A certain grinning villain likes to say that all it takes is one bad day to change someone; to make a hero into a villain, to drive a regular man mad. I can’t speak to heroism, or to what kind of man I might’ve been under the System, but those who dabble in Fate tell me that everything happens for a reason. Well, to Hell with them.

You know how, when it rains, it pours? I lost my job, for a damn stupid reason: I found out the CEO’s son was embezzling a little on the side, using company funds for personal purchases. Working in accounting, I dealt with regular employees’ transactions daily, churning through endless piles of receipts and justifications, occasionally having to resort to actually sending out emails reminding people to submit their receipts in a legible format, and to itemize expenses. Some stuff was to be expected, a vague ‘drinks’ charge added onto the tab for a high-powered lunch, and costing way more than a soda would. What Jake Richards, son of the CEO chose to spend his money on was a little more… Risqué. The fact that he was regularly attending escort services only came to light when I had a little too much spare time and curiosity, and dug into some of the ‘business expenses’ he was reporting and tracked down the account information associated. I had thought he was doing this under his father’s nose, sneaking company funds out to pay for his wild weekends; how was I supposed to know his dad was doing it, too?

So, I lost my job. I found doors closing in my face wherever I went. Local firms who were always hungry to fill out their clerical desks were suddenly not hiring. My landlord suddenly became less understanding about my circumstances and began pressing me for money. My girlfriend didn’t like my anger, my unemployment, or the fact that suddenly she was getting the cold shoulder from a lot of her high-ish society friends; she broke up with me over text messages. That’s the trouble with living in a small town, especially the well-to-do kind: if you piss off someone who matters, they can really make your life Hell. I should’ve gotten out when I had the chance, taken a job somewhere far away. The idiot I am, I thought I could stick it out. I thought I could win.

I decided, I’d had enough. I went back to my old office and asked for a meeting with the CEO. There I was, hat in hand, apologetic despite boiling rage, conciliatory despite the venom and bile that rose in the back of my throat. He heard me out, nodding solemnly, as I explained that I understood the way things worked, and wasn’t going to be a problem for them in the future. I just wanted my job and reputation back, and I’d personally sign off on every single bogus expense myself if they’d let me.

“David,” he told me, his voice cold and dry as a meat locker. “While I appreciate your honesty, I don’t believe it will excuse your actions, here. Embezzlement is a serious crime, and I’m afraid we can’t simply overlook such a thing just because you’ve attempted to blackmail us… with your own crimes.” As it turns out, I had the situation all wrong. It was explained to me, quite calmly, that after my departure, they discovered a number of ‘anomalous expenses’ on my company card, and quoted me a number I was all-too-familiar with; I was going to be the scapegoat for the sins of the son. The pair of apologetic-looking officers standing outside of the office were just a pair of nails in my coffin. As they grabbed me to cuff me, I snapped. I began screaming, fighting, shoving them away as I tried to put my hands around Jake’s tanned, athletic throat.

My hands never made contact.

The world seemed to tremble for a moment as the colors drained, the vibrant ocean blue of his tie and vest turning a pale shade of grey, his green eyes shifting to a muted flint. I couldn’t move, struggling against an unseen force that wrapped itself around my limbs, squeezing here and there as if assessing, pressing against my chest so firmly that, for a moment, I struggled to breathe. The world was so still, so silent, that I could hear my thundering heartbeat throbbing in my ears, battering against my skull like war drums. I screamed, but the sound never made it past my lips. Here I was, on the cusp of my petty, self-destructive revenge, and he was just beyond my reach. I was so close I could feel the warmth of his skin, see the expression of fear and uncertainty flickering across his frozen visage. I could see the way the muscles in his neck strained, trying to pull himself further away from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the officers, wide-eyed, lifting something just out of my sight; judging by his two-handed grip and wide stance, I figured it was either a pistol or a taser. Behind Jake was his father, Doug, staring at me with a mixture of white-hot fury and confusion, his eyes locked onto my own as if his sheer force of will could move me, could push me back far enough that I couldn’t lay hands on his son.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

When I heard someone speaking, my eyes flitted from place to place, trying to spot the source, though it sounded as if it were being whispered from just over my shoulder. “Please remain calm. System initialization is nearly complete. The Scribe is calculating your skills and proficiencies. You will be offered a selection of options in the following moments. Please take as much time as you need to consider them.” It was a woman’s voice, soft and professional, sounding just like one of our secretaries answering the phone. When the words appeared, they crawled into my head as if projected onto my own eyes, floating insubstantially before me. Each word held mysteries, the color so dark it was like a pit that light fell into, each letter a section of air that had simply ceased to exist, excised from reality by the text before me.

Choose your Path

Martial Might Arcane Power Cunning & Guile

My eyes skipped over the words, my head aching if I lingered on them for too long; images swum through my mind as I looked at each.

Martial Might swore to me an endless path of perfection, building every tiny, perfect movement into a flawless path, a silvery blade flickering through the air, so sharp it seemed to actually slice through space. A blade so sharp it could carve its’ own fate, seeming to almost cut me from within the image. While I stared in awe of the swordsman’s prowess, I felt repelled by its’ reliance on the blade, its’ outward perfection and utter sublimation of self.

Cunning & Guile was a thing of whispers and shadows, turning the darkness itself into a cloak, into a weapon. I could see myself whispering words like poison, their velvet purple touch infecting others, spreading like a virus; frowns became smiles, became looks of devotion and adoration. I sneered at their smiling faces; to surround yourself with spineless yes-men like that was to become just like Doug and Jake, preying on the weak of will and spending them like coins, lining your pockets with their lives and futures. There was power in it, most definitely; power that whispered of revenge. The ability to turn the tables, to strip them of their own status and influence, to make them outcast. I could feel the poisonous sweetness of the words, as if it was working its’ power on me. It was an effort to pull my gaze away.

Arcane Power was a single, still image, that nonetheless seemed to writhe and blaze with life, with power and movement. It was a figure of a man, wreathed in flame, his core only a brighter, hotter shade of flame within the torch of his presence. I could feel the heat burning my skin, my lips parching in the furnace-blast presence of the flame-wreathed figure. I felt greed, reckless power, utter self-certainty. I felt freedom. The man within the flames stared at me as if in challenge, a pair of blazing coals alight with certainty. I felt drawn to him, and felt myself step into the image, leaving behind the weak shell behind me. His path stretched out behind him, a long, fire-cracked road edged in hellfire and pain. Blood drenched the stones underfoot, boiling in the heat of his presence. I felt that while most of it was not, much of the blood that dogged his steps was his own. I felt pain, I felt pleasure, I felt the absolute agony of being burned alive, while being filled with the roaring fire of freedom, uncontained, consuming everything that stood between me and my path.

I was the man. I was the flames. I was the path he walked. I knew I could choose any of the three Paths, I knew it was myself I saw within them. I knew each was a facet of the future, a possibility. Even as the flames grew more real, burning at the very wall that stood between me and the image, like glass within a frame, Might and Guile began to fade, the letters themselves burning away from the edges of my gaze, falling away from my mind.

“Choose,” she whispered into my ear. “Choose.” I reached out, suddenly unburdened by the field which had held me in place. My left hand lunged forth, plunging into the image of the flames, even as my right hand shot toward Jake. There was a single, endless instant of heat, blinding light followed by utter darkness, and the sensation of movement so fast and so far that it beggared belief.

There was an odd sensation of power building within my body, as I became conscious of a single intrusive thought, steady as a candle’s flame, burning at the edge of my mind.

Title Gained: [Grand Fated] The Scribe has great plans for you.

+10 to all attributes.

You have chosen the path of the Flame Incarnate. Let nothing stand in your path, nor in your wake.