Timmy died to a truck. He wasn't trying to save a girl that would cure cancer, or anything. He was chasing a ball. Perhaps it would help to mention that Timmy was eight years old and trucks weren't supposed to drive through his suburban cul-de-sac.

His neighbor, however, was driving a rental moving truck from a five-letter company and was very tired after a whole day driving through the Mojave desert. He was laid off by a big tech company and... I digress.

Timmy opened up his eyes. He was in pain a moment ago but now he felt fine. The cognitive dissonance was just ignored by his eight-year-old brain. He looked around and saw fluffy clouds drifting on the ground, just like that time when they went to visit uncle Joseph in Vermont during the winter to ski.

"Fog!" He shouted and giggled.

"Yes, fog." A man's voice said.

Timmy looked up. The man was wearing a white shirt that reached his knees and no pants, just like that time Timmy put on dad's work shirt and pretended he was the breadwinner of the home. Then his mom lectured him on how she earned more than dad along with something about making roofs out of glass. Timmy didn't understand that part very well.

"Hello, stranger. I cannot talk to you."

"I'm not a stranger," the stranger replied. "I'm God."

"Blasphemy," Timmy made his best aunt Betty impersonation. "You're not God! God is way cooler than you are."

"I'm not that God, true," the oversized shirt stranger mused, swallowing his pride. "But I'm his friend."

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Are you an angel?"

"For legal purposes, I must deny that claim. But I am something very similar to an angel."

"Okay. Are you a lawyer angel?"

"I'm still studying for the bar exam."

"Okay."

"Timmy, I need you to go to a new world."

"I want to go home!"

"Your home is not in this world. I can send you to a world that is allegedly closer to your home, at least they are in the same category as lower planes."

"I'm calling the police!"

"Okay."

"No, you are supposed to play the bad guy and say 'anything but that'."

"Anything but that! I'll send you the closest to home that I can, Timmy! But don't call the police!"

Timmy put his arms akimbo. "That's better!"

"Do you want me to send you the closest to home I can?"

"I want to go home!"

"But before you go, I need to grant you a power. Is there anything you want? Anything you like?"

"I like cheese! Molten cheese!"

"I'll grant you the power to conjure as much cheese as you want then."

"Awesome!" Timmy gave the stranger a thumbs up.

"Goodbye, kid. I hope you can save the world!"

A hole opened underneath Timmy's feet and he plummeted.

.

.

.

Throne room, some inconsequential kingdom on the verge of being overrun by demons, a world that while technically closer to Timmy's home than the place he was before, was still as easy to reach as the Great Magellanic Cloud. Without the Yamato.

"It's working!" A man in brown robes with a white beard so long it covered his navel cheered. All around him, other people in similar brown robes and equally exhausted congratulated themselves.

A blinding light shone from some geometric scribbles on the ground, and when people regained their sense of sight, they saw a tiny kid in the middle of the scribbles.

"This is not home!" Timmy complained. "I want my mom!"

A glowing blue screen appeared in front of him.

> You gained the Cheesemancer Class!

> You learned the Summon Cheese spell!

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Timmy the Cheesemancer, by MDW. Coming to Royal Road whenever.

[https://i.imgur.com/LgrXuPWm.png]