DeSean was getting buzzed on the second-floor balcony of a Missourian antebellum house. His college football team had won the season opener, so someone from old money turned this place into a haven for underage debauchery.

He didn’t care much for committing debauchery himself. He’d gotten most of that out of him during his time in the Marines. He was just here for the free booze, loud music, and to find an empty corner where he could people-watch.

It worked for a time. Most folks stuck to who they knew or who looked friendly. DeSean didn’t appear very friendly to most people.

He was a tall, lean, dark-skinned dude with a fro-hawk that topped his punk aesthetic. He wore multiple silver ear studs. His black leather jacket had spikes poking from the shoulders.

If that wasn’t uninviting enough to the small-town country and pop crowd dominating this corner of the world, DeSean also tended to scowl⁠.

Anyone who didn’t know him better steered clear soon as he glanced at them. Which was okay with him. He was here to chill and look at the human baboons on the lawn.

Two girls were making out, which was a fun enough view on the second floor. DeSean also found the freshmen gawking at the girl-on-girl action a little funny. Like a bunch of Boot Marines going to their first strip club.

“Those boys down there will drink piss if they can see where it came from,” someone said from beside DeSean.

DeSean paused for a moment. “I don’t miss being a desperate virgin.”

“Same. I kind of feel bad for them.” The new guy chuckled. “Been there, done that, y’know?”

DeSean faced the new arrival at his corner. He had to think hard through the booze muddling his mind before he recognized the guy.

“Quinton, it’s been a while,” DeSean said, offering a hand to someone from his high school graduating class.

“Back at you, man.” Quinton was an all-American-looking guy. He had height, muscle, blue-eyes, blond hair, and the midwestern goodie goodness. He had a firm handshake that was close to crushing without being intimidating. “Good to see someone else survived the military.”

“You joined the Air Force,” DeSean quipped. “What was it you survived from? Someone forgetting to restock the good gel pens?”

“Those were the dark ages when tyrants reigned until we dove into the Master Sergeant’s dungeon to find the one pen to rule them all,” Quinton croaked hoarsely. He wriggled his fingers, revealing the geek who always hid inside the golden-boy frame. “We also found crayons, but you Marines were aversed to the nice conditions of Air Force bases. We couldn’t find any of you to share the bounty.”

“We really do hate nice things.” It was a struggle for DeSean not to smile. He managed. “With the obligated shit-on-other-branches out of the way, it’s a wonder why any of us are back here in bumfuck Missouri.”

“Going around the world made me miss being with family,” Quinton said. “And it’s not all bad. Where else can you ride ATVs, shoot shotguns, and drink beers with the boys all at the same time?”

“I don’t know if I should’ve left the Marines,” DeSean muttered quietly. He reached over for a silo cup he left on the banister and took a sip. “It’s different out here. It seems like nothing changed, but at the same time, I don’t⁠—”

“Fit in?” Quinton shook his head. “D, my man, you were never the guy to fit in with anyone. When we heard you were joining the Marines, everyone assumed it was a joke. I still can’t believe it.”

DeSean stared into the dark mixture in his drink and shrugged. “Made sense to me at the time. They tried really hard to make me conform. We came to an agreement.”

“You. Came to an agreement. With the Marines?” Quinton gawked at DeSean like he grew another head. “I don’t think anyone comes to an agreement with an institution that kicks down doors and paints the walls red.”

DeSean snorted. “I’m not a Marxist anarchist. I figured out when to play by the rules.”

Quinton’s brow creased.

“What?” DeSean asked. “I don’t even have an NJP. I was pretty squared away.”

“Horseshit.”

“For real.”

Quinton rubbed by his neck. “Everyone knew you as the guy not to mess with after you nearly crushed Jake’s trachea junior year. The bastard deserved it for being an awful bully, but nobody would stand up to him since he’s the star QB and all.” He kept rubbing his neck. “I know I wouldn’t have. I was just as geeky as his victims⁠—I ran DnD with that Bakersfield’s boy, for example⁠—but I had enough coordination to play line on the team, so I didn’t get messed with and….”

“Are you saying you secretly admired me from afar?” DeSean asked, slurping down more alcohol. “I’ll need to check my schedule. Maybe I’ll find time to take you under my wing as my kohai if I have to.”

“Quit the weebo crap, dude, I’m being serious here,” Quinton said, his face turning pinkish-red. “I just want to say thanks for having the balls to do what you did when nobody else would. I always wanted to say this, but I was kind of scared you’ll kick my ass, too.”

There was a joke there, but DeSean kept it to himself. He saw this was truly important for Quinton. There were plenty of times when men shared important things with each other and someone ruined these moments with idiotic jokes.

It was interesting for DeSean to hear an account of him fighting the high school QB five years ago. Like it was something special. For DeSean, it was the simple consequence of someone talking the talk and not walking the walk. DeSean was in a stage in his life where he didn’t give a fuck.

If he had a box for storing fucks, it would’ve been empty for a long while back then.

He had been deeper into the goth and rock scene than he was now. It was his way of dealing with his family issues as a single child.

The usual angry abusive drunkard dad. The passive mom turning a blind eye. The unreliable aunts and uncles and the gossipy bitch-ass cousins. The works.

He was feeling rather suicidal back then, too. The idea of death enamored him. That at any moment, if he chooseth, he could wipe himself off the face of the earth. He could go away, far away, and be swept by the howling winds of oblivion.

Yeah, he was so fucking edgy he could cut himself and bleed the same shit that Ozzy Osbourne sipped in his espresso.

That sort of dark, heavy, out-of-body, atmospheric, brooding headspace didn’t leave room for fear. Before DeSean knew it, he’d kicked Jake in the balls. He’d rammed his textbook into the throat of the future prom king and D1 scouted QB. He’d nearly killed that dullard of a boy.

“It’s a wonder I didn’t get suspended or put in jail,” DeSean said.

“Jake’s dad was pushing for it, too,” Quinton said. “But they had cameras in the halls. They obviously showed Jake shoving you around before you defended yourself.”

Still, I know how I look and how Jake looked. It still amazes me I got out of that scotfree. It was messed up that there was a stereotype for a bully with connections to get the better of someone lacking the resources and support.

DeSean shook his head.

Quinton leaned his back against the balcony support, crossing his big arms. “Even with everyone thinking you committed devilry and southern black magic, you had angels on your side, man.”

“Nonsense,” DeSean said. “I only commune with devils under midnight at a crossroad with a goat sacrifice. It’s the proper thing to do. Devils are particular about the details.”

Quinton’s mouth dropped open.

DeSean smirked a little. “I’m joking. Everyone knows you can get a devils’ attention with a summoning circle, seance, and thimble of virgins’ blood.”

“I got church tomorrow. Wanna come?”

“Good idea, I can tell them about my lord and savior, Satan, and prepare their souls for damnation.”

“D…” Quinton sighed.

Despite the golden boy being more straightlaced than DeSean, he was better company than most people here. They were prior military, and they’d both traveled the world per the orders of Uncle Sam.

They carried themselves differently compared to other people, so they found themselves wandering through the house together. They acquired more booze, shoved aside rude bozos, and flirted with random girls getting drawn to them.

Well, Quinton did most of the flirting. He knew what not to say to keep the attention of a potential match and not let his geek side sour his chances.

DeSean didn’t really care. He just wanted to drink and hang out with someone he actually knew. None of the girls here interested him, especially when they got too close and friendly. Too many of them said what he thought was dumb shit.

“Why do you wear so much black?” one girl asked. “You can use a dash of color.”

DeSean glowered at her, not wasting his breath to answer. She felt the pressure and receded into the dark recess she had spawned from to bug him.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Just as soon as he shot down one annoying girl, another sprung into existence. They were like roaches, hard to put down.

DeSean stomped out into the backyard, where it merged with the woods. Elms and pines stood stalwart around him.

This place was deep in the boonies where you could find both the well-to-do and the trailer trash. The trailer he rented at the edge of town was a half an hour’s walk from here. Lucky him, he could get shit-faced and be a few hops away from his bed.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Quinton walked up with a girl on his arm. “There’s a bunch of girls who got the hots for you?”

DeSean shrugged. Girls were fun from afar. But that was about it.

“You’re going to end up alone with an attitude like that,” the girl on Quinton’s arm said.

“Can you wait in the house for me?” Quinton asked her.

“I won’t wait for long.”

Quinton gave her a tight smile and watched her go. He joined DeSean’s side. “Are you⁠—”

“Gay? No,” DeSean said. “I just haven’t truly connected with anyone yet. I’ve tried. Didn’t last for long.”

“Next, you’re going to tell me you’ll need a succubus to catch your attention,” Quinton jested. A moment of silence passed before he added, “I was joking. That’s when you say hee hee haw haw.”

DeSean humored him with a one-note chuckle.

He appreciated Quinton’s attempts to hang with him. They hadn’t been friends in high school⁠—Quinton was submerged among the popular kids even though he wasn’t honestly like them. Either way, DeSean didn’t have any hard feelings toward the guy. For whatever reason that made Quinton want to catch up on lost time, DeSean didn’t want to hold him back from having fun.

It would be his failure as a Marine to cock-block a fellow service member, too.

“Come on, man, let’s get you back in the game,” DeSean said, smiling a tad. He grabbed the big lug by the shoulder and turned around. They took one step together before something abruptly flashed before their eyes.

Salutations, sapient creatures of this world!

I am the unbiased System, and you’ve been invited to answer a question that’ll decide your destiny henceforth.

Leading this Cycle as ADMIN is the Lord of Light and Order. He has set his many eyes upon your world. He and his Chosen bring what they deem as salvation, and I am charged with bringing you his question: do you wish to be saved from the taint of chaos?

If you say yes, you’ll be made a perfect vessel per the Admin’s design.

If you say no, you’ll be pitted against the Admin’s designs and marked for slaughter.

Please say with intent yes or no in the next minute. If you fail to answer, you’ll be marked on your Records.

DeSean reread the words that appeared in his vision. He glanced at Quinton, who was staring at the space in front of him. His eyes were wide and filled with fright.

When their eyes met, they wordlessly expressed the incredibility of what they were seeing. Back at the house party, boisterous shouts, laughter, and cries of inquiry sounded out.

“What the fuck is this horseshit about salvation?” yelled one man.

“Oh God, oh no, I shouldn’t have stolen my friend’s clothes,” one girl cried.

You now have 45 seconds to decide before you’ll be automatically marked for the slaughter.

“Dude, I think we have to say yes,” Quinton said hurriedly.

DeSean gave him a stern look. He didn’t even have to say it. Quinton should know that DeSean would never agree to this.

Quinton pressed his point anyway. “I don’t know if this is a joke, but⁠—”

A beam of light struck down from the night sky and swallowed someone on the lawn twenty feet away. Dozens of beams shot down like holy arrows from the heavens. When they struck, they thumped the ground, released a shimmer of radiant energy, and continued to pour a blazing white power on the person they engulfed.

It was frankly an amazing sight. Even DeSean was shaken to his core. Warm gusts blew over him from the power emitting from the skies.

You now have 30 seconds to decide before you’ll be automatically marked for the slaughter.

Quinton snatched DeSean by his shoulders. “Why won’t you pick yes? Do you see that? That looks the like the power of the Almighty Himself!”

Quinton’s eyes trembled, searching for something in DeSean’s face.

DeSean might not have the answer he was looking for, but he gave him an answer that felt real to him.

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me,” DeSean said calmly.

Quinton’s face was long and sweaty, his hair whipping to the side under the push of the celestial winds. The bright light etched them both in harsh whites and blacks, hardening the fear on Quinton’s face.

DeSean was scared, too, deep down. But he was more than practiced at wearing a passive mask. Holding his bearing was something he learned even before the Marines.

10

Quinton winced.

9

He rubbed his hand across his face. His palm came out dripping in sweat.

8

7

6

“You’re ridiculous, man,” Quinton said.

5

4

3

“No,” Quinton muttered, choosing to be marked by whatever demanded their answers.

2

1

DeSean made his answer known by not saying anything. He wasn’t going to play by an alien entity’s rules, regardless of the consequences. They hadn’t earned his respect or incentivized him enough. And it sounded like bullshit, just like most holier-than-thou religions ran by mentally ill creeps. So, he got marked just the same, living out his hellbent philosophy of not giving a fuck.

You’ve obtained [Chaos Marked] on your Records.

[Chaos Mark] ⁠— The mark of the enemy. You’ve refused salvation provided by the Lord of Light and Order. While the SYSTEM is neutral toward your progress, you will find destruction or difficulty wherever you go under the reach of the Heavenly Lords. Your only hope is chaos now.

Quinton swore.

“I’ve been preparing for this all my life,” DeSean said.

Quinton swore again, louder and with more gusto.

Your Status Tablet is available for view by saying Status Tablet or thinking of it with intent. You have 1 hour before the chosen vessels are transformed and released. You have 4 weeks to find a Chaos Portal before the Lord of Light reaps your planet of the Chaos Marked.

Alterations to your universal reality have progressed successfully, integrating with the 13th System Revelation Cycle.

DeSean blinked rapidly until the words disappeared. They weren’t completely gone. He felt something in the back of his head. Looking inside of himself, he noticed he could recall the notifications.

DeSean pulled out his phone and started a timer that would tick down 58 minutes. It should give them an early warning. It had plenty of charge, too.

“I’ve been walking the line between Christianity and blasphemy for years, D,” Quinton said faintly. “Please tell me you’re not the Devil. That you didn’t trick me when I could’ve escaped damnation.”

“If I am, I’ll see about us surviving this nonsense,” DeSean said, looking at the many pillars of light tethered with the night sky.

He snorted. If this was real, and not a fevered dream, and not a crazy simulation, the world was about to go insane.

Quinton caught on without him having to say it. “Gun store.”

“Hardware store,” DeSean replied back.

“Groceries and pharmacy,” Quinton added. “And my family! Oh God, my family.”

“Your family,” DeSean agreed.

“But what about yours?”

“Not important. Let’s focus on yours.”

Quinton gaped, shifting from foot to foot. In the background, other Chaos Marked individuals walked about between the light beam towers and started gathering and conversing. Their reactions were a mix of disbelief, panic, or insanity. All just background noise to DeSean.

“Quinton, you’re in luck,” DeSean said. “I don’t really have anything. Not even a cat. You get my help as a certified ass-kicking bastard to survive whatever the fuck this is. Make good use of it.”

“I got a truck,” Quinton mumbled.

“Then what are we waiting for?” DeSean barked with his Sergeant of Marines voice. “Let’s get the fuck going.”

They got to Quinton’s truck. He revved up the engine and backed out of a spot between gnarled trees hanging Spanish moss. He shifted gears and floored it⁠—his tires tore up dirt before the vehicle bucked forward. They flew down the trail, bumping along the way.

Quinton used his Bluetooth system to call his family, starting with his dad. No answer. He switched to his sister. No answer. He switched to his mom. Nada. He muttered, “I’ll find them at the house. They don’t answer sometimes for whatever forsaken reason.”

DeSean rolled down the passenger window and poked his head out. Quinton was driving fast enough for the wind to tug at his fro-hawk. DeSean’s attention fixed toward the spears of light filling up the night sky. There were lots more ahead going toward town.

They had a few minutes before they hit the edge of town and preceded toward the heart of it. Their town was connected to a small metropolis where the college was situated. The moment Quinton veered toward a highway, that told DeSean they were heading for the metropolis to get to his parents.

That raised a question.

Should we hold up in the city behind reinforced walls or find a shack in the middle of nowhere far from everyone?

More supplies in the city. But greater danger.

DeSean checked the timer. He cursed. They didn’t have enough time for supplies, Quinton’s family, and finding a place on the outskirts.

It’s urban warfare if we stay. Might have to fight our way out if we go.

“You’ve checked the Status Tablet, yet?” Quinton asked between gritted teeth, his grip on the wheel trembling, the knuckles turning white.

“No.”

“Please check.” He swerved around stopped cars that didn’t make it to the shoulder and columns of apocalyptic light. “ I’m too busy getting to my family to check now.”

“I’ll tell you what I see, but I need you to drop me off somewhere with a gun store and a hardware store near each other,” DeSean said. And maybe a liquor store. A tempting idea, but there wouldn’t be enough time for it.

“I got something in mind that’s along the way.”

DeSean believed him and said, “Status Tablet.”

DeSean Dante Solomon (Basic Human)

Records: [Chaos Marked]

Main Path: [Locked]

Skills:

Od Level: 29

Strength: 6

Agility: 7

Endurance: 7

Focus: 8

Attunement: 1

Free Od: 11

“It’s, um, got stats and stuff,” DeSean described weakly. “I’m a basic human with twenty-nine Od Levels.” He listed out the other stats and numbers.

“That… that sounds like⁠—” Quinton veered around a car speeding down the wrong lane “—a RPG character sheet. Are you telling me the end of the world is a freaking tabletop game?! I can’t believe this. I can’t!”

“Tell Jesus to hold the wheel and check yourself,” DeSean said. “Or you can trust a devil like me.”

“Fuck you, D,” Quinton rasped. “Ugh. Just keep describing it to me. Do the attributes come with exact meanings?”

DeSean checked again. When he focused on each individual attribute, he felt the meaning behind them spring to his mind. He explained each one to Quinton, starting from the bottom since Attunement was the most interesting.

Attunement dictated your mana depth, magical aptitude, and energy sense.

Focus handled determination, perception, and intellect.

Endurance was good for stamina, resistance, and health.

Agility took care of speed, dexterity, and grace.

Strength covered brawn, force, and toughness.

“Wow,” Quinton said. “This is real. This is actually real. It’s… it’s like one of those Isekai stories!”

“I got eleven Free Od,” DeSean said, “to spend.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ll have to use those Od stats to enhance our personal character sheets⁠—err, Status Tablets. Then we’ll have a better time adapting to whatever’s about to happen to us,” Quinton said hurriedly. “Alright, once we get to my family’s place, we’ll be able to work out how to spend it if it’s really like what I’m thinking. That works with you, D?”

…

“D?” Quinton glanced at DeSean quickly.

…

“D?!”

DeSean couldn’t respond. He was going through a mind-folding, spirit-soaring, wide-eyed transformation. The moment Quinton mentioned enhancing their personal character sheets, DeSean willfully dumped all of his Free Od into Attunement. Now he was suffering the consequence of hastily touching what should be the impossible.

The impossible touched him in return.