At last, John broke beyond Uldwyld forest.

A vast landscape opened to the South, dizzying in its breadth after the perpetual claustrophobia of the woods. Grand hills rose and fell into the distance, their vibrant emerald broken by copses of dense, magnolia-like trees and reflective streams that slithered through shallow valleys. Delicate, cottony streaks of cirrus cloud brushed the apex of an otherwise clear sky, whose particular shade of blue was both alien and familiar, as though John recognized it from a dream. A mountain range of snow-capped peaks stood against the horizon like a fortification wall.

Majestic, antlered beasts and other vaguely familiar creatures idled throughout the hillscape, though they appeared much too large to John’s eyes. In the near distance, something like an oversized caribou dipped its head to the water, then jerked up to look in his direction.

Having lost himself in the wonder of the scene, John abruptly remembered his objective. He had reached Phase 3 of Operation Too Young to Die, after all. Find a healer.

Scanning the hills nearby, John found what he sought to the south and west, on a wide slope nestled beneath the late afternoon sun. The village numbered two dozen structures, perhaps more. From this distance they resembled simple, A-frame homes, each surrounded by vegetation and connected to the others by an elegant series of paths like a circulatory system. They spread south across the hillside to the shore of a long, narrow lake that reminded John of a bending finger. Lazy tendrils of smoke drew upward from the community like unsteady graphite.

It might have been the village John remembered from the game, or it might not. It was certainly larger than the analogous settlement in Nordic Runes, but then again, everything in this world was like that. Even if it wasn’t the same village, though, it would do. Any community of people needed access to some form of health care, after all. John didn’t care if they had a shaman, witch-doctor, alchemist, medieval barber or just some old woman who knew more than most about herbs, as long as they could cure his Uldwyld Frost Fever.

He struck out to the southwest, fielding the complaints of his knees and thighs as the ground transitioned from relatively flat to uncomfortably hilly. He had a dozen miles more to go, perhaps more, but all he wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep.

John had long ago passed the point of exhaustion. He had been without food for so long his body now ran on some sort of backup, emergency system, like the gas-powered generator his parents had used whenever the electricity went out, as it often had in Texas. His wounds ached magnificently from the day’s exertion, and warm blood oozed down his shin, his thigh wound having opened again at some point during his journey. His health still hovered at twenty percent, though John worried if he didn’t rest soon, pure physical attrition would drag it down further.

Despite his overwhelming fatigue, a sense of triumph stole through him as he strode beyond the last of the snow, which gradually faded from the earth the further he traveled South.

It was finally over. He had made it. He had encountered at least two dozen more wolves on his egress from Uldwyld, as well as several gargantuan ice spiders and what appeared to be a frost ogre - John had nearly shit his pants at that one - but for the most part, he had managed to avoid them all with tactical movement and his own awkward brand of stealth. Uldwyld forest, it seemed, had failed to kill John Robbie. He hoped he never had to go back.

John still couldn’t understand how he had gotten there in the first place.

Crazy didn’t even begin to describe it. Less than a week ago he had been standing in the living room of his studio apartment in Dallas, Texas, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do after his father kicked him out, when a fucking interdimensional portal had materialized in front of his coffee table. It hadn’t been just any portal, either. It had been the portal, from the video game Nordic Runes. There was no mistaking it. After two years of nonstop play, John knew that game down to its smallest detail. It was one hundred percent, without a doubt a portal from the game.

A matching portal had then appeared on his television screen, which was somehow showing a hyper-realistic version of John’s game - which he had been playing before his father called him an “ungrateful little shit” and chucked John’s game system onto the driveway. The living room portal had sucked John in and deposited him into the game, right where his character had been. At least, that’s what seemed to have happened.

John couldn’t discount the head injury he had suffered earlier that night. The mere thought of his embarrassing tumble into his parents' fireplace during a round of Christmas Eve charades made John want to unzip his skin and crawl out of it, but he couldn’t pretend it never happened. That nasty knock on the skull might be the reason he was hallucinating all of this now. Assuming, of course, this was all a hallucination - though he had no idea what else it could be.

Nor could John dismiss his near suicide attempt. The night he had been transported to this world, John had nearly swallowed a two-month supply of Zoloft. "Nearly," in this case, meant he had literally opened the bottle and poured the pills into his palm. He had stopped himself from going through with it, of course, realizing how much it would have hurt his family, but what if it wasn’t that simple? What if he actually had gone through with it, after all? What if this strange, nightmarish version of his favorite video game was the afterlife, and his personal incarnation of hell was to experience an eternity of misery in the one place he had found joy while alive?

John hopped over a bubbling stream, his boot slipping momentarily on a slick, circular stone. Nearby, a spine-covered crab the size of a lawnmower raised its claws, then lowered them again. John had to be more careful. If he had fallen and been attacked by that thing, he would have died screaming.

Shouldn’t that be his top priority right now, anyway? Not dying? Speculating on the why and how of his arrival in this world would not protect him from literal monsters, nor would it put food into his stomach. Whether he liked it or not, John was at the rock bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Right now, the only thing he should be worried about was seeing his next sunrise.

In that case you’re as good as dead, loser. Maybe you forgot, but you suck at everything.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Once he got himself healed, though, what was John supposed to do next? When it came to life planning, he was a bit out of practice. Over the past two years, John’s forward-thinking had never extended beyond his next gaming session. Once he was playing video games, he had discovered, he could escape time altogether - he had no future, no past, nothing but the willful delusion of staying in that fantasy world forever. Now, though, John didn’t have any video games to play. He didn’t even know if they existed in this world.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t this entire world a video game? Didn’t John have his own personal user interface of character and inventory screens that he could summon into being whenever he wanted? Hadn’t he already leveled up, chosen a class and learned an ability - even if that class and ability were incredibly stupid? Of course. John knew exactly what to do. In fact, when he really thought about it, he had been preparing for this his entire life.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a “Quest” system to guide him. No matter what quest you were given in an RPG, it was always secondary to a larger, overarching objective, anyway. For the RPG gamer, there was one primary goal that superseded all others, and in the end, it was the only thing that really mattered.

Level the fuck up so you can grow stronger.

John summoned his “Soul” menu, sending neon blue text into the air before him.

Name: John Robbie

Age: 22

Class: Jackass Sage

Rank: 1 Star

Seeing his “1 Star” ranking was like seeing an "A" on a report card. It was intensely satisfying. The sight of his asinine-sounding class, Jackass Sage, flooded him with an altogether different emotion. He ignored the feeling and selected the class, which took him to the “Abilities” screen.

Class: Jackass Sage

Description: A martial grandmaster possessing unrivaled skill with the axe Jackass. This dangerous combatant favors offense through devastating weapon-based attacks and buffs.

Soul Reservoir: 1%

Refinement Progress: N/A

Abilities:

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 John had a wheelhouse, this was it.

In virtually every RGP John had ever played, a character grew stronger by gaining experience points. They could be earned in varying ways, depending on the game, but once enough of them were earned the character could ascend to a higher level. In Nordic Runes, a character could reach a maximum level of twenty, though every four levels constituted an increased “Star Rank,” which provided a massive jump in attribute points. A level three character would have a rank of One Star, for example, while a level fourteen character would have a rank of Four Stars.

Star Rankings were essentially like weight classes in MMA. They represented tiers of strength so disparate that an inter-rank fight would be inherently unfair.

Upon reaching the max level twenty at the end of Five Stars, an entirely different system took over to progress the character further, but that was so far away it was hardly worth thinking about right now.

In this world, which seemed to work like a real-life version of Nordic Runes, John hadn’t been able to reach One Star until he had filled his “Soul Reservoir.” Though he still had no idea what that was. Presumably, it had something to do with the blue smoke that had emerged from the monsters he killed. It had streamed through the air into his body and given him the strange sensation of hunger being sated. Had he absorbed their souls? In Nordic Runes, when a character gained experience through combat, it just happened automatically. Maybe this was how experience points worked in this world. By eating souls. PETA certainly would not approve, but John thought it was pretty badass. It was very Shang Tsung.

A Nordic Runes character could also gain experience by developing the skills of their primary or secondary Path. This meant his Frost Mage character, Polaris, had gained experience by practicing skills of the Erudite Path or the Nature Path. That was why Polaris had spent so much time at his Alchemy table, because the Alchemy skill connected to both Erudite and Nature. Considering John already had 1% in his Soul Reservoir since leveling up three days ago, it must be the same here. All of his axe practice must have impacted his primary path of War, giving him a sliver of experience along the way.

Clearly, killing things was the far more efficient method of filling his Soul Reservoir.

Unfortunately for John, that wasn't going to be easy for him to do. He was painfully, pitifully weak. If the two enemies he had “defeated” so far - the wolf and the ninja lizard - hadn’t mostly killed each other, John would not have stood a chance. Since then, he had “evoked” a class - meaning he had chosen a class for himself from a disappointingly limited list of non-mage options - but that class had not only failed to make him stronger, it may have handicapped him forever by forcing him to use a garbage-tier axe in order to access his abilities. And since all abilities were dictated by class… John had a long road ahead of him, to say the least.

Still, his near-term future was clear enough. Reach the town, find a cure, rest, secure longer-term lodgings and then find some incredibly weak enemies to kill. Like maybe some ants or irritable-looking ferns. Once he gained a few levels and had a few more abilities - since he got a new ability each level - John could figure out where to go from there.

Everything began with that quaint, hillside village named... Ole something. Ole Miss? Old Spice? He'd find out soon enough. John was close now, close enough to discern figures traversing its many winding paths, out for a stroll apparently beneath the stratified pinks and oranges of a setting sun. Who were they? Would John even be able to understand them? What would they think of him, John Robbie, staggering into their town in looted armor, covered in wounds and begging for a cure for Uldwyld Frost Fever?

They’ll hate you, just like everyone always has.

Something jolted John from his thoughts. An agonizing cramp pierced his shinbone, so intense it managed to rise above the general ache of his exhausted, beleaguered body. When John looked down, his blood went cold.

A green-scaled viper, larger than any python in any zoo John had ever seen, had sunk its fangs deep into his leg. As he stood transfixed, the long, tubular muscle of its body swept around him and began to coil. His health, already dangerously low at twenty percent, began to drop.

Alert: You have been poisoned.