"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, staring at the sight of the house that greeted me as I parked my car at the foot of the crumbling sidewalk in front of it.

1313 Mockingbird Lane proved to be harder to find than I'd initially suspected. Not the least of which being because it was the address of a TV show family from the Sixties called The Munsters.

However, with a great deal of perseverance and after falling asleep at a gas station for four hours, I finally managed to find the place. At least, the numbers on the mailbox said 1313 and it was the kind of place you expected a author of grimdark epic fantasy to live in.

Basically, it looked like a haunted house.

Not just the, "it looked kind of run down and in need of being condemned" but "Scooby Doo and his friends should be checking this place for real estate fraudsters dressed as ghosts." The place was a Victorian looking place with castle-like towers on each side of the building, an overgrown yard, dead trees, and iron bars on the windows. The house had an extra-large front porch with a swinging bench that was covered in, I kid you not, ravens. The dead trees also sported branches full of crows, all of them looming like they'd stepped out of a Hitchcock movie.

The rest of the houses in the neighborhood were comparatively normal looking and I had to wonder if they had any opinions on the guy choosing to live like Norman Bates. Still, there was a clean concrete walkway up from the sidewalk to the door and it was only about eight thirty. I wish I could have called ahead but my employers hadn't given me Weis' number and I wasn't about to mention that my 'immediately' had utterly failed to be anything approaching such. I just hoped the old guy hadn't gone to bed.

Dude was almost eighty after all.

The bracelet on my wrist, which I hadn't figured out a way to remove yet, burned as I picked up the briefcase to my side and stepped out of my used Kia. The car had been a gift from my sister when she'd married her boss and let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was really hoping I could get a real job at some point. I'd managed to hold down my response that my job was more real than her breaking up a guy's marriage after a boob job.

Yeah. I was the younger sibling, could you tell?

Arwen "Wendy" Bartkowski, yes, our parents had named their kids after fictional lovers, had been yet another product of our fantasy loving household. Mama and Papa Bartkowski had both been Polish immigrants that had fallen in love with the world of J.R.R Tolkien and indoctrinated us in an everlasting love of fictional worlds.

Or at least that had been the plan.

The simple fact was that it had partially worked with me, but I primarily enjoyed fiction where the princes and princesses died horribly of dysentery. Arwen, by contrast, had formally rejected all things fantastic and the most fictional thing she enjoyed these days were episodes of The Bachelor and Masked Singer.

Heading up to the front door, I took a deep breath and proceeded to push the doorbell. That was when I noticed the crows all looking at me. They hadn't flown away at my presence but were just gazing at me like I was the new meat in the prison yard.

I gave them the peace sign. "Nevermore."

One of them, I swear, lifted its wing up as if it was flipping me off.

Before I could react to that strange turn of events, the door opened, and I found myself looking down at the five-foot three form of Larry C.C. Weis. He was a man with a long white beard, deep black eyes, and dirty ink-stained fingernails. He was dressed in a black Michigan Wolverines sweatsuit with its hoodie up that strangely reminded me of a wizard. He was wearing green Cthulhu house slippers, and I was briefly rendered senseless by the incongruity of the guy's appearance. I saw the exact same sort of bracelet I was wearing on his wrist as well. Its runes started to glow alongside mine.

"Uh, hey," I said, looking at my wrist.

"Welcome!" The man spoke in a voice that was higher pitched than I expected and threw his hands up in the air. "You're just in time!"

"Just in time for what?" I asked.

Larry responded by grabbing me by the arm and pulling me into his house before slamming the door behind me. All the crows jumped from their position on the front porch and lawn before filling the air with hundreds of flapping wings. I was briefly thrown by the experience and needed a second to re-orientate myself.

The interior of Larry C.C. Weis' home was enough to cause me to pause even more than any of the other weird things around me had before. It was, in simple terms, the ultimate fantasy man cave. On Youtube, I'd watched a video of Joe Manganiello's basement that he'd turned into a gigantic Dungeons and Dragons palace with a mounted dragon head, throne, and massive gaming table.

Dude had nothing on Weis.

The place's living room was full of bookshelves full of paperback fantasy of all sorts, a stuffed dragon about the size of a car standing up, a dining room table with a gigantic map of the Southern Kingdoms under glass, framed paintings of his characters along the wall (particularly the women), walls full of replica weapons, an antique looking globe, an owlbear rug (a replica surely), and a burning fireplace that had the heraldry of House Rose over it. The fireplace contained a bubbling cauldron on it as the place smelled of what I was pretty sure was a mixture of weed, incense, and verbena. I recognized all three from my last girlfriend, Nightchilde, who was a great believer in the paganism she'd learned from Amazon's recommended New Age reading list. Light orchestra music was playing from no discernible source.

"Wow," I said, staring. "Nice place."

No man who owned this place would ever get laid, but it was a nice place.

"Oh, I have hookers for that," Larry said, responding as if he could read my mind.

"Oh wow," I said, realizing I must have spoken that aloud. "Sorry."

"No need, no need," Larry said. "The world's oldest profession for a reason! So, you're Aragorn Bartkowski."

"So, they tell me," I said, overwhelmed. Much to my surprise, I noticed one of the ravens had gotten into the house and was sitting on the globe. That was when I noticed the globe was of the world of Mokosh, the setting for the Dark Undermaster saga. Seriously, this guy had clearly been given a lot of merch as part of whatever new deal he'd arranged with the Epic DungeoneeringTM folk.

"And you're of pure Slavic descent?" Larry asked.

I frowned. "I'm not sure you're legally allowed to ask that, sir."

"Eh, it's not a racism thing," Larry said, dismissively. "No one's blood is better or worse, but the magic is tied to the Earth and is tied to the blood. The Old Gods are hungry and spread their seed among certain lines. If you're going to invoke them, then you need to make sure that you have their lineage within the tithe. Otherwise, it doesn't work."

"Uh huh," I said, wondering if he was talking about his books. "The Old Gods."

"Perun, Svarog, Baba Yaga, Chernobog, and Veles. You know them, right?" Larry asked.

"I've read your books," I said. "So, I know the names and that Baba Yaga isn’t a god but the mother of all wicked witches. Otherwise, I only know Chernobog from Fantasia."

Larry smiled. "The kingdom of Ledziania existed once in the place where the Białowieża Forest stands today. It was the last place where the Old Gods were able to make their stand against the Christian knights and their Roman trained wizards. A dark pact was struck with Veles the God of Death, and he pulled the kingdom between this world as well as the next. The people of Ledziania were cheated, though, and the dead would harass them continuously."

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"Yeah, I've played the games too," I replied. "That's the premise for Eldritch Souls, right? You wrote the script for the third game?"

Larry frowned. "It is unfortunate that Ledziania keeps trying to come back to this world. It is now a place of black and foul magics that can only bring ruin as well as horror to this world. Sacrifices can keep it bound in its place between worlds but only a champion can lay to rest the spirits of the Old Gods long enough to preserve the world for another generation. Tell me, have you chosen a class yet?"

Larry C.C. Weis was simultaneously everything I could have hoped and clearly a complete nutjob. It was nice to know there were some genuine eccentrics out there and I wouldn't have been surprised if his creativity was, shall we say, "chemically enhanced."

"Not yet," I said, keeping my thoughts to myself. "I take it the bracelet is some sort of tie-in merchandise?"

"It is the Mark of the Champion," Larry said. "I have sent others into the living story but all of them have either failed to complete the main quest or simply died. The Old Gods are feasting upon these fallen heroes and growing stronger than they've ever before. I believe some of the heroes have even chosen to side with them in hopes of riches and power."

"Yeah, the option to go Black Alignment was something that was really popular in Dark Undermaster 1 and 2," I said. "It was a big mistake removing the chance to go evil in the third game. Majorly reduces replay value. After all, why save the world when you can rule it?"

Larry glared at me.

"Right, yeah," I muttered. "Heroism is good. Evil bad."

Larry shook his head. "I wrote the stories of the Dark Undermaster saga as a warning against fantasy losing its understanding of the costs of good versus evil. That the triumph of virtue was not always guaranteed and that it often had horrific costs."

"Yeah, when the first Dark Undermaster got his head cut off, I was hooked," I explained. "Not to mention the Bloody Dinner."

Larry narrowed his eyes. "Tell me, do you have the heart of a hero?"

I paused. "No."

Larry smirked. "At least you are honest. What about the heart of a mercenary? Gold, women, and blood in exchange for deadly adventure?"

"Uh, two of those sound good," I said, shrugging. "Honestly, I haven't had much time for relationships since taking this job. Nightchilde ended up dumping me for the guy who runs the vape shop. I was never much of a player but let's just say I was never too tired for her."

Okay, way too much information being shared here. Something about Larry made me want to open up to the guy, though. He was like a living Gandalf or, at least, Radagast the Brown.

Larry shrugged. "It will have to do, I suppose. My compact with the video game makers was that they would be rewarded so long as they could provide the chosen ones. The bracelet accepts you and we do not have many left."

As much as I was enjoying being with the cloud cuckoo lander, I unfortunately was coming here to protect my job. "Mr. Weis, I think you need to fill out these forms. We're all excited at Epic Dungeoneering—"

"Don't forget the trademark," Larry said.

"I'm glad you've completed the book," I said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sure that they'll make a fantastic game out of it."

Larry's expression became unreadable. "Would you like to take a look?"

I absolutely wanted to. "Would I? Absolutely."

The contract was forgotten, and I put the briefcase on the ground when Larry went over to a nearby bookshelf and removed a stack of several hundred pages with a contract on top of it. "Obviously, you'll have to sign the non-disclosure agreement on the top," Larry said, his voice taking the slightest bit of an edge.

I remembered Barbara had warned me about signing anything but, honestly, I hated my employers so why the hell not? Larry handed me a pen and I took the contract from the top of the manuscript.

I didn't immediately sign, though, for one obvious reason. "This is in Polish."

"Shame you can't read the mother tongue," Larry said.

"Yeah, well the Soviet Union dissolved when I was a newborn," I said, staring at the contract then the manuscript. "Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality."

"That's the French Revolution," Larry said. "In any case, I suppose you don't want to know what happened to Ser Garland after his death at the hands of his fellow Undermasters or whether I ever resolved the Dragon Queen's rule over the Slave Pits of Jorgoth—"

I signed the contract immediately. "Show me the new novel."

"I'll do you one better," Larry said. "You can live it."

Larry's smile became frightening as his black eyes turned red. That was when the glow on my bracelet became blinding.

I found myself on the ground, briefly blinded by the flash, and I wondered if I was losing my mind. I was sick of the bracelet and promotional item or not, it was something I didn't want on anymore. Reaching down to try and rip it off, I found my hand felt different. There was also smoke in the air, and I found myself coughing while a rank smell filled my nostrils akin to rotting meat. The heat from the fireplace now felt like it was all around me.

"Very funny, Larry," I replied, blinking rapidly. "But I think this needs a few more months in R&D before you release it. No one wants a flashbang around their wrist."

That was when I heard the screams.

My vision cleared to the sight of hell on Earth. I was in some kind of Medieval village with most of the place on fire and bodies surrounding me. The sky was black with a blood red moon hanging in the air crisscrossed with the smoke from the inferno around me. Looming above the village was a dark and foreboding castle made of black stone that seemed like something out of a heavy metal album cover, particularly with the dragons flying around in the air.

I was different too. I was bulkier and wearing a suit of damaged armor that felt like it was weighing me down like an anchor. I had a sword at my side as well, not a fake one either but a heavy one. Oh, and a cloak. It didn't take much to figure out where I was or, even, who I was. I was in the Southern Kingdoms of Mokosh. I was also dressed as one of the Dark Undermasters, demon hunters who had been largely wiped out before the events of the series by the Mad Queen of the Empire.

"Oh god," I said, taking a step back. "I am tripping balls."

Larry C.C. Weis must have slipped me something, except I hadn't drank or eaten anything in his presence. I might have been inhaling something but unless he'd been putting PCP mixed with fairy dust in the air, I doubted that would have the effect I was currently experiencing. No, I had to be dreaming still in the car and I was going to wake up any second now.

My denial lasted only about as long as it did to accidentally walk back into a burning house and feel a brief intense rush of heat that hurt like hell. As Eddie Murphy said in the 1980s classic, The Golden Child, you couldn't feel pain in a dream. No, as insane as it was, I'd somehow found myself transported into the fiction of my third favorite fantasy author.

"I wonder if I look like Henry Cavill now," I muttered, trying to get ahold of myself.

"You wish," a voice spoke from one of the nearby hut's roofs. "Personally, I think he was smart to do The Witcher instead of the other famous Eastern European high fantasy video game series."

I looked up to see a raven sitting where the voice was coming from.

"So, you're a talking raven," I said, pausing. "I'm entirely fine with that given the circumstances."

"Yes and no," the raven responded. "It's me, Jon."

I stared at him. "Snowman?"

"Snowan," Jon said, sounding very much like my coworker despite having a beak instead of a mouth. "Jesus, have you been getting my name wrong this entire time? We've been friends for like two years."

I got defensive. "We've been coworkers for like two years and I remind you that you thought my first name was Bart for half of them. Why are you a raven or is this going to be a place where the answers will just lead to more questions."

"I died," Jon said. "So, yes, they will do that. If you're a Champion in this world and die, you reincarnate into a raven,"

I stared at him. "Give me the incredibly short summary of what the hell is going on, please. The kind you could fit into a movie trailer."

“You’re trapped in a dark fantasy video game world based on a hack author’s rip off of better books.”

“Uh huh. Maybe you could be a bit more detailed.”

Things were too insane to disbelieve, ironically enough, or maybe I was just too stunned to retreat into denial.

"You're in Ledziania, the magical kingdom that inspired the Dark Undermaster books," Jon said. "Larry C.C. Weis is a wizard or druid or something and manufactured the bracelets with the power of the Earthmother to fight the Old Gods here. They're all batshit crazy now. The bracelet, or Mark of Champions as they call it here, gives you the power of a video game character. Epic DungeoneeringTM has been sending their programmers as human sacrifices in exchange for wealth as well as success. Mostly by adapting his books that he'd otherwise not license."

I stared at me. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm trapped in an isekai?"

"More like a LitRPG novel," Jon said. "But I know you weren't a fan of those. Think of it like a tabletop RPG only the violence is very real but so are the perks. You're now totally ripped, and every lady looks like they were made by horny nerd programmers. You know, people like us. Plus, magic is real."

"Uh huh," I said, not too concerned with that right now. "How the hell do I get out?"

"Why would you want that?" Jon asked. "This place is awesome."

I stared at the raven. "Until you die and develop a taste of carrion."

"There is that," Jon said. "I dunno, I guess you might be able to get out if you defeat the Old Gods."

"Defeat gods, is that all?" I asked, sarcastically.

"Hey man, just level up and do it," Jon said. "I was to level eighteen when I finally got capped and that was just because I thought I could ignore the recommended levels for the quest to bang the Dragon Queen. Turns out that's not a quest reward and her dragon had an autokill. Speaking of levels, have you chosen a class yet?"

"No," I muttered. "They were blacked out as an option."

"You should take care of that, like now," Jon said, his voice now sounding concerned.

"Why?" I asked.

That was when my bracelet glowed again with the words, BEGIN TUTORIAL. I heard the bracelet start playing the combat music theme from the games.

"That's why," Jon said. "You don't have any fighting skills yet."

"Ah crap," I muttered.

That was when the skeletons attacked.