I jerk upright at the sound of rushing wind and the slow whistle of air blowing across uneven stone. My eyes refuse to focus at first. Everything tilts: gray shapes, brownish smears, the faint outline of a strange monument overhead. There’s a dryness in my mouth, and my limbs feel like someone replaced my bones with half-melted rubber. I plant a hand on solid ground, then squint at a towering slab of rock a few feet away. The slab juts from the earth, etched with carvings of beasts I’ve never seen. Thin lines swirl around elongated skulls, horns that wind like serpents, and hollow eyes that stare.

A vague memory slithers into my brain: a late-night booze run, all of us packed into my car, and Christian’s voice promising to “improve” the drinks. Then everything else fuzzes out.

Someone groans behind me. It sounds like a drawn-out complaint from Troy. I crane my neck. Troy stretches an arm over his face, as though blocking an invisible sun. He mumbles about the headache twisting behind his eyes. A few feet from Troy, Erwin is on his knees, pressing both palms against the grass. His mouth stays half-open as though he can’t decide if he wants to throw up or breathe. Christian sits close by, kneading his temples and blinking like a man who lost a contact lens. Lyniel is on his back, eyes closed, arms splayed out to the sides.

I drag myself onto my feet. A wave of dizziness hits, and my hand shoots out to steady myself on the nearest carved slab. My fingers brush a carved depiction of a hunched creature with protruding fangs. The surface is warm, as if someone lit a tiny fire beneath the stone. There’s no flame, though. There’s only grass, more rocks, and an uncomfortable breeze.

Troy’s voice emerges, muffled at first. “Where the hell—” 

His words trail off. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “This isn’t the car, right? I’m not dreaming?”

Christian lowers his hands from his temples. His eyes flick around the circle of stones. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what this place is.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches. A few seconds pass before he raises a brow at me.

I press my lips tight, then glance at the tall grass beyond the circle. The stalks sway in dull brownish-green waves under a pale sky. Far in the distance, a mountain range hides behind a hazy mist. My heart thumps, and I let out a slow exhalation. My gaze turns to Christian again. He’s shifting his weight from one knee to the other, shoulders drooping.

Erwin gives him a long look. “Are you sure you didn’t spike anything?” 

Erwin’s voice sounds raw. “We know you. Remember that trip to New Zealand? We ended up in Borneo, Christian.”

Christian runs a thumb under his chin. “I told you a thousand times, that was an accident, and it was one time—”

“Actually two,” Lyniel mutters from the grass, his eyes still half-closed. He sits up. A few blades cling to his hair. “You did something weird during that baseball trip. I woke up three states away, next to a goat farm.”

Christian scrunches his face and shakes his head. “I— That was—” 

He swallows whatever excuse he’s about to make, then throws his arms up. “I wouldn’t spike everything again. That’s an old gag. Besides, we’ve never ended up in a stonehenge with weird totems before.”

A low grunt leaves Troy’s throat. He tilts his head back, and a short laugh escapes him. 

“So we’re in a stonehenge. If that’s not a sign Christian messed up, I don’t know what is.” A small grin stretches across his face as he drags himself upright.

I take a moment to scrape my shoe against the packed dirt. My palms brush flecks of dust off my pants. I glance around at the rest of the group. None of us has a scratch on us—no broken glass, no sign of my car, no seatbelts. The wind whips across the clearing, carrying a dry smell that reminds me of old books and faint ozone. I inhale slowly.

Erwin scans the horizon. He tenses, then points at the jagged mountains in the distance. 

“No roads,” he murmurs. “No streetlights. No buildings.” His eyebrows knit as he pivots in a slow circle. “Just grass. Rocks. Weird carvings. Anybody see anything else?”

Troy lifts a hand above his eyes, as though shading them from a glaring sun. The sky remains overcast, but he squints anyway. “Not a single building. I see an empty field stretching out to—” 

He takes a step sideways and strains to peer around the large stone totem. “Nowhere.”

Lyniel climbs to his feet and brushes grass off his jeans. His lips part in confusion when he looks down at his clothes. Then he checks his pockets, pats his sides, and releases a shaky breath. He leans over to me. “We’re not missing any body parts, at least.”

I raise a finger to point out the obvious. “Except we’re definitely not in the car. Or Borneo. Or anywhere that looks like Earth.”

A flicker of annoyance crosses Christian’s face. He pushes his hair back and tries to laugh, but it comes out forced. 

“We might be dreaming,” he says. His expression twitches. He pinches the skin of his arm and sucks air between his teeth.

Erwin’s gaze slides from the top of Christian’s head to his shoes. He moves closer, as if examining him for signs of lying. “If you did spike those drinks, then you’ve outdone yourself.” 

Erwin bites the inside of his cheek. “A new dimension is pretty elaborate, even for you.”

Christian rubs his arm. He doesn’t reply. His stare fixes on the faint shimmer in the air just outside the circle of stones, but that shimmer vanishes after a breath.

I shrug and step away from the center of the formation. My footsteps make gentle crunching sounds on the grass. As soon as I approach the edge of the totems, the air in front of me ripples like heat haze over a desert road. Warmth flushes up my spine. My knees buckle. Before I can catch my balance, I hit the ground hard, both hands slamming into the grass. My breath catches in my throat.

Behind me, the others let out identical groans as if we all fell into the same trap. Lyniel topples forward, his arm flailing out. Troy staggers, tries to stay upright, and fails with a ragged gasp. Christian collapses near a stone, biting back a muffled curse. Erwin slumps to one side, pressing a fist against his chest.

A faint pulse rushes through my ears. It feels like someone is playing a distant drum inside my skull. My vision dims. Then there’s a sharp intake of air from the others. My gaze snaps forward just as a translucent rectangle of bluish light winks into existence a foot from my face.

Letters swim across that rectangle in crisp lines:

SYSTEM AWAKENED

Welcome, Horseman of Pestilence

Name: Paul Vincent

Title: Horseman of Pestilence

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Classes: [Plague Lord, level 1], [Life Stealer, level 1]

New Skills Unlocked:

* [Hacking Cough, Lv. 1] (Plague Lord) - A chosen target–or targets, for reduced effect–is beset by severe cough, hindering focus and movement. 

* [Siphoning Touch, Lv. 1] (Life Stealer) - Slowly drain the stamina of a chosen target through continuous touch. 

Weapon Acquired: Quarterstaff (x1)

My eyes track every word. A throbbing sensation courses through my arms, as if a series of pinpricks marches from fingertips to shoulders. The pulses travel up my neck, behind my eyes, and gather at the center of my head. My teeth clench. The letters fade, replaced by a swirl of icons. A small “Inventory” icon rotates at the top corner. Another icon labeled “Skills” hovers next to it.

I swallow a gasp. My mouth curves into a shape that’s half grin, half disbelief. Then I see the others kneeling in a ring. Similar rectangles hover in front of them. Each of them stares, eyes darting from line to line. Lyniel is leaning forward, one hand braced on the ground, the other reaching toward the translucent text. Erwin’s eyes widen at something on his screen. Christian huffs out a shaky breath. Troy’s lips part as he reads, his brow furrowing in a slow, confused arc.

One by one, we rise to our feet, each of us balancing ourselves with unsteady motions. The screens flicker out of existence. My legs feel numb at first, but strength returns within seconds. I try to speak, but laughter bursts from my throat instead. My head tilts back, and I let out a strangled cackle. Troy claps a hand over his mouth, but his shoulders heave with suppressed laughter. Christian rubs his face, eyes bright with whatever emotion is building behind them. Lyniel releases a long exhale. His mouth stretches in a lopsided grin. Erwin simply stares at his empty palms, then at the rest of us, then back to his hands.

Erwin runs the back of his hand across his forehead. “That was—I can’t even describe that. A system?”

“Like an RPG,” Lyniel says, his voice low but trembling at the edges. He steps forward and rolls his shoulders as though testing his body. “Horseman of Death? That’s what mine said. [Corpse Collector] and [Reaper]. That’s—” 

His next words end in a breathy laugh. “I have two classes.”

Christian rubs his temples again, but his expression is brighter than before. His words come out between quick breaths. “War. Horseman of War. [War Bringer], [Blood Harbinger]. This is insane.” 

His gaze drifts to Erwin. “You?”

Erwin’s eyes flit across the grass. He gives a small nod. 

“Horseman of Famine,” he says. “I saw ‘[Hunger Lord]’ and ‘[Disenchanter].’ I don’t know how that works.” 

He flexes his hands. Then he glances at me, curiosity etched onto his face.

I tap my chest with two fingers. 

“Pestilence,” I say. “Same deal. [Plague Lord] and [Life Stealer].” 

A bubble of satisfaction rises in my throat. “I have skill names: [Hacking Cough] and [Siphoning Touch].” 

My words tremble with excitement, though I try to keep them measured.

Troy tosses his hair back, crossing his arms over his chest in a theatrical pose. “I got Strife. [Puppet Master] and [Trickster Lord]. Two brand-new classes, level one, two skills for each.” 

His grin widens, and he waves a hand in front of his face. “Sounds like we just stumbled into a game, right? But it’s not a game, is it? We’re literally in an isekai.” 

A shared silence falls over us. We stare at each other, blinking in disbelief. Then a rush of voices erupts: theories, jokes, half-baked speculations. Lyniel points out that the old fantasy stories we read always talk about people from another world chosen for epic tasks. Erwin wonders if we get to keep these classes if we die. Troy wonders if we die for real if we die here. Christian mutters something about only having a quarterstaff in his “Inventory” icon.

I flick open my own “Inventory,” just by thinking about it. A new translucent panel appears in front of me. I blink at a single slot containing a short wooden staff. My vision lingers on the staff’s icon, and a moment later, a faint glow envelops my hands. There’s a rush of air, and the actual quarterstaff appears in my grip. It’s smooth wood, about the length of my armspan, crowned with a minor swirl of carvings near the top. The staff feels foreign but solid. I run a thumb along the grain, then glance around to see if everyone else has done the same.

Indeed, Lyniel is poking at his new staff with mild interest. Troy twirls his between his fingers like a baton, nearly smacking Christian in the arm. Christian holds his staff at chest level, testing its weight. Erwin sets the butt end of his staff against the ground, hooking his other hand around it as if it’s a walking stick.

A bout of laughter leaves Christian’s lips. He looks from the staff to me. “I can’t believe we’re standing here like this. Five Horsemen of the freaking Apocalypse, with quarterstaffs.”

Troy tugs his staff close, as though hugging it. “Way better than the last time Christian pulled something.”

Erwin clears his throat and sets his attention on me. “So, it’s real, right? This is happening? Are we actually here, physically? Not a dream or a drunken hallucination?”

I look him up and down. My hand grips the staff. Its solid weight, the scrape of wood against my palm, the pulse still running through my veins—none of it feels like a dream. My shoulders rise and fall in a deep, steadying breath. Then I jab a finger toward the horizon. “We’re definitely somewhere else. Wherever it is, I don’t see a reason to complain.”

Lyniel dusts off the back of his shirt. His gaze strays to the totems around us. He raises a brow at a carved depiction of some winged reptile with too many eyes. There’s a peculiar sparkle in those eyes of his. He looks back at us. 

“What about everything back home?” he asks quietly. His words trail off at the end, as though he’s already guessed our answer.

Troy snorts. “I’d rather be here than dealing with student loans, overdue rent, or my ex chasing me down for a new vacuum cleaner. She always wants me to pay.” 

He brandishes his quarterstaff. “This feels like a free pass.”

Christian lowers his staff, letting it rest across his shoulders. 

“We’re definitely not dealing with responsibilities here,” he says in a low tone. A short grin tugs at his lips. Then he points at me. “I can see the wheels turning in your head, man. You’re all for it too, right?”

I give a crooked tilt of my head and narrow my eyes in a mock glare. “Well, no job, no taxes, no nonsense. All we have are these cool powers and a whole new world to explore.” 

I widen my stance and tap a foot against the dirt. “I’m not complaining.”

At that, we share a burst of overlapping cheers and whoops. We raise our staffs in the air. Christian waves his around, accidentally smashing the tip against one of the stone totems, which lets out a dull clang. He flinches. Lyniel shakes his head, suppressing a grin. Troy bounces on his heels like a kid in a candy store. Erwin runs both hands through his hair, then adjusts his glasses with the tip of a finger, looking a little more composed but still smiling with parted lips.

Before we can quiet down, Lyniel whips his head toward the edge of the clearing. His staff lowers, aimed at a patch of grass. A faint rustle cuts through the air, followed by a few grunts. He lifts a hand, pointing. The rest of us shift our attention in the same direction.

A group of small, green figures creeps into view. They’re hunched forward, about half our height but muscular in the shoulders. Their skin is a dark olive shade. Their ears stick out like bat wings, and each one grips a crude bone club or a spear. Their eyes burn with a feral gleam. Jagged teeth protrude from wide mouths. One at the front glares our way and utters a harsh croak.

Troy’s face lights up like someone offered him a free dessert. He jabs a thumb at the goblins and tries to hold in a laugh. 

“Look at that. Our first monsters.” He steps forward, brandishing his quarterstaff in both hands. Erwin glances over with a raised eyebrow, but Troy just flashes a wry grin. “This really is an isekai situation.”

Lyniel draws in a quiet breath. He taps the butt of his staff on the ground. Christian’s lips twitch. He edges closer to the front as well. The group of goblins shrieks, as though trying to intimidate us. They stomp their feet and raise their weapons in our direction. The largest among them, probably their leader, has a bone club ridged with broken shards. He roars, then charges forward.

Looks like all the HEMA lessons won’t be wasted after all.

Erwin takes one step, eyes wide, but he’s not running away. Instead, he bounces on the balls of his feet, clutching his staff with both hands. Lyniel’s mouth hangs open for a second, and then he tightens his grip on his staff as well. A thin chuckle spills from his throat. Christian rocks from foot to foot, as though uncertain, then sets his jaw and lifts the staff high. Not a single one of us, I knew, feels afraid. 

The goblins close in. The distance is less than fifty feet. Their footsteps hammer against the ground, forming a chaotic rhythm of stomps and squeals. I angle my staff forward. My arms tense, and I suck a breath through my teeth. My eyes flick to the corner of my vision, where a small icon for [Hacking Cough] pulses, as if waiting.

Troy holds out a hand to me. 

“First real fight,” he says, voice trembling with anticipation. He cackles. “Let’s not mess up.”

Christian glances from left to right. “We have skills, yeah? Use them if you can.”

Lyniel presses his lips into a tight line and sets one foot ahead of the other. “Here we go, lads.”

“Hey, wait a minute–is that a fucking revolver?”