atom. The blessing will change your shape into either The Claws of The Holy Thunder Titan, The Whip of The Heavenly Charged Abomination, or The Sword of The Fabled Storm Shaman."
Despite the insults Bryn wanted to yell at the man, hearing the name of the third class, brought his attention right back to the three paths before him.
There was no comparison, this being, this class sitting on the emerald throne, Bryn immediately knew, was vastly different from the other two, almost incomparably so. It was vastly, more powerful.
Bryn walked towards the crossroads before stopping. Every class advancement before held the same rules, so the teen assumed, this class realm must as well. If the rules were the same, then the second Bryn chose a path and began walking down it past the intersection, the other classes would be lost to him, forever.
Bryn stopped to deeply ponder his choices, but he knew he had to be expeditious. There was only ever an hour at most given to a player to pick their next class. If one couldn't pick in time, the game would choose a class for them at random.
Taking a moment to think carefully about everything that he stood to lose if he chose wrongly, including a potential war with SkeletonGrip and lord knew who else, that was now becoming very real.
Bryn knew whatever choice he made, he had to completely believe in. There were no second chances.
Turning to study each of the 3 deific beings one final time, Bryn turned to the masked man. Taking a deep breath and soothing his rage, Bryn bowed at the waist. He hated the man, but his thirst for information would always come first.
"Divine sir," he started through gritted teeth, "what is the nature of the emerald crown of Volrab? Why is the shaman the only one of the classes wearing it?"
The masked man was silent for a moment, before breaking out into a brief chuckle.
"Your poor attempt at manners is hilarious, but appreciated," the man chuckled, "though you realizing I'm a greater god does surprise me, maybe the scroll wasn't lying about you being some genius tactician after all."
Bryn huffed but held his tongue.
"Aw, you're serious now?" the man sulked, "now you're no fun." Throwing his hands up he continued, "can't tell you anything about the crown that you most certainly don't deserve though, sorry DeathWish, but why ruin the surprise? But I can tell you though that nothing short of killing your dumb ass will ever get that crown off your head." The man chuckled wildly, lounging back into the chair.
Closing his eyes, Bryn took slow, steady breaths in hopes of calming himself down.
"And... what does fabled mean?" He asked in a dead voice, trying not to roll his eyes out of his head at the masked man, "it doesn't match any of the 4 known divine monikers?"
"It means," the man replied, in a sarcastic voice, "you don't deserve something that powerful either. It's a 1 in a billion gift from the heavens, a 1 of 1 unique class. But if you pick it, you lose access to all of your Supreme Scripts and your Final Script."
Bryn had about to make a mad dash down the path to the green column as fast as his wings could take him, but upon hearing the cost for this "fabled class" Bryn stopped dead in his tracks.
To lose his Supreme Scripts, his 8 exalted spells was a fate worse than death, but to lose his Final Script as well?
Bryn didn't know what to do.
The man had all but confirmed that the Fated Storm Shaman would unlock a whole new dimension of power for Bryn and Neverwinter, one that almost certainly would never be offered again. But that was later down the line, when he had fully mastered the class. That was an endeavor that could take literal years to accomplish, and Bryn had no idea how much longer him nor his allies even had left. To lose his 9 strongest spells right before he entered the divine planes, right before a massive war with possibly three rankers on the enemy side, three gods...
Bryn sank to his knees. His head hurt with all the implications of what his choice, right this moment, would bring.
'Master,' Neverwinter called to him gently, 'what troubles you so?'
"I don't know what to do anymore," Bryn sobbed, choking on his words.
He had done his best to be strong, but it was all too much. There he stood at the doorstep of godhood, and all he could do was cry for his friends and comrades. If he picked wrong, Bryn feared he would doom them all.
'Master,' Neverwinter called gently, 'I might not know what is best to choose, but remember the realm message? 'The Emerald Court is soon at hand? The requiem of humanity?' And now this pompous fool claims to be from the High Court? And a greater god?'
Bryn had ceased his tears, the sword's words had their intended effect. The gears of Bryn's highly analytical brain, rusted from a day's worth of various forms of torture, finally began to turn again. Faster, and faster, and faster.
"....Oh my god..." Bryn gasped, catching on, "the Shaman is the only class with an emerald crown... and if these things don't come off unless I die..."
'Then these versions of you without crowns, likely didn't survive to see the coming of the Emerald Court in their own possible realities,' Neverwinter finished, grimly.
Bryn sighed deeply. Being underprepared for a war was bad, but being unprepared for a realm event, was to subject oneself and one's allies to horrors beyond their collective comprehensions. Not to mention, there was the off chance, however slight, that the realm event would be able to persuade the barely washed SkeletonGrip mongoloids to call off their impending invasion.
"But... I'll start godhood with such a severe handicap... I'll have nothing," Bryn lamented painfully.
'You will have me,' Neverwinter offered softly, sending waves of soothing lightning and death energies into Bryn.
Bryn stared at all 3 of his choices one last time, before closing his eyes, and making his choice. Slowly darkness began to shroud the two marble columns, until all Bryn could see was the path leading to the green column and the being sitting upon the emerald throne. It moved, for the first time, resting it's head on a fist propped up on the throne's armrest. Slowly the silver path began to turn a deep green, bleeding with color pouring from the large green column to where Bryn kneeled at the intersection.
Slowly, wordlessly, Bryn rose to his feet, as if compelled. The teen shuffled, one slow step in front of another, till he stood before the base of the massive structure. Setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders, Bryn hefted Neverwinter and touched the tip of the long sword to the surface of the pillar.
"Become one with me, as I may be," Bryn chanted softly, saying the words he'd long since come to memorize, the spell to change his class. To become a god.
A brilliant flash of vermillion light overtook Bryn's sight. He didn't even have time to scream before everything around him disappeared in a violent flash of white.