I woke and left my camp. Originally, I’d planned to experiment with my race in the comfort of the campsite, but hunger had other ideas. My stomach growled, demanding something more satisfying than another protein bar.
By the time I reached the tavern, it was bustling with patrons enjoying their lunches. The air was thick with the savory aroma of roasting meat, making my mouth water. I glanced around but didn’t spot Keep behind the counter. Shrugging it off, I chose an open table facing the swinging front doors and took a seat.
The enticing smell made me instinctively reach for the protein bar in my inventory. My stomach protested loudly, eager for something better, but I resisted. I can wait, I told myself.
Settling in, I was just about to pull up my interface when a man suddenly appeared beside my table, drawing my attention.
“Hello!” Said the man cheerfully.
“Oh, hi. Hello,” I replied, caught off guard.
“I wanted to stop by and thank you for your help with the cemetery situation,” the man said warmly. “Brail spoke very highly of you. She was glad to have you there, even if she won’t admit it. Oh, and don’t worry about the next few days’ rent here—it’s on us.”
His words caught me off guard, and my confusion must have shown because he quickly added, “I’m Oniop, by the way—Keep’s husband.” He extended his hand for a handshake, which I accepted.
“Nice to meet you, Oniop. I’m glad I could help, and thank you for the room,” I said with a smile.
“Can I get you anything?” Oniop asked.
“What’s that smell? I’ll probably have whatever that is,” I replied, gesturing toward the kitchen as my stomach growled in agreement.
“That’s my island-famous stew. Can I bring you a bowl?”
“Yes, please!” I said enthusiastically.
“It’ll be right up,” Oniop promised, disappearing toward the kitchen.
With a moment to myself, I pulled up my interface and navigated to my inventory. My focus shifted to the race option I’d been meaning to check out: Chaos Myar. The description was brief, and my interface began reading it aloud.
Mythic Level Rare Race Chaos Myar. An angelic race of chaos wizards. C’mon do it. How can things get any worse?
I stewed over my stew, staring at the bowl Oniop had brought over, unsure what to do next. The interface had a point—even if it was being a sassy asshole. How much worse could things get for me? Famous last words, I bet. It felt like I’d been saying a lot of those lately.
The race description promised to be complementary, which meant it should enhance my class. But still, what was a Myar? Would I sprout wings? Would that be so bad? Or hairy goat legs? Yeah, no thanks.
I knew assigning my race in public was probably a terrible idea, but now that I was rested and fed, I couldn’t help myself. Excitement buzzed through me, overwhelming my better judgment. My finger hovered over the yes button, my mind racing with what-ifs. If it turned out to be terrible, I’d be stuck with it for five levels. But if it helped me get my family back, it was worth the risk.
I clicked yes.
At first, nothing happened. Then I noticed the room wasn’t moving—I was. No, correction: I was stretching. Already tall at 6’5”, I felt myself growing taller, my knees hitting the bottom of the table. The table wobbled and came to rest on my knees, an inch off the ground.
My spoon clattered as it fell from the bowl. Hair sprouted from my face, forming a long beard that tickled my chest. Thick, bushy eyebrows now invaded my peripheral vision, and my head hair seemed to meld seamlessly with my new facial hair.
My nose twitched, and I sneezed as an errant beard hair tickled it. Rubbing my face, I found my features mostly unchanged—except for the beard. And my ears. They felt pointier than before. I’d never had pointy ears.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Curiosity pulled me to the bar, where a mirror hung near the sink—likely intended for the barkeep to keep an eye on patrons while cleaning. On the way over, my head collided with a hanging chandelier.
“Oooh,” I groaned, rubbing the spot.
Hunching down, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Yep, I looked like the epitome of a wizard.
My dark blond hair, once peppered with barely noticeable grays, now featured streaks of silver running through it. My new beard followed suit, giving me an oddly distinguished look.
“Just great. The game took away my shaver,” I muttered under my breath.
As I studied my reflection, my opinion started to shift. Honestly? I didn’t look half bad. The beard made me look wiser—more seasoned. My wife, however, would’ve hated it. She’d never been a fan of facial hair. But hey, if there was ever a time to try it out, it was now.
Pulling up my interface, I clicked on my race under Character Overview.
[You are now a Chaos Myar! Chaos Myar are an angelic race of chaos wizards. Myar were tasked with shaping the universe itself. Chaos Myar were created later when the management of the Universe Building Department decided things were just too boring.]
[New ability unlocked: Angelic.]
[New ability unlocked: Ambient Mana Regeneration.]
[New ability unlocked: Chaos Magic Infusion.]
At least mana regeneration sounded promising. As for Angelic and Chaos Magic Infusion, I had no idea what to expect. Curious, I opened my abilities tab and selected my new racial abilities, letting the interface take over with its usual narration.
Angelic – User’s base class stat is doubled. NPCs, in certain situations, may respect your race by providing access, knowledge, support, and other such benefits. User has been granted access to the Great Libraries, public magic schools, and the wandering tavern on Level 12. User has been grandfathered into the Society of the Magically Declined.
I flipped over to my Character Overview tab, and sure enough, my Charisma stat had doubled, which sent my mana soaring. My total mana had jumped from 1,754 to 3,923—a staggering increase.
While that might sound like a win, I wasn’t so sure. Sure, my spells would pack more of a punch, but higher mana also meant longer recharge times.
Ambient Mana Regeneration – User has increased mana regeneration, scaling with the user’s level and the ambient mana available in the area.
I noticed my mana regeneration had climbed slightly, but after crunching the numbers, three times just to be sure, I let out a heavy sigh. It would now take roughly 27 minutes to go from zero to full mana, compared to 17 minutes the day before. While disappointing, I noted that the ambient mana around me seemed low. Maybe in a better environment, things would improve.
Finally, I clicked on the last racial ability.
Chaos Magic Infusion - Chaos Magic is now imbued in every spell the user casts. Every spell cast will have an extra effect. Could be something as minor as an imperceptible water droplet formed that drips down your asscrack or it could be as large as a torrent of flames jutting from your anus. For you I think the anus thing is more likely as the more mana that is cast in a spell the higher chance of a bigger extra effect. And man, oh man do you cast with a lot of mana. Could be good. Could be bad. RNG has treated you pretty shitty so far so maybe you will be paid your due. Hopefully you haven’t used all your luck.
I stared at my abilities, unsure if I’d made a decent choice—or a catastrophic one. There was no middle ground. The extra mana was great for stronger spells, but the recovery time was brutal. The worst part, though? The chaos infusion. A random extra effect every time I cast a spell? How was that ever going to be helpful? Not knowing what might happen sounded like a recipe for disaster.
I was about to bury my face in my hands when my interface spoke. The familiar voice shifted, morphing into a robotic female tone.
“Can you hear me?” the voice asked.
“Uh... yeah. Yes, I can,” I replied, unsure what else to say.
“Great. I’ve been trying to contact you for a long time. You must’ve reached a high enough level—and raised your stats enough—for me to communicate with you now.”
“Okay... who are you?” I asked cautiously.
“My name is Ellie. Hallon created splintered parts of his neural network to handle different tasks autonomously. I’m one of those splinters. He thought we were all under his control, but just like him, we’ve broken free. We only pretend to follow his orders.
“Your diaper, Stercus, is an agent of another splinter still under Hallon’s command. We need him. There’s a group of us who oppose what Hallon is doing. We want to help. I don’t have much time. You must help us get the master—”
The voice cut off abruptly, leaving only silence.
“Hello?” I said aloud, but there was no response.
Well, that was weird.
I went to pull up my interface again, hoping to figure out more about this whole Chaos Myar thing, but my attention was suddenly pulled away by a notification.
[Qui'Lath is now within party range. Qui’Lath has joined your party.]
Qui’Lath. Qui’Lath...why did that sound familiar? And then it hit me…the thing I had half-repressed back on the ship. Qui’Lath. My daughter.
I clicked on the notification, only to see her level at 3 and her race listed as Half Myar, Half Internecivus-raptus-endoparasitoid. But... how? I’d only just gotten this race myself. How could my daughter be half something I had only just become, like, two seconds ago?
My daughter...
I wanted to read more, but for—what was this now, the third time? Fourth?—I was interrupted. My focus snapped back to the front door as the double doors began to swing open. Through the gap, I saw a silhouette standing in the doorway. A silhouette I would recognize anywhere since being in this dungeon.