Awakening to a throbbing headache and the sensation that his bones were on the verge of crumbling was far from Sinclair's ideal morning. A muted groan escaped him, accompanied by an internal vow to abstain from alcohol, as he clumsily tumbled from his bed onto the chilly wooden floor. Sinclair resided in his family's farmhouse on the town's periphery. Thankfully, the nearest neighbors were quite some distance away, ensuring his groan—and the subsequent muffled yelp from the jarringly cold contact with the floor—went unheard.
"What on Earth happened last night?" he murmured, racking his brain for any recollection of the evening's events. It wasn't his first time waking up bewildered, devoid of memories from the night before. However, this unnerving intensity of discomfort was an unwelcome novelty.
Rubbing his temples, Sinclair tried to piece together fragmented memories of the previous night. The slow realization that he had not gone drinking the previous night dawned on him. Curling up into a smallish ball, he fervently wished the pain would simmer down. This was worse than that time he got kicked in the bag at summer camp because that asshole Larkens was poking the horse with a stick. Yes, this was much worse since it was like that, but everywhere. His chest was unbearably tight, which was annoying. Rolling on the floor, he thought that this was what having a heart attack must feel like.
"Come on... move," Sinclair whispered urgently, mentally willing his body into action to seek some relief.
Sinclair's stubbornness was a trait he wore like a badge of honor. While he might not be the sharpest tool in the shed regarding bookish knowledge, he had a natural knack for connecting with people. He excelled in solving puzzles and was driven by an insatiable curiosity that often bordered on recklessness. He often mused that if he were a cat, he might've burned through all nine lives by now, given his penchant for diving headfirst into perilous situations.
His younger years were particularly adventurous, with his tiny, resilient frame diving headfirst into all sorts of mischief. Between testing the limits of 'how things work' and 'what makes things explode,' his younger self was a walking calamity. Surviving bouts of childhood illnesses combined with his daredevil stunts, it's a wonder he made it past childhood—a fact his parents often half-jokingly attributed to the "Sinclair Syndrome" while pointing to their prematurely greying hair.
But now, at the age of 24, with a towering height of 6 foot 4 inches and a physique honed by rugby, Sinclair found himself on the floor, feeling as if every past injury and ailment had resurfaced, uniting in a cruel symphony of pain.
Placing one large hand on the floor next to his bald head, he pushed with not an inconsiderable amount of force to leverage himself into a seated position next to his bed. Unfortunately, his genetics said he would receive his family's receding hairline earlier than most. In an attempt to not be that guy doing a comb-over or trying to hide his appearance. He embraced it and shaved his head. He more closely resembled his Norse ancestors, who were big, bald, and bearded.
Back leaning against his bed frame, legs splayed out in front of him; he started to take stock and make sure there was no actual injury.
"hmm.. all ten toes and ten fingers," he muttered. No blood or broken bones were found, so that was a positive. Muttering to himself about staying down would make the soreness worse. He made to rise to his feet this time. With a grunt and a curse, he leveraged himself up to his feet and started rummaging through his nightstand, looking for his trusty Tylenol.
After gulping down the painkillers, Sinclair gathered a fresh set of clothes, preparing himself for a quick shower. He had to brush off the dust from the previous week's events and gear up for what was supposed to be a week of relaxation. He had meticulously planned a beach vacation, envisioning serene sunsets with his girlfriend of three years. However, to his dismay, she had spent it with her "work husband" instead. Their relationship had been on rocky ground for some time now, and while Sinclair wasn't keen on forcing things, the sting of her decision was palpable.
While they hailed from different worlds, he had found solace in the familiar comfort of their bond. He'd assumed that comfort was all that mattered. His friends had always been wary of her, sensing their disparities. But now, as the reality of the situation set in, he pondered on salvaging his vacation. He could invite his close buddies to join him. After all, the reservation was non-refundable, and it was foolish to waste a perfect beach vacation.
Lost in this whirlpool of thoughts, he stepped into the spacious, tiled shower—a testament to his recent DIY venture. His father's wisdom often echoed in his ears: "If you're not going to be rich, you better be resourceful." Sinclair embodied that philosophy, a versatile man skilled in various tasks. His curiosity meant he was always eager to learn a new skill or hobby. That is until another interesting project caught his eye. He was, in essence, constantly drawn to the allure of the new and the unexplored.
Exiting the steaming shower, tendrils of mist swirling around him, Sinclair swiftly secured a towel around his waist before approaching the fogged-up bathroom mirror. With the back of his hand, he wiped away the condensation that had obscured the glass, revealing an unexpected sight.
His eyes widened as he focused on his chest's unfamiliar markings. These intricate designs comprised a web of delicate lines and precise dots, forming patterns that eerily resembled the constellations he had seen during stargazing sessions with his ex-girlfriend. She possessed a unique talent for effortlessly identifying these celestial formations, a skill he could only admire from the sidelines. While Sinclair had a knack for deciphering patterns in behaviors and systems, the art of seeing constellations in the scattered stars of the night sky had always eluded him. How did one look at those seemingly random points of light and discern the shape of a warrior or a mythical beast among them?
However, his thoughts were momentarily derailed by the realization of the markings' sudden appearance. They certainly had not been there the previous night. The patterns looked like aged scar tissue—white and slightly raised. Yet, they were fresh. Just as he was considering a trip to the clinic, a sharp pain lanced through his chest, causing his breath to hitch.
Heart attack? The thought barely registered before his vision started to blur. As he fell, the cold floor rushing towards him, a flurry of thoughts flashed through his mind—thoughts of all the untasted beers, the untried foods, the adventures left unexplored. The cruel irony of his solitude struck him; in his remote farmhouse, it might be days before anyone discovered him. As darkness encroached, a rueful thought lingered: "Of all the ways to go, this is just my luck."
*****
Kafor looked on with bated breath as the process started. "Here we go," she thought to herself. "No turning back now".
*Scan Complete*
*Consuming template*
*ERROR - No Host found for consumption pattern*
*Error log captured continue with process*
*Assigning stats and abilities per new Subroutine Koraline*
*Assigning Complete*
*Awakening Seed Host*
*Error log captured and sent to Architect*
Skimming through the intricate logs, her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. The unexpected data packet sent to The Architect was a red flag she hadn't anticipated. A protocol of that level was reserved for catastrophic events or vital information exchanges. But this... this was different.
Pushing aside her immediate concerns, she prioritized the task at hand. Monitoring the subject—Sinclair—was crucial. Anomalies, no matter how minuscule, could have ramifications on a much larger scale. While there was a contingency plan to restart the test if it failed, the implications of such an action were not lost on her.
But it was the planet itself that held an even greater mystery. While scanning the planet they discovered a broken and shattered node system already laid out. The discovery of an existing nexus node layout was unprecedented. The faint energy signature that the scanners detected suggested prior intervention or an ancient power source yet to be unearthed. Though the energy levels were too minimal to effect any significant change, the mere presence was enough to send ripples of intrigue through her.
The question now loomed: Had another entity or system tampered with this planet before? And if so, to what end? The stakes had just been raised, and she was on the brink of uncovering a cosmic puzzle that spanned eons.
*****
"Why can't I move? What's happening?" Sinclair's mind raced, grappling with thoughts he'd never anticipated. The grogginess he'd expect from a long sleep was absent. Instead, he felt an odd detachment, as if floating in an endless void, separated from his body. Was this what being dead felt like, or was he in a coma and unable to move? He could feel panic setting in while he tried to control his breathing.
In the periphery of his consciousness, a vague presence hinted at something watching him. Some entity, perhaps, monitoring him? He strained to focus, attempting to hone in on the sensation, but the direction remained elusive—like trying to pinpoint a whisper carried by the wind.
Gradually, from the depths of the void, a distant glimmer of light approached, growing brighter and more defined with each passing moment. As it drew nearer, it took on the form of a luminous screen, presenting an array of unsettling data—if what it displayed held any truth.
Sinclair blinked, trying to bring the luminous screen into focus. Words and numbers floated before him, and he slowly began to digest the information.
Name: Sinclair Hagerson
Race: Human
Level: 0
Rank: F
Path: None
Class:
Health 160
Mana 140
Stamina 160
Strength: 20
Agility: 15
Constitution: 16
Intelligence: 14
Willpower: 19
Endurance: 16
Luck: 21
Available Points: 0
Titles:
Midgard's Progenitor - As the first among your kind and a progenitor of the planet itself, you hold the esteemed title of "Midgard's Progenitor." In your role, you are expected to lead and shape the destiny of your kind and the world they inhabit, embodying the responsibilities of a true leader.
Grants Skill: Yggdrasil's Authority (Legendary) - As the torchbearer of a new human epoch, you possess the commanding presence of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, itself. This ability allows you to exert unparalleled authority and guidance. When activated, you emanate an aura of profound leadership, bolstering the morale and skills of any ally within a 100-meter radius. Your presence inspires them, granting a +5 bonus to all stats. It can be activated once every 24 hours, harnessing the ancient power of Yggdrasil to lead your allies to victory.
Stolen story; please report.
+5 to all Attributes base
Direct Access to Universal Market
Access to Dimensional Training World
Abilities:
Skald's Tongue - Bestowed with the divine ability reminiscent of Odin's wisdom, this power allows its bearer to comprehend and converse fluently in any language, including those long consigned to the annals of history as "dead languages." Just as the Allfather's ravens, Huginn and Muninn, brought him knowledge from all corners of the world, this gift grants its possessor the knowledge of tongues, quickly unlocking the secrets of ancient scripts and forgotten dialects.
Blessings:
No Blessings are available. 1 Active monitoring. Midgard's Crucible is available. Accept Yes/No
Sinclair furrowed his brow as he absorbed the peculiar information displayed before him. His voice blended frustration and bewilderment as he mumbled to himself as if his words could alter the strange circumstances. "Level 0? Rank F? What is this, a video game?"
His gaze remained fixed on the text, his unease growing with each line he read. "Path: None. Class: None. Titles: 1."
He paused, attempting to make sense of this surreal situation. "Health, Mana, Stamina... These sound like RPG stats. But why? Why is all of this... about me?" His voice echoed softly in the vast emptiness that surrounded him.
The information continued to swirl in his mind, sending ripples of confusion through his understanding. As he scrutinized the name and description of his Ability, "Skald's Tongue," he couldn't help but notice the distinctly Norse mythology-inspired names. "Where is all of this coming from?"
With a resigned sigh, or at least the sensation of one, Sinclair accepted the challenge of unraveling the enigma before him. "This is the most perplexing afterlife scenario ever. But I have to figure it out, one step at a time," he decided.
Sinclair found himself in contemplation, his thoughts racing to comprehend the bewildering information. "I must've had some sort of stroke, and this is some twisted afterlife," he mused, his words echoing in the surreal space. He tried to shake his head, but his physical form felt distant and intangible. The screen dominated his vision, its enigmatic contents challenging his every assumption.
The idea that he had become a character in a game or a protagonist in one of the Gamelit novels he so often enjoyed felt preposterous, yet the evidence was in front of him. He faced a choice: accept this new reality or resist it. Sinclair had never been one to succumb to panic; instead, he preferred to roll with life's unpredictable punches. Perhaps this was merely the next unexpected chapter in the grand tapestry of his eccentric existence, or he was crazy.
Determinedly, he scrutinized the screen, methodically dissecting each entry it presented. While the stats were relatively straightforward, the traits, skills, abilities, and blessings posed an intricate puzzle. As his mind delved deeper into these riddles, an intense pressure began to build behind his eyes, a growing sense of urgency demanding his attention.
Amid his contemplation, a System Message abruptly interrupted his introspection.
New Skill:
Valkyrie's Gaze (Rare) - It traces its lineage to the ancient tale of Mímir, the wise being who guarded the Well of Wisdom beneath the roots of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Mímir's knowledge and foresight were unmatched, and it is said that he possessed a unique ability to perceive the world's true nature.
As you acquired this skill before completing the System, it has become an artifact of more incredible rarity and power. Valkyrie's Gaze bestows upon you the essence of Mímir's ancient wisdom. With it, you can peer beyond the surface of items, unlocking their hidden potential and unraveling their intricate purposes. Like Mímir, you see the world's secrets and the myriad ways objects can be harnessed to serve your quest for understanding and survival.
Effects:
1. Analyze items and people for System information
2. Offers a small probability of discovering crafting recipes or blueprints.
As Sinclair finished reading the prompt his surroundings gradually became more solid, his bathroom resolving into sharper detail. He ran his fingers through his hair, a sense of bewilderment lingering as he tried to make sense of the inexplicable events that had transpired. The idea that he might have dozed off and dreamt of this bizarre experience seemed tempting, but the intricate information that had been displayed before him on the screen defied all logical explanations.
His thoughts raced as he lay on the bathroom floor, and he considered the implications of this newfound "status" screen. Could he control it with his thoughts? He thought about the word "Status", half-expecting nothing to happen, but it returned immediately.
A mix of incredulity and excitement surged within him. This was unlike anything he had ever encountered in his life. He chuckled again, the sound carrying a hint of nervousness. "If this is a dream, it's the most vivid one I've ever had."
His gaze fixed on the word "Status," Sinclair pondered the significance of the otherworldly presence he had sensed earlier. Could it be responsible for granting him these abilities? And why had it chosen him to monitor? The questions weighed heavily on his mind, making him hesitant to make any hasty decisions, especially concerning the enigmatic "Midgard's Crucible." For now, he decided, he would explore this newfound power methodically, one step at a time.
Attempting to stand, Sinclair inadvertently used too much force. The result? He shot a foot into the air and landed heavily on his hip with a dull thump. "Guess those stats aren’t just numbers," he grumbled, "and a +5 boost isn’t trivial." With more caution, Sinclair gently pushed himself to a seated position to avoid another accidental mishap.
Inspecting his form, he noted the evident changes. Those hints of a 'dad bod' had vanished, replaced with a more sculpted appearance. Though he had always been in shape, the new definition was a marked improvement. With careful intent, he rose to his feet. The world felt... different. It wasn’t just the physical strength he could sense coursing through him; it was an elevated level of energy and vitality. It mirrored the exhilarating rush from a strong cup of coffee, the afterglow of a satisfying meal, and the initial buzz from a sip of top-tier craft beer.
"Adjustments are definitely in order," he mused, slipping into comfy loungewear. His stomach's loud, persistent grumble made its demands clear: food and now. As he ambled towards the kitchen, he felt an odd sensation, almost as if he were wearing platform shoes. Had he grown taller? That was a mystery for later. Presently, the imminent threat of a hunger-induced rebellion demanded his attention.
Flinging open the fridge, he scanned its contents before indiscriminately grabbing whatever he could get his hands on. Sinclair’s mind raced with questions and concerns as he devoured his makeshift feast. What prompted this sudden transformation? Was it borne of whimsy from some omnipotent being, or was there a more significant purpose at play? More pressingly, was he alone in this predicament? One thing was sure: his grocery bill was about to increase.
Munching on another slice of cold-cut turkey, Sinclair pondered the enormity of the situation. If this sudden augmentation of appetite was universal, the implications for the planet's food supply were staggering. As he bit into a slightly too soggy pickle, he envisioned a world of super-powered individuals with insatiable appetites. "Whole farms would vanish overnight," he mused aloud.
Letting out a light chuckle at the absurdity of his current situation, Sinclair decided to park those concerns for later. After all, in the immediate term, his primary concern was figuring out how his body was adjusting post-transformation. However, that mealtime mishmash was beginning to revolt in his stomach. Grumbling with a mix of satisfaction and forewarning, it was clear that combining such a variety of foods in such a short time frame might have been a tad... unwise.
Pacing back and forth, Sinclair mumbled to himself, trying to sort through the flurry of thoughts and emotions storming inside him. "All right, Sinclair, think this through. One step at a time."
He flexed his arm, examining the newfound definition in his muscles. "First off, how have these changes in stats affected my body?" He pondered aloud, "I can see the physical changes, but what else has shifted under the surface? Stamina, reflexes, agility?"
Stopping momentarily, he closed his eyes and focused, trying to summon the screen he had seen earlier mentally. "Are there any other screens or interfaces I can access? Inventory, skills, abilities...what else does this system offer?"
Suddenly, a loud rumble from his stomach interrupted his thoughts. "Oh, for the love of... right, definitely need more food. And lots of it," he exclaimed, dreading his wallet's impact.
His analytical mind began to whirl. "Now, if this is some system or game-like reality, there must be ways to maximize or exploit it. How can I game this system? Are there loopholes, shortcuts, hidden abilities to unlock?"
Lastly, his thoughts drifted to his friends. He'd shared countless adventures with them, but nothing like this. "Should I even tell them what's happened? Would they believe me? Would they think I'm crazy? Am I crazy? Work has been going strangely with the new contracts and then the GF cheating thing. Now I have superpowers apparently."
Deep in thought, Sinclair felt the weight of the unknown pressing on him. Yet, amidst the confusion, there was a spark of excitement. A new chapter was unfolding, and the story was beginning with him for some reason.
What other features did this system have if the status screen appeared with just a thought? He mentally prompted "Skills," "Inventory," "Map," and a variety of other terms he remembered from his game-lit novels. Each attempt was met with varied success, revealing more layers to the system embedded within him.
System-
Status
Inventory
Skills
Paths
Each of these three would bring new screens up. He needed one of those yellow guidebooks, 'For Dummies,' that he saw in the bookstore.
Gaming the system felt like it was going to be a puzzle since there seemed to be no 'help' section. This was one challenge he was eager to take on. If he had new skills, could he train them? Improve them? Combine them in ways the system didn't expect.
Sinclair called up what he thought of as the inventory screen. Before him materialized an image reminiscent of the Vitruvian Man, accompanied by adjacent boxes corresponding to different body regions, presumably slots for items. With a focused gaze, Sinclair mentally selected his shirt and sweatpants, akin to navigating with a computer mouse.
Item - T-shirt - Common - No bonuses
Item - Sweatpants - Common - No bonuses
"Well, that provides some clarity, at least," he mused aloud. He needed to find objects with distinct attributes to test this identification skill properly. "Maybe the tutorial phase will introduce more intriguing items to examine," he pondered.
With growing anticipation, Sinclair shifted his attention to another feature: the Universal Market to which he had been granted access.
*Universal Market* - Market access will be granted post-tutorial.
Options: Buy/Sell/Auction
Sinclair sighed, "Looks like patience is the name of the game for now." This was turning out to be super helpful, he thought sarcastically. He could reach the screen, but not being able to see what was and was not available was only teasing him. Could he buy a lightsaber with the right amount of money?
*Paths* - No Path Available
Paths are not found or expressly chosen. A path expresses who you are and what you can become. Will you follow the path of the Monarch and lead your subjects to greatness, or will you choose the path of the Deadly Nightshade and delve into the Deeps? The only important thing is that you be true to your Path because falling off that Path will end in a fate worse than death.
His last screen was slightly more helpful. There needed to be more information pertinent to him, but it did show a small blurb on the main page, giving some insight into what a Path was. He had no idea what his path was going to be. He thought about who he was as a person. He felt he was kind to people, supporting those in need, and firm when necessary. Time would tell what his Path was, and he was excited to get there.
One thing was for certain he wanted to see some immediate benefits if the screens weren't going to give him anything. He would put himself through a workout and some physical training. He was used to that level of effort so any changes would be immediately noticeable he figured.