The room dropped out from under me. Spinning, thrashing for purchase at anything, hands and legs flailing, I wondered where the weird keening noise was coming from. Me. It was coming from me! This led to a full and proper scream until my voice ran out of air.

Beneath me, a majestic Gothic castle loomed. Tall towers stretching towards the sky like spears. The sharp spires atop each tower seemed to pierce the clouds above. Adjacent to the castle was a towering wall that led to a large rise, connected by a flimsy-looking wood and rope tent hanging precariously over a deep chasm. A shattered building sat atop the rise. Walls falling apart. Stone and brick piled haphazardly around it. As I peered down, I realized this was the flat area where I had bravely battled against waves of skeletons, and then been sliced to shreds.

Then I was moving sideways, through the air, like a superhero with the ability to fly and also the ability to have zero control over their path. The castle faded into the distance. A volcano appeared. It rumbled and groaned as it spewed rivers of molten lava down its walls, glowing orange and red against the dark landscape. Plumes of thick, dark smoke billowed from its crater. I raced past and over the volcano, miraculously avoiding any burns.

Then I hit the ground. Hard enough to rattle my bones and send me gasping for air.

At least I didn’t end up in a bloody pulp.

The HUD on my periphery came alive again, and my stats were just as basic, and pathetic as before.

Capacity: 8

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 8

Vigor: 8

Intelligence: 8

Perks: None

Pennies: None

Prospects: Haw

There was one more small set of numbers, in the right corner, and they glowed a dull yellow:

[6D:23H:58M:32S]

“Might as well add another P, because I'm apparently of The Prisoner class? The three P’s of what the hell, and a timer that is counting down the end of my life. Lovely,” I muttered. “Oh, and if you can hear me, Captain Al, kiss my ass.”

No one answered.

Where was I now? It was Dark. Gray. Oppressive. A mist hung three feet off the ground and lingered. I waved my hand, but it wouldn’t dissipate. It was like passing my hand through steam. Gone was the busted castle top with its shattered walls and walking skeletons. Nowhere in sight, thank fucking God, was the giant creature with long nails that had ripped me apart.

I’d passed through the castle roof before it had solidified beneath me. Cool magic trick, bro.

This has to all be in my head. Had to be! Captain Al? Really?

I leaned over and sharply slapped the hard stone. "Ow!"

Looking at my stinging palm I found dirt, or dust. It was white and mostly fine. I can't explain my next move. Blame it on getting tossed around like a damn jack in the box in a time machine.

I tasted the dirt. Tasted it! Guess what? It tasted like dirt. I spit the grit out of my mouth and wished a bottle of Scope mouthwash would appear. Oh, and maybe a hammer so I could knock myself out and wake up back at home. I'd even put up with Donovan Leech's bullshit if it meant I wasn't standing here, in a -- where the fuck was I?

Medieval architecture was evident from the pointed arches and intricately detailed windows. The hallway was long and narrow. Torches and candles flickered on sconces, casting eerie shadows on the looming statues of suits of armor that lined the walls. I dusted off my rags as I looked around my surroundings. Filled with the smell of musty stone and burning candles, the scent of old wood and ancient secrets lingered in the air. But there was also a hint of something sinister and unnatural.

A humming noise drew my attention. Behind me sat a quartz crystal taller than my body. It was clear except for a white wisp floating in the center.

SYSTEM MESSAGE: The Whispering Veilstone! This will quickly become one of your favorite haunts. Here you can spend pennies to level up. Rest on your laurels. Refill your health and mana or be reborn because you chose to engage a pack of battle alpaca despite being warned that it was a huge fucking mistake.

For now, you’ll only be able to rest and level up, but as you progress you will find advanced veilstones offering a choice to do either, or both at the same time. Your call, sugartits.

I reached out, expecting it to feel cold, and put my hand on the surface. It was warm, and as soon as I made contact it flared to life and glowed bright white. Five figures sprung to life in front of me.

The leftmost outlined a tall figure wearing an intricately embroidered robe and carrying a gnarled staff. Next to him stood a tall form in gleaming armor with a sword in one hand, blade resting on his shoulder. Others faded in and out of view, but another damn message interrupted my concentration.

SYSTEM MESSAGE: It’s time to pick your archetype. CharName04512X13A29RLDU. That’s a fancy word for the job path you intend to pursue. Sorry, fast food lettuce cleaner with delusions of assistant managerhood at McDowell's isn’t an option.

Three more figures appeared with the center character wearing a robe and carrying a staff. To his left stood an archer, and on the right was a tall person carrying a long sword and metal shield. More shapes came and became a blur. I found it best to focus on one at a time.

As I studied each, a message appeared.

Warrior: We get it. You’re a bore. But you’re a bore who likes to smash faces into pulp while looking good in medium or heavy armor. But let’s face it. You’re here for the gear. No other class can wear as much bulky shit as the knight.

Wizard: Why go to Sunday school when you can raze it to the ground with a well-placed fireball? You like to talk with magic wands and wear cool-looking robes. Remember, if at first you don’t succeed, hit it with a poison cloud, then finish it off with a bolt of lightning.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Rogue: You’re like a warrior, but you prefer to let your bow do the talking, and that talking comes from the shadows. This archetype has a thirst for breaking into things, cracking locks and chests and limbs. Rogues also wield a scimitar capable of splitting foe from limb and limb from foe. Bathing in blood is completely optional.

Shaman: You’ll insist your spirit animal is a unicorn (despite everyone else seeing a slightly overweight raccoon). Your rituals are an eccentric mix of glitter, rainbows, and surprisingly accurate fortune-telling. The shaman claims their magical powers are from a mystical realm, but most suspect it's just the result of too many fermented berries. Your spells are potent, as long as you’ve finished your daily gossip with the local flora.

Paladin: Okay, Mr. Goody Two-shoes. You like heavy armor, and you cannot lie. You prefer a sword or mace and the good of people cannot be denied. We get it. You’re a walking tank who likes to dwell on the spiritual side of life. You’ll kill a bitch, but it’s for the greater good.

SYSTEM MESSAGE: Remember. In the game of classes, you win, you die, or you respawn... a lot.

“Hey. Are you supposed to be my secret helper?”

No answer and no new sassy system message.

When I played video games like Elden Ring, which I absolutely sucked at, I tended to pick a class that could carry the biggest sword around. UGS life! None of the characters that had been presented carried a massive sword. So that would be a priority right out of the gate.

Not a lot to go on here. The sword guy dressed in armor would probably keep my ass alive for a lot longer than a little dude with a staff. The other characters seemed cool and all, but I felt it would be best to stick to the basics for now.

“That one.” I pointed at the first figure.

It coalesced into a gleaming man in a full tank. The armor was resplendent. Even in the poor torch and candlelit room, it reflected every light off its shiny surface. The blade was over three feet long, and both sides appeared to be razor sharp. Metal folded onto metal had been used to create the Damascus steel. All in all, it was a sight to behold. The figure bowed its head in acknowledgment, its helmet gleaming as it caught the flickering torchlight and then winked out of existence. Behind it, the other forms were also gone. A flash and I was back in the room.

“Damn. That’s sharp as fuck.”

SYSTEM MESSAGE: You’ve chosen the path of the warrior. Master of swords, spears, axes, and forgetting where you left your shield.

Strength: 11

Dexterity: 6

Vigor: 10

Intelligence: 6

Capacity: 8

Perks: None

Pennies: None

Prospects: None

Class: Piss Poor Warrior with aspirations of knighthood

SYSTEM MESSAGE: Congrats, CharName04512X13A29RLDU! You've unlocked Stat Upgrades and it’s kind of a big deal, unlike you. Nothing says 'adventure' like spending hours deciding whether to add points to vigor, strength or intelligence, then immediately regretting your choices.

“Hey. My name is Liam, by the way. Not CharName and a bunch of numbers and whatever. Liam Beaumont. Why are you this mean? Did someone hurt you as a child?”

I probably shouldn’t joke about that. My own childhood was a shit show of epic proportions. This was an AI, according to Captain Al. Not a person at all. It probably had no concept of what being a child was even like. It hadn't grown up in a home, well, foster homes in my case. It had been created and spat out. For all I knew, they spun these things out like candy bars in the future.

I waited, but there was no answer. There was almost no noise except for what had to have been a slight breeze brushing past the room.

“Do I need to pick a normal username like Bale Bashem? That’s cool, right?”

Silence.

“Hey. System. Are you going to help me here? Are you around, too? I don’t know. Explain the rules and shit? Like, did I make a mistake? Did I pick the wrong class?”

Ding! - new skill acquired – 15% damage with all medium melee weapons. 35% bonus with heavy melee weapons

How in the hell had I heard a ding in my head?

Ding! - new skill acquired – 15% defense while blocking with small and medium shields. 25% bonus with heavy shields

Ding! - new skill acquired – 15% bonus to defense while wearing medium armor. 25% bonus to defense while wearing heavy armor

Okay then. At least there were some cool positives to my class. All I had to do was find heavy armor, a huge sword, and a giant shield. This was going to be a piece of cake.

Except for one nagging stat: capacity. Mine was barely higher than my dexterity, meaning I probably wouldn’t be able to wear a lot of heavy gear yet.

Behind the whispering veilstone, a rough and weathered wooden chest, with intricate carvings covering its surface, had magically appeared. The metal straps, though rusted and worn, still looked sturdy. I approached and leaned over. A musty, earthy scent emanated from the wooden chest, as if it had been sitting in a damp cellar for years.

I grasped the top and flung it open, then jumped back in case it was full of bats or enormous spiders.

"Huh?"

I peered into the dark box and found a bunch of tiny pins like you would put on a bag or on clothing. Each was shaped like a weapon or piece of armor. Touching the belt resulted in it appearing on the floor next to me. It was wide, had worn holes, and would most likely fit.

“Woah.” I sat back so fast I fell on my butt.

I reached in again and touched another item. A chest piece popped into existence and hit the floor, then collapsed in a pile. I ran my hands over the material. It was leather, or so I surmised, based on how supple it felt between my fingers. The surface felt rough, and I noticed crisscrossed cuts that hadn’t fully penetrated, although some were close. If I was cosplaying as a warrior, I’d have tossed this back in the trash. No boots. No shiny metal greaves. Not even a pair of soft boots. I glanced down and my worn and ratty sandals looked back sadly.

"For fuck's sake," I said as I pulled out the supple leather chest plate and tried to figure out how to wear it. There were straps on the side, and buckles that seemed to hold it together. With some effort, I managed to fasten the thin leather piece around my torso. The metal buckles pressed against my side. Another pin and gloves appeared. They were thin and tight, but at least I wouldn’t rip my knuckles if I had to punch a fool in the face. Oh god. I sounded like Captain Al.

With a sigh of resignation, I grabbed the sword pin. It appeared next to me and clattered as the metal bounced on stone. It wasn’t much to write home about. Holding the blade to the wan light, I found a once-sharp edge of the short blade had dulled, and its hilt had become worn and splintered. It was far from the magnificent sword that had been presented to me. The damn thing looked like it was going to break after a few blows.

I dropped to my knees to get a better look. Thanks to the poor lighting, the bottom of the chest was cloaked in shadows.

Something rattled in the chest. I thought I’d pulled everything out. I leaned over and noticed a tiny figure at the bottom, up against a corner.

What was that?

I reached in and touched it. Felt like a tiny doll. I’d once gotten one in a king cake and hadn’t been expecting it. I could have choked to death on the damn thing. How hundreds of people didn’t die every year to that weird tradition was beyond me. To be fair, the cake had been fucking delicious.

“Huh,” I said and picked it up.

The figure wiggled in my hand. I dropped it in shock. There was an audible “oof” from a little voice in the chest.

“Huh?” I leaned over and looked into the chest again.

A high-pitched voice emanated from the chest. “Well, fuckarooni, pal. Why don’t you get your mug out of the way so I can make a proper entrance.”