“Huh?”

Patrik blinked. He still couldn’t locate the source of the voice. But now that he’d taken a moment to centre himself, he realised the man was speaking in a distinctly Australian accent. Was that why Patrik couldn’t make heads nor tails of what he was saying?

Still, he had managed figure out one thing at least. Someone was accusing him of murder.

“Look, buddy,” he said, holding up his hands to show they were empty. “Whatever’s going on here, I had nothing to do with your friend’s death. I tried to help him.”

His words were swallowed up by the darkness. The fire was little more than embers now. Hands raised, Patrik edged towards the glow of the coals, intending to try and feed it more kindling. If he really had been taken into a forest outside Portland, he might have to wait until morning before striking out in search of civilisation, and it was already cold and dark enough as it was in this godforsaken forest.

Hey, no worries, man, you don’t need to get defensive with me. I’m just your everyday PQA. Who am I going to tell?

Patrik paused. “You’re what?”

Personal Quest Assistant. Sorry, forgot you’re from off world. Seriously though, that was some genius level experience harvesting. You must have been a cold-ass motherfucker on Earth. What were you, a cartel boss? One of those “enhanced interrogators”? Ooooh, were you one of those CEO dudes—what do you call ‘em nowadays—an entrepreneur?

Now Patrik was completely confused. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said, then after a long pause in which his accuser said nothing, he added: “And I’m an Arts major…”

An…Arts major? What is…oh I see, wow…and you’re meant to be the Chosen One? There was a long pause. Man, we’re fucked.

Patrik opened his mouth to ask what the hell the Australian was talking about, then thought better of it. He was clearly dealing with a madman. It was time to try another tactic.

“Look, ah, Mr. PQA, was it?” he said in his most gentle voice. “It’s a little dark tonight, I can’t seem to see you. Do you think you could come over here and we can figure out to do with your friend here?”

Silence. Somewhere in the darkness, a cricket chirped.

There seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding, mate, the voice replied at last. Maybe it’s this bloody translation magic. I. Am. A. Personal. Quest. Assistant, the man continued in a deliberately slow tone, as though he were speaking to an idiot. I cannot “come over here,” as I am currently nestled in the prefrontal cortex of your brain.

Patrik stood for a long moment, letting those words seep in. His first instinct was to laugh, but he was clearly dealing with a mentally disturbed person, and he guessed that would not be the right response.

“Sorry, I do seem to be having trouble with your translation. What on earth is a Personal Quest Assistant?"

There came an audible sigh. Hold on, let me check these records, maybe there’s something—oh! That’s our problem. It seems you don’t actually have PQAs on Earth. Guess we’re a Four Circles kind of thing.

This time Patrik couldn’t cover his frustration. He raised a hand and rubbed at his temples. First the wizard, now someone pretending to be a disembodied voice that lived in his prefrontal cortex. What next, an Elvis impersonator?

Wow, look at all this, it really is a good thing I’m here. Geez, yeah, I really should have read this beforehand. That’s my bad, buddy. Was it just Patrik’s imagination, or could he hear the shuffling of pages? Usually we can just get away with the back page—holy shit, you really don’t have magic? How do you kill each other—oh wow, that’s wild, mate!

Patrik struggled to supress a sigh at the Australian’s antics. He had no desire to engage with the lunatic, but unfortunately the disembodied voice was probably his only way out of this forest.

“Okay, Mr. PQA,” he said, deciding to humour the man for now. “So let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You’re saying I am no longer on earth, but somewhere called the ‘Four Circles’? And you’re meant to be some kind of assistant to help me navigate this new world?”

That’s right! See, who says humans are slow? You stick with me, mate, and we’ll go far. Well, so long as you don’t go getting slaughtered by a stray troll or something.

“A what?”

Despite his disbelief, Patrik couldn’t help but feel a tingle of alarm. He was alone in middle of a dark forest after all.

Oh, I wouldn’t go worrying about them. They tend to appear in the higher circles. You’d have to be cursed by Fate to encounter one here.

Patrik frowned. The old man had said something about Fate. He was beginning to think he’d been kidnapped by a cult of some sort.

Anyway, I guess we’d better get started on your induction!

Before Patrik had a chance to ask what the hell the Australian meant by an induction, the flashing words were back. They burst across his vision as though they’d been projected by a thousand laser lights. He waved his hands the way he had before to try and dismiss them, but this time they remained fixed in place. Mercifully, this time at least there was no booming of the Australian’s voice to accompany the text.

That’s an interesting pose…

It took a moment for the words to seep in. Patrik stood with his hands thrust out before him and head turned away as though he was about to receive a beating from the schoolyard bully. Despite the ludicrousness of his situation, he felt his cheeks grow warm. He quickly lowered his arms and straightened. The words still danced before his eyes. This time, instead of cringing away, he read them.

Name: Patrik the Chosen One

Race: Human

Level: 9

Progress to next level: 95%

Health: 90/90

Mana: 10/10

Strength: 1

Constitution: 1

Intelligence: 1

Charisma: 1

Dexterity: 1

Alignment: -615

You have 24 open stat points. Stat points cannot be assigned until level 10

“What the actual fuck?” Patrik muttered, more to himself that the Australian or PQA or whatever his abductor wanted to call himself.

Then he sat down. Hard. The words followed him, hanging in the air like…like…

He swallowed. They hung in the air like the menu of a video game.

When he spoke again, the words rasped from Patrik’s throat as though his mouth were lined with straw.

“What is this?”

Your stat box. It tells you how weak or powerful you are. Everyone in the Four Circles has one. As you can see, you’re a bit of a noob. But thanks to that stunt you pulled with old Tenser the Great, you’re at least in a mildly better place than your average pimple-faced teenager.

“I…what…means…”

Patrik’s vision began to spin. His stomach heaved and before he knew what was happening, he was bent in two and hurling his breakfast into the dirt. Red pulsed at the corners of his eyes as he choked on half-digested oatmeal. An acrid taste burned his tongue.

You have been struck by nausea. [-5 damage.]

Groaning, Patrik sat back on his heels as the nausea finally passed, the Australian’s voice still ringing in his ears. Absentmindedly, he waved a hand at the new box that had popped up. It flashed out of existence. Drawing in a breath, he closed his eyes and tried to make sense of everything he’d seen.

Except, there was no sense to be made. This was all categorically insane. It simply could not be happening. There must have been a gas leak in the bathroom. Yes, that must be it! He should have known—

Ha! I think we both know there was only one source of gas in that toilet, mate.

Patrik opened his mouth to groan, then froze. “How did you…”

Like I said, I’m inside your brain, mate.

No, no, no, the words rang through Patrik’s thoughts. He squeezed his eyes closed and willed himself to wake up from whatever nightmare he’d slipped into. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.

If you’re really afraid this is all some delusion, there’s a simple way to find out.

Patrik’s eyes snapped open. “How?”

The fire is still burning—just. If all this is just a dream, you shouldn’t feel any pain, right? So stick your hand in the coals.

“Stick my hand…are you insane?”

I’m not the one talking to the imaginary voice in their head.

A curse formed on Patrik’s lips. He bit it back and eyed the embers instead. Tongues of fire still licked around the edges of the orange glow, crackling softly in the night’s silence. As he took a step closer and knelt beside it, he could feel the heat radiating against his face. If this really was a dream, it was the most realistic he had ever experienced…

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

…then again, if he was in a coma, it would be like that, wouldn’t it? One of his psych classes had talked about that, about people in comas having the most vivid dreams, even hearing the voices of their loved ones talking to them. Could that be what he was experiencing? He didn’t know any Australians, but maybe his subconscious was projecting the accent onto the voice of his brother or something.

That was certainly a more realistic conclusion than believing the voice in his mind when it said he’d been dragged through a magical portal into another universe.

There was only one way to know for sure.

Gritting his teeth, Patrik thrust his hand into the glowing embers…

Burn damage inflicted [-20 damage]

“Yoooow!”

Patrik lurched upright as the red-hot coals seared his flesh. His scream echoed from the standing stones as he scrambled back from the flames and tripped over a stack of firewood. He crashed to the ground, but the pain from his fall was like a pinprick beside the agony of his hand. A whimper slipped from his lips as he cradled it to his chest.

Somewhere nearby—or maybe it really was coming from his head—somebody howled with laughter.

Holy shit! Maaaate, I can’t believe you actually did it!

“You told me to!” he choked.

Another wave of agony swept through him. He clenched his teeth to bite back a sob. He would not cry in front of the psychopath hiding in the bushes. The flesh of his hand was scorched black in places, and quite literally bubbling in others.

Mate, I’m a random voice in your head. If I told you to jump off a cliff would you do it?

“Of course not!” The words exploded from Patrik in a rage.

They were followed by a stream of profanity that he surprised even himself. But it had been a long day before the kidnapping—or whatever this was—and now someone was dead, there was a voice in his head, and he’d just stuck his hand in a fire. He’d had enough.

Geez, okay, take a joke much?

This time Patrik didn’t deign to reply. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he held his seared hand out before him. It still felt like it was burning. He needed to find some running water or he was going to pass out from the pain.

Look, relax, okay? I’m sure your victim has some healing potions.

Patrik was in too much pain by then to deny the murder accusation, but the mention of anything “healing” got his attention.

“What…the fuck is…a healing potion?” the words came out between wheezing breaths and clenched teeth.

It’s a potion that—get this—heals you.

Patrik squeezed his eyes closed. Swaying on his feet, he felt for a moment like he was floating. His mind drifted, finding its way back to one fateful Fourth of July. He and his best friend had been left unsupervised for the morning and they had used that time to build their own “fireworks” from old cap gun rings. Then he’d had the brilliant idea of adding methylated spirits.

When his parents had returned, they’d gone to the river to watch the fireworks over the city and light a campfire. At some point when his parents hadn’t been looking, Patrik had tossed his makeshift “firework” into the fire. Just to see what would happen.

He had been fortunate to come away from the experience with just a few hours in the hospital, some light scarring on his shins, and a keen understanding that the manufacture of fireworks should be left to the professionals.

Come on, don’t you trust me?

The question snapped Patrik from his swirling consciousness and back to the present.

“Why the fuck would I trust you?” he cried. “You told me to put my hand in the fire!”

It was a trust building exercise!

“I…that…you and I have very different definitions of a trust building exercise,” Patrik muttered.

Oh, well, maybe I got that wrong. Sorry, still flipping through the pages on Earth here.

Patrik bit back another torrent of abuse. He was in too much pain to be arguing with the PQA—or himself, if that was where the disembodied voice was actually coming from. His eyes settled on the body of the old man. Then, exhaling through his teeth, he staggered across the clearing. Kneeling beside the body, he began to riffle through the pockets of the sparkly robes. Maybe the dude had Tylenol or ibuprofen or something.

Eww! What the hell are you doing?

Patrik paused. “You said he might have…something that could help.”

In his inventory! Gods, does everyone on Earth desecrate the corpses of their victims like that?

“It’s my first—” He bit back what he’d been about to say and changed tack. “What is an inventory?”

Okay, pervert, step away from the body!

In too much pain to disobey, Patrik did as he was told. He swayed on his feet for a moment, vision blurring as much from nausea as the tears that threatened to fall.

Good, good, the voice continued. Now, focus on your victim, and…there you go!

Patrik flinched as a new line of text appeared, accompanied by the booming voice.

Would you like to loot the body of Tenser the Great?

“Arg, do you have to shout every time?”

Sorry, part of the job. Anyway, let’s see, if you hit “yes” there’ll be an option to—oh wow, okay, you just went ahead and selected “loot all.” Right.

Patrik smiled as the text box faded from view. The smile quickly faded when he saw what had changed while he’d been fiddling with imaginary text.

The old man was now completely naked.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed, retreating a step from the body and looking around. “What did you do?”

What did I do? You’re the one who decided to loot everything the poor bloke had. Didn’t even leave him his undergarments…

Achievement Unlocked! Grave Robber. Congratulations, you’ve looted your first corpse. You’re going straight to hell! Reward: You just looted a corpse, you must have gotten something good, right? Or are you just into that stuff?

The voice was so loud as it made this new announcement that Patrik slapped his hands to his ears. Unfortunately, it did nothing. It was looking more and more like the Australian actually was in his head. That did not bode well for the other terrifying things the PQA had mentioned.

“Can you please stop doing that?” he said, removing his hands from his ears.

Oh, fine.

Updates have been muted.

“Thank you,” Patrik murmured.

Then he looked at the naked corpse at his feet again.

And lost what remained of his breakfast.

By the time he’d finished his second round of vomiting in as many minutes, Patrik was very much hoping that healing potions might actually be a thing. Finally he straightened and drew in a settling breath. Keeping his eyes averted from the wrinkled, desiccated corpse of the old man or wizard or whoever this Tenser person had been, he addressed the voice again.

“So…what happened to his stuff?”

Oh, you do want to hear from me? Unless he was mistaken, Patrik detected a petulant tone to the PQA’s voice now.

He was in no mood for it. “Just tell me what to do, for god’s sake!”

Fine. You’ll have to check your inventory.

“How do I—”

Patrik swallowed the question as another text box sprang to life. This time he managed to keep himself from panicking at its appearance. Just. His heart was still racing, though, and it took a moment before he could properly focus on the contents of the box.

To his surprise, this one included images along with little snippets of text beneath each. He couldn’t read them immediately, but as he focused on the first item, the words grew larger and the image clearer. It looked suspiciously like a set of blue robes covered in yellow stars. He glanced at the text.

Legendary Wizards Robes. Properties: Unknown. Increase your intelligence to learn more about the properties of this item.

Patrik shook his head and blinked, feeling slightly disorientated. The image shrank back into the rest of his “inventory.” He cast a quick look over the other items. They included a sword, dragger, staff, hat, several rings and pieces of jewellery—including a picture that looked remarkably similar to the ring that had disappeared earlier. Curious, he focused on the golden band.

Unidentified Ring. Properties: Unknown. Increase your intelligence to learn more about the properties of this item.

He sighed and returned to the other items. There were several slots filled with what looked to be food. There was also kindling, a tinder box, and a sack labelled as salt. The descriptions aptly described what he saw in the images—chicken legs and ham sandwiches and hotdogs. There were also two rolled up pieces of paper.

Scroll of Lightning Bolt [permanent]: Use this scroll to learn the spell “Lightning Bolt.” Requirements: 10 intelligence.

Scroll of Inferno [single use]: For emergency situations only. Hurls an enormous fireball at your enemies. Requirements: none. Effect: -300 damage

“This is…insane.”

Weren’t you looking for a healing potion? Looks like the old dude had three. Too bad you killed him before he could use one.

“I did not…”

Patrik shook his head. There was clearly no use arguing the point. He returned to his inventory and noticed a few jars and beakers. He scanned the labels as they appeared. Several were labelled as mana potions, but the last three were healing.

“So how do I use them?” he asked, feeling in no small part like an idiot, standing in the middle of nowhere talking to an imaginary voice.

Just imagine the potion appearing in your hand—

Pop!

Patrik jumped as he found himself suddenly holding a jar of red liquid which looked suspiciously like the image that had just been hovering before his eyes.

“How….” he began, then trailed off.

If not for the very pressing reminder of his scorched hand, he would have been seriously revisiting the dream theory. Swallowing, he glanced at the fading coals, but decided there was no need to revisit that particular piece of stupidity.

“So I drink it?”

No, you take it as enema…no, no, stop. Yes, you drink it. Geez, do they not have sarcasm where you’re from?

“Sarcasm, yes. Magical potions, definitely not. Unless the billionaires are hiding them from us, which actually might make some sense. Never mind.”

He popped the seal on the vial before the conversation devolved into another argument. A strong smell of charcoal and hospital-grade disinfectant wafted up from the mouth of the jar. He wrinkled his nose.

“Err, you sure this isn’t poison?”

It’s labelled as a healing potion, isn’t it?

Patrik hesitated, but then another burning wave of agony pulsed from his hand. He decided to throw caution to the wind and raised the jar to his lips. The scarlet liquid disappeared down his gullet in a single gulp—

Then again, you did kill the dude. And he was a wizard. Could have safeguard spells on his items. Something that switches labels between the potions and the poisons—oh you already drank it? I’m sure it’s fine.

“I swear to—”

Patrik broke off as a tingling began in his hand. He watched in stunned amazement as the scorched flesh turned pink, and then in further wonder as his skin began to knit itself back together. Just a few seconds later, he held up his hand before his face and clenched it into a fist. He grinned like a kindergartener who’d just raided his dad’s beer stash.

Hey, look at that, it worked! Your health is back to full.

“That’s amazing!” Patrik whispered, before frowning at something the PQA had said. “What was that about my health?

You know, how close you are to death. You can see your health bar by—

“Imagining it. Got it.” He was beginning to get the hang of this.

His stat box flashed before his eyes again.

Name: Patrik the Chosen One

Race: Human

Level: 9

Progress to next level: 95%

Health: 90/90

Mana: 10/10

Strength: 1

Constitution: 1

Intelligence: 1

Charisma: 1

Dexterity: 1

Alignment: -615

You have 24 open stat points. Stat points cannot be assigned until level 10.

“Wait, you said something about 10 burn damage. So…that fire took down a fifth of my health?”

Yep! You’ll gain ten health points per level increase.

“And if it hits zero…”

Caput, game over, no more Mr. Chosen One.

Patrik swallowed. His mouth was suddenly parched. Choosing to ignore the fact he now had a direct measure of how close to death he was at any given moment, he moved on.

“And the mana?”

Mana…he’d heard of that. It took him a moment to realise that had been a stat in his older brother’s video game, Fable. Patrik had only played it a few times when they’d been younger—as it was a single player game, he’d mostly had to watch his brother play.

Mana is the power available to you for magic. It’s connected with your intelligence—for every increase in your intelligence attribute, you’ll gain five points to your mana pool.

Patrik nodded slowly to himself. That linked up with what he remembered. In fact, now that he’d made the connection, everything about this place was reminding him more and more of the video games of his youth. If he’d had a spare moment to think about it, he might have questioned where those similarities came from. But he did not. And that was something the Four Circles to come to rue for the rest of their days.

Instead he drew in a breath. “Okay, so what are these other numbers?”

Well—

The voice broke off abruptly. Patrik waited for a long moment for the PQA to continue, but the silence only stretched out.

“Ah, you were going to say something about these other stats?”

Oh, yes, I’d love to continue this little tutorial, but there’s just a small problem.

Patrik sighed. “And that is?”

For some unknown reason, it seems your dead wizard friend summoned you into the middle of an enchanted forest.

“Great. And what exactly does that mean?”

Well, given you’ve been standing here for a good twenty minutes talking quite loudly and occasionally screaming, it seems your presence has been noted by…others. There was another pause. Sorry, this one overrides the mute setting.

WARNING: Monsters sighted in your area!

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