Angelus’s dorm room at New Haven University was a monument to chaos—a nerdy shrine where half-eaten nachos waged war against gravity on his desk, threatening his keyboard’s life. Sketches of fantasy warriors, all sporting armor so impractical it’d make a blacksmith cry, plastered the walls. A flickering neon sign above his bed blared “Level Up or Shut Up,” a gag gift from Marcus after Angelus’s latest gaming meltdown. It was March 8, 2025, and Angelus, a sophomore who treated his computer science major like a side quest he’d never finish, had spent the night buried in The Chronicles of the Legion. That book was his jam—heroes with stats, skills, and a reckless disregard for OSHA regulations.
He rolled out of bed with a groan, his dark hair a static-charged mess. Slipping into a hoodie emblazoned with a pixelated sword (because he lived for irony), he glanced at his phone: 11:47 a.m. Outside, New Haven hummed—students chattered, drones whirred, construction clanged—but the sky was off, draped in thick, moody clouds like a painter had rage-quit halfway through. “Weather’s just being dramatic,” he mumbled, shuffling into the hall. He was due at The Brew Haven to meet Marcus, where they’d argue about fictional power builds over coffee and questionable sandwiches.
Marcus sprawled at their usual table, sipping coffee with the smugness of someone who’d actually slept. “You look like a chew toy,” he said as Angelus flopped down.
“Late-night Chronicles binge,” Angelus confessed, signaling the barista. He ordered a turkey and avocado sandwich—heroes need sustenance—and Marcus grabbed a grilled cheese that laughed in the face of dietary guidelines. Their debate fired up instantly. “Strength builds are for meatheads,” Angelus said. “Agility’s king—dodge everything, never die.”
Marcus grinned. “Nah, I’d pump Strength and suplex a dragon. Chaos over finesse.” They howled with laughter, blind to the cosmic punchline about to hit. The cafe’s cozy vibe wrapped around them—until the floor bucked.
A tremor shook the mugs, a spoon skittering to the floor. “Earthquake?” Marcus guessed, but the truth crashed through the window. The sky ripped open—a jagged, violet-black rift pulsing like a bad special effect. Out poured monsters: goblins tripping over their own daggers, trolls accidentally clobbering each other with clubs, and winged shadows shrieking like karaoke night gone wrong. The street turned into a slapstick horror show—cars flipped, glass sprayed, and one goblin ate pavement after misjudging a fire hydrant: [Goblin: 48/50 HP].
Golden auras sparked around a few people outside, swinging pipes or chucking glowing orbs at the chaos. Health bars popped up everywhere: [Troll: 200/200 HP], [Goblin: 50/50 HP]. Then a screen blazed in Angelus’s vision:
[You have been chosen as an Awakened One. Do you accept your destiny? Yes/No]
“Marcus, you seeing this?” Angelus hissed.
“Seeing what? The goblin’s hydrant faceplant?” Marcus shot back, but the prompt was Angelus’s alone. He gulped. “Yes,” he croaked. The screen updated:
[Name: Angelus]
[Level: 1]
[Health: 100/100]
[Mana: 50/50]
[Strength: 3]
[Agility: 3]
[Intelligence: 4]
[Class: None]
[Skills: None]
“Holy crap, it’s real,” he whispered, spotting Marcus’s health bar: [Unawakened: 30/30 HP]. The world had gone full RPG, and he’d spawned as a level-one noob.
The cafe door burst open, a goblin storming in with a dagger and a grin that screamed “I eat toothpaste for breakfast.” [Goblin: 50/50 HP]. Screams erupted, but Angelus’s gamer instincts flared—though they were a bit rusty. The goblin lunged at Marcus, who yelped, “This isn’t in my subscription!”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Angelus grabbed a chair leg—splintered and sticky with what he prayed was soda—and swung like a budget knight. It thwacked the goblin’s skull—[Goblin: 42/50 HP]. “Eat wood, loot gremlin!” he yelled, ducking a wild slash that nearly customized his hoodie. Another swing—[Goblin: 34/50 HP]—and a final smack sent it crashing into the counter, out cold: [Goblin: 0/50 HP].
A chime rang:
[You have defeated a Goblin. Experience gained: 100. You have reached Level 2.]
[Level: 2]
[Health: 100/100]
[Mana: 50/50]
[Strength: 4]
[Agility: 4]
[Intelligence: 5]
[Class: None]
[Skills: None]
Marcus gaped. “Did you just level up? Like, IRL?”
“Seems so,” Angelus said, smirking. Then another prompt:
[You have unlocked the unique class: Legion Master. Raise defeated monsters as summons. Current limit: 1. Limit increases by 1 every 5 levels. Accept? Yes/No]
“Legion Master?” Angelus muttered. Raising monsters? That was next-level. “Yes.” His stats shifted:
[Class: Legion Master]
[Skills: Raise Summon [Raise a defeated monster as a summon. Current limit: 1.]]
He glanced at the goblin’s corpse. “Raise Summon,” he said, bracing for disappointment. Dark mist swirled, and the goblin staggered up, eyes glowing red—[Goblin Summon: 50/50 HP]. It promptly tried to pickpocket Angelus’s phone.
“No! Bad minion!” Angelus squawked, swatting its hand. The goblin pouted, arms crossed like a grounded kid.
Marcus snorted. “Your first summon’s a thief. Hero of the year, folks.”
Glass shattered as three more goblins scrambled in—[Goblin: 50/50 HP] each. Angelus’s heart pounded, but his summon was… sniffing a muffin. “Attack, you sticky-fingered menace!” he barked. The goblin sulked over and clawed a foe—[Goblin: 43/50 HP]. A new skill popped up:
[Power Strike unlocked: Deal 150% damage on next attack. Mana cost: 10.]
“Power Strike!” Angelus shouted, swinging at another goblin. He tripped over a rogue muffin, flailing into the hit—[Goblin: 28/50 HP]. Marcus jumped in, reciting, “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m bad at this, please don’t chew!” The goblin froze, baffled, and Angelus knocked it out. They cleared the trio:
[You have defeated 3 Goblins. Experience gained: 300. You have reached Level 3.]
[Level: 3]
[Health: 100/100]
[Mana: 40/50]
[Strength: 5]
[Agility: 4]
[Intelligence: 6]
[Class: Legion Master]
[Skills: Raise Summon, Power Strike]
[Summons: 1 (Goblin)]
A massive shadow crashed in—a troll, [Troll: 200/200 HP], flattening the counter. “We’re dead,” Marcus said.
“Not yet,” Angelus replied, legs shaking. His goblin summon, now eating the muffin, tackled the troll—[Troll: 192/200 HP]—before getting swatted—[Goblin Summon: 12/50 HP]. Angelus dodged a club, landing a Power Strike—[Troll: 174/200 HP]—but took a hit—[Angelus: 80/100 HP].
Marcus hurled a chair, yelling, “Catch, big guy!” It bonked off the troll, who blinked, unimpressed. Angelus, laughing through the pain, kept swinging until the troll dropped:
[You have defeated a Troll. Experience gained: 500. You have reached Level 4.]
[Level: 4]
[Health: 80/100]
[Mana: 30/50]
[Strength: 6]
[Agility: 5]
[Intelligence: 7]
[Class: Legion Master]
[Skills: Raise Summon, Power Strike]
[Summons: 1 (Goblin)]
“Raise Summon,” Angelus panted. The troll lurched up—[Troll Summon: 200/200 HP]—and promptly toppled a table, looking embarrassed.
Dread hit. “Lily!” His little sister was alone at home. He sprinted through the madness, summons in tow, reaching their apartment. Inside, a goblin loomed over Lily—[Goblin: 50/50 HP]—but she was beaming. “It’s like a theme park ride!”
“Lil, move!” Angelus shouted. His troll flattened the goblin—[Goblin: 0/50 HP]—and Lily cheered. “You’re a superhero now?”
“Sort of,” he said, hugging her. Marcus stumbled in, panting, and Angelus took stock: a thieving goblin, a klutzy troll, and two lunatics who thought courage was contagious. The city was ablaze, but the Legion Master—awkward, chaotic, and barely qualified—was ready to roll.