Mangled through the chaotic vortex, Otis was forced through a maelstrom of violent energies. Encapsulated in a world of spinning lines and deep space, it felt like his innards were mulched and forced through the eye of a needle. As though he was on a particularly sadistic rollercoaster, Otis felt his stomach churn. Stings of lights slowly began to peter out before a shock of darkness enveloped everything and a new world burst forth. A kaleidoscope of pictures exploded before shifting into one.

Otis blanched as the world collided back to a singular multi-colour image. Tasting acrid metal, blood spilt from his lips as he tried to reorientate himself. Unsteady, it wasn’t until Tiera clapped his back that he stumbled forward and out of his stupor. It was like his brain was desperately trying to figure out what was going on and where half a million electro-chemical messages had gone missing. Tiera’s smack was a casual blow and yet he could swear he heard his spine creak. Gradually the ringing of his ears ebbed away.

“… is he even listening? I mean look at him, the cults must have bashed all but two brain cells out his skull. I mean is he just a Cretin? Magnus be damned, did you bring me a cretin, Tiera?”

Otis looked simply from Tiera to the man in front of him, unsure what was happening, though he was quite sure he may well be the cretin they spoke of.

The man looked stern but worn. Heavy lines were sunken deep into his features. Short, sharp, scarred lines dashed across his face. It was clear he had fought an untold number of battles or been hit but some shrapnel-laden attack. Otis had a keen sense that it was a combination of the two. Despite his wounds, the man held an air of majesty and, if Tiera was anything to go by, some kind of extreme power. The subtle heft of musculature beneath the fold of his black cloak made it obvious that he was a physical powerhouse, let alone any abilities he might have.

Standing, the folds of his cloak parted to reveal the sheer size of the man. By no means was the man’s physique subtle. Otis knew he was no basketball player but this guy had to be at least eight feet tall. He had to crane his neck back to meet the man’s stare, something that seemed increasingly more difficult to do with each step down from his podium.

Behind his cloak, the man wore an intricate set of plated armour across his chest and heavy sets of shoulder guards. As he descended the stairs of his throne, Otis felt a shiver down his spine with each step. Whether it was the man or his armour, the ground quaked with a Herculean weight each time the giant took a step forward.

“One of the cult’s automatons got through our defences, Lord. We had time to set the perimeter and ensure an area of condensed space was in operation but we didn’t have the time we had wanted to prepare.”

“Sir will do, I’m a general not the rightful overlord of this Veil but that explains a few things then,” the giant said, “explains why he’s burnt and busted at least… and why it looks like he’s got a mechanical skill. The boy’s got talent, albeit a potential lack of brain cells… Actually, can we get Suzia in here, I’ve burnt toast in better shape than this kid.”

For all his disorientation, Otis was now sure the “Cretin” they had spoken of was him. He could still feel his skin sizzle; a sensation that had gotten noticeably more painful. If the man wasn’t such a behemoth he might have told him where he could stick insults like that.

“Right…” the man sighed, “trying this again, I am Thescene, temporary Lord of the Veil and General of its armies. You have powers, the world you knew is an illusion. You can stay or you can go but you will not have our protection if you decide to leave. You are not my priority, you will abide by our rules, you will serve The Veil as we see fit. Stay or leave that’s your choice. Tell Tiera what you decide…”

With that, Thescene, the giant of a man, was interrupted by a hurried messenger from a side entrance.

“… get out,” he said with a dismissing tone. The gruff notes of the man’s voice reverberated within Otis’ ears, even in after the “Lord” had turned his attention.

Otis realised he had meant him and Tiera, as she grabbed at the remains of his top and dragged him away.

Pulled away from the flippant, so-called “Lord”, Otis finally took in his surroundings. It seemed that the entirety of the compressed space and all the gore within it had been transported with them. They were stood in a vast hall. Looming pillars held up a distant ceiling. Decorated with stunning art, delicate mouldings, and a lined with otherworldly statues, the room could have looked like an ancient pantheon of the Gods. Whilst it was incredible, everything was tinged with grating imperfections. The art bore tears, the pillars held shattered scars, and the statues were either chipped, cracked, broken, or outright decimated. Otis didn’t know what he expected from a magical ruling society but it wasn’t the wizarding world he had imaged. As terrifying as Thescene was, the throne had been refined but dented, crafted yet warped. It was clear that, for whatever reason, these almighty figures were far from all-powerful.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Impolitely yanked out of the hall, through a set of doors large enough for two giant Thescene’s stacked on top of each other to fit through, they were met by a woman. Thankfully, she looked like she would be far more pleasant than Tiera or Thescene, who had been fairly awful hosts thus far.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to take in but it’s an absolute shitstorm at the moment. I’ve got some time to tell you what’s what but that’s all. Suzia could you try and fix…” Tiera gestured to Otis generally, “… that.”

Suzia chuckled lightly at Tiera’s exasperation. Clearly, she understood the woman more than Otis did.

The woman, rolled up her sleeves, to reveal a plethora of golden bracelets stacked far up her arms. Each band was engraved with a runic language across it, each etched mark faultless in its construction. Rattling gently, an aura pulsed out from Suzia, a dull white light emanating across her arms.

“I brought you here as somewhere safe to grow until you can stand on your own two feet. Of course, in return for safety, we expect fealty. Serve The Veil and The Veil provides, basically. That’s food, shelter, and relative safety. Depending on your skill set you might be asked to join a squad on recon missions like mine, build stuff, heal, divine the list goes on…”

At this point, Suzia had readied herself and brought a hand to a hover next to Otis’ face. Although he flinched at the prospect of pain, he was pleasantly surprised that his face immediately began to cool. In his peripheral vision, Otis could see a red haze emanate from his facial wounds, as Suzia worked. The taut, seared, skin slowly softened across his face.

“You can agree and stay or you can leave now. It’s not much of a choice but we’re spread too thin to babysit you right now. If you agree to serve, I can show you to your living quarters. You’ll find a basic guide and a map of the place but you’ll be left to your own devices until either myself or someone else can give you more time.”

The rush and panic of the whole situation left Otis feeling emotional. It was a lot to take in and he wasn’t left with any real choice. Either enter what felt like servitude or be sent packing to be devoured by rogue forces outside. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

“I-I’ll stay…” Otis said, crestfallen.

Suzia was working wonders on his crushed arm now and with light pops and crack everything was slowly uniting. It wasn’t entirely painless but bone was shifting amongst torn flesh, so it made sense that it came with a modicum of pain.

“Hopefully you can make peace with this decision on your own terms, in the future. You’re safe now but it won’t be easy here.” Tiera declared. “Come on.”

Tiera led Otis down several ornate avenues, all showing the same signs of dilapidation as the large hall. Suzia was a comforting presence, as she cupped the hand Otis had turned into a gnarly pulp. Having a hand that was something more than a misshapen stump was nice and the magic infusing itself into the last fractures and breaks was fairly pleasant too. By the time they had made their way through the labyrinth of wherever they were, Otis knew he would be lost without some kind of map. Thankfully, Tiera had said there would be one for him when he was set up. If he did get lost though, would anyone care if he perished within winding halls? The thought was brief but he felt a fear in his core. He didn’t know much about his new world but it didn’t seem that anyone cared much for life, especially not weak ones.

‘The Bunks - level 1-4’ was written across a makeshift sign, that had been staked into the wall. Given that magic seemed to be a thing, Otis wondered whether the simple task had been completed with magic or if some giant, like their Lord and general, had roughly speared the wall through with brute strength alone.

“It’s not much and, look, I know it’s a lot to take in but you’ve gotta bear with it. The enchantments for the usual rooms are pretty busted. They’re not broken but we don’t have the manpower to fix them up, so this is the best we’ve got, at least for newbies at the moment.” Tiera sighed, “the world… it’s not as it used to be.”

Tiera sounded genuinely sad about that but the emotion was lost on Otis as he looked across some ten beds packed into the room. Metal frames painted an identical shade of camo-green were packed into the room; had the magically suspended book and pamphlet not been present, everything would have looked thoroughly mundane.

“There’s no one else that’s made it here yet so you’re on your own for the time being.”

“How come there’s no one else, yet?” Otis remarked.

“No one else made it out alive,” Tiera answered firmly.

“You’re full of good news,” Otis remarked, as Tiera left him with yet another bitter truth.

“The Veil’s stretched too thin to rescue everyone… and we lost some good men trying to get them, it’s not just you that’s suffering at the moment, Otis.”

“You should be all healed now,” Suzia added, trying to find a silver lining. “You have a guide and map next to your bed. You’re going to be alright, Otis. It’s good to have you with us. I’ll be sure to keep tabs on you.”

Suzia had tried to be comforting but Otis felt a vast weight of expectation now looming over him. Had his survival come at the cost of others? If he couldn’t perform would they throw him to the proverbial wolves, or the much more real twisted steel and flesh he’d seen so far?

With the last exchange, they left him there. Alone again, Otis took the furthest bed in the back left corner, hoping that might create some semblance of privacy. He took a firm grasp of his newly reconstructed arm and wrung his unmushed hand. He felt irritatingly spry, despite feeling so low. With a hop, lacking grace, he thrust himself up onto the top bunk. Feeling the soft fabric, Otis took comfort that at least sleep would come easy. If there was a silver lining to being hunted down a good night's sleep wasn’t too bad of a trade.