John gazed one last time at the first home he had known in this world.

For reasons he couldn’t fully articulate, John knew he would miss it. It wasn’t good shelter, by any means. The ancient, minimalistic structure - which looked something like a featureless Taco Bell with no signage - was missing a corner and a significant portion of roof. Its only furniture was a cold, stone floor, and as far as insulation went, it held onto heat about as well as a mosquito net. Still, it had been what he needed. If John hadn’t found it when he did - moments after being teleported into this subzero murder forest - he would be dead now. If John had not found a firepit inside, he would not have thought to build his own fire. He would have simply laid down and gone to sleep, and he would be dead.

In fact, when John truly reflected on his past four days, it was a miracle he had survived.

Like the twisted fulfillment of a monkey’s paw wish, John had been dropped into the harsh gameworld of his favorite RPG video game, Nordic Runes. He had been teleported to the last spot his ultra-powerful character had been standing, but he had not been transformed into his character. No, he had been sent here as himself. John Robbie. Weak, fat, stupid John Robbie, wearing a flimsy, ill-fitting t-shirt and gym shorts. Oh, and flip-flops. He almost forget those because they had come off in the snow almost immediately.

His possessions had been altered somehow. His clothes had been transformed by the teleportation into simpler versions of themselves, all machine stitching, logos and tags now gone. His lighter and phone had been transformed into featureless black rocks - one of which produced sparks and the other of which did nothing. The three-ring binder John had been looking through when the portal took him from his living room had likewise arrived with him in this world, though it too had been transformed. Before, it had been a psychotherapy treatment manual called “Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for Depression.” Now it was a large, leather tome called a “refinement manual,” this one entitled “Way of the Balanced Mind.”

John had been the equivalent of a level zero character in worthless roughspun. In other words, totally defenseless. A wolf had nearly devoured him within the first minute, but John had somehow scared it off with a burning stick and then stumbled into a small, stone ruin. He had found a firepit inside, built by a ruins explorer of yore, which had given John the idea to build his own fire. That had kept him alive that first night. Even with the flames to warm him, John had never been so cold. The memory still made him shiver.

The next day he had bumbled out into the ruins to find loot, which he discovered inside another structure several miles away. It was a frozen corpse in basic leather armor. With great difficulty and a fair amount of nausea, John had transferred the armor from the cadaver to his own fat person, along with a leather satchel of various goods and one other, seemingly insignificant item - a common woodcutter’s axe, which, as a joke, he had given the name Jackass.

It had all been going too well, of course. Feeling much more confident on his return journey, now that he had armor and a weapon, John had proceeded to stumble into another Uldwyld wolf, which outclassed him so badly his axe blows barely managed to scratch it. Through trickery, John had managed to pit his impossible enemy against another monster, a giant snake lizard thing capable of making itself invisible. While John had cringed behind a tree, the wolf and ninja lizard had savaged each other. John had been forced to finish off the dying ninja lizard himself, which had still been difficult to manage, after which strange blue smoke had risen from the monsters’ corpses and streamed into John’s body.

John had returned to his shelter with two wounds, a mild one on his forearm and a bad one on his thigh, and he had set about restoring his health. His personal interface - that’s right, John had a personal user interface here that was like blue text printed inside his eyeball - told him he had the “bleeding” status and a disease called “Uldwyld Frost Fever.” Through some amateur detective work, John had realized his disease both negated healing effects and accelerated bleeding damage when healing items were used - meaning the health potion he nearly drank would have killed him.

John’s only option, he had then realized, was to grow stronger and somehow escape the forest. He had to find someone who could heal his disease. His completed something called a “Foundational Soul Refinement" using his “refinement manual,” which had required him to uncover his greatest fear - that something about who he is fundamentally wrong. After that, he had been allowed to choose a class for himself. He had only been offered “War” path classes, sadly, even though he had desperately wanted a mage class. He had chosen the best of what had been available, a “legendary” potential class called “Weapon Sage,” but when he had chosen it, the class had bound him forever to his looted, shit-tier axe, Jackass.

Horrifically, the name of his class had then changed to reflect his “soul-bound” weapon. That, of course, was how John had become a Jackass Sage. It had all been so improbable, hadn't it? Yet here he was, alive against all odds, armored in looted dead-guy leather and mildly powered-up by the stupidest-sounding class into which anyone had ever been classed. Somehow, John had made it this far.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet, though - neither figurately nor literally.

If John remembered correctly, there was a town just beyond Uldwyld Forest to the south. It was called… Old-mire? Oil-milk? It wasn’t much to speak of, just a few homes on a hillside, but it did have a tavern. If tavern’s worked here the way they worked in the game, John could talk to the owner to find out how to cure his disease. The problem, of course, was getting there.

John couldn’t handle even one of the Uldwyld wolves, and they probably weren’t even the worst things out there. He didn’t know how far it was to the edge of the forest, but if he had to guess, it was probably several dozen miles. Even if he only encountered one enemy every mile - and that seemed charitable - that meant thirty or forty chances for him to die before he got out of the forest. To make matters worse, John hadn’t eaten anything in four days. The adrenaline had fueled him well enough until now, but it was beginning to wane. It seemed utterly hopeless. At least, it had seemed hopeless, until John more carefully reviewed his new ability Immortal Weapon. That’s when he had formed a plan, to which he had given the fitting designation, Operation Too Young to Die.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

A full day of practicing and a semi-decent night’s sleep later and here he was, ready to try his hand at not dying.

“Okay, Jackass,” John said to his axe, “Let’s make like a tree and get the fuck out of here. We can do this, buddy.”

Immediately writing it off as the effects of trauma and malnutrition, John imagined he felt a vibration of assent through the axe’s handle. Almost like it was agreeing with him...

John had scarcely traveled beyond sight of his shelter before he encountered his first wolf. It padded silently across the snow several dozen meters ahead, its white fur and liquid movements making it more ghost than animal within its winter habitat.

The time had come for Phase 1 of Operation Too Young to Die. Be stealthy.

John angled to the right, lingering behind interposing trees and speeding up through open spaces, stealthily circumnavigating the wolf as it moved further east. It continued onward with no sign of alarm. When John had nearly finished his loop around it, the wolf’s distant form barely visible among distant trees, he realized his terrible mistake.

He had done an excellent job of avoiding one wolf, while walking right into the jaws of another.

It stood two dozen meters ahead.

This one had a darker coloration than its peer, more a pale, metallic gray than white, and its yellow eyes stared at John like he was on a menu. As John met those eyes, the beast’s muzzle contorted in a vibrating snarl. John found himself unable to look away from those wicked, ivory fangs, suddenly becoming aware of the aching of his wounds. His health was twenty percent, and thanks to a disease he couldn't heal, it could only move one direction. Down. He was at death’s door. If those teeth latched onto him, even once, he would not survive. He would die screaming. He would perish, cold and alone in an alien world.

The wolf stepped toward him.

Just give up. You’re as good as dead, you incompetent fuck.

As the negative thought passed through John’s mind, he again detected an answering vibration through the handle of his axe, though this one felt... contradictory. Was it possible to break further when you were already having a psychotic break?

The wolf took another step, then another, its body going low as it approached and tensing like a coiled spring.

It was time for Phase 2 of Operation Too Young to Die. Play with the doggie.

John hefted his axe, finding the two-handed grip with which he had found the most success during his marathon practice sessions. Steadying his panic with a shaky breath, he pulled the weapon over his shoulder and heaved it forward, releasing it in a whirling arc. It whooshed through the air with a soft, pulsing sound, speeding across the expanse until it reached the wolf’s head -

And disappeared.

The beast flinched back from a projectile that never arrived, growling menacingly at the empty space where it had been.

John readied the axe and threw it again. It arced awkwardly toward the wolf and, just as before, vanished the moment before it struck home. As though glitched through the fabric of reality, the weapon reappeared in John’s hands, ready for his next throw. It had taken John hundreds of attempts, standing in the cold outside of his shelter, but he had finally mastered this one, useful aspect of his Immortal Weapon ability.

Immortal Weapon: Having bonded permanently to your soul, the weapon Jackass cannot be destroyed. If it receives critical damage it will reform itself to its original, soul-bonded condition, and if you become separated it can be teleported back to you at will. It cannot be replaced. All further abilities can only be used while wielding Jackass.

…if you become separated it can be teleported back to you at will.

This time the predator bounded backward several meters and swiped savagely at the air. Though still aggressive, its body language had shifted unmistakably, and John knew the tables had turned. A crouched posture that had once signaled the hunt now signaled a different, even more basic instinct - self-preservation.

It took John four more throws, but finally, to his overwhelming relief, the wolf turned and bounded away into the forest.

John fell to his knees, the dump of adrenaline rendering him a puppet with cut strings. His axe seemed to give a celebratory vibration through its handle, which John pretended he couldn't feel.

John had been right. For once in his sad, miserable life, he had been right. As John watched the wolf disappear behind distant trees, he recalled his first night in this strange, video game reality. Then too he had faced an Uldwyld wolf, and then too he had startled his enemy into flight. He had used fire then, but it had been the same principle, and that’s what had given him the idea to use his Immortal Weapon ability to spook them away. They were strong, and they were mean, but these wolfs were skittish around things they didn’t expect.

“That went surprisingly well,” he said to his axe.

Jackass vibrated in agreement.

Feeling like Tom Hanks in that aughts movie Castaway, John looked at his inanimate friend for a while, trying to decide just how crazy he was. He was hallucinating an entire video game reality, so obviously he was crazy - but for some reason, communicating with what seemed to be a sentient weapon was the first time he truly felt crazy.

He never imagined he would feel this way, but John Robbie, notorious recluse of a two-year-long, self-imposed hermitage, decided that if he ever got out of this forest alive, he would need to do something drastic. He would need to socialize with other human beings. On purpose.