Chapter 1: Into the Void
I did not, in fact, go home. Instead, I went to a dark place. Literally. I was dragged from my body and into a dark room like thing. I cried when I watched my body fade into the distance. Can you blame me? I was emotional. The force pulling on my back suddenly stopped, leaving me floating in the darkness. Right as I was about to call out, a voice boomed into the void.
“Greetings, Hero from a-” the voice cut out, just as quickly as it started. Then it restarted. “Greetings, Hero from a- Greetings, Hero from a-”
“What the fuck? Is this a recording?” I asked.
“Agh, dammit! Damn voice box’s malfunctioning again.” Another voice came from somewhere to my right. A yellow, rectangular light ignited from somewhere, doing nothing to illuminate my room. A silhouette stood there, moving about and seemingly frustrated. “Fuck it, I’m calling this one. This room’s been acting up all week and I told maintenance about it but NOOOOOO. No one listens to the MIC GUY. Fuckin’ idiots. Hey dude, sorry about all this. Hope you have a nice time bein’ dead!” An explosion ripped through my mind as I was propelled back the way I came. A blue ball came into view, growing larger as I sped closer. I opened my mouth to scream but came to a screeching halt before I could. Then, at the same speed as before, I went tearing off to the left.
I woke up in a rocking chair on a porch in the middle of a swamp. A familiar swamp. I looked around, trying to get my bearings as my heart hammered in my chest.
“No way...” I whispered as my surroundings came into focus. I wasn’t back home, I was on Uncle Bobby’s farm down in Aimwell, Louisiana. Hot, muggy air clung to my skin and wet my hair, letting it hang in my face. My ripped fatigues did little to stop the mosquitoes from making me into an all you can eat buffet. Frogs croaked and cicadas screamed in the late spring evening as Merle Haggard sang about his fightin’ side. A slow, lazy smile spread across my face as I leaned back in the rocking chair. If this is heaven, then I am more than happy to sit here for a while and relax.
“Hey hey, now, look who’s up.” A deep, southern voice twangs in my ear. I shot to my feet, my hand falling to my hip where I kept my side arm. The familiar plastic grip met my hand and comfort flooded me. In one smooth motion, I drew the customized Smith & Wesson 1911 and leveled it at the door. The largest, fattest man I’d ever seen came squeezing out of the screen door. His double-wide girth jiggled free with an audible POP! He was wearing nothing but denim overalls, and his man boobs flopped out to either side. Both hands contained a mountain of fried rice with eggs, crawfish, and shrimp. It smelled exquisite, and my mouth started to water.
“Who the fuck are you?!” I said, a little louder than I had intended.
“Woah, quiet down there, son. No need to be so loud. You ain’t in combat anymore. And put that gun down, you’ll kill somebody.” He sits in a rocking chair that just sort of... appeared under him. I blinked a few times, trying to understand what I had just seen. The man pats a chair next to him, one that definitely wasn’t there before.
“Sit, eat. Let’s have a chat.” I remained standing, my pistol leveled at his chest and watched the strange man with weariness. “Ugh, being difficult, are we?” the man said. Suddenly, I was sitting, facing the man, a plate and a fork in my hands and my sidearm on the table between us?
“What the fuck?”
“Eat, ‘fore it gets cold.” The man, who was still holding two plates of food, looked around at the swamp around us. “Though that’s not much of a problem here.” He added, almost to himself.
“What...” My voice cracked and I swallowed, trying to wet my throat. “What’s going on? Who are you? How am I here?” My hand moved of its own accord, scooping some of the rice onto my fork and into my mouth. A groan of pleasure escaped me as I devoured the bounty in my lap. The man smiles, showing off his perfect, purple teeth. Hold on, purple?
“One question at a time, my boy. Let’s start with my name. You may call me...” He trailed off for a moment, seeming to consider something. “John Boy.” He grinned. “As for the other two, well, they’re a little more complicated. For the how, you could say that I... went fishing, so to speak.”
John Boy? What kind of name was that? It sounded like he just came up with it off the top of his head, but there’s no way, right?
“What?” I asked through a mouth of food. It never seemed to end, no matter how much I ate. I watched as the hole I had put in the rice filled with even more. What the hell is going on here?
“Well,” John Boy said, adjusting his gargantuan mass, the rocking chair creaking under him in distress. “I was out on the town and enjoying myself, when I overhead somethin’ that caught my ear. A friend was talkin’ about how he had decided to sponsor a mortal. He said that it was the most fun he’d had in millennia. I was bored, so I figured I’d give it a try, and, well, here you are. Now, as for what is going on, well, that’s complicated.”
“Complicated how? And is your name really John Boy?” I couldn’t help it, the strangeness of the situation was getting to me. John Boy smiled, his purple teeth looking black in the setting spring sun.
“It is to you, son. And I hate to break it to ya, but you’re dead. You showed up here bleedin like a stuck pig and missin’ half your body. I gotta get a new carpet ‘cause of you. But, I put you back together ‘cause I’m nice like that.”
“Of course I’m dead!” I said, sounding way more pissed than I thought I was. “I got ripped in half by a grenade! I watched my lungs fall out of my chest and my heart stop beating. No man can survive that. Is this heaven? Are you...” I froze, hesitating to ask my next question, not really wanting to know the answer. “Are you God?” John Boy threw his head back and roared with laughter. He slapped his knee with a hand, which made my eyes go wide because he was still holding two plates. With two separate hands. And a third that was now shoveling food into his mouth.
“I’m a god, boy. Not from your world, but a god nonetheless.” He spoke from a second mouth that sprouted from the side of his cheek, his original mouth still eating. “And no, this isn’t ‘heaven’, as you called it. This is my house, which seems to have taken on a new front yard because of you.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking around at the homestead. “this is Uncle Bobby’s farm. I basically grew up here, well, at least over the summers. He was the one who taught me how to shoot. Right over there,” I pointed to a large metal pole off to our right. “I learned how to clean damn near everything that lives in this swamp. And over to the left, in that barn, I got drunk for the first time.” My words tumbled out of me as I recounted my adventures and minor misdemeanors to this strange man. John Boy sat patiently, eating his two plates of food, and waited for me to finish.
“And this porch we’re sitting on is where my mother last told me she loved me.” My voice went soft as I recounted the memory. “I was 15, and I never heard it again. Even when I shipped out to Afghanistan, she only told me to be safe. I don’t blame her, though, ya know? She’s my mother. She’d already lost her husband and daughter, and now her only son was abandoning her to go fight in a pointless war.” My voice cracked with emotion as I struggled to hold back the tears. “And of course, he died.” My hold on my feelings failed and the flood gates were flung open wide. Guilt, fear, and a thousand other emotions tore their way out of my throat. I pulled my knees to my chest and sobbed openly into them.
I heard a sniffling sound coming from my right, close to my knee. I looked through the tears and saw Uncle Bobby’s old farm dog, Jack, sitting by me. Instinctively, I reached out and pet the black lab on his head. His fur was just as I remembered, soft and silky and smelly. I breathed the stench in, its comfort a necessity as I continued to cry. I pet the dog, bawling all my pent-up rage, hatred, and sorrow into the creature’s flank.
“I’m not the best at emotional comfort,” John Boy said quietly. “but my friend Kuilt here is fantastic at it.” I nodded into the dog's fur, more sniffles coming from me. “Take your time, son. We’ve got nothing but.” After a few more minutes of sniffling and petting, I take a deep breath and turn to face the god. My right-hand stroked Jack’s, no, Kuilt’s, back as I spoke.
“Ok, John Boy. I think I’m ready. Is this where you judge me and decide whether to send me to heaven or hell?” The god smiles at me, his purple teeth flashing with light from within.
“No, my boy, no judgement for you. At least, not yet. This is where you get to be remade. Remember that friend I mentioned earlier? Well, I got this idea from him.” A grin spread across John Boy’s face. “Congratulations, Lance Corporal Benjamin Farmer, you are going to be reborn into a different world. I can’t send you back to your old one, rules being rules and such. I can, however, send you to a different one. From what I saw in your memories, your old world had no magic, monsters, or other races; only humans. If you like, I can send you to a fantastic place by your standards. To me, it’s simply another world that I have followers on.” he grinned a wide, easy smile. Both of his mouths combined into one smile and my brain reacted in disgust before accepting that this is just what John Boy does. The thought came so naturally and smoothly that it set my alarms ringing. I glare at John Boy and he just smiles wider.
“Your answer?” He probed, raising his eyebrows in anticipation. I thought for a moment or two longer, but I didn’t see much of a choice. The chance to live in a world with magic seemed too good to be true.
“Not that I don’t believe you,” I began. John Boy held up a fourth hand, stopping my words.
“I can guarantee that you will arrive in Sehal safe and sound. You have my word on that. Beyond that, I can make no promises. Sehal is a dangerous world, with enemies around every corner. Not to mention the near constant monster attacks in some parts. Death is a constant companion, and few people die of old age. It does happen more than I’m making it out to be, but it’s more likely you’ll be mauled or murdered.”
“Then why are you sending me there? I’ve seen enough combat to last me two lifetimes. I just want to live by the ocean and fish for a few years. Maybe raise a family, I don’t know.” John Boy grined at me.
“Herdonitus recommended it. He said it was where he sent his champion, so why not? And you can do whatever you want on Sehal. It’s not like I’m chargin’ you with a holy mission or anything like that. Want to be a farmer like your namesake? Go for it. Want to be a warlord who enslaves civilizations for the hell of it? Why not. Want to settle down and live as a fisherman? By all means. It’s your life.” The god’s words echoed in my ear as I thought. I could do anything I wanted to. Be the man I wanted to be back on Earth. Find a wife and raise a family on an island, spending the days fishing, loving, and living in paradise. This was my afterlife, right? Why not?
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Why me? Did you choose me, or was it random?” I asked, the words leaving my lips before I could stop them. John Boy shifted his titanic weight and the rocking chair screamed in protest but continued to hold him up.
“Both.” He said after settling back into a comfortable position. “I wanted a champion, and you came racing by my front door screaming bloody murder. So, I grabbed you and brought you here. A quick glance through your memories told me everything I needed to know about you. I believe that you will thrive in Sehal, maybe even change it for the better.” His words bounced around in my head as I tried to wrap my brain around them. I had the chance at another life, the chance to be more than just another name in a line or a face in the crowd. And, when I really thought about it, what other choice did I have? I could say no, go back to whatever afterlife originally awaited me. I believed in the Christian God as Mark would drag me to church with him whenever he saw the opportunity to. But with all the sinnin’ I’ve done in my 20 years; I doubted that God would see me as worthy of heaven. And so, I made my choice.
“Alright.” I said, sighing as I did so. “I’m in. What do you want me to do?” John Boy smiled a wide, true smile.
“Wonderful! I want you to do...” he paused for dramatic effect and raised two more hands by his face, spreading his fingers. “nothing. You get to choose. I believe I stressed that earlier. It is your life and I will have no influence on your decisions, nor will I charge you with a mission. I am doing this purely for my entertainment. I will watch over you, make sure that nothing too crazy happens, but other than that, you’re free to act as you see fit. Now, we have business to attend to.” John Boy clapped his hands, which began to glow a soft golden color. He reached forward and touched my forehead, and my vision sprang to life.
All of a sudden, an honest-to-goodness Heads Up Display overlaid the outside world. I could still see perfectly fine when I focused on my surroundings, and if I focused on my HUD, I could see a bunch of information about myself. The top right of my vision held three bars. The top one was red, the middle green, and the bottom blue. Looking at them brought the bars forward and even more information sprouted in my vision. Black words on a light blue background appeared.
Benjamin Farmer Level 1
Health: 10/10
Stamina: 100/100
Mana: 40/40
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had stats? I had magic?! No more information came up, but I could see there were places where numbers were supposed to go.
Strength: N/A
Constitution: N/A
Agility: N/A
Dexterity: N/A
Charisma: N/A
Wisdom: N/A
Intelligence: N/A
I absently wondered why the rest of the stat blocks were empty. Was it because I died? Did I lose all my training from the Marines? Obviously not, I’d been quick on the draw when John Boy came out to the porch. And how did these numbers correlate to my time on Earth? They all seemed low, especially my health. There’s no way that ten health survives an explosion to the stomach. To be fair, I hadn’t survived it, but still, ten seemed low. So maybe it did make sense? I didn’t have a single answer to any of my questions and the numbers were starting to swim so I dismissed the menu. I refocused on John Boy, who was still eating. He smiled at me out of his cheek-mouth, and I cringed internally. That ain’t right. I thought to myself.
“You should be seeing things that weren’t there before.” John Boy said. “Now, before you flip your lid, know that everyone on Sehal has a character sheet. I won’t explain it to you here, part of the fun is watching you stumble ‘round in convoluted high jinks because of simple misunderstandings. I will, however, give you a pair of Gifts. I don’t want you to be dying too often, now. Is there anything in particular you want? A power? Weapons? Women?” his voice turned slimy as he said the word. My mind reeled with information overload. He was saying so much and I had no time to process it. What did he mean by ‘dying too often’? Would I be able to use magic? What is Sehal like? Why didn’t I have stats in some parts? Did my training carry over? Question upon question filled my brain as I tried to find a good one. I opened my mouth to ask why some of my blocks were empty when John Boy clapped his hands.
“Dammit, you’re right. We’ll need to settle appearance ‘fore anythin’ else.” He looked me over, eyes roving my body. Not in a sexual way, more like he was getting my measurements without tape. “Small one, ain’t ya? You have any attachment to being human?” He asked it with such casualness that I thought I misunderstood him, but no, he did say human.
“Are there other options?” I asked warily. But dammit, my interest was growing. Who doesn’t want to change something about themselves?
“Plenty.” A list popped up in my vision. Hundreds of presumably races scrolled past. I struggled to keep up with them, but it was just too fast.
“I don’t know what half of these mean.” I said, shrugging. “I don’t particularly have an attachment to being human, but I don’t want to be an animal, either. I want to be mostly human, like all the parts and stuff,” John Boy grinned at me knowingly and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. How the hell am I getting embarrassed talking about sex? I’ve killed a dozen men without blinking. I’ve seen horrors that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, even though they were the cause of most of it. Those fucking Haji’s. They deserve everything that’s coming and more. My hands clenched in anger, and I had to take a deep breath to calm myself. Kuilt whined and put his head in my lap.
“You have so much anger in you, son.” John Boy said. “You should learn to harness it. Rage is a wonderful ally when used properly. So, back to race. Not human, but what?”
“I don’t know.” I thought about my past life. I’d always been on the small side, and I had the opportunity to change that. I could be big, STRONG. When I used to play Tabletop RPG’s, I always played as a Barbarian. There was a certain appeal to being a Barbarian. Letting your fists do the talking and punching everything into submission was a feeling that I often enjoyed. I used to enter into every boxing competition on base, challenging myself to beat the bigger guys. It would be fun, if nothing else. I looked down at my fists, curling and uncurling them, seeing the blood that had been and was yet to be on them. Yeah, I could get behind that. I was already comfortable with hand-to-hand combat, and the Marine’s trained me well, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I nodded my head, the idea picking up steam.
“Ok.” I said, my head bobbing up and down like a chicken’s. “Ok. I have no idea what race would work with being a Barbarian, or if that even exists in Shitstain...”
“Sehal.” John Boy corrected. I glared at him, but he seemed not to notice. Or he just ignored me. Probably that one. “...but I’m going with that. I want to be big, strong, and tall. 6’3” minimum, and not fat. Also, I’d like to keep my hair. It’s the one thing I’m proud of. The Marines forced me to keep it short, but I have fantastic hair.” It was true. Mama used to say that my hair was the one good thing my father gave me, back when she cared. It was so brown it was almost black, silky, thick, and long, even for the Marines. I’d often pulled extra rotations on the Shit List because I kept my hair long. I loved my hair and didn’t want to lose it. John Boy nodded.
“May I ask you to pick a race for me?” John Boy looked surprised at that.
“Really? You want me to pick?” I nodded.
“Yeah, I have no idea what any of this means, and I don’t want to screw myself on day one. I will also ask you to handle my physical appearance, as long as you stick to the parameters I set earlier.”
“Tall, big, not fat, same hair.” John Boy said, a new hand writing in the air with golden script.
“And strong.” I said. “Do not forget that.” he smiled at me.
“I’ve got it, son. Big, tall, not fat, same hair, and strong as an ox, to use a phrase for your world.” I nod, and John Boy claps again. “Excellent! Now, on to your Gifts.”
“Are there any restrictions?” I asked. “Anything that I cannot ask for?”
“A few. No immortality, I can’t directly intervene in the world, a few other things that I can’t tell you about. But the majority of things are free game.” I stroke my chin as I think. Who do I want to be in this new world? I don’t want to be a soldier; I know that much. I’ve seen enough death for a few lifetimes. But I know that fighting is inevitable.
“What kind of world is Sehal?” I asked.
“Good question. Sehal is a medieval fantasy world, judging from your memories. It has magic and all kinds of magical monsters and beasts from your stories. Because of this, however, technology has been slow to advance. Many people rely on magic for daily use, much as you do electricity. Wonderful ideas, your world has, like this ‘radio’ playing within my home. But I digress. Back to your Gifts.”
I thought for a moment. If this new world was anything like the Tabletops I used to play back in high school, then it would pay to be big and strong. I’d already asked to be strong, but what if we took it a step further? Get all Herculean up in this bitch. A not-so-nice grin spread across my face. If I was strong enough to rip a man in half, no one would ever bother me. I could live in peace because everyone would be afraid of me. My sadistic look faded as I thought. Was that the life I wanted, though? To be feared by everyone? Mark’s face flashed in my mind, his brains leaking onto the sandy floor of that godforsaken hut. An ignoble death for an honorable man. Rage filled my heart as I remembered the friend I failed to save. Thoughts of Annabeth flittered around the edges of my mind, causing my rage to turn to grief, and finally, determination.
“Never again.” I whispered, my mind made up. I looked up at John Boy. “I want an additional Gift of strength. There was a story from my world, a man named Sampson. He was super strong, the strongest man around. God gave him his strength, if he never cut his hair. He was betrayed by a woman and was killed. It was actually a really sad story, but that’s not the point. I want that strength. I want to be able to pull off feats of strength that would kill a normal man.” A problem occurred to me. If I can do miraculous things like lift boulders and tear trees out of the ground, my body would need to be able to keep up. “I know I can’t ask for straight up immortality, so how about a self-healing power. Like super regeneration or something.”
John Boy grinned at me, his mountainous form rippling with laughter. “I expected nothing less from you, boy. I knew what path you’d take the moment I mentioned Rage. I’ve already got your Gifts picked out, and I think you’ll be satisfied with them. To recap for the rule followers listening in, I will handle designing your physical form and bless you with two Gifts; one of strength and one of healing. And finally, your name. I sadly can’t let you take your old name with you. The rules and all that. I can’t go into detail, just know that it’s something to do with a cosmic census.”
Hmm. I hadn’t considered that. I thought for a minute, going over names in my head. A few stuck out, Paul, Jackson, Odysseus, Joseph, MonekyFart420, but none of them felt right. This was something that people would call me, not just a placeholder. It was my NAME. Finally, it came to me in a flash of bloody inspiration.
“Micheal.” I said, remembering the story of the avenging archangel. It felt right, like I was bringing something from my old life with me. “My name will be Micheal.” John Boy grinned at me, setting his plates of food down for the first time. He claps three pairs of hands together, the sound reverberating around me in a chorus of applause. He glanced down at the table and saw my pistol sitting between us.
“Ah, yes. The weapon. I cannot let you take it with you. I know it is important to you, a final gift from your mother. So, I’ll let you keep it, but you won’t be able to use it.” I opened my mouth to ask what the fuck that convoluted sentence meant, when a golden light shone from my left forearm. The same light was emitting from the gun, which began to float into the air. My weapon started to fall apart, motes of gold splitting from the main body and flowing into my forearm. The motes started to flow faster, until the entire pistol was tattooed onto my arm in a perfect replica. It had no color, simply an extremely lifelike outline of the firearm in perfect black lines.
“What the fuck?” I whispered as I rubbed my hand over my new tattoo.
“You’re welcome, Micheal. Now, are you ready to go?”
I looked up at John Boy who was smiling a huge smile. I began to say something when he waved a hand, and my world went white.