Owen braced against the desert winds, his armour stained with blood. His black cape billowed behind him, stretching his shadow across the war-torn battlefield, giving him an almost demonic presence amidst the chaos. Facing the thousand Lords, a single thought weighed on him—was any of this truly worth it?

***

“Do you ever feel sorry for main characters?”

Owen’s voice cut through the office’s rhythm—keyboards clacking, half-hearted TV talk, phones ringing.

Louis, from the adjacent cubicle, barely looked up. “What?”

“I was just thinking,” Owen said, glancing up from the page on his phone, “these characters—they go through so much. Constant battles, world-saving missions, never-ending struggles… doesn’t it just seem exhausting? I mean, wouldn’t it be kind of miserable? Sure, you’d be strong. But man, holding that kind of responsibility… I couldn’t imagine that.”

Louis sighed, still staring at his screen. “I can hardly imagine that I’m still working here.” Louis leaned back and cracked his fingers. He met Owen’s gaze. “You’re reading that titan story again?”

Owen grinned at his phone. “Chapter 3000. It’s getting good.”

“3000? I’m shocked you haven’t been fired yet.”

“Please.” Owen rolled his eyes. “Caroline’s playing Candy Crush. At least I’m reading. It’s educational.”

Louis finally glanced over at Caroline and his gaze brightened. He ripped his eyes away before saying, “Educational, huh? Isn’t it a webnovel? What can you possibly learn from that? I hear they’re all written by amateurs.”

“Well…” Owen coughed. He didn’t really have much of a defence. The story wasn’t exactly Shakespeare. He’d found it buried in the webnovel archives like some forgotten relic. By chapter 3000, he was probably its last reader. No, he was its last reader. But there was something about it—a strange popcorn attraction in the endless loop of a guy trapped in time, fighting monsters, Levelling up, building empires—destroying them, and doing it all over again but… quicker.

It was his escape.

After a moment’s thought, he said, “Not giving up, even when everything’s against you? That no matter what, he keeps going, forging ahead.”

Louis chuckled. “Right.”

Owen smiled, but lately, that same comfort was fading. A vague restlessness had begun gnawing at him. Reading helped him escape the monotony of his life, but even that wasn’t enough anymore. His eyes flicked toward the window, the city’s skyline stretching far into the distance. He sighed.

There’s gotta be more to life than this.

“Psst,” Louis nudged him again.

Owen barely had time to shove his phone under his thigh before Chris, their boss, walked over, tapping his foot against the carpet. “How’s that project coming along, Owen?”

Owen forced a smile. “Almost there.”

“Well, I need it on my desk tomorrow. You’ve got nothing else on, so stay late if you have to. Just get it done.” Chris shot him a curt nod before retreating back to his office.

Owen caught Louis’s smirk and resisted rolling his eyes. Asshole, he thought.

He turned back to his computer, trying to refocus. Then a notification popped up: You’ve received an email.

Weird, Owen thought. It had come through his secondary email—the one he used for signing up to random sites. Plus, he’d disabled notifications for it. Curiosity piqued, he clicked on the pop-up.

To: [email protected]

Yeah, that’s embarrassing, Owen thought, cringing.

Subject: A Titan’s Journey — An Author’s Thanks.

The author… emailed me? Owen straightened up, narrowing his eyes as he opened it.

Content:

Dear reader, you’ve almost completed my story, and for that, I give you my sincerest thanks. Writing has been a long journey with its trials, but knowing you’ve been my, well, only reader... warms my ancient heart.

As a token of my gratitude, I offer you a gift. Something special. Something just for you.

Choose wisely.

Reverend Storycrafter.

Owen blinked. What the hell? He reread the message, a strange chill creeping up his spine. Before he could process it, three choices appeared on the screen, each represented by an image of a piece of parchment, covered in old, scrawled writing.

The Lord Extra:

Pitiful talent, but a godlike Lord Emblem.

Owen leaned in, curious. Was this like one of those build-a-character sheets like from Dungeon and Dragons? The Lord Emblem was the cornerstone of power for any new Lord—They were a gift of sorts, for all new Lords. Some gained personal power-ups, while others gained mighty bonuses to their summoned units.

But low talent meant barely any attribute growth. Still… a godlike emblem sounded tempting.

The Hunted Lord:

High talent, great skills… but many enemies.

Owen frowned. Being hunted? That sounded like a nightmare. No thanks. If he was given a new life, he’d want it nice and easy. Give him some grassland and a farm and chicken. At the silly thought of retiring early in a magical world, Owen forged on.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The Forsaken Lord:

Gifted with immense strength, but cursed by fate.

Owen’s eyes shifted between the choices, weighing them in his mind. There was no “safe” option—each came with dangerous drawbacks. After a long pause, he clicked on The Lord Extra. Sure, the attribute growth would be terrible, but at least he’d have no enemies chasing him down. He didn’t need that kind of stress. Plus, A God-Like Emblem sounded awesome.

He tapped the screen, locking in his choice. Nothing happened. No pop-ups, no ads for some low-budget game, no virus. Just… Just the office hum—the sound of keyboards, the soft murmur of voices. Owen sighed. “Figures,” he muttered, about to turn his attention back to work.

Then he noticed something odd.

Jock, from accounting, burst into the office, slamming the door behind him. Owen’s brow furrowed. Jock’s face was pale, his hands trembling. His shirt was splattered with something dark… something red.

Blood?

Owen stood. “Jock, you alright—”

From the corner of his eye, he saw something outside the window. Thick, dark smoke billowing into the sky, twisting upward like it came from burning tires. The acrid stench of it hit his nostrils—sharp and suffocating.

The office around him buzzed on, oblivious.

But Owen couldn’t shake the feeling that something, somewhere, had just gone very wrong.

Owen wrinkled his nose and approached the window, about to shut it.

“God damn,” Louis spat and walked over. “What’s that smell?”

“I think a building is on fire, or something,” Owen guessed as he watched the smoke rise further. “That sucks. That’s probably someone's business or home.”

“Who cares,” replied Louis, rolling his eyes. He massaged his neck. “Management should really invest in better chairs. Feel like my spine is going to snap.” He turned and noticed Jock. “What’s up with Jock?”

“I was just about to ask,” Owen said as he ripped his attention away from the streets below and headed over to the door. No-one else had noticed. Partly because they were working, and the other because they simply didn’t care about whatever happened around them. Day in and day out of work tended to numb the humanity right out of you. Owen was lucky to avoid it, for the most part.

“Hey Jock,” said Owen, stopping a couple feet away from him. He got a good look at him now. He was terrified, like– “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Maybe he saw your mother,” Louis added from the side.

Ignoring the joke, Owen's concern deepened. “Jock, are you alright?”

“Don’t touch me,” he screamed, hands raised to protect his face.

At the sudden shriek, finally people reacted as they looked over.

Owen turned his voice soft. “Jock, if you’ve got yourself in some trouble, tell me. Maybe I can help?” After a second pause, he then chuckled. “At the very least, I might have some words of wisdom I can share.”

“Christ,” Louis mocked. “Then we’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

Frowning, Owen spat, “Be serious for once, Louis. Jock isn’t right.”

Louis, feeling a little guilty, looked straight at Jock. “He’s right, Jock. We can help, yeah?”

“Monsters…” Jock said, barely audible over the sound of his own quivering. “They… are everywhere.”

“Owen, did he say monsters?”

“Jock, what did you say? Did you say monsters?”

“Monsters!” Jock exploded, head twitching this way and that. Life finally returned to his eyes as he dashed to the other side of the room and ripped an extinguisher from the wall. Owen rushed on over as Mike, another workmate, was trying to tear it from Jock’s grasp.

“Get off of me!” Jock screamed.

It was chaos. At least 5 people were trying to desperately wrestle Jock into submission in an attempt to calm him down. It was only making everything worse. Then Chris’s voice boomed across the cubicles.

“Just what the hell is going on here?” He stormed up to where Jock and Mike were wrestling, and using his considerable strength and size, tore them off of eachother. Jock still clutched at the fire extinguisher. “Both of you, my office now.”“We don’t have time for that!” Jock said in hysterics. With blood on his shirt, a maddened look in his eyes, and his hair all ruffled, Owen was beginning to worry.

“What’s going on?” Caroline, Owen’s neighbour, asked with concern, rushing up to the scuffle without hesitance. She tucked in her long golden hair behind her ear and placed a calming hand on Jock, then pushed Mike back as well. “Let’s all calm down.”

It seemed to do the trick as no one wanted to get Caroline in the middle of the fight. Mike inched closer to Caroline. Perhaps he didn’t even realise he was doing it. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.

Ignoring everything that was happening, the arguing, the pushing, Owen rushed to the windows, clawing off a stack of papers from a nearby table in the process. Louis followed him.

Head pressed against the cool glass, Owen looked down at the streets. It was pandemonium. What was once just one smoke cloud, were now several. The people down in the streets, although small, were seen falling, pushing, and sprinting. He saw fire. Orange, red, and angry. It consumed the horizon. Maybe it was joining the haze of the sun setting.

Sun setting? Owen thought in realisation. It was barely mid-day. How could the sun be setting already?

A pit formed in his stomach. He had a sudden realisation that he refused to believe was possible.

“Shit,” said Louis, bringing out his phone from his pocket and pointing it to the streets. “Look,” Louis said and without pressing the record button, zoomed way into the streets. They both saw it crystal clear. People were running from… something. Owen’s heart dropped and then his eyes widened as he saw a lumbering… thing, attack someone. It was hard to follow, mainly because the camera was so blurry from being so far away, but all he saw was—

Owen’s stomach churned as he watched the monster cleave the person—a woman—he thought, in half. Blood spilled out onto the streets. Owen stepped back. He thought he’d only taken one, but his back struck a cubicle, sending picture frames tumbling and smashing.

“What the fuck,” Louis said, tongue pratically tied.

Screams came from below. Owen felt sick to his stomach as his heart smashed against his chest like a percussion drum.

The realisation crashed over Owen like a tidal wave. He was inside the world of A Titan’s Journey, a place he’d only read about. The horror of the situation gripped him. How had his fantasy world become this brutal reality? Every cell in his body screamed in disbelief and terror.

Owen noticed a man wearing a black suit emerge from the door leading up to the other floors on the other side of the office. Owen followed his figure, and a sudden description fell into place.

Wearing a black suit, Ansel was on his 63rd regression. He dashed down the offices with a fireman's axe in hand, sprinting where the monsters chased prey. Little did they know, they were about to become the hunted.

Just like the book's description, the man wore the same suit. He had a fireman's axe in hand, and the dull look in his eyes, one that was almost bored, struck a chord with Owen. It was insanity, but a thought surfaced. Ansel? It was utterly absurd. One that broke any sort of common sense and turned it on its head. But Owen knew.

He was Ansel Windsor, the main character of A Titan’s Journey. And a regressor. He wasn’t alone.

A man clad in thick muscle arrived with him, asking if everyone was okay. Owen’s mouth opened wide. Although it was difficult to put descriptive words into real life, the man in front of him was unmistakable. Smart hair swept back, muscles bulging out of his white shirt, a scar etched across his eyebrow from a childhood accident. He was Iron Fortress Callan, a powerful Lord candidate and a side character in A Titan’s Journey.

No, it must be a coincidence. It had to be. It all had to be.

As quickly as he arrived, he swung open the door to the stairwell, gave one look at Callan, then slammed it shut. Then he was gone like the wind; most likely targeting the fruits of his knowledge. Apart from the dim look he had given the Iron Fortress, he didn’t give anyone else a single glance.

“There’s no way,” Owen muttered to himself.

You have been given the Mission — Survival: Enter the Subway Station within 7 days.

| Bonus objective: Obtain a Lord Shard to ensure a domain within the Land Between.

Owen’s hands clenched as he pressed his back against a cubicle wall. The System’s words, the monster, Ansel, and Callan—each piece of evidence led to one undeniable truth: he had merged with the world of A Titan’s Journey.