Sunlight trickled through the blinds, painting stripes on the wall. For many, morning promised something new, something good. But to Alex, it was just light—no promise, no joy. Just another morning, telling him to get out of bed and face the same old crap.
He rolled off the mattress and slipped into a pair of polyester slippers. Looming in its frame on the wall above, the hated IT degree made its presence known. Alex glared up at it. All those years, the books, the tests. How did it lead me to this monotonous cycle? he thought.
But life continued. No time to ponder.
First was the kitchen, where food happened. Museli into bowl. Toast into toaster. Coffee into cup. Step by step, no change. He couldn't remember yesterday's breakfast from today's. All blending into one colorless mush. Was life meant to be this dull?
He choked down the soggy oats and chunks of dried guava while scrolling through tiktoks of happier humans. Each tiny dopamine hit releaving his pain for a moment, but ultimately leaving him less satisfied with his own life. Surely, there has to be more to it than this.
-
"Goodbye, sanctuary" he sighed as he walked past his study. Inside, his VR set beckoned; his world within a world.
Sick days left: three. Tempting, but not today.
Backpack slung over one shoulder, he closed the door behind him. Trudging along the hall, his eyes caught on the neighbor's mountain buggy. Kids. Was that the answer?
Into the lift he went, thumb on the ground floor button, eyes on the ad screen. "Mo's Mop's the best mop. It's the only mop for me!" Crappy jingles for crappy mornings.
The door opened, and he stepped out into a chill autumn morning. Days like this, the world felt so big; so full of could-bes. But not for him. Fenced in by his own choices, or lack thereof.
Off to work. Shoes-tapped pavement, mind swimming in a sea of to-dos. Emails would already be scurrying in like rats to gnaw at his attention. 'Fix this, Alex. Sort that, Alex.' Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.
He reached the ground floor of the office and smooshed his keycard against the security scanner. blip. He released it to be sucked back up by his badge pulley. Only, he'd pulled it too far and it didn't retract. Clunk. Clunk. He pushed past the metal turnstile. Pocketing the card along with the now-broken pulley, he mashed yet another elevator button. ding
"Another day in paradise," he muttered, voice dry as old bread.
--
"Hey there, Alex," chirped a coworker as he entered his cell—err, office. What was this guy's name again? Did it matter?
"Hey" Alex managed a half-smile, his mind already sinking into the swamp of the day. The obligatory coffee runs. The banter about TV crap. All the usual. Not yet 9, and his motivation was already running on fumes.
Tapping in his password, his mind wandered to tonight. Tonight, he'd slip on his VR and become the Dread Lord again. There, he mattered. There, he ruled. The thought burned in him and gave him the energy to continue. The desktop loaded, [08:51] on the taskbar clock.
"Only 8 more hours," he whispered.
===
The clock hit [17:15]. Alex blinked dry eyes. A day had passed. One like the one before and the one before that; a mix of problem-solving and mind-numbing nonsense.
He stood from his desk, only too eager to leave the grind behind, but a voice interrupted his escape.
"Hey, Alex," said Emily, her bright smile so out of place in the grey office. "Got plans tonight?"
Plans? he blinked wearily at her. "Yeah," he replied, the image of his virtual avatar rising up in his mind. "Got something I gotta do."
"Oh," Her face clouded up. "Maybe another time."
"Sure," he agreed absently, his thoughts already turning toward how he would crush the Armies of Light in his latest campaign.
===
At home, Alex couldn't peel his work clothes off fast enough. Slipping into the familiar comfort of a well-worn haptic suit, he powered up his top-of-the-line gaming rig and pulled the VR headset over his eyes. As the fantasy world loaded around him, he let loose the first genuine smile of the day. Here, he wasn't just Alex the IT guy, here he was—
"Welcome back, Dread Lord Azymoth," said the game's AI. His fortress came to life around him, all obsidian spires and twisted metal. Dark, just how he liked it.
"Report," he barked. He liked to bark it. Made him feel in control. Got him into character.
At his voice, a spectral adviser materialized beside him in a low bow. Its form was indistinct; a blurry blue seahorse-like shape shot through with black tendrils.
"My lord, your forces have assembled in the farmlands outside Bastion. We await your command for the coming battle." it hissed.
"Good," he grinned up at the crimson sky. This was living.
"Line them up here." he waved, activating a vast 3D hologram of the battlefield. "I want them in place by nightfall. And send some of our nasties to check out what we're up against."
This campaign would take place at the other end of the continent, on the farmlands of the Azure Sky region. But such things were inconsequential thanks to teleportation magic. He would command from here, and head to the battlefield only in the last moments.
"Your will be done," the wraith said before vanishing in a swirl of blue mist.
By the time this campaign is over, the region will need a new name. he thought, lifting a gauntlet to catch a falling flake of ash. 'The Ash Wastes' has a nice ring to it.
He sunk into his throne, the one with spikes and skulls; real comfy. He could already feel the day washing away. He closed his eyes. He could hear the distant clang of forge hammers. The shrieks of banshees, and the cries of his minions labouring far below.
He couldn't help but think about how much more fulfilling this life was. No drab cubicles or awkward conversations with co-workers. Just power; endless power, and conquest.
"Lord Azymoth! Lord Azymoth!" Then she was there. "Lord Azzymo--" the enthusiastic voice cut off abruptly as he swatted the dark fairy away with the back of one gauntleted fist.
"HEY!" the fairy appeared in front of his face. Vicious red eyes burned behind comically oversized sunglasses. "So not cool!"
"Thought you were a fly," he grumbled.
She blew a bubble with her pink gum, popping it loudly. "Really, Azzy? That's like, totally racist. I had some vital info for you, but now? Well, I'm having second thoughts."
He stared at the fairy as she chewed, her getup clearly at odds with the sinister setting.
"Why are you even here, Bubbles?" Alex muttered, feeling his lordly demeanor crumbling.
"Um, to help! Duh. You might be the Dark Lord, but FYI, you can be evil without being mean."
He sighed, "Alright. Apologies. Now, report."
She clapped her hands in glee. "See? Being nice isn't so hard. So, the prisoners? Spilled the beans. All of them. LIKE HELLO. Major Gossip Alert. We're totally in the know now." she said.
This fairy was useful, but why did she have to be so...extra about everything? Alex had an inkling of where the developers got their inspiration for this "helpful" fairy, and while this game was everything he could ask for, the assistant fairy was the exact opposite. He'd pay extra to mute her if he could.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"They're still alive?" Alex asked.
She giggled. Her tinkling laughter at odds with the grim topic. "Kind of? But, you know, you could totally use them for like, catapults?"
He pondered this for a moment. "That's... not a bad idea."
"Of course it's not!" she said, zipping around to view the battlefield hologram.
"But oh my stars, Azzy, your battle formation? No. Just no. Maybe reposition the Wargs here? And why is our banner blue? You know I hate blue. Maybe change it to pink?" She pointed at a banner clearly hanging from the enemy city's wall.
"I don’t need your input. Just... watch from a distance."
She snapped off a playful salute, "On it, Lord Grumpface!”
She made to zip away but then turned back. "Oh, and by the way," she blew another bubble, letting it pop before continuing, "the baddies? They're, like, super close. Like, right over there-ish." She pointed in a vague direction on the holomap.
Alex looked, and found nothing. And I'm pretty sure we're the baddies here, Bubble.
"Thank you." he forced himself to reply anyway.
"You're welcome," she smiled and zipped away.
Gathering himself, Alex rose. "Prepare for battle," he [Broadcast] to his armies. "Tonight we will crush the Forces of Light, and usher in a new age of Darkness!"
======
With a final command, Alex's dark legions charged forward.
He stood in a ruined street, watching white limestone homes slowly turn black from soot and flame.
Bastion, the last stronghold of the forces of light, had fallen. Soldiers abandoned their posts. Some fled the city, while others ran for the castle at its center. In the end, it wouldn't matter.
"Hunt them down. Leave none alive," he said softly. Throughout the city, he heard his troops roar as the command was carried to them via message spell. It was total victory.
"Congratulations, Lord Azymoth," rumbled the horned monstrosity at his side.
"Congratulations, Dread Lord," came the hissing voice of his spectral aid.
"Indeed," he replied. At some point, his eyes had grown heavy. The night had grown late, and he dreaded seeing the time. Tomorrow—Today more likely—he would use one of his sick days. He'd earned it.
Bubbles, his fairy assistant, had been strangely absent during the battle. A blessing. He'd been able to immerse himself fully as the Dread Lord.
Preparing to log off, Alex paused as a simple prompt appeared center screen.
[You are summoned to another world; click to accept]
Alex clicked without hesitation. The developers were always rolling out updates and adding new in-game events. He would see what this one had in store, then call it a night.
As he did, he heard a familiar voice approaching "LORD AZZYMOTH!" it called.
His vision began to warp and distort, darkness seeping in at the edges.
"Azzymoth!" came the fairy's voice again.
"AZZY!!!" Thunk she slammed into his armor as the burning city slipped away into black.
But this was no loading screen.
He felt as though he were falling. He reached up to remove his headset, but couldn't feel it. Was he that tired? He could check the event out tomorrow he—
Pulled apart.
The pieces yanked through something
not space,
not time,
but something else:
Darkness all around.
It whispers to him
in a language he doesn't speak,
doesn't know,
but if he listens...
Thoughts;
thoughts not just his own
but the thoughts of something vast,
incomprehensible.
He is drawn towards it.
He reaches, and...
tss
a barrier.
It is light in the darkness.
A thin, protective membrane
that encases him
and pulls him onwards.
Outside that protection, things:
Things with no name,
things that if they had a face,
that face would be madness--
a gnashing of unseen teeth,
eyes that pick him apart,
mouths that don't consume
but erase,
the shape of the unshapeable,
black void over void,
ever-swirling,
twisting closer,
yet unable to touch him--held at bay.
He sees a planet, blue and green.
Shielded by a silver barrier.
Darkness all around it,
worming its way in.
He sees as cracks form,
and then the surface is engulfed in war.
Fire, explosions, plague.
Oceans vanish, mountains shatter.
Events that must take place
over centuries,
witnessed in an instant.
He is there, so close he can feel it.
Hear the screams as civilizations end,
feel the joy of these entities.
But far, so far away.
He is bigger than galaxies
and smaller than amebae.
He closes his eyes.
The beat beat beat of his heart, thumps along in time to the void, pulsing around him.
ba-dump
Listening
ba-dump
Watching
ba-dump
Knowing
Can't look directly at the horrors; eyes not equipped, brain not equipped, but the barrier dulls it, makes it bearable, lets him know they're there but keeps him from knowing knowing—
This isn’t a game. I’m going to another world, a real world.
Along with the realization comes a new slew of terrors.
Language. Ten years of on-off Japanese. konnichiwa and arigato. I still can't even order sushi. How will I communicate?
Concepts slam into his mind like freight trains made of light, pushing through the membrane. A torrent of characters, symbols, equations; mental furniture rearranged in an instant. Knowledge he didn't earn, didn't seek—Words—he knows the words now, and he knows he will be able to speak the language—perhaps any language, if there is any language to speak.
Survival. Money. What skills do I have? Fat lot of good that IT degree will do in a world without electricity and silicone—
Another burst—no, a flow, a cascading waterfall of code but not code; sigils, runes, programming but not for computers, for reality, for the stuff of this new world: enchanting, imbuing. Objects take on life, weapons become deadly, tools become multi-tools; algorithms written in arcane glyphs.
Wait, what about biology, health, viruses, bacteria, unknown diseases, new-world diseases, magic diseases, no vaccines here, what if—
More concepts stream in—images of cells, DNA, alien microorganisms; biology, anatomy, physiology—cells splitting, mitochondria pulsing, webs of nerves firing.
The flow begins to slow, now only a trickle rather than a torrent. He senses he is nearing his destination, his time in this place rapidly running out.
What am I forgetting, what else do I need? Combat. His mind turns to his avatar, Azymoth. Fire.
An idea reaches out to him from the void; Flame, dancing, swirling flame, the fundamental fury. He reaches for it, but is slow—almost, almost, and—
The pull slackens, the trickle of concepts ceases, the void retreating like a wave from the shore—Not yet, he thinks, wanting more. The taste of understanding gained so easily leaving him hungry. So much knowledge. So much unanswered, but too late—he's there, he's arrived.
=====
The void retreats to the normal darkness of closed eyelids. The first thing Alex hears is the cawing of gulls, interspersed with the guttural mutterings of creatures. The smell—a pungent mixture of wet soil and burnt herbs—fills his nostrils. His eyes, adjusting from the non-dark of the void, open and take in the sight.
He stands at the center of a summoning circle. Illuminated runes at its boundaries glow with soft white light. He raises a hand to touch his face, feeling it bare. The VR headset lies discarded nearby, its cables ending in melted blobs of plastic and copper.
Holy shit... Definitely not in Kansas anymore.
And then, them—Kobolds, Orcs, Goblins, a serpentine Naga, and a towering Minotaur. One steps forward—a Kobold—it's white, oversized robe pulled up to expose a gnarled, weathered hand. Raising one arm, it declares in a voice both reedy and sure, "All hail the Dread Lord!"
At that, the gathered crowd fall to their knees, performing bows so deep that their foreheads touch the ground. "Dread Lord." "Dread Lord!" "All Hail the Dread Lord!" they repeat.
What have I gotten myself into?