A black dust swirled around the figure, a chilling wind whipping at the tattered school uniform that barely concealed its form. Disoriented, it pushed itself upright, the sting of a forgotten pain flickering across its face. then, a booming voice echoed through the empty place, vibrating the very bones of the person.
"My apologies, unexpected guest," the voice rumbled. "My calculations were... flawed, and your demise was unforeseen. To rectify this error, I offer you a return. to your world."
The person widened his eyes as he finally remembered what had happened before he ended up in this strange place. "A return?" the figure rasped. "Back to my... already ruined life?"
A flicker of surprise, or perhaps amusement, rippled from the unseen entity. "It is your home nonetheless."
"Home?" the figure scoffed. "Dignity, that was my home. A life of purpose. Not the pathetic existence I was ripped from!"
Silence descended, thick and heavy. The booming voice returned, tinged with a hint of frustration.
"Very well. Perhaps a new existence is in order. A world brimming with potential. As a token of... appeasement, I shall grant you two wishes."
The figure considered this with an unsettling silence. Then, a slow, cold, and calculating smile seemed to spread across the person's face.
"What are you, a geine, a god?" the person scoffed.
"Close enough, but no. I am far more powerful than any genie or god you could imagine," the figure replied with a hint of amusement. "Choose wisely, for your wishes will shape your new existence."
"Ok then?" "For my first wish, I desire the power to create—no, to summon everything from the remnants of my world, to materialize them at will."
"Hmm." The entity hummed, with a low vibration in the air. "A curious choice, but granted. And your second wish?"
"Knowledge. The knowledge to utilize these... things from my world, to understand their function, and perhaps even control them by will."
"Very well," the figure responded. "Your second wish is granted. But remember, the power to create and the knowledge to use it can bring both blessings and consequences. Are you sure you won't do anything stupid with this power?"
A tense silence stretched between them. The person seemed to contemplate the power of the figure's words, which was undeniable. Finally, a grudging acceptance filled the air.
The entity hesitated for a moment then accepted his wish: "Very well. Your wishes are granted. But remember, guest, power comes at a cost. whatever world you're going to be thrown into is at random and not without its own challenges."
The person nodded humbly, understanding the weight of the entity's warning. With a deep breath, he braced himself for the unknown journey ahead, ready to face whatever challenges may come their way.
-
He woke up, feeling the grass beneath him and the warm sun on his face, realizing he was in a completely different world. Getting annoyed by the sun , he shielded his eyes and looked around. Looking for a shady spot to escape the harsh sunlight, he spotted a large tree in the vast grassy distance and made his way towards it. He still has his clothes from before he was transposed into this world: a regular white shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of worn sneakers.
Finally, he reached the shade of the sprawling tree. Collapsing gratefully onto the cold grass, he let out a shabby breath. The memory of his exchange with the booming voice flickered back, a cold spark in his mind.
He squinted against the sun, finally reaching the shade of the sprawling tree. The wind rustled through the leaves, making a sound like a soft lullaby, calming his racing heart. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers brushed against something unexpected—his old phone. A wry smile touched his lips. Useless here, most likely, but a curious link to his past life nonetheless.
Suddenly, a wave of frustration washed over him. The wishes! He squeezed his eyes shut, willing a bottle of water into existence. Cool, refreshing water—that's all he craved. He opened his eyes, but nothing happened, not even a wisp of mist. Panic clawed at his throat. Had the entity lied?
He started to panic. Think! What were the exact words? Summon? Materialize? A memory was sparked. Knowledge of how to use the objects! That was his second wish. Maybe the summoning required some kind of activation?
Scoffing at the absurdity of it all, he muttered under his breath, "Status bar." It was a long shot, a cliche lifted from the countless anime shows he used to watch. But to his utter astonishment, a translucent blue bar materialized in front of him, hovering at eye level.
His breath hitched. It was real. But the information displayed was far from motivating.
Name: Unknown
Level: 0
MP: 0
Strength: 0
Dexterity: 0
Resistance: 0
Everything was zero. He was a blank slate, a complete novice in this strange world. Dejected, he slumped against the tree trunk. Water… He desperately needed water. Maybe the summoning worked differently here. He closed his eyes and focused on the image of a bottle of water, hoping that his next attempt would yield better results.
Then a strange sensation happened in his hands; it felt like his hand was sinking in warm water. He instinctively opened his eyes and saw his hand phasing through the glowing grass and soil beneath him. He tried squeezing his hand on the other side, and with a sudden rush of relief, he felt the cool surface of the water bottle. he finally pulled the water bottle through his phasing hand and gratefully drank half of the bottle. After this, he wasted no time experimenting with his newfound ability. Survival was his first priority. Sure, the power to summon anything from his old world was impressive, but a bottle of water wouldn't get him far in this strange land. He needed something more practical—clothes and shoes.
Taking another swig of water, he closed his eyes, picturing a sturdy pair of hiking boots. He focused his hand into the ground, then felt the cold sensation in his submerged palm as he reached out, and then, with a soft shimmer, a pair of brown hiking boots materialized in his hand.
A grin split his face. It worked! He slipped them on; the worn leather was surprisingly comfortable. Now, clothes. He pictured a simple set: a dark t-shirt, a pair of cargo pants with plenty of pockets, and a light, simple hoodless jacket for the night chill. He concentrated, willing the clothes into existence. This time, the shimmer was larger, enveloping him for a brief moment before dissipating to reveal the clothes neatly folded in his hand.
He didn't wear the clothes yet, since he still had more things to think about. This power was more than just convenient; it was adaptable. He could summon the perfect outfit for any situation. But a nagging curiosity gnawed at him. How far could he push it? What were the limits, if any?
-
half an hour has passed. He was summoning piles of lumber to test if there were any side effects from using this power excessively. As he continued to experiment, he found out that he could use any surface as a channel to summon objects, including his own body.
Exhausted from his lumber-summoning marathon, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the shade of the tree. He slumped back against the rough bark, his weak muscles screaming in protest. A half-hour of experimentation had revealed the limitations of his physical form, not his power itself. He could summon anything, yes, but lugging around tons of wood took its toll.
As he tried to summon a bench to rest on, an explosion was heard far beyond the tree line , causing him to jolt upright in alarm. The ground rumbled beneath him, and he realized that his powers were not the only extraordinary thing in these hills. With curiosity sparking a fire within him, he sprang to his feet and turned towards the distant explosion, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through his veins, urging him to unveil the mysteries lurking in the forest. The bench can wait; he needed something more efficient than walking and wasted no time phasing his hand into the trunk of the tree. feeling the sensation of the handlebars and the cool metal as a welcome sensation against his heated skin, and the knowledge of its operation and basic maintenance flowed through him as he mounted the motorcycle that he summoned. Engaging the throttle with a swift twist, he raced into the heart of the forest, his youthful frame pulsating with adrenaline as he skillfully maneuvered through the thick maze of trees.
And then he saw it—a massive wyvern looming ahead, its sharp claws and wings riddled with holes, menacing as it was ready to attack. The party of three adventurers who were fighting it quickly sprang into action, each wielding their weapons and strategizing their plan of attack. The wyvern let out a deafening roar as it lunged towards them, but the adventurers worked together seamlessly, dodging its attacks and landing powerful blows.
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Their movements were tenfold faster than the athletes he saw back in his world. As the battle raged on, he looked at their courage and determination. He felt powerless as he observed the adventurers' strength. He saw one of their very old mage, who appeared to be over 60 years old, casting powerful spells with precision and skill. While dodging the monster's attacks effortlessly.
He then looked at the other members of the group, seeing a man who carries a massive sword with ease, its weight practically nonexistent as he swung it with incredible speed and precision. The sheer velocity at which they moved was mesmerizing; their forms were almost like a blur as they pushed back the beast.
the wyvern was clearly pissed as it tried to retaliate with its fiery breath. The mage quickly countered with a shield spell, which came at the cost of intense fatigue. But the mage still managed to block the attack. The mage's gaze became more exhausted as he concentrated on maintaining the protective barrier, the strain evident in his every movement.
He could see the adventurers losing momentum, and he needed to act quickly. The adventurers rushed at their mage with urgency, knowing that his strength was waning. He was quick enough to summon a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) and shoot the creature's left wing, ripping it off entirely.
"Tsk!" he clicked his tongue in frustration; he was originally aiming at the chest of the creature, but the blown wing was a small victory nonetheless.
The adventurers paused in confusion, seeing a young man holding a strange object that had just obliterated a part of the creature. Another rocket-propelled grenade flew past them, this time aimed directly at the creature's chest, causing a massive explosion.
"Get back!" he yelled, but the adventurers didn't seem to understand. His language barrier made it difficult to communicate clearly with them, but he knew he was wasting time trying to explain, and as his attention turned back to the creature, but it was already too late. The wyvern used this moment of distraction to attack, catching him off guard. Then, he was thrown away like a ragdoll by the force of the wyvern's right wing, which swung and hit him. He painfully landed on a nearby tree with his right arm and left leg broken from the impact.
he was desperately gasping for air on the ground. his eyes showed fear and panic as he tasted the metallic tang of his own blood, overwhelmed by the force inflicted on Wyvren's wing and the pain in his broken arm. As he lay there, helpless and injured, with only one hand clutching his broken arm, his hand shivered uncontrollably from the shock and pain. The sound of the creature's roar still echoed in the distance, indicating that the danger persisted. However, he saw the adventurers continue with the fight. giving him a slight sense of ease, enough to put him in the right state of mind to focus, ensuring he won't die in his first few hours after being transported into this world.
Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pain that intensified with each labored breath, he phased his hand through his abdomen as if it were ethereal. Feeling the familiar, cold sensation wash over him, urgency now drove his focus to manifest a life-saving object. The image of a morphine auto-injector, the kind he'd seen in documentaries about military medics, flickered in his mind as a silent prayer.
He envisioned every detail of the injector—the plastic outer shell, rubber seals, and sharp needle—as he pulled the object into existence. The weight of the injector was unexpectedly heavy as he pulled it out through his phasing hand. Relief flooded him as a surge of knowledge washed over him—not just the proper dosage for his weight and estimated injury, but also the injection site, away from major nerves and blood vessels. He quickly extracted the injector, pressed it firmly against his thigh, and pushed the button to inject the medication. The medication mostly works within minutes, so he has a few moments to gather his thoughts before the pain subsides.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, tinged with both self-deprecation and a hint of dark humor. "Fragile," he rasped, the word tasting metallic in his mouth. "I never imagined my body would be this fragile," he thought. The irony was almost laughable. He'd spent the past few hours reveling in his newfound power, feeling invincible even. yet there he was, brought low by a single blow from a monstrous lizard. Now, lying on the forest floor, with one arm hung limply at his side, twisted at an unnatural angle, his bones screamed in protest. He realized the limitations he'd so easily overlooked.
The wyvern's thrashing form grew weaker with each blow the adventurers landed. Finally, with a deafening shriek, the massive creature crumpled to the forest floor, lifeless. The adventurers, battered and bruised, stood panting amidst the wreckage of the battle. Their victory was short-lived. Their attention snapped towards the strange figure slumped against the nearby tree, his clothes ragged and stained with blood. Moments ago, they'd witnessed this bizarre scene—the man seemingly reaching into the air, pulling out an unfamiliar object, and then injecting himself with it.
The old mage, his beard ruined and his staff cracked, squinted at the figure. "A champion?" he muttered, disbelief lacing his voice. "In this age of peace?"
"Eighty years," the elf archer chimed in, her voice sharp. "Eighty years have passed since the last champion graced our lands. They were sometimes summoned in secret."
The mage bristled. "Nonsense, Elara! Champions announce themselves; their arrival cannot be missed. This… this is nothing like the legends."
Elara's emerald eyes narrowed. "He did take down a good chunk of that wyvern's wing with that strange weapon of his."
The old mage, his voice raspy with exhaustion, pointed a gnarled finger at the elf. "While you barely grazed the beast, Elara! It was my shield spell that held the brunt of its fiery breath! If not for my magic, we'd all be ash now."
Elara, her lithe form tense, met his gaze with a steely glint in her emerald eyes. "And whose precise arrows kept the wyvern distracted, allowing you to focus your magic, old man? Don't belittle my contribution."
The mage scoffed, his beard bristling. "Distracted? A scratch at best! It was my…"
"Enough!" The booming voice of the human warrior, a hulking figure clad in plate armor, cut through their argument. It was the man wielding a big sword from before. He strode towards the stranger, his weathered face grim. "We can argue about glory later. This man needs help," he gestured at the mage.
"I have enough mana to heal him," the mage replied. "But I will be left vulnerable and useless for a few muinites after casting the spell."
The warrior nodded, understanding the sacrifice the mage would have to make. "Do it," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. The mage closed his eyes, channeling his magic to heal the wounded man.
The stranger watched in silence as the mage's hands glowed with a soft light, his wounds slowly closing. As the healing spell took effect, the young man bowed and thanked the adventurers in a spoken language they hardly understood. "Thanks; I guess the morphine I applied only did little help," he said with a weak smile.
The warior looked into the eyes of the stranger for a second, realizing that he didn't understand the language spoken but nodding in gratitude nonetheless.
"Elara," the man then called the elf as he gestured at the elf, "do you have a spell for this guy?"
With a sigh, Elara reached into her bag, pulled a small piece of parchment, and wrote down a few runes using her quill. "This might be embarrassing," she said to her companions.
"Just do it, Elara!" shouted the old mage, urging her to finish the task at hand. Elara hesitated for a moment before babbling in Elven slurs and continuing to put the parchment on the young man's forehead, then putting her forehead against his. The young man flinched needlessly, resisting the contact, but the elf's grip remained strong and firm. After a few moments, a bright light enveloped them both. "There," Elara said with a satisfied smile, slightly blushing as she removed the parchment from the young man's forehead. "The spell is complete."
"My head feels a bit strange for a moment," the young man blurted out, rubbing his temples as he tried to shake off the lingering effects of the spell.
"Young man," the leader of the party said sternly. "Can you understand us now?" The young man blinked a few times, then nodded slowly.
"Yes, yeah? I think," he replied, his voice sounding slightly confused. "I can understand you." The leader nodded in approval, satisfied that the spell had worked successfully.
The young man stole a confused glance at Elara, who was studiously avoiding eye contact. A faint blush crept up her neck, dusting her pointed ears a rosy pink.
"It seems like someone has a new best friend," the old mage rasped, his voice laced with a mischievous glint.
Elara then turned her head around, her emerald-green eyes flashing with embarrassment. "Don't be ridiculous, Eldarion!" she snapped.
Eldarion chuckled, a dry rasp escaping his lips. "Oh, come now, Elara. Don't tell me you weren't the least bit surprised by the success of the spell. Perhaps you were hoping for a more… permanent connection?"
Elara tugged at his burnt beard, pulling a scream from the mage. "Your jokes are getting far too sharp for your old bones, Eldarion!"
"Ow! Ow! Release my treasured beard, you green-clad menace! I may be old, but my wit is as sharp as ever!" Eldarion sputtered, clutching at his beard with exaggerated pain.
The young man watched their playful banter, a welcome distraction from the side effects of the morphine. He still felt a bit disoriented from the Elven spell, but the ability to understand them was a godsend.
A wry smile played on the young man's lips as he watched the elf and the mage trade barbs. The human warrior, however, seemed unfazed by the constant bickering. He lumbered closer, with his heavy boots crunching on the fallen leaves.
"Ignore them," the warrior rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "Eldarion," he said, jerking a thumb at the mage. "And Elara," he gestured towards the elf, "have been ranting at each other for nearly four months. It's a sport for them at this point before I get to lead them."
The young man chuckled, relief washing over him. "Thanks," he rasped, his voice still hoarse. "That's good to know. I was starting to think arguing was the national tradition here."
The warrior laughed, making a sound that seemed to shake the ground. "Far from it. Now, let's get you properly introduced. I am Gareth, leader of this ragtag bunch of adventurers." He clenched his chest with a mailed fist.
"Gareth," the young man repeated, trying out the name. "I'm… well, I don't exactly have a name in this world yet. Back where I came from, they called me…" He hesitated, unsure if revealing his real name would serve any purpose.
Gareth raised a hand, forestalling him. "Your past life doesn't matter here, not right now. We know that champons are summoned in this world along with their previous identities. Although we don't get many details about their world, what matters is that you appeared; it's been eight decades since a champon was last summoned. We can discuss your origins later. But first, we need to know one thing: how did you end up here?"
The young man's smile faltered. How could he explain being summoned by a booming voice, talk of wishes, and a strange entity? It all sounded like the ravings of a madman. He glanced nervously at Elara and Eldarion, who were finally calming down, though their expressions remained guarded.
"It's a long story," he began, his voice hesitating as he tried to piece together a more believable explanation. "And, well, a bit strange." He took a deep breath, filling in and fleshing out the details of his fabricated tale.
"There was this voice apologizing to me that being summoned there in his place was a mistake," he said. "As a result, I was granted two wishes. He told me that I would be sent to a random world where I could start a new life."
Eldarion, the old mage, with a skeptical look crinkling his weathered face, piped up before the young man could elaborate further. "So, what wishes did you ask for, champion?"
He hadn't considered being asked about the specifics of his wishes. Thinking fast, he came up with a response that both explained his summoning abilities and seemed somewhat believable.
"Well," he began, feigning a thoughtful expression, "the first wish was a no-brainer. Knowing I was going to a completely new world, I figured I'd need something familiar, something to remind me of home. So, I wished for the ability to summon anything that existed back in my world—objects, clothes, even food, anything really."
He paused, gauging their reactions. Eldarion stroked his beard thoughtfully, while Elara, her curiosity piqued, leaned in slightly. Gareth, however, remained stoic, his gaze locked on the young man.
"That's a powerful wish," Eldarion muttered. "And the second wish?"
"It's personal," he replied cryptically while scratching his head again.
"What about your name?" Gareth asked, breaking the silence.
"Ivan," he replied simply, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Ivan," Eldarion repeated softly, as if trying the name out for himself. "Hmm, a fitting name for someone with such mysterious origins." Ivan chuckled softly, appreciating the sentiment.
"Anyways," Ivan mutered while picking up his broken weapon (the RPG), trying not to litter such tech that is too advanced for this world. "Can I join you on your journey? After all," Ivan continued, gingerly picking up the mangled remains of the RPG. "I was just summoned here a few hours ago. I don't know what to do next or where to go. Any chance I could tag along with you guys?"
The group exchanged looks before one of them spoke up. "Well, the capital is not far from here, and we're actually heading in that direction now. You can come with us if you'd like," Gareth said, offering a small smile.