Another note on what to expect

* Unhinged Fury is written in limited third person. This means your understanding of the world is limited by the Tom’s experiences and coloured by his thought processes. He does and will misinterpret events.

* Within the novel, Tom faces challenges and restrictions he is not expecting and while it doesn’t invalidate his future knowledge, it does make leveraging it a longer-term process.

* Expect a deep exploration of the magic system and a world and history that is slowly revealed as Tom discovers more about the society he has been reincarnated into. This will then transition into epic quests and rapid power growth.

CHAPTER 1 - REBIRTH

Tom felt dissociated from everything. Something profound was happening, but his thoughts were not ordered enough to comprehend it. It was like fireworks were exploding inside his consciousness; fireworks that were accompanied by a touching serenade of haunting orchestral music that existed right at the edge of his hearing. The combined effect was spectacular, beautiful, and fragile all at the same time.

Not to mention overwhelming.

He retreated from the mental assault and sunk into his physical senses.

The bright sun blinded him briefly, its rays piercing through the gaps between the swirling magic, intensifying the disorientating effect. He shifted to the side, but his feet didn’t respond like they were supposed to. Something was interfering with his balance.

There was a buzzing noise that made him dizzy. His right foot dragged instead of lifting. It got tangled with his other ankle. The world spun helplessly. Then he crashed down onto earth that was spongy enough to cushion…. It felt like it had been freshly fluffed - it gave way as his shoulder smacked into it, almost completely absorbing the force of the fall, so it hardly hurt. He half-bounced and then face planted into the soil. A partially open mouth allowed some of the soft dirt to squeeze in, and it tasted of dust and old hay.

Instinctively, he spat it out. Saliva and dirt dribbled down his chin.

His mind was struggling under the assault of his senses.

The fireworks hadn’t stopped, the music probably didn’t actually exist, but it played on anyway, turning making the situation seem even more unreal than it was already.

An additional fantastical effect had been added to everything else: through the eye that was not pressed into the ground, he could now see magic swirling in the air above him. It was an entreating, playful display like wisps would use on their victims. His instinctive self had an overwhelming desire to reach out and touch them, but his logical mind recoiled from the concept. It didn’t want anything to do with magic that tried to entice him in that fashion.

Not that he could do anything.

All the will and desire in the universe could do nothing to influence a body that was not responding.

Above him the concentrated magic bled into the visible spectrum: pinks, purples the occasional flash of vibrant orange. They danced, enthralling.

Then a tendril reached down toward him.

There was something sinister about the motion. Whatever the magic represented, it was no longer innocent and playful. Instead, it was the opposite, and was coming for him.

Adrenaline burned inside him.

Fight and flight instincts clamoured for attention, and Tom didn’t care which one he chose. The only thing that was important was that he acted immediately.

Internally, he begged for his muscles to respond. Commands rushed from his brain, but not a single muscle twitched. His desperate pleas failing to change the factuality of a nonresponsive body. Will, by itself could not overcome the reality of the situation.

While he was lying prone, powerless to twitch a finger to protect himself, the first of the dancing tendrils reached him, touched him, stroked him.

There was a piercing pain. His entire body tensed in response, but the order to leap up and flee vanished between him and its destination like all the others. The touch was like that of claws: nasty, sharp, and coated with poison digging into him. His every nerve ending fired in a brief flare of agony before a soothing, healing energy inexplicably chased the pain away.

Tom’s brain struggled to comprehend what was happening.

Then another tendril struck his foot. The same sensations. Started and gone in half a second. Then they were coming faster and faster. His knee, upper arm, ear were all violated within moments of each other. Invasive, unnatural energy that made him sick to the core of his soul.

They were striking him continuously. It was a patter of attacks that were each distinct, but part of a greater whole.

His brain cracked.

It was like a dam being struck by a volley of missiles: a massive explosion that left a catastrophic breach in its wake. Initially, only a trickle of water would push its way through, then billions of tonnes of contained mass would be released and the thunderous liquid would sweep through the gap, pushing all before it. A flood of thoughts, existence and memories surged through the abruptly opened passage.

Two sets of himself simultaneously coexisted in his soul, and, even though they were both him, they battled for supremacy.

They were both him.

Tom understood that as an absolute fact. An incontestable truth.

Him now and him from the past. The same person, each part of a greater whole. However, in a way, this truth didn’t matter.

The sets of experiences clashed.

Which one won was inconsequential, but there was a contest occurring, a battle for dominance. Within the maelstrom of the mixing thoughts, the two parts of him struggled to define themselves.

There was the part that had always been in this body. Childish and not fully formed, it only had a little over four years of memories to draw from.

Then there was the main weight of his conscious, the tsunami that had flooded through the abruptly opened gate. These were memories of a lifetime… well, technically two lifetimes… that had been unexpectedly freed.

The magic that had been battering his body had broken that barrier and released the memories of this true self. His head throbbed as a result of the clash, and his scattered thoughts wondered if this was a mistake, whether whatever ritual was attacking his body had broken something that it shouldn’t have.

Tom didn’t care whether this was a mistake or the intentional actions of a GOD. It was a chance to complete his promise and save humanity. There was a core of determination within him that was more than willing to claim the opportunity.

Despite the chaos of the moment, both that generated internally and externally from him, clarity restored itself extraordinarily quickly. No matter the provenance, the memories of a young child could not compare to that of an adult, especially when they were and had always been the same person.

Coherent thoughts formed.

Tom was whole once more, and he remembered why.

He remembered why he was here and why everything mattered.

He had been reincarnated by DEUS, humanity’s GODDESS. Despite his mistakes, he had been gifted a new chance to make a difference, and he was going to seize it. The desire, the certainty burned within him. Last time, he had failed; this time, he would do better.

His mind still felt like it had been shattered and then inexpertly put back together.

Things were missing, Tom could tell that much. The holes were not forgotten dusty memories, either; these had an aura of importance, and must have been actively removed. It was a mystery, him, the other GODs or DEUS… his own choice or one of them had to be the explanation. However, the riddle would have to wait until later to be solved. There were more important issues to work through now.

He systematically grabbed the key memories, the shiny bright ones that demanded attention. Anger, love, sadness, significant events, conversations, and needs.

This was his second chance to help save humanity.

It should have seemed a daunting task, but it didn’t. For some reason he was confident in his abilities.

Too much so.

But if he was being completely honest, it was not all misplaced arrogance. History had repeatedly proven that he was good at surviving. Before he died he had held the number rank amongst the million other champions who had come with him. Given fate, given that ability to actively direct luck as his crutch, and his knowledge of the system… some of that confidence was justified.

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But then he pondered at the certainty of it.

The only thing that made sense was that it had stemmed from his missing memories. Tom decided that after a moment’s thought. Something about them meant that he was worth more than a typical reincarnation.

Oh and then he remembered the moments after his actual death. The one thing he had dreaded more than anything else was to be reincarnated to discover that humans had lost. His agreement to come back with memories had been dependent on him being a situation where he could save humanity.

That he would make a difference.

Unlike last time.

That thought was a trigger.

Unbidden, the memory of those last desperate moments of his previous life over took his consciousness. He was back in that battle. The snarling face of an animal that was actually a thinking creature, an opponent that he had foolishly discounted, snapping at his head. Its claws ripping into his stomach as he strove to hold off the sharp teeth. His strength failing, his weapon slipping. The enemy’s mouth biting down, and…

Tom swam out of that recollection.

All that was left was the bitter taste of those last moments. The memory of that moment forever ingrained upon him. The moment of ultimate failure.

To keep his sanity, he focused. How he had died was less important now than the experiences he had gained, the lessons he had learned, and the techniques from the first two lives that he could use to grow his strength during this new opportunity.

That was what mattered, not his past failure.

In moments, his reestablished mind summarised the events. The tutorial, Existentia, the journey to beat the trolls. While the tutorial memories were unbroken, those from Existentia proper were full of holes, like something had been removed from it.

He was pretty sure he remembered the key bits. The people. His friends… The quest they had been on. The quest he had put them on.

Despite his initial importance in the group initiation, once they had gotten going his role had become purely combat focus.

But that was a peripheral consideration. What had happened to his plan? His companions had been alive when he had died, he was certain of that… If so, would they have taken it on?

Yes.

They would have. He was absolutely sure of it.

Clare, Rahmat, Selena, Everlyn… especially Everlyn! She would not have given up. They would have seen it through. Hope, excitement, and concern simultaneously bloomed in him. Would they have been strong enough? Could they have managed it without him?

Part of Tom wondered at that thought, why would he consider himself being missing to be so critical. Yes, he had been the best tank, but… that wasn’t enough to matter at the level they had reached.

It had to be something else. The gaps in his memory were the only explanation, but the question was. what had been in them?

Mentally, he screamed. This was not what he had expected. His mind was almost exploding as it tried to make sense of what was happening. There were so many questions.

The survivors of the trial would have hunted the trolls, of that he was certain. Had they been successful? How many years had passed? Was there any way for him to find out? And were any of them still alive?

The questions crowded around, their combined urgency almost overwhelming him.

Those questions, and the critical ones. How would he make the aliens pay for killing him? What method would allow him to have the greatest impact?

By exploiting what he knew.

That was the only answer. He was only four years old, and he suspected the formal system wouldn’t kick in until he turned fifteen. That was a lot of growing and ability accumulation that could be achieved before earned experience made organic growth harder.

Then he remembered the gap he had opened to the others in his past life. Early development could compound to create something ridiculous, and he had the perfect opportunity to do so.

Abruptly, the ever-vigilant part of his brain screamed out a warning. The frequency of the sharp spikes of pain had dropped. There was barely more than one occurring per second. They were reducing, which meant a transition of the ritual from one stage to another was in progress and traditionally that was when an exploitable opening might occur.

Tom checked the surrounding atmosphere and then smiled internally. The suppression that was limiting his body movements was reducing.

A small flood of hope went through him. Without being obvious, he tested his body. He attempted to wriggle his toes. They responded – admittedly, only slightly. That meant that whatever force had been robbing him of agency was definitely weakening.

Was it enough? More and more of his muscles came back under his control. If he could move, he could protect himself.

The highest priority was to gather information on his situation.

He shifted, lifted his head out of the dirt, and glanced around.

Tom’s eyes widened.

What the hell? He thought to himself. He was not alone.

Instead, he was in a ritual field with over twenty bodies prone on the surrounding ground. The sun beat down from above almost directly overhead and of the bodies that he could see, none were older than five, and some were only three.

What sort of sick person? He mused before stopping the spiral before it started. The ritual, so far while painful, had not been harmful. It was possible there was a reasonable explanation.

But…

Twenty children? And Tom knew for a fact that his younger self had gone to sleep and woken up in this spot. There had been no warning, and it was suspicious as hell.

No, he had to assume the worst.

A second passed, and he managed to wriggle his fingers as the command of his muscles continued to improve. With a struggle, he lifted his head further, looking beyond the sprawled kids to observe the edge of the ritual and hopefully catch a glimpse of those responsible.

It was pointless.

The ritual’s edge was only twenty metres from him, but the magic was swirling too densely for him to see through it and beyond it to their wider surroundings. All he could tell was that he was trapped in a ritual in a circle of soft dirt.

He wanted to ask what was happening, but his throat locked up to the point of almost causing him to cough. He tried to pierce the clouds of magic with his unenhanced vision and his persistence paid off. Two silhouettes were visible.

They could have been human or they could have been something else. But, based off their proportions, they were his species. From what he knew of the alien species in Existentia, very few had dimensions that mirrored humans. Most were larger or had extra limbs. Or no limbs at all. Or abnormally shaped torsos.

The situation was getting weirder and weirder.

What was happening? He wondered.

It didn’t feel like he was being sacrificed, but… Tom’s memories contained details of such activities, including other humans who did awful things in the belief that what they did was for the greater good. His fist closed, seizing a small handful of dirt. He wasn’t sure what he could do with it… But something was better than nothing. Maybe he would be able to throw it in someone’s eyes.

His focus turned to alternative offensive options, and he cursed his scattered mind for not doing it sooner.

It probably would not work, but that was not an excuse for not checking.

His mind reached out and attempted to trigger Earth Manipulation.

Nothing happened. The spell was missing from his mind. His internal concern mounted.

What about Spark? This was an ability he knew back to front. One that had been with him the longest. He understood everything about it. He could feel the mana in him but the Spark spell framework itself was absent. Desperately, his brain flicked through all the abilities he had, but with Spark missing he realised it was futile. None of them would be present. They were not blocked by the ritual - they simply weren’t there.

They had not come through with him. Tom wasn’t surprised by that, but it would have been nice to have something to protect himself with.

His mind raced as he tried to work out what options were available. Physically, he was weak. Ability-wise, he seemed to have nothing to offer. Trickery? Nope, that, too, felt hopeless. Even the optimist in him acknowledged he was screwed. Whatever was doing this was probably so far beyond him that it was a gap that he could never cross.

It was unfair. This was his second chance. It was too early to lose it.

The situation could be innocent… But twenty kids? Why? Why that many if it was not for some terrible sacrificial ritual for power. The worst bit was, that while he would never have been able to consider doing something like this himself, if it helped them place better in the competition, even he had to admit it would be worth it.

Electricity crackled through the mist. It struck him and his muscles spasmed and he crashed onto the ground.

Tears of frustration broke out unbidden.

He was paralyzed.

That meant he could not even use the dirt in his fist. He was helpless as a baby!

And he couldn’t even scream his irritation. Nothing apart from his regular breathing was working.

“Okay and done. Confirm that it was successful, please.” A gruff voice abruptly ordered.

“Yep, the monitor stone is reporting everything worked perfectly.” A female voice answered. “And everyone survived.”

“Look at them,” the original voice started up, sounding aggrieved. “Weak, pathetic. What a disgusting waste of resources.”

“Spending on the future is never a poor investment.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Delilah. You don’t have a single bit of mothering instinct in you, and this…” the man paused and Tom could imagine him spitting. “This ritual is parents raiding the communal pot to look after their spawn. I have grandkids, you know. Not here, of course, I mean on Earth. I entered this hellhole to save them, and for no other reasons. We need to make sure that when they get to Existentia they’re protected. And we’re wasting resources on a certain failure of a bet.”

“Thunder fists begs to differ…”

“Screw that psycho.” The disgruntled man interrupted his companion. “The fact he rose in thirty years is an exception, not a rule.”

“He brought his whole team with him. They were all powerhouses.”

“He was an exception.”

“Not the only one,” the female voice said quietly. “Most of the famous reincarnators did the same.”

“But they took over forty years. it’s too close to the end of the competition now. Our resources should only go toward projects that generate guaranteed ranking points. Whatever just happened to the dragons and insects on the ladder changes everything. Previously, our only chance of catching them was gambling. Now we can do it with grit and incremental gains. Spending on this ritual is a waste. There’s no return on investment, and I can already see this costing us third place.”

Tom’s mind raced as he processed the conversation. It was two people chatting amongst themselves with no regard for their charges, but they had let a lot slip in their friendly banter. For someone like him, someone who was missing critical context about the world that he found himself in, it was a blessing.

They had given him information that he would have to use to shape his approach. There were only thirty years of the competition to go, which meant he had lost sixty years of contribution time. It was a bitter piece of knowledge to learn that he would have so little time. But on the positive side, somehow humans were still in touch with the top of the ladder. They could still reach the critical third spot or possibly higher. Having fought the dragons, he couldn’t personally see how that was possible, but apparently it was.

If they could get third or higher, then the eight billion people from earth when they arrived would have a chance of prosperity instead of being scattered and easy picking for the terror races out there.

There was still a future to be won.

Tom couldn’t put into words how relieved that made him feel.

They were still in the running, and he had thirty years to grow his strength to the point of being a difference-maker. He had no illusions about how hard that was going to be, but if Thunder Fists had done it, then he would too.

His lack of foresight had cost him once. Never again.

He would take all of enemies seriously, and every waking moment would be focused on the singular aim to grow his power.

By the time the competition came to a close, not even the dragon in his memories or a stronger version of her would be able to stand up to him.

His name would ring louder than this Thunder Fist’s one ever did.