Chapter 3

Misclick

I turn my attention back to the glowing screen that materialized in front of me, hovering like it’s on a sci-fi heads-up display. The text is crisp, illuminated with a faint blue hue.

Continue?

I reach forward to press the screen and my hand passes through the display as though it isn’t even there. “Er…” This is awkward.

“Just focus your intent on what you want to do,” the man says. His lilting voice is almost bored, as though he’s given the same piece of advice eight hundred million times before.

“Okay…” I say, trailing off as I try to focus on the word ‘Continue?’ I try to press the ‘Continue?’ button one more time. This time, my index finger is able to touch the screen and is instantly meant with a feeling of resistance. It’s like the screen and my finger are two magnets that I’m attempting to press together. Select, I silently command. I focus my intent as much as I can and eventually feel my finger break through the resistance. I select ‘Continue?’

There is a haptic sensation near the front of my skull as something in my brain registers the selection.

“Is it meant to be like this?” I ask. “Pretty difficult isn’t it?” I glance towards the man who is lounging in his throne, a tickled expression on his face as though he were biting back a laugh.

The amused expression melts away from his face and he quirks an eyebrow at me. “Indeed.”

My attention is drawn back towards the hovering screen and the interface populates with flowing lines of neat, gently glowing script.

Loading Participant Profile. . .

User Profile:

Name: Joseph Sullivan (Participant No. 4,432,444)

Race: Human

Discipline: Unassigned

Class: Currently Unavailable

Level: 1

Health Points (HP): 15 [Current: 15]

Mana Points (MP): 3 [Current: 3]

Stamina: 30 [Current: 30]

See User Statistics? . . .

I blink a couple of times, half expecting it to disappear. When it doesn’t, I rub my eyes, but the screen stays right there, mocking me with its absurdity. “Wait a second,” I say, staring at it. “This is like a freaking video game?”

The words hang in the air, and the man in the throne chuckles—a low, rich sound that somehow makes me feel like I’ve said something amusingly naïve. “Ah,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his elbows on the throne’s armrests. “I thought you might recognize the format.”

I look back at the glowing screen hovering before my face. “Recognize it? This is straight out of every RPG I’ve ever played. Health, mana, stamina . . . What’s next, skill trees and loot drops?”

He smiles, a knowing glint in his golden eyes. “The System,” he begins, his voice measured and calm, “is an interdimensional construct adopted across the known multiverse. It is older than most of the gods and is not easily comprehended by mortal minds. To ease the transition for newly assimilated species, it tailors itself to the cultural understanding of its inhabitants.” He gestures lazily toward me. “For your world, this presentation was deemed most. . . intuitive.”

“So,” I say, pointing at the screen, “this whole thing was customized to look like a video game because it figured that’s what we’d understand?”

“Precisely.”

My mind races. This whole situation is insane—terrifying, sure—but I can’t help the flicker of excitement that builds in my chest. It’s like an RPG! This is like something straight out of the fantasy-themed games I used to devour. Stats, leveling . . . It’s every nerd’s dream come true.

“Okay,” I say, unable to hide the grin creeping across my face. “This is kind of awesome.”

The man chuckles again, sitting back in his throne. “That’s the spirit! Excitement, curiosity—the human will! This is what the Game is about. Fear and hesitation? Now, those will likely get you killed.”

I glance at him through the translucent interface, my grin faltering slightly. “Right. Killed. That’s, uh . . . still on the table, huh?”

“More often than not. Sometimes.”

That’s a reassuring answer.

The screen in front of me shifts slightly, a faint pulse of light drawing my attention back to it. The words Complete Profile Creation? flash in soft white letters at the bottom, right below See User Statistics.

I swallow hard, my hand hovering instinctively over the glowing text. My heart’s pounding, a mix of exhilaration and terror coursing through me.

The man coughs, drawing my attention again. He wiggles his right index finger at me, I look at my own hand, and then at the screen before me. Ah, right… No touch screens.

I look back at him, then at the screen. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw up. Instead, I nod, take a deep breath, and focus on the words Complete Profile Creation. Accept, I think. I focus on the words as much as I can.

“Let’s do this,” I breathe. After a little resistance, I can press the screen. The selection registers as an odd pulsing sensation in my mind.

User Statistics:

PHYSICAL STATISTICS:

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 3

Constitution: 3

MAGICAL STATISTICS:

Intelligence: 1

Willpower: 2

Spirit: 1

I stare at it, my mind clicking into gamer mode. “Strength, Dexterity, Constitution . . . I half-expected these,” I murmur, almost to myself. “Pretty standard stuff. Same with my Magical States. Intelligence, Willpower, Spirit.”

I study the stats, a small grin forming on my face. My physical stats—especially Strength—seem pretty solid for a Level 1. Sure, Dexterity and Constitution aren’t exactly stellar, but they’re still better than my magical stats. So, they have to be above average. I can’t help but feel my bicep flex.

While it all seemed intuitive and straightforward, it was probably best to be sure. I looked up at the man in the throne. “Can I ask you some questions about all of this?”

“You may.”

“And you’ll give me honest answers?”

His smile widened. “Damn! Yes, yes, I’ll answer your questions.”

“Strength makes sense,” I say. “It’s gotta be physical power, right? Like how hard I can punch someone or how much I can lift?”

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The man inclines his head slightly. “Precisely.”

“Dexterity’s probably speed, agility, reflexes…” I tap my chin. “Constitution’s endurance, durability—like how long I can sprint before needing to stop?”

The man smiles faintly. “You catch on quickly.”

I nod, but my focus shifts to my Magical Stats. They’re . . . pathetic, to be honest. “Intelligence,” I mutter, reading it again. “I’m guessing that’s for magic damage or spellcasting?”

“Indeed,” he replies. “I’m impressed. Most people think at first that it correlates to their intellect. If that were the case, it would appear you’d need higher than a 1. But yes, you’re correct, that statistic is most easily viewed as the Magical equivalent of Strength.”

“Willpower . . . Uh, mental toughness? Like resistance to mental attacks or something?”

“Correct again,” he says, leaning back slightly in his throne. “It also governs your ability to persist through prolonged magical exertion.”

“And Spirit…” I trail off, frowning. I have no idea what Spirit even means in this context. It could be a number of things. “What the hell does Spirit do?”

The man’s golden eyes gleam with something like amusement. “Spirit,” he says slowly, “is perhaps the most . . . enigmatic of the stats. It governs the strength of your connection to forces beyond the physical or mental realms. It is the measure of your resonance with the divine, the ethereal, and the primal energies of existence. Practically, however, it correlates to certain non-combative magic.”

I blink. “Like… healing spells?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and resonant. “Among other things.”

I glance back at the screen. My Spirit stat is a measly one. Not exactly the kind of score that screams future cleric. But my Physical Stats? They’re decent, maybe even good.

“I think I’m starting to get this,” I say, excitement bubbling up again.

The man’s smile widens. “Great! That’s very good for you! Truly. Do you have any other questions on your User Statistics, or are you ready to proceed to the next phase of finalizing your Participant Profile?”

I nod, considering his question and staring at the numbers again, feeling a strange mixture of nervousness and exhilaration. This is real. I still can’t believe it, but try and force my mind to accept what my eyes are seeing. The numbers are straight forward enough. I consider the first screen the interface displayed. It contained my race, which was listed as Human. Does that mean some Participants aren’t human? Or, that there will be a chance during the Game to change into something non-human. That’s interesting.

I considered my HP, MP, and Stamina. I had a few questions, but only one seemed critically important.

“If my HP reaches zero, do I die?”

The man laughed again, a short bark. “No! But very good question. I like your priorities.” He drummed his fingers against the arm of the throne. “Think of it more like a form of additional, natural protection over your physical wellbeing. When your Health Points are full, your physical body will regenerate from most injuries and ailments over time. When they are at zero, you will not regenerate from damage and will be more susceptible to attacks, taking the full effects of physical attacks.”

Interesting. It was good to hear that I didn’t have thirty non-sensical points between myself and the void.

“That’s good. I’m ready to continue, then.”

The screen flickers, and new text begins to populate, scrolling upward like some kind of celestial PowerPoint presentation.

FINAL STEP IN PARTICIPANT PROFILE CREATION: DISCIPLINE SELECTION.

Disciplines are the foundation of your growth and development within the System. Each Discipline provides access to certain benefits and can eventually be upgraded to a Class upon reaching higher levels. Choose wisely. Your selection of Discipline will be final and cannot be changed or modified until later points within the God Game.

Please review the below Discipline options and make your selection.

Available Disciplines:

* Warrior Discipline. This discipline focuses on physical strength and capabilities and the martial arts.

* Spellcaster Discipline. This discipline focuses on harnessing and utilizing one’s raw magical potential.

* Crafter Discipline. This discipline focuses on the art of creation, enabling participants to design and construct tools, weapons, and structures of incredible power.

* Harvester Discipline. This discipline focuses on gathering and extracting useful materials and information from the environment.

I read it again, slowly this time, to let it sink in.

My eyes linger on the descriptions.

The Warrior Discipline immediately jumps out. It feels like the obvious choice—leaning into my high Physical Stats. I can already see myself wielding massive weapons, armored up like some medieval juggernaut.

The Spellcaster Discipline is another would-be obvious choice, if it weren’t for my pathetic Magical Stats.

The other two Disciplines are far more interesting.

The Crafter Discipline intrigues me. If this God Game worked like a real-world RPG, then what sort of Classes did selecting this Discipline unlock? I imagined myself crafting magical weapons and explosives. Tinkering away on various tools. Being a full spellcaster is probably not a viable option, but could I be a Crafter and problem-solve my way around the lack of innate magical abilities while still having my high Physical Stats? It was certainly a possibility, but not obvious.

“Does the Crafter Discipline largely rely on Magical Stats, or Physical Stats?” I ask, looking at the man through the selection screen.

“Hm…” He pauses, as though considering. “I’m afraid that is something I cannot, or I suppose simply won’t, answer. The System provides you with enough information to make an informed decision. And, I don’t want to be here all millennium answering your questions, if I’m being honest.”

“Thanks…” I say lamely.

It was probably safer to avoid the Crafter Discipline. If I remembered the various RPGs I played, artificer-type classes were often at the very least ‘half casters.’ I would still be taking a penalty with my poor Magical Stats.

Finally, there was the Harvester Discipline. That’s a wild card. Gathering materials and “information” could mean anything, couldn’t it? I could see this easily leasing to all the ‘odd job’ classes down the line. In Last Reverie, one of my favorite J-RPGs growing up, it was always these ‘odd job’ classes I enjoyed playing as the most. The characters whose powers were focused on absorbing the powers from enemy monsters, or learning abilities in weird, unique ways. I also always found them the most powerful in those games. If you used them correctly, I thought.

I glance at the man on the throne. He’s watching me, those glowing yellow eyes studying me like I’m a chess piece about to make its first move.

“What happens if I don’t choose?” I ask, half-joking, half-terrified.

His lips twitch into a small, knowing smile. “You’ve already chosen,” he says cryptically.

“What?” I blink. “I haven’t picked anything yet!”

He gestures to the screen. “Not with words, Joseph. With who you are. With the path you’ve walked to get here. The decision is already within you. All that remains is for you to see it.”

I roll my eyes. Cryptic bastard. But his words stick with me. Maybe he’s right.

I take a deep breath, staring at the glowing options before me. “Okay,” I mutter to myself. “Let’s do this.”

The screen looms in front of me, each option glowing like a neon sign in a dark alley.

Warrior Discipline. It’s the clear choice. My Physical Stats are decent for a Level 1 scrub (at least I think they are), and if the System works like an RPG, a close-range DPS or Tank class is my safest bet. Strength and Constitution are my only halfway-decent numbers, after all. And who knows, perhaps there will be a class in the future that offers me some access to cool magical abilities. Like some kind of magic knight, or something.

I hover my hand over the glowing text, ready to make the logical choice. Warrior it is. A no-brainer. I press ‘Warrior Discipline’ only for my finger to pass through the floating message. Then, I remember that the entire interface requires ‘intent’. I focus on the upper half of the screen. Thinking about the Warrior Discipline. It’s all I try to think about. I try again, feeling that now familiar magnet-like resistance. The word toggles, as if a cursor was hovering over it. Come on, dammit—click it!

Except… something shifts. I keep pushing through the resistance of the screen when something… I don’t know how to describe it. Slips? My finger rolls off the resistance, landing below my intended selection. But instead of passing harmlessly through the screen, I feel the haptic tingling in my frontal lobes as my finger meets the interface and my brain registers a selection being made.

The glowing text shifts, the screen blinks, and suddenly the words Spellcaster Discipline Selected flash across my vision in bold, unforgiving letters.

“Wait, what?!” I shout, frantically jabbing at the screen, finger passing through the words. “No, no, no—undo! Undo! Where’s the back button?”

The screen doesn’t respond. It just flickers once, then again, before locking in the selection.

Spellcaster Discipline Accepted. Welcome to the God Game.

“What the actual fuck,” I mutter, hands scrambling uselessly over the interface. “There wasn’t even a confirmation page? Who designed this garbage system?”

I hear a giggle. Of course, it’s Throne Guy, sitting all smug and radiant, his yellow eyes practically glowing with amusement.

“Well that’s an interesting choice,” he says, his voice dripping with barely restrained glee. “Most Participants in your position would have selected the Warrior Discipline without hesitation. But Spellcaster? Well, that’s bold. Unexpected . . . Delightfully chaotic.”

“I didn’t select it!” I shout, pointing accusingly at the translucent screen of light hovering before me, as though it were it’s fault. “It was a . . . a . . . a misclick! Using your mind to do everything has a learning curve and it accidentally selected Spellcaster!”

“Oh, there are no misclicks in the God Game,” he says, wagging a finger like I’m some toddler who just dropped my ice cream. “Only fate.” His smile widens. “Also, you could have just used voice commands, instead of attempting to physically interact with the System, if mental commands were too difficult to grasp on your first go.”

Voice commands?! I suddenly feel like an absolute idiot.

“That’s bullshit,” I snap. “You can’t just—can’t I change it? Reset it? Something?”

He leans forward in his throne, resting his chin on one hand. “Ah, but the System doesn’t allow such frivolities. Once a Discipline is chosen, it is set in stone. Or, in this case, set in the very fabric of your being. You’re a Spellcaster now, Joseph Sullivan. A Spellcaster down to the very base level of your chemical composition.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. My stats are garbage for a Spellcaster. A 1 Intelligence? A 1 in Spirit? How the hell am I supposed to do anything?

Before I can spiral any further, another notification screen pops up right in front of my face, semi-transparent and impossible to ignore:

Participant Profile Creation Complete. Welcome to the God Game. Forced Return Initiated.

Through the screen, I see Throne Guy smiling wide. Too wide. It’s almost like his face is distorting into a fucked up impression of a Salvadore Dali painting.

“Congratulations,” he says, voice almost singsong.

The words barely leave his mouth before the chair beneath me vanishes.

“Oh, come on—”

And then I’m falling.

Backward. Into darkness.

The cold, infinite kind. The kind that feels like it’s alive and swallowing you whole.

His laughter echoes in my ears as the blackness envelops me completely.