“A Monk build, huh?” Jack muttered as he once more looked at the rewards he’d partially received. Warrior Monk, Or Healer? Or something else.

He’d thought many times that if only he had been a healer, then maybe things would have turned out differently. Or if he’d not disdained the path of becoming an Avatar of one of the more influential Dungeon Powers. But no, the Powers were tyrants set on world domination more often than not. And to be a tool forced into their service didn’t sit well with him.

He’d never thought about pursuing such a path before, as his prior life had forced him into a solo-run build -mostly rogue based. With a wide array of talents and skill choices. Before he formed a party -and then a guild- that is. Once he’d secured a solid team, he’d shifted tactics, and started focusing the rest of his progression into a utility based damage dealer archetype. But the damage had already been done, he’d wasted advancements on abilities he rarely used later in his adventuring career.

His mentor had criticized him ruthlessly for spreading himself so thin, not focusing on a specific path, as the majority of adventurers were urged to do.

But due to his unique circumstances, and the five keys that had started him on his journey to being a Dungeon Master, he had been forced to choose what would help him survive, regardless of what may or may not have been the optimal path.

And he wasn’t sure that he’d have done as well as he had if he hadn’t.

Now that he had been given a second chance, an opportunity to start over and make better choices, he wasn’t going to rush into anything. He needed to determine what role he should fill in this world, especially now.

And that’s why he was going to pay a visit to his brother. He looked at his new title and felt a renewed sense of purpose. How many titles could he gain this time around?

Choosing a title was a significant decision, as the more titles you gained, the more options you had available. And you could only ever have three active tiers of titles selected at a time. The tiers were ranked like most things, F through S tier. Though he had learned through experimentation that you could game the system.

Titles could be shuffled and recombined into new titles. One of his clanmates had a title that was rather ridiculous in length, and the thought of it made Jack smile in remembrance.

"The Harmonious Slayer of Kings and Demons, his illustrious Tamer of Dragons, a Virtuoso of Song and Favored by Asperia, goddess of fortune, the Arena champion and Thief of Thieves, Rodrick the Bard, who stands unmatched in renown and legend."

“Of course he’s a bard,” Jack muttered aloud. He was the third greatest adventurer in the realm, and a good friend.

Jack felt a pang of sadness color the nostalgia he had felt moments before.

He pushed aside the rest of his musings and turned into the driveway of the low-key last chance motel he’d chosen as his rest stop for the night. While he was used to sleeping under the stars as an adventurer, ever since he’d come back to Earth, he was the first to admit he’d gone a little soft.

∞

The neon letters of the motel sign flickered weakly, casting erratic shadows over the cracked asphalt parking lot. Jack pushed open the lobby door, a faint bell jingling overhead. The interior smelled faintly of old carpet and stale coffee, the kind of place that had seen better decades. The girl behind the counter didn’t look up right away, her bored expression illuminated by the bluish glow of the monitor in front of her.

“Welcome to the Last Chance Hotel and Resort,” she murmured mechanically. “How may I help you?”

Hotel and resort? Right, “I need a room,” Jack said, his voice smooth but clipped.

She glanced up, her lips parting slightly as her gaze took him in. Jack’s ruggedly handsome appearance often had this effect on people. Dark hair slightly tousled, sharp features softened by a faint shadow of stubble, and piercing eyes that seemed to look right through you. He could tell she was trying to decide if he was a drifter or a lost movie star.

“Cash or card?” she asked, her voice automatically polite but now tinged with curiosity.

“Cash,” Jack replied, sliding a few bills across the counter.

“Poolside view or-” she started to ask, but Jack interrupted.

“No preference,” he said before reconsidering. “Give me the best one you have available.”

“ID, please?” she asked as she searched in the computer for an open room. Not hearing a reply she looked up and saw Jack slide another larger bill down on the counter.

She gave him a closer inspection and noticed the state of his clothes, and the duffel bag he carried. She took the payment, and the tip.

“We have laundry facilities, and a turndown service,” she finished checking him in, name unknown.

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As she handed him a key card, her fingers brushed his lightly, and she smiled, a flicker of interest breaking through her practiced indifference. “Free breakfast in the morning,” she said, her tone suddenly warmer. “Hope you have a good night’s rest.”

Jack offered a faint, tired smile. “Thanks. You too.”

“See you later,” she murmured as he walked away, watching him the entire time. Her thoughts spun in directions she wouldn’t dare voice, but she stayed rooted behind the counter, the hint of a wistful sigh escaping her lips as he disappeared down the hallway.

∞

The room was as basic as Jack expected -neutral beige walls, a bed with a floral-patterned comforter that had seen too many guests, and a small TV bolted to the wall. He locked the door behind him and tossed his bag onto the chair in the corner. After a quick check of the room -habitual, instinctive- he stripped off his jacket and headed for the shower.

The hot water wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it was enough to wash away the grime of the day. Steam billowed around him as he leaned his hands against the tiled wall, letting the water pound against his shoulders. His mind churned with plans and contingencies, but the momentary solace of the shower muted them, if only for a little while.

Dried off and dressed in loose boxers, Jack pulled his Fractured Cloak from his bag and unfurled it over the bed. Its dark, shifting fabric shimmered faintly under the motel’s dim lighting. From one of its hidden dimensional folds, he withdrew the rune etched cores of the Arachnae Overlord and Champion of Tiamat he’d taken from the recent fight. The fist-sized orbs glowed faintly, their colors swirling in mesmerizing patterns, like captured storms trapped in glass -their warmth undiminished since he had attained them.

He placed them on the desk and leaned forward, inspecting them closely. These weren’t just trophies -they were potential. He needed to figure out how to craft them into Prismata cards, a skill he’d honed in the Otherworld but now seemed invaluable here. Carefully, he began sketching designs for the first card, but no matter how precise his attempts, the surrounding environment refused to cooperate. The ambient magic was almost nonexistent, far too weak to sustain the crafting process.

“Figures,” Jack muttered, frustration creeping into his tone. “This place is an energy starved desert.”

He leaned back in the chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered his options. The magic levels here are abysmal. But… back in the dungeon, everything worked fine. The environment must amplify the process. This was never a problem in the Otherworld. He sighed, realizing he’d need to craft near, or inside dungeons for the foreseeable future.

He put the cores away, but a nagging thought stopped him. His powers -though limited- had still worked outside the dungeon. Testing them further, he confirmed what he already suspected: they functioned because they were pre-charged. That was when another idea sparked.

Experience points. Exp is energy. It’s stored power.

Jack pulled the cores out again and placed them back on the desk. Drawing on his memories of the Otherworld, he remembered that summoning cards had always required exp as a kind of fuel. Carefully, he turned his focus inward, visualizing the unspent experience he’d accumulated since arriving back on Earth. It was a finite resource, but it might be enough.

Taking out his sketchpad, Jack meticulously drew the card. He focused on recalling the fight, what it felt like to face the thing, and how it had commanded the field. Holding this image in his mind, he finished the illustration, and then he incorporated orichalcum threads as rune work disguised as intricate filigree, and some of the creature’s ichor to bind it.

His artistic skill, honed over years, rendered a dramatic and precise image of the Arachnae Champion. Its armored carapace gleamed, its many limbs poised for battle. Then he used a fragment of the creature’s carapace as a backing for the card, shaving it thin with his adamantine garrote -wielded like a cheese slicer.

When everything was ready, he held the glowing Champions core over the card and willed his exp into the creation.

The energy flowed, a tangible warmth draining from him as the core pulsed brighter. His banked exp dropped steadily, more than he anticipated. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he clenched his jaw as the effort drained him. But finally, with one last surge, the core fused into the card, and the creation flared with a bright, otherworldly glow.

Jack held the card in his trembling hands, the weight of it both physical and metaphysical. A system message blinked into his vision, detailing the card’s stats and abilities.

Prismata Card Created: The Arachnae Vanguard, Champion of Tiamat.

Summoning Card: Summon the Arachnae Champion to fight by your side.

“Well, thanks, Sys,” Jack muttered, his tone tinged with gratitude.

The card shimmered in his hand, pulsing faintly with Prismateria power. He knew instinctively that summoning the champion was now within his reach -though he’d have to use it wisely. Every summon would use up his exp. Though a lesser amount than what was needed to craft the card. For now, he slid it into a protective sleeve and placed it carefully within the dimensional pockets of his cloak.

The second card would have to wait. His exp reserves were completely drained, and crafting another would take time -and effort he couldn’t spare tonight. He contemplated this as he lay back on the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling.

Exp was just as critical here as it had been in the Otherworld, maybe even more so. Every choice to spend it would carry weight. Was it better to invest in his personal growth or in tools and allies? Determining the right balance would be crucial.

In the Otherworld the cards had started as little more than memories of a game he had played as a kid. They held no magic of their own. Only after he had traveled and acquired real power had he learned that he could turn them into more than mundane game pieces.

The process to craft them was the same, minus the infusion of energy and reagents related to the subject.

He had over the years reworked each one of his cards, including the originals he’d managed to carry with him. And to his surprise those that he hadn’t authored himself were still able to hold power.

He hadn’t questioned it, he was a kid. He was just happy that he wasn’t totally powerless, trapped in a world that seemed it was only out to either kill or enslave him.

His thoughts shifted back to the present, and over to his next steps: assembling a team, and the dungeons that were rapidly transforming this world. His mind wandered to Little Red and her crew. They had potential. Would they be willing to join him? Could he trust them?

Jack sighed, the weight of everything pressed down on him. But despite the pressure, the creation of the card had sparked a glimmer of hope. He’d made something powerful. Something useful. And he knew that it was the first step toward tipping the scales in his favor.

As exhaustion finally pulled him under, he clung to that thought, letting it carry him into restless dreams of battles yet to come.