> Throughout history, occasional reports can be found of individuals with exotic powers, appearing randomly and fully grown, positioned perfectly to enact change upon the world. These individuals are known to speak of nations that do not exist, of entire worlds beyond our own. The purpose and true origin of these World Walkers is unknown, and none have ever crossed intentionally.

>

> This begs the question of how they got here.

>

> - Historical Oddities

It was suffocating. He had been blind before, but that wasn’t the same–it had only been a few weeks before he’d managed to figure out divinations to navigate by, and even before that, he’d had his memory, his sense of touch, and sounds to go off of.

Here, there was nothing. Ronan had grown accustomed to a veritable flood of information going through his mind at any given moment; his senses were unusually acute, and he constantly sent out divinations around him, which made him constantly aware of everything in his immediate area. He tried to move his hand in front of his eyes, but he couldn’t even feel where his own body was.

He wasn’t sure how long it took for him to internalize the fact that he couldn’t feel his body because he didn’t have one. He wondered where he was, but it wasn’t like there was much of a way to figure it out. Had he died? Had something gone wrong, after he pushed that woman in with him?

Mostly, he wondered how he was going to get out of this. He couldn’t help but feel some amusement at that thought–this really was like the Abyss, wasn’t it? No physical form, but an awareness of himself, a realization that time passed, a desire to be that was so strong it wore thin the boundaries that kept worlds separate.

Ultimately, he found nothing. There was a dim awareness of his mana pool, but that was stagnant, not refilling. Damage from how horribly he’d overexerted himself, or just a part of being wherever he was?

Eventually, he waited. There was something nearly meditative in that silence, a peace that he knew would begin to wear on him before long.

He didn’t have time for that to happen–something… happened. There was no physical sensation behind it, no physical presence, but information came into his mind. It was, he realized before long, text. The sensation of a written word entering his mind was familiar; it was a common form of telepathy, and he’d read countless books with divination.

He saw nothing, but he knew that it was a pane of purple mist, with white text against it.

Dimensional Incursion Detected

Threat Assessment: High Potential, Medium Likelihood

Error: Incursion from Incompatible Realm

Requesting Administrator Assistance

Some kind of security system, but… for what? And why would it tell him that he’d been noticed? It reminded him of some of the models of golems he’d seen–test models, vocalizing their decision-making process so that it would be easy to see where something went wrong. But that didn’t feel right… why would something in that stage of development even be used outside of controlled conditions?

How the fuck was he supposed to be a threat like this, and what did it mean by an administrator? Was this a prison? The thoughts wouldn’t help, the questions probably wouldn’t be answered, but… he couldn’t really help himself, and his mind was frazzled as it was. God, he needed a nap…

The text shifted, which was, admittedly, somewhat novel. Books didn’t usually change themselves while being read, and the ones that did, he usually preferred to actually open.

Administrator Assistance Granted

Dimensional Incursion Authorized

Physical Manifestation Approved

Error: Soul contains insufficient mana for physical manifestation.

Caution: Soul contains Abyssal, Infernal/Void taint.

Awaiting Administrator Input.

He felt a hint of vague relief, seeing the second and third lines, but everything else was… worrying. He really wanted to know what the fuck an Administrator was, in this context, but the more he saw, the more this seemed… mostly automated. Maybe it was just someone who had control of whatever system had detected him? But, then, why would it request assistance…? Were there actions that it couldn’t take without conscious approval of the creator?

There wasn’t much of a point in theorizing, but it wasn’t like he could really do much else, either.

The part about his soul wasn’t particularly surprising. He was well aware of the former, given that he had intentionally incorporated a small piece of the abyss into himself in order to survive inside of it, but the latter… Well, it should have been obvious, in hindsight. It took a lot to damage the soul, especially one that was as battered as his own, but traumatic experiences were one of the simplest ways to do it.

And that… That was an experience he would not enjoy remembering.

It felt like he was kept waiting for a longer time than before, but it was hard to say for sure. A lot of things felt uncertain, and time feeling ever so slightly off wasn’t the one that preoccupied him the most.

You have been offered a Contract.

Terms: You will allow the Nexus to cleanse your soul of Infernal/Void taint. Abyssal taint will remain.

Manifestation will not be allowed until Infernal/Void taint is removed.

Examination and Integration into the Nexus will occur during this process.

Accept?

There was something oddly comforting to that. The smallest indication of familiarity. Oh, the context was entirely wrong, but he’d been in situations like this before.

Caught in the eyes of something he did not understand, something which operated on rules that he was not certain of, something which could likely destroy him with a thought, but wanted something else entirely

With a sinking feeling in a stomach that he didn’t have, he realized that his usual tricks weren’t available here. No teleporting out, no pointing it towards something else, no alternative offers…

The only thing he could perceive was this text, everything else was just his mind gently unraveling.

The fact that the deal seemed entirely beneficial to him drove his paranoia more than anything else. It was offering to change his soul, which was… not easy to do, not on that level, not with how long and how thoroughly he’d been soaking in that energy.

He thought in circles, mostly. If he didn’t accept, he’d probably just be left here. He had nothing to offer, no leverage, no idea of what this thing wanted.

He hardly had a choice at all, did he?

Ronan accepted. There was no movement, of course, no signing himself just… a conscious moment of consent, as his world erupted.

Ronan’s soul had been changed before, but that had been his decision–admittedly, the other option at the time had been killing himself, but staying here indefinitely was far, far more terrifying.

It wasn’t pain, exactly. It was an all-encompassing sense of wrongness, a crushing pressure, an icy cold grip on everything he was, picking through every part of his mind. Not in one part then another, but in dozens of pieces at a time. He felt like he teetered on a knife’s edge as the memories passed by him, scattered, disconnected yet overlaid over each other. His father teaching him how to mix a poultice that would prevent infection, a guest lecture he had delivered at a university in Klaedira, a field of corpses, the smell of charred flesh, stumbling around in the dark, his eyes scarred and burnt as he crawled out of Kharban, the blood singing in his ears as he fought a thousand battles, the feeling of mana flowing through his body while he tried to design a new spell, fire and lightning and ice piercing into his flesh and searing him from the inside, suffocation, watching Dragon Knights training, countless lives fading as he watched, unable to stop them, peering into the currents of fate again and again, trying to find a solution and being forced to make one, countless tiny social missteps, learning the hard way what seemed to come to everyone naturally. Every memory, every thought that he had ever had, every moment, intertwined and dragged through his awareness at once. It was a level of overstimulation beyond anything he’d had to deal with before, thousands of voices and thoughts fighting for his attention, without any hope for the blissful release of unconsciousness, scraping against his mind and leaving him feel bloodied and raw.

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Then it was over, and the text in his mind changed.

Integration Finished.

Starting Level: 0

Starting Classes: None

Unlocked Classes: All earned in previous life.

Starting Skills: Racial

Starting Species: Kitsune

Starting Stats: Custom

Starting Items: None

Starting Feats: Adventurer.

Bonus: Class limit disabled.

Starting Location: Abandoned Bastille

Error: Starting Location cannot be inside of a Dungeon

Error: Cannot enter single-cell Dungeon while occupied

Administrator Override

Administrator Note: Duck

Materializing...

He felt still air against his skin, rough-hewn stone beneath his feet, and Ronan immediately dropped to the floor. He felt stagnant air rushing against his face, and a gust of disturbed air right above his head, the noise thankfully dampened by the fur in his ears. The sound of metal clinking against more metal was still audible—armor, probably.

He turned the motion into a spin, sticking out one leg in a low, sweeping kick. He felt and heard dry bone splintering–not his own–as he whirled the rest of the way around, still low to the ground. The motion, quick as it had been, gave him a decent idea of what was in the room.

The room was relatively spacious, stone brick, dull grey, a small table in the center which he had almost hit during that spin, a pair of chairs, one bolted down with restraints embedded into the structure. There was a single light in the room, a dimly glowing white orb that hung suspended in the air, a few inches below the ceiling in the center of the room. There was only one door out.

It brought back some uncomfortable memories, being strapped to the chair for ‘interrogation’.

He kept moving, transitioning into a lunge towards what he’d just knocked over–a skeleton, dressed in a tattered outfit, dirty green fabric faded, worn and torn by what looked like years. He tried to examine the stitching on the bones to get an idea of the quality, and realized that, for the first time in well over a decade, he couldn’t see mana.

Not the time. He glanced further up it, seeing that it was beginning to move again, the broken legs having likely temporarily destabilized the structure of the construct. He’d put a knee onto its sternum, halfway straddling it to prevent it from getting up. A dagger was clutched in its bony hands–a horrible weapon for any skeleton, but Dungeon monsters were usually equipped with some degree of realism–and naturally occurring skeletons would usually just hold whatever was closest.

He met the eyes of the skeleton, seeing a dim, dull yellow flame within them. Darkness invaded the edges of his vision, he felt ice creeping through his body, something great and dark and terrible before him—

And then, as he ignored the fear spell that had obviously been cast on him, hand catching the skeleton at the wrist as it brought the dagger down towards him, wincing as he felt something in his wrist start to grind in a way that it wasn’t supposed to.

He’d tighten his grip, yanking the skeleton’s arm to the side so he could slam it against the stone floor with a resonating crack.

Strong, but stupid, fragile. He didn’t have time to question it, didn’t have any weapons on hand, and really didn’t want to try to wrestle the dagger out of its grip. He forced his knee down on its chest, which only really dug into a knee he was now realizing was completely bare, along with the rest of his body. God, he was off his game today, skeletons didn’t need to fucking breathe.

The skeleton writhed, dagger scoring a short gash on his arm as it was freed, a line of fire opening a few inches above his wrist, thankfully avoiding any veins.

Well, assuming the veins were where they should be, anyway. He had no idea what the fuck a Kitsune was, and hadn’t exactly looked at himself in detail…

Leaning in on it to make the angle awkward was a risk he wasn’t willing to take–it could probably still manage enough force to cut him deeply, judging by how hard the impact on his wrist had been. He’d grab it again, forearm aching in protest as he gripped the skeleton’s forearm tightly enough that the bones budged slightly out of place.

His left hand had a simpler job, repeatedly punching the skeleton in the temple. He could feel it trying to cast the fear spell on him, but when he was actually ready for it, it slid off of him without taking effect. It was a simple spell, as far as he could tell, but powerful for something that a skeleton was casting–anything but a proper revenant had trouble casting spells that weren’t aspected towards the death mana that animated them.

The power wasn’t enough, though. Brute force didn’t work well with mind magic, not against someone who knew how to defend against it. His focus narrowed onto what was in front of him, on the motions the skeleton made, the force it was exerting on him, the feeling of…

Oh, fuck, that was his hand cracking, not its skull. He didn’t stop, but the process immediately became a hell of a lot less pleasant for him as he pounded at the skeleton’s head. A few more lines of fire were opened on him, another on the same forearm and a third on his chest, all shallow but still worrying.

Finally, its skull gave in, fracturing, and he’d see the yellow flames flickering and sputtering out after a moment as the body stopped thrashing, arms clattering to the ground.

Oh, fuck, had it been raising the other one?

The silence was heavy, and the air pressed down on him. At least it didn’t seem like anything was coming through the door.

A few moments passed, the only noise within the room being his own labored breathing, before he felt a faint prickling sensation across his skin, the pain in his hand and arms abruptly lessening, though not receding completely. It felt like the bleeding slowed as well… He wasn’t fully healed, but he wasn’t in any immediate danger.

Some kind of regenerative effect, but he couldn’t tell what had caused it. He certainly hadn’t cast any spells.

It felt like there was something going on with his mind, but he couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion, residual damage to his soul, the new body… Maybe a combination of the three.

For now, he’d have to just hope that it passed quickly. A couple seconds after that prickling sensation subsided, more information made its way into his mind, manifesting in much the same way that he had imagined it while he couldn’t see; a pane of purple mist, with text forming in the center of it. There, in his vision, but he could see straight past it anyway. A lot of divination spells were like that, but he couldn’t tell if that was what this was.

[Welcome Message Altered via Administrator Override]

[Notifications Removed]

You were technically an adult when you manifested, but I didn’t want you to get distracted.

To view your status, think or say ‘Status’. The same applies to most Nexus navigation.

For additional information on anything within the Nexus itself, say or think ‘Help’, followed by whatever you want to know more about.

Have fun, and welcome to Rixa.

Oh, and try to look for the others. They’ll be needing your help.

He scanned over the text and idly tried to put his hand through the pane of light, but it just passed straight through.

He wasn’t really sure how he felt about having the direct attention of whoever the Administrator was–he had a poor track record with authority figures, and they had already held an amount of power over him which was… uncomfortable, to say the least. But they hadn’t hurt him. Or at least they hadn’t shredded his soul into tiny pieces and assimilated the pieces for power or sustenance.

The fact that he distrusted them was probably a good sign, though, wasn’t it? Anyone with access to his soul could have made it so he was incapable of feeling anything negative towards them. Though, the Administrator could have left that thought available on purpose, to make him convince himself that they were benevolent…

It didn’t matter. That thinking was circular, and he couldn’t prove anything–at least not yet. It probably didn’t matter, either way–he had their attention, and he doubted that hoping it would go away was going to make that happen.

He’d let out a deep sigh. How was he going to get out of this? Could he? If everything about him had to be modified to exist here, including species–though he hadn’t been able to notice anything noticeably wrong with his body yet–the same would probably apply to the return trip. He was able to make bodies that his soul could return to if he died, but that didn’t work across dimensional boundaries, and by the time he managed to cross into the right dimension again, even if it was just as a soul, there was a good chance that none of them would be functional anymore.

Not the time. Getting back could wait until he was actually somewhere safe.

He’d survey the room again, but nothing had changed; small table, a pair of chairs, floating light orb, door, corpse on the floor. A bit of blood, now–he was dripping, which was unfortunate, dark red oozing from his arm and a smaller amount of it coming from his knuckles. If the Dungeon was full of undead, that could either be very bad or not matter at all–it depended on the varieties that were here.

He’d get onto his feet, moving the chair that hadn’t been bolted to the ground up to the door and propping it against the handle. The door wouldn’t open until the chair broke, which, admittedly, wasn’t going to stop anything like what he’d just killed. It’d give him a moment of warning, at least.

For now, though, he needed to figure out more of what was going on, and that meant staying here, where it seemed… not safe, but not actively swarming with anything that wanted to kill him.

First, though, he was going to loot a corpse.