It was a sunny afternoon when Riley Blake looked both ways to cross the street, stepped off the curb, and was promptly smashed by a drunk driver who ran the red light and took the corner at a truly breakneck speed. It was a blessedly instantaneous death.
From his point of view he had started to blink as his foot left the sidewalk, heard a terrible shriek of rubber on asphalt as he closed his eyes, and opened his eyes to find the urban sprawl around him had entirely vanished. Instead of standing on a city street he was in the middle of a strange void that seemed to stretch on for infinity. The sky above him was a blanket of glittering stars and rainbow-hued nebulae.
Though the region looked like the deepest void of space, it was an oddly warm area.
“Oh...” he simply said, reaching up and scratching at his russet mop of hair.
He knew at once that he was dead. A strange instinctive knowledge that his very soul reacted to. Yet he felt oddly calm about it. Either the reality had yet to sink in for him, or the tranquillity of this strange void had numbed whatever shock or horror he should have felt.
SO. HERE YOU ARE. A NEW WARDEN.
The voice that addressed him was dull and leaden, heavier a tectonic plate and older than stardust. A strange chill ran through him. His scrawny body turned, stepping on a strange translucent pane that seemed to be the ‘floor’ of this void, and he had to crane his neck to look into the eyes of the... thing that had just spoken.
It was a vast and towering spire of blackness, more than twice his height, the edges of his form smoking and rippling. He was pitch black all the way up to his head, which seemed to be a mask of carved stone that vaguely resembled a human face. Two burning garnets filled the sockets.
“Who... are you?” It was all Riley could think to ask.
THE ARBITER. I OVERSEE THE DEATHS OF HUMANS. YOU ARE DEAD, AND SO YOU HAVE BEEN SENT TO ME.
The voice was deep and thunderous. And yet it was less that the Arbiter spoke aloud, and more than his words echoed through the back of Riley’s mind.
“Are you... God?”
NOT AS YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND THE CONCEPT. BUT I SUPPOSE, FROM WHERE YOU STAND, ANY DISTINCTION WOULD BE MEANINGLESS AT BEST.
Well, Riley supposed he could take some amusement from knowing that every theologian in history was way off the mark when it came to the afterlife.
THIS IS THE POSTMORTEM. IT IS A SPACE THAT EXISTS BETWEEN SPACES, WHERE SOULS MIGRATE BETWEEN PLANES. FOR MOST, THE TRANSITION IS SO FAST THAT THEY DO NOT EVEN REGISTER IT. YOU, HOWEVER, ARE A SPECIAL CASE.
Riley’s jaw hung slightly ajar. “N-now hang on, I... I’m really not anything special! I-I’m just a medical intern!” His clothing was still in tact, at least, his scrubs showing none of the blood that had gushed across his mortal remains. He reached up with a trembling hand, lifting the lanyard carrying his ID. “W-whatever you want, you’ve probably made some kind of mistake.”
I DO NOT MAKE ‘MISTAKES’, RILEY BLAKE. YOUR SOUL IS MARKED. YOU HAVE GREAT POTENTIAL, AND NOW THAT POTENTIAL SHALL BE PUT TO USE. YOU, LIKE MANY OTHERS BEFORE YOU, WILL BE PUT ON THE PATH OF STRIFE.
“G-great potential? Who are you, my mother?” Riley asked.
The living spire of shadows bent down slightly, drawing his masked visage closer and closer to Riley. He shrank under that burning gaze.
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THERE ARE POWERS AT WORK FAR BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING. BUT YOU WILL, IN TIME, COME TO GRASP THE REALITY OF THE SITUATION. IT’S NOT MY JOB TO HOLD YOUR HAND, AND I’D RATHER NOT BELABOUR THIS SITUATION FOR MUCH LONGER. COME, CHOOSE YOUR CLASS.
“Class?” Riley asked, blinking in bewilderment.
A strange throb radiated in the back of his mind, sending a shudder down the length of his body. Blue light shimmered on the edges of his vision, followed by a series of card-like shapes flashing into his eyes. No matter where he looked, the cards followed him.
YOU WILL BE IN GREAT DANGER SOON ENOUGH. IT WOULD BE WISE TO PICK A CLASS TO AID IN YOUR SURVIVAL.
“What?!” Riley squawked.
HM. INTRIGUING. CLASSES ARE USUALLY CONSTRUCTED TO FIT THE APTITUDE OF EACH INDIVIDUAL. IN YOUR CASE, SOME OF THESE OPTIONS ARE... UNORTHODOX.
The cards glowed brighter and became more defined, each one depicting a humanoid figure. Though they were all bizarre in some way or another, drawn like characters from an old medieval manuscript.
“Back up, back up, what do you mean great danger’? I thought being dead meant you like... didn’t have to do anything! Eternal paradise and shit like that!”
NO.
Riley stared up at the shadowy figure of the Arbiter, his jaw hanging slightly ajar. In doing so, his eye wandered to one of the cards and focused on it. The image depicted a scrawny man in a flowing white robe, clutching a rapier in one hand and a coil of fire in the other.
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Church Silencer.
Devout assassin in the service of the Imperial Cathedral. Adept at swift attacks, stealth, and sporting a minor aptitude for holy magic.
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Riley blinked in confusion. His eye roamed again, now focusing on the next card in the sequence. This one depicted a man wearing a wolf pelt cloak, holding a bow and machete.
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Stray Huntsman.
Outlaws from the hinterlands, living beyond the reign of the kingdoms. Skilled at ranged combat and naturally gifted with alchemy.
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One by one his eyes checked the classes on offer, and Riley found himself increasingly confused by what he was seeing. He had played his fair share of video games in the past, plenty of RPGs for that matter, and some of these classes seemed far different to anything he was used to.
‘Mad Bomber’, ‘Grave Warden’, ‘Sewer Rat’... Strange classes, each one looking filthy or deranged in some capacity. And while the weirdness was one thing, what annoyed Riley the most was that few of these classes seemed even remotely useful.
The Mad Bomber sounded like he was more of a danger to himself than anyone around him!
“These are all meant to be based on my abilities?” he asked.
YES.
The arbiter sounded slightly surprised, hints of confusion filtering into his tone.
YOUR INTERESTS IN LIFE WERE OF A MORE SCHOLARLY BEND. THUS NONE OF YOUR CLASSES ARE PARTICULARLY COMBAT ORIENTED. EVEN SO, I QUESTION THE LOGIC IN SOME OF THESE CLASSES.
Riley’s eyes eventually came to rest on a card that had a rather imposing figure on it. Tall and lean, adorned in a pitch black robe, a beak-like mask covering his face.
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Plague Wizard.
Disciples of the dark goddess Aqar’Ghul, wielding pestilence as their weapon. Naturally gifted at magic, their spells involve controlling disease and miasma.
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Riley frowned. He knew all too well how dangerous diseases could be. The power to control plagues at will? A powerful weapon indeed. And, in the past, he had often leaned toward playing wizards and spellcasters in games. He was under no illusions when it came to his own physical abilities.
If he was in a fight, he’d prefer to have range on his side.
“Look, I... I don’t understand any of this. What do you mean when you say I’ll be in danger?” His hand drifted toward the image of the Plague Wizard. “Why.. me? What’s going to happen to me?”
THE PATH OF STRIFE. YOU WILL BE SENT TO ANOTHER WORLD, AN AGENT OF THE GODS CHOSEN TO CLEANSE THE AGENTS OF THE MALFORMED CHAOS. YOU MUST SEEK THE AGENTS OF ROT, WAR, DEATH, AND CONQUEST. SLAY THEM WHERE YOU FIND THEM, AND GROW STRONGER FROM YOUR VICTORIES.
Riley stared at him in bewilderment for several moments. “What?” This was the afterlife? Being sent off to some other world to fight... monsters?
THE WAR AGAINST THE MALFORMED CHAOS IS ONE WITHOUT END. ONE THAT MUST BE WAGED ETERNALLY. YOU, A WARDEN, BEAR A SOUL CAPABLE OF CONTENDING WITH THIS THREAT. IF YOU HAVE THE RESOLVE AND STRENGTH TO EMBRACE YOUR POTENTIAL, AT LEAST.
“That doesn’t help at all!” Riley cried. The more the Arbiter spoke, the more confused Riley became. The only way this bizarre situation could feel even more Kafkaesque was if he suddenly transformed into a giant insect.
The card of the Plague Wizard flashed in his eyes.
Class selected. Do you wish to be a Plague Wizard?
The voice in his head was soft and feminine, a stark contrast to the grave and booming tones of the Arbiter. It did little to put him at ease.
“I... guess so,” Riley murmured. With one or two exceptions, the other classes hardly seemed appealing. Plagues, however, seemed too good to pass up as far as weapons went. Assuming, at least, he had total control over them.
The cards vanished from Riley’s vision in streams of glittering blue light. A warm light washed over him, pulling a small gasp from the young man. He swayed, nearly falling over from the strange rush of sensations that assaulted his body.
YOUR CLASS IS CHOSEN, AS IS YOUR DESTINY. GO FORTH, WARDEN. CLEANSE THE CHAOS FROM KERBEROS. YOUR ORACLE WILL SHOW YOU THE WAY.
“W-wait, hold up, I have so many more questions-”
IT IS NOT MY JOB TO ANSWER THEM. FAREWELL.
The Arbiter raised a clawed shadowy hand, gesturing vaguely toward Riley. A white light flew forth and suddenly engulfed him, blinding him. The Postmortem melted away before another syllable could form on his lips.
Spirited away to another world as a freshly-minted Plague Wizard.