There is a story that everyone knows. It is a story you are told as a child. A story that feels right to us on a fundamental level, almost as if we instinctively yearn for this story to always be true.

It is the story of good rising to stand against evil. The story of an honest farm boy, or a plucky adventurer, chosen by fate to become a hero and save the world. 

We know this story because it’s what we were promised since childhood, because we were told there was hope to come. And how joyous we were when it finally came to pass.

One thousand years ago, the prophesied hero, with strength unmatched, an enchanted blade on his hip, all the armies of mankind at his back, and destiny itself on his side, rose to meet the darkness.

And he lost.

He lost, and because of his failure, the world was plunged into an age of death and destruction.

Monstrous hordes and demonic cults spilled across the map like an inky tar, burning entire kingdoms as sacrifices, and wiping humanity from nearly every continent. Our empires crumbled, our homelands razed to the ground, our people butchered like pigs, and we were reduced to starving refugees,forever running from the darkness nipping at our heels.

But mankind still survives, clawing out a spot at the fringes of the world, and hiding behind countless stone walls, praying for an end to the eternal siege. 

We survive, and we endure. Because in this world, that is all anyone can hope to do.

-To War by Jingo-

-Arc Start: New World, Same Sins-

-New World, Same Sins: Chapter 1-

The arch Magos watched from the top of his tower as the city of Genoa burned.

From the dizzying height of the mage tower, the entire city could be seen. Once thriving and beautiful but now collapsing in on itself as it fell to ruin. Green flames jumped from building to building with a haunting, almost sentient hunger, devouring stone and timber alike, with embers leaping from the flames to latch onto fleeing civilians.

Gnolls swarmed through the streets in droves, twisted amalgamations of man and beast with hunched and wild-eyed- their disfigured bodies silhouetted against the inferno that followed in their wake. They wield jagged makeshift weapons, each one flickering with the same vile green fire that was swallowing the city alive. The most sentient brandish stolen swords with a competence similar to an apprenticing knight, but many more use nothing but their claws and fangs- howling gleefully as they drag people down and rip into flesh.

Their laughter is shrill and guttural, a savage chorus that rises above the screams of fleeing citizens and the crash of collapsing buildings. From this height, the gnolls almost looked like an infestation, sweeping through the city in a chaotic disorganized mess.

The city guard was slowing the Gnolls’ advance, forming spearwalls at crucial intersections, and supplemented by plenty of civilians who were brave enough to face the monsters, or desperate enough to go down fighting. But beneath the savagery of the onslaught and the weight of the daemon fire, they were forced to fall back again and again, each time suffering horrible casualties.

The sell swords were much more successful, which wasn’t that surprising, considering those adventuring bands and mercenaries typically hunted beasts like these for sport and profit, but they were clearly not prepared for such vast numbers.

The armored Imperial knights of the crown were few and far between, but they stood as unmatched bulwarks. He could easily pick out exactly where each of them was, simply because they guaranteed to be the singular person, standing on a pile of bodies, surrounded by a wall of claws, and not dying.

Unfortunately, they were only human, and one by one they fell, flickering out like dying stars.

The only building spared from the flames, was the church of the goddess, which stood as a gleaming spot of marble white, amidst the glaze of green. The citizens and guards that had taken refuge there likely found a great morale boost from the fact the holy wards were keeping away the demon fire, but the Arch Magos knew they would do nothing against the Gnolls themselves- that would be entirely up to the people with the courage to lift a weapon.

Beyond the breached wall, the harbor was a nightmare. The proud navy that had kept the region safe from coastal raids for decades, was nothing but a burning wreck. The entire horizon seemed to glow a sickly color from the poisonous green flames of daemon fire that gripped their hulls and followed the ships to their graves, continuing to burn brightly even as they slipped beneath the waves.

The merchant ships anchored there burned like kindling, their sails and ropes snapping under the heat as the gnolls climbed aboard, looting what they could before the vessels succumbed to flame and sank into the dark water. 

A hoard of patchwork boats, and stolen ships, floated a short distance off the shore, each of them bearing a simple green flag with a white dog skull that had become the nightmare of the southern cities over the last few years.

More and more Gnolish troops poured off the ramps as new boats landed, while returning packs carried great mountains of loot to their raiding ships. But much more important than the gold or the weapons were the slaves- hundreds of bloodied humans lined up like cattle, wrapped in chains, and forced onto the boats like cattle.

The lucky ones would be worked as forced labor until they broke or died, but the unlucky would be used as sacrifices.

Even now he could see Gnolls piling up wooden scrap from the wrecked ships, and forming a great wooden pyre that rose as high as buildings. A shaman draped in bones and fetishes, raised a clawed hand and sent a bright spark of green into the pile, which hungerly devoured it into a blazing inferno. Then he stepped aside and motioned for the sacrifice to be brought forth.

“Horrible. Truly horrible.” The mage tutted under his breath before shaking his head and turning away, walking right past his apprentice who was staring out at the city with a horrified expression on her face, and was rooted to the ground like a frozen statue.

“A-Arch mage Theros!” She shouted as she ran after him. “We have to do something!”

“We already did, or did you not actually help me try to sink the fleet as it approached?”

“But the city-”

“The city is lost, Rebecca.” The old mage cut her off as he stepped into the circle in the middle of the room. “Besides, I am tired. I don’t have the strength to go reclaim the beaches, especially not where there are much more important things here I need to protect.”

He tapped his staff on the center of the circle, causing the magnetism spell on its metal frame to start weakening, and the elevator to slowly descend all the way down to ground level.

“What could possibly be more important than all the people that are being killed, or worse!?”

He debated whether he should tell her for a moment, before deciding the situation was dire enough for it.

“I have a lost fragment in the basement.”

The red haired girl stared up at him wordlessly, and he could see her brain stuttering to a start.

…

“You have a WHAT!?”

“Yes, yes, the extremely dangerous divine artifacts that the Emperor ordered to be locked up under royal decree. I found one on an archeological site several years ago.” Theros stroked his graying beard and gave her a critical look. “I kept it for study. It’s quite fascinating, you know. It doesn’t seem to like reality. I would have let you help me, but I knew you would react like this.”

“You- You- YOU!” Rebecca uselessly waved her hands in front of her as she struggled for words, causing the dark blue sleeves of her dress to flap around uselessly.

“Yes. Me.”

The elevator clicked into place on the bottom floor of the building, and Theros stepped off smoothly.

“The relic is locked in a vault and wrapped in some of the most advanced warding spells I have learned in my many years. It will take half an hour or so for me to unlock it, so we have to get started now. Then the two of us will slip out of the city, and deliver it to the capital, saying that we took it from the Gnolls’ leader.”

“Do the Gnoll’s even have a leader?”

“They’re pack animals, Rebecca, of course they do, and she’s quite horrible.” Theros rolled his eyes. “Now come quickly, we-”

He was cut off as the building shook, and the massive stone door to the mage tower rattled like a tin can.

Bright runes carved into its surface lit up as the magical wards slammed into existence. The tower shook again at another impact, and the wards hissed and sparked as they struggled to repel the attack, arcs of blue energy snapping out like desperate lightning.

But the light of some of the runes dimmed, a toxic green leaking into them, before cannibalizing themselves in a small explosion. Flames licked through the seams of the door, as the stone itself began to darken, cracks slowly spider-webbing from the edges inward.

“Rebecca.” The arch mangos spoke, his tone deathly serious.

“Yes, master?”

“There has been a change of plans. Forget the fragment. Leave and run north, tell the Emperor what has happened here. Tell him what I hid from him, and what the Gnolls have now stolen from me. Tell him that the greatest city on the southern coast has fallen, and a fragment of our dead god has fallen into the hands of the daemon worshipers.” A glimmer of grim amusement flickered in his eye. “It might finally get the capital to listen. Honestly it’s what they deserve for ignoring all the warnings I have been sending over the years.”

“But master-”

“GO!” He roared, hitting her with a wave of force that grabbed her clothes and carried her out of the room, but as the wards gave out and the massive stone exploded inwards.

A tidal wave of gnashing teeth and bloodied claws rushed forward, trampling over each other to be the first to reach him, but Theros just calmly leveled his staff and cleared his mind.

A torrent of lighting erupted from the gem at the top, and blasted the beasts into bloody chunks, jumping between them like a vengeful spirit.

Letting out a weary sigh, Theros lowered his staff, and opened his eyes to see the pile of charred Gnolls splattered all over his entry way, with electricity still occasionally sparking from body to body.

More weren’t coming in after that initial rush, which was strange because Gnolls didn’t have biological survival instincts, which was part of the reason they were so dangerous. Instead they just stood back, beyond the door, unwilling to step onto the chiseled stone floor of his home.

His unspoken question was answered when a Gnoll much larger than any of the others shouldered her way past the pack, and stepped forward to face him.

She was seven feet tall, her body was a malformed amalgamation of human and hyena, with arms too long that ended in black claws, and legs that bent backwards with large gray paws on their bottom. She was wearing mismatched stolen armor pieces that helped hide the scars that criss crossed her body, with one running over her face, and lining up with a missing eye.

“So you’s that shaman that’s been sinking my boast when my pack come near here, huh?” She grinned with a mouth too large, and teeth too sharp. “I’ve been wanting to have some words with you!”

“My apologies, if I had known which boat was yours, I would have made sure to sink that one first. I had been intending to get the pack leader.”

“HAKK!” The Gnoll let out a sound that was half bark and half cough as she snarled at him. Her eye flared with green flames glowing behind the iris, while her large furry ears flicked on her head in agitation, one of which had a large bite taken out of it.

“Not just ‘pack leader’ it’s CAPTAIN Nyzx! I’z the one who taught the pack to use your hummie boats, I’z the one who deserve the credit and loot!”

“You’re the one to blame for all the piracy and raids that have ravaged the coast.” The arch mangos narrowed his eyes, and the air around him seemed to grow heavier.

“Only one’s here that's gonna die is you.” Nyzx laughed as she pulled a hefty greatsword from her back, with glowing green runes burnt into the medal that hurt to look at.

But she also pulled out something that most certainly wasn’t a weapon. It was a bloody thing, made of teeth and thorny bramble that had been twisted into the crude shape of a hand.

Nyzx threw it forward, and Theros swatted it out of the air with a blast of blue flame, but instead of burning the fetish greedily drank the magic, and as it fell to the ground it continued to do so. The sparks of lightning still sputtering between the corpses was reeled into it like a magnet, along with the trace amount of daemon fire in the Gnolls’ bodies.

The thorny branches rapidly swelled outwards, and as the daemonic blood magic ran out of magic to consume it began devouring the corpses. Within seconds the hall was filled with writhing vines made out of bloody thorns and teeth.

Nyzx laughed like a hyena as she walked through the mess, the plant willingly parting around her.

“It’s rare for a Thorntooth to grow this big, usually it would need hundreds of sacrifices! Thank you for feeding her for me! GHAK!”

“Of all the things that could get me, of course it would be Gnolls, how annoyingly typical.” 

A lance of pure white plasma shot forward, turning stone into molten slag beneath it as it seared through the air. It collided with a surging wave of daemon fire and a twisting wall of living teeth.

-To War by Jingo-

Cotton.

Fields of cotton as far as the eye could see.

The white gold of the American south.

The cash crop so influential that it finally cemented the shift of the world's economic center from China and the Silk roads, where it had been since before the time of the Romans, to the New World and the Atlantic trade routes.

But this cotton wasn't for selling, in fact no one was even farming this cotton, no one had in decades. Instead this cotton was wild, with the farm long since neglected and no native animals able to eat them, the crops had run rampant, growing out of control until it was nothing but a sea of white.

The only evidence of human existence was the neatly cut road through the fields and the old wooden house it led to.

The house was old, that much was obvious, made without any modern electrical equipment, and only rusted metal lanterns & the occasional chandelier to light the inside. But despite its age, and the thin sheet of dust that coated every surface, the house still managed to give off an impressive feel. Large rooms full of rich rugs and cushy furniture, long hallways lined with oil paintings of people long past, closets full of elegant dresses and expensive coats, and a cellar stocked with walls of finely aged alcohol.

It was the home of a man who had clawed his way to the top, and embellished said life at the top for all it was worth. Look closely however, and you'll start to notice little details that spoke of a far darker story, than that of a simple self made man.

A small pile of rusted chains on the outside porch.

A cattle branding iron lost in a hurry, rolled under the couch.

A braided leather whip left on a hook in a back closet… its tip stained with long gone blood.

Will cringed as he saw the whip, immediately regretting letting his curiosity open the door.

"What am I doing here?" He asked himself as he kicked the closet closed with his boot, hopefully to never be opened again.

The house had an eerie aura that seemed to permeate the air, it spoke of pain, and dark things that had happened long ago on these very floor boards. He hated it… but he owned it.

Well, his family did at least. It had been hand built by his great great great grandfather over the course of the man's life, gradually adding on and expanding it from a small hutt in the rat's end of nowhere to one of the largest cotton plantations in the state.

Although while they did technically own it, no one had lived here in decades, because-

A floorboard creaked under his foot, and an icy cold breeze blew through him from out of nowhere.

…reasons.

And it wasn't like there were people lining up to buy the place either, no, they were stuck with it for the time being, which brought him back to the reason he was here.

The man who ran this plantation was a cruel bastard through and through, but he was a successful bastard, having painstakingly carved his way from a dirt poor German immigrant to a fortune holder, over the broken backs of those on his leash. That had set a precedent, a cruel precedent, but a precedent nonetheless. He expected his son to do just as, if not better than him financially. Which, well, he did. Moving far away from his abusive father, he caught the railroad boom and filled his coffers full from the very lucrative transportation business, before finally cementing his place at the top of the financial pyramid when his company was bought by Vanderbilt.

And so the cycle continued. His son saw the breakup of Standard Oil's monopoly of the oil industry and quickly weaseled his way up the greasy pole. After all, if the biggest company in the world was being split into twenty little pieces, well then surely all of those little pieces would need someone to help run them? His son saw the shifting public opinion, and decided to abandon oil altogether, gambling his money into real estate, buying up land all around expanding cities, waiting a few years for the city to start running out of space, and then selling his land on an exuberant markup, making ludicrous profit margins. His son had taken one look at the world's affairs, and, with a large loan from his father that he swore to repay, had thrown his lot into the weapons industry, a move that proved to be prophetic when the United Nations was torn apart by disagreements in its own security council… Nearly every piece of American military equipment in the cold war that followed, had his company's logo stamped on it.

And then there was Will.

Cheap land wasn't exactly a common thing anymore, with all but the Alaskan tundra having been long since bought up. Oil was a dying business, with public support lower than the dwindling underground reserves, kept alive only by the needs for plastics and rubbers. The cold war ended when every major player in it had crashed their economy in the arms race. Railroads had long since been made obsolete. And cotton farming was, well- no, just no.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

The world in 2095 was a very difficult place to make a fortune. Most commercial fields were held in a pseudo-monopoly by a handful of multi billion dollar companies that didn't exactly like sharing, volatile world tensions and political clashes led to an unpredictable and unreliable economy, add onto all this the every growing number of lunatics, seemingly hellbent on getting ahold of their very own shiny red button of World War 3- and the fact the replacement for the UN, the Organisation of Free Nations, was basically useless in doing anything about any of this, and well…

Will sighed as he trudged through the halls, after he had finished his private schooling at 17, his father had told him had four years to get together a financial base and build up contacts before he tossed him out. Well, he turned 21 in two and half weeks, and, if it wasn't obvious by now, he didn't have the slightest bit of a good plan.

Oh he had plans alright, it would be hard not to come up with any plans with almost 21 years to scheme up a few, the problem was his lack of plans that weren't almost certainly doomed to fail.

Well… perhaps that was a bit dramatic.

Could he be successful? Yes, quite easily if he played his cards right.

Could he live up to his father's expectations of success? Very unlikely.

The weight of hundreds of hours of custom economics classes being completely useless, and the past, at least, 6 years of his life seeming more and more like a complete waste of time, had led him to do some thinking. Which, he supposed, was why he was here, the place where it all began. Maybe here he could find some clue, a hint as to what to do. Find the inspiration he needed.

What had been his great great great grandfather's motive? Was it simply greed? Was it some desire to not die a 'nobody'? Why had he gone to the horrid lengths he had to achieve his goals?

Would solving any of these questions help him? Probably not.

But hey, it was something, and that was a lot more than most of the options he had left.

Unfortunately, the young entrepreneur hadn't found any answers so far, only broken dreams and things better off forgotten.

Scoffing, he trudged back the way he came, before pausing as he passed by a large painting. One of the largest in the house in fact, it was of Will's great great grandfather, dressed in an expensive looking coat, one hand around his wife's back, the other on the shoulder of a young boy, no older than 9, with wide slimes adorning all their faces.

How?

"How could someone so horrible, look so happy?" Will asked himself, even though he already knew the answer.

The world was just a terrible, terrible place that was full of terrible people.

And all the evidence he could ever need was right in front of him.

Right next to the old painting of a smiling family hung an old musket. It was an old 1853 Enfield rifle.

Its bayonet was still sharp, if a tad rusty, the wood was treated, and the barrel undamaged- dust it off and it would be a fine display piece, like genuine antique would be. But the problem came from the fact it had been passed down as an heirloom, as a proud reminder of his great great grandfather’s loyalties, which were abundantly clear by the flag elegantly carved on the butt of the gun… the Confederate flag.

A creaking sound broke him from his thoughts, and Will turned his head to see the old closet door slowly creeping back open, the whip inside just barely visible from the shadows, causing him to scowl.

Glancing back to the musket an idea came to him, a stupid idea, but one that turned his little old frown upside down.

He grabbed the rifle from its harness, aimed at the whip, lined up his shot, pausing to adjust his footing, and with a deep breath, pulled the trigger.

And the world went white.

-To War by Jingo-

Will blinked rapidly and shook his head, trying to fix the white spots in his vision and the high pitch ringing in his ears.

"..lmost ...an't beliv...It work…t real...rked.."

'Stupid, Stupid, STUPID!' He ranted to himself. 'That gun had been hanging on the wall, for God KNOWS how long, why the fuck would you fire a gun that's had old gunpowder sitting in it since the fucking VICTORIAN ERA! Of course it would fucking blow up! It was a display gun, why was it even loaded in the first place!?'

Squeezing his eyes shut to block out the blinding lights, he was vaguely able to make out a person- no, multiple people, talking. Whole lotta' good that did him though, considering he couldn't understand a damn word they were saying.

Bringing his hand up to massage his temple, he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear the large white spots that were dancing in his vision. He was making great progress in his endeavor until a heavy object lightly wacked into his side, causing him to look up and be bewildered at the sight of a man dressed like he was a knight from the middle ages.

Will flexed his skill in diplomacy by sending his best "What the fuck?" expression at the man, who displayed a similar mastery of communication by responding with a nod in the other direction.

Following the guard's prompt, he turned to the front of the room which only served to give him more questions. There people wearing honest to goodness metal armor stationed at the corners of the room, while a group of ten people dressed in occultist-looking cloaks with hoods stood bunched together, staring at him like a kid would look at an elephant.

Looking around, Will found himself in what looked like a room you would find in the catacombs under an old stone castle- a comparison driven home by the burning torches hanging on the walls. He was sitting on the edge of a large circle that had been carved into the floor, and was crisscrossed with so many intricate patterns that it made his eyes hurt.

He had just woken up in a place he didn’t recognize, surrounded by people he didn’t know. He spotted the musket nearby that had fallen a short ways away from him, he grabbed it by the barrel and pulled the weapon to his chest as he stood up. It wasn’t loaded anymore, but they didn’t know that, and bullets or not it still had a rusty tetanus infested bayonet on the end.

The two other people in the circle with him (thankfully wearing normal 21st century clothes), and they looked just as confused as he was.

One was a girl with raven black hair that fell over her shoulder and rolled down her back and was long enough to provide a tripping hazard. It was well maintained but unbrushed, and when combined with the fact she was wearing pajama pants and a blue hoodie, it looked like she had been summoned during a couch nap.

She was clutching a leather bound journal to her chest, with a smooth deep blue gem, about half the size of a fist, embedded in its cover.

The other was a man that screamed “gym bro” in every sense of the word. He was tall, built like a brick, and was wearing a football jersey of some team that Will didn’t recognize. He also had a gem on him, a rough fiery Ruby, that had buried itself into the back of his right hand.

Now that his attention was drawn to the gems, Will noticed that his gun had one on it too. A cleanly cut golden citrine with sharp corners, had somehow been stuck on the side of the musket so cleanly, that he would have thought it had been manufactured that way if he hadn’t seen it beforehand. 

One of the men in robes stepped forward, and spread his arms.

“Celebrated heroes! You have been chosen by the ritual. Please save our world!”

…

You know, of all the things Will had been expecting, that wasn’t one of them. Points for originality though.

“Can y’all cut out the fantasy roleplay crap, and just tell me where I am? And how the Hell did I get here?!”

“You are in the city of Praguen, capital of the Imperial Federation. You were summoned here by an ancient ritual.”

“You might as well be speaking gibberish to me.” Will scoffed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it makes perfect sense.” The buff guy whispered to himself, nodding his head in awe like he had just had an epiphany of a cosmic level. “I’ve always felt I was destined for more. I could always hear it, the call of fate!”

“That’s called being delusional. Get a therapist.”

But the man was not deterred, as he grinned wolfishly and threw his fists into the air.

“A new world, a new start, and the chance to be a hero? Let’s fucking go! Take me to your leader, so I may thank him and swear my blade into his service, like a knight of old!”

“Hold on, they haven’t even explained anything!” Will shouted, but the guy was already gone, running out of the room like a kid in a candy shop.

"I-I'm sorry," One of the priests stammered. "But the Emperor has requested your presence as soon as humanly possible, and he can explain in much greater detail than I, so if you would please follow us this way." He finished before quickly hurrying after the other hero.

The girl frantically glanced between Will, and literally everyone else leaving, before waving nervously at him and following the others.

Within seconds, Will was left alone in the room, with only some half gibberish answer about rituals as an explanation.

Shaking his head, he caught a look of his reflection in one of the ostentatious, and stupidly expensive looking, giant crystal pillars in the room.

Just a quarter of an inch over six feet tall, Will was reasonably tall, with messy brown hair sticking up in random directions, partially due to having a bomb go off in his face, and partially because his hat had fallen off when he landed in whatever corner of comic con he was in.

He was happy to find that the explosion hadn't damaged his clothing much, just a few light burns here and there. He was dressed in a charcoal colored long coat his father had gotten him for his 18th birthday, to help deal with the rapidly dropping global temperatures. He had a black dress shirt, blue jeans, and steel toed leather boots. Slung around one shoulder was an old leather bag he had taken from his great great grandfather's room out of curiosity, and around the other was the gun that had somehow gotten him into this mess.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He scoffed as he swiped his old cowboy hat off the ground and shoved it on his head. “This shit better start making sense soon, or I swear I’m going to throttle someone.”

-To War by Jingo-

Things did not, in fact, start making sense.

Will was led to a massive room with a ceiling three times high as the floor was horizontal. Thick marble columns bore the weight of the hall, each one etched with faded Imperial iconography, and heraldic symbols of the various kingdoms and duchies that made up the empire.

The room was illuminated by light that filtered through tall stained-glass windows, but it was never bright, the sun outside was dim even then at the height of day. Each glass was a piece of art that depicted the stories of long-dead saints and forgotten Kings, their colors were muted by time, causing the sunlight that poured through them to be tinted paler than it should have been.

Around the hall, banners from the empire’s many provinces and vassal states hung from the walls, some newer than others, but the largest of these was at the head of the room- the flag of the Empire itself, emblazoned with a golden griffon.

Beneath the pearly white and golden flag was the throne. The throne itself stood upon a raised platform, still imposing despite the scuffs and scratches that marked its base. It was made of dark wood, with a red silk cushion, and reinforced with bands of gold and iron. 

The Emperor sat on his throne like a man carved from the same weathered stone as the pillars that held up the hall. He was an old man, his face deeply lined with the marks of time and countless struggles, yet there was a sharpness in his eyes. His hair, once likely a strong shade of brown or black, had long since faded to silver and gray, thin and wild where it hadn't receded entirely. Yet he wore it with a kind of stubborn dignity, a relic of the man he had once been. 

“I am Charles the Fourth, crowned Holy Emperor of the Imperial Federation, by the hand of the Pope, and with the authority of the goddess herself. Summoned heroes, step forward and introduce yourselves.” He called out with a low gravelly voice

“Of course your majesty!” The blonde jock boomed as he stepped forward and slapped a fist to his chest. “My name is David Smith, I’m 27 years old, three time local boxing champ, and I am honored to have been chosen for this role!”

The Emperor remained unchanged, any approval or disapproval he felt at David’s boisterous over-eager attitude was hidden behind a face of stone that even Will’s business training couldn’t get a read on.

“My name is Elyra Ross.” The girl introduced herself meekly, seeming to shrink under the Emperor’s steely gaze. “I’m a self published author. I write books for a living.”

That seemed to break a reaction out of the old man, causing him to slightly raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“A scribe? Not a warrior?”

“N-No sir.” She stammered.

The Emperor hummed in a tone that betrayed nothing, and turned his attention to the last person in line.

“William Josef Dixie.” Will said with a tip of his hat, offering nothing more.

When it became clear that Dixie wasn’t going to give anything else, the old man cleared his throat and spoke to all three of them.

“You may be wondering why you’re here, so allow me to explain. This world is a grim place, scarred by men whose genius led them to breach the barrier between realms- men who, in their ambition, set both themselves and our entire planet ablaze.

“Now humanity is besieged by threats on all sides, from within and without, by monsters and unspeakable creatures that crawl forth from the darkest pits of the Infernal Court. But our mages have found ways to turn the thinning walls of our world to our advantage, discovering how to draw upon worlds parallel to our own. The spell that brought you here is an ancient ritual, to reach across timelines in search of champions who embody the spirit of our first legendary hero.”

 He gestured to the three outsiders in front of him.

“A hero of Valor.”

David preened under the title, squaring his shoulders and smiling handsomely.

“A hero of Wisdom.”

Elyra’s mouth opened in a cute o as she looked up at the Emperor in awe.

“A hero of Justice.”

Will raised a single eyebrow. That did not sound like him.

“Heroes, you've been summoned for a single reason. The empire faces a grave threat, and your strength is needed to confront it. A powerful relic has been stolen by daemon worshipers, and it is your duty to retrieve it by any means you find necessary. Three times before has this ritual been done, and three times before have heroes marched to defend humanity, now it is your turn. 

“Together you will stand as a bulwark against the dark, and push back the evils that seek to destroy us. I won’t waste your time with flattery- You have the power to rise to great heights, so use it. End this threat, and the Empire will remember your service. You have my trust. That is all."

Emperor Charles gave a forced nod, and then waved a hand, dismissing them.

…

The three “heroes” stood there awkwardly in front of the throne as guards moved to escort them out of the room.

“Is that it?” David asked. “Who are we fighting? Where are we supposed to go? How can I hero up if I don’t know where I’m going?”

“This is why politicians never write their own speeches.” Will muttered under his breath. “The cereal ads back home were more inspirational.”

But still, something was bothering him about all this…

“Wait, we get to go home after we kick ass, right? We’re not stuck here, are we?”

“Of course.” The Emperor said after a second of delay that had Will narrowing his eyes. “It has never been done before, as no hero has ever requested to leave, but I am sure the mages can reverse the spell.”

“A-Are we going to be paid?” Elyra cut in bluntly. “This sounds really dangerous.”

“Woah, you can’t just say that, dude! It’s bad manners.” David whispered to her.

“They want us to do dangerous physical work, we should get paid for it.” She cut back, but sounded less sure of herself.

Will eagerly stepped forward to seize on the opening, sweeping into a poorly done, but passable, formal bow.

“Your majesty, my friend has a valid point. Y’all pulled us here without warning, we’re cut off from our savings and homes, we didn’t even get time to pack clothes. Surely you can't expect us to help you when we can’t even afford a pair of socks?”

The Emperor did not immediately respond, which told Will that he had, in fact, expected them to just be good to go right off the bat.

“Indeed. The Empire will provide funding for you. A lump sum of a thousand Aels to get you on your feet, and a small monthly sum until the year ends. Is there anything else you would request of my Empire?”

“A legendary weapon to vanquish evil!” David proclaimed.

“M-Maybe some armor for protection?” Elyra 

“Soldiers.” Will answered without even having to think. “Manpower.”

“All of which can be acquired on your own time, with the funds you are already being given. Now leave. I have important matters of state to tend to.” The Emperor waved his hand forcefully, and Knights stepped forward to usher them away.

They were led out of the throne room, but the gnawing feeling in the back of Will’s mind never went away. There were a lot of big words and grand statements being thrown around, for a whole lot of nothing preparation wize.

Summoned in the basement, given no gear, offered no training, with not even a planned budget for them before he spoke up? Just vague statements of duty and then pointing them in a direction?

Were they really legendary heroes? Or just a quick and cheap solution to a distant problem?

-To War by Jingo-

Will stood on the edge of a stone balcony, overlooking the bustling capital beyond the walls of the fortress-like-castle. There were the castle’s walls, and then much further out, he could see a second set of massive stone walls surrounding the entire city. Even from here he could pick out visible scars on them, and entire sections that looked like they had to be entirely rebuilt at one point or another.

It was a very large area, but any prosperous city that was restricted by space would have to get creative, and it looked like rather than just going up (like New York had done) the residents here had also gone down. 

From his perch he had a brilliant view of the setting skyline. Towers and spires reached high into the sky, with arches supporting aqueducts, and pathways suspended by thick gleaming chains that gleamed with faintly visible magic. The building and towers went down and down, and even past the ground level the bridges were still needed in places.

Large excavated caverns revealed bustling, fire-lit under-streets where life extended downward, out of Will’s sight, and into the city’s depths. Staircases and rope lifts descend into vast lower levels, but even the ones visible from this height were filled with shops and homes burrowed into rock, their entrances glowing with lanterns and torches. Under the dimming light of the setting sun, the torches and magical lights slowly came alive, and turned the whole city into a glimmering maze, as if the capital was both pulling against gravity and plunging into it at the same time.

A chilly breeze washed over Will, and caused him to shiver despite his coat. But the cold was good, he liked it, it helped him think, and process the events of the day.

Magic was real, he was in a different world, a world that must run on different laws of physics in order to accommodate said magic, different laws of physics means a different universe that the one he was from. Was it just the two parallel universes, or were there other universes out there? If so, how many? Three? Four? Infinite? Infinite universes meant infinite resources, limitless fuel, unlimited energy. The fact he was dragged here meant travel between universes was possible, which opened an entire can of worms. Trade routes, colonization, screw world domination, why only settle for one when you could have as many as you want?

An empire that spanned across the multiverse, one that could colonize planet after planet, leaving behind old ones as they fell to ruin, dodging planet-killing apocalypses that would have otherwise spelt doom.

An empire to last 'till the end of time...

A weak smile of awe formed on Will's face as understanding dawned on him. The magnitude of what he had stumbled upon was, in layman's terms, "Fucking Insane."

“Is something wrong, sir hero?” One of the palace maids asked from behind him.

“I’m fine, I’m just processing everything.” Will sighed and took a sip from a cup of wine that he had requested. He wanted to give his body a few days to adjust to this place before risking whatever bacteria could be in the local water, but wine was acidic so he reasoned it was probably safer to drink. At least, that was if he was remembering his old history facts correctly.

“I’m just wondering if y’all’re sure you got the right guy. I don’t exactly feel like the right pick for a ‘hero of justice’.”

Even just saying the words had him scoffing. That was such a lame and cheesy title. What’s next, are they going to summon a fourth hero called the ‘hero of friendship’? That felt par for the course.

Well… maybe not.

His eyes drifted back to the outer walls, and all the scars of war and siege he could see even from here. This place seemed like they needed a bit more than cliches and friendship to make their problems go away.

“Of course not, sir. The ritual was designed by the first hero himself, it is infallible.”

“You’re right. What kind of shitty fantasy story starts with the plot fucking up right from the get go?”

“...Fantasy story?”

“Nothing. I’m just thinking about my old world.” Will shook his head and looked back over the city.

The other heroes were undoubtedly going to go off and start training, maybe go out and look for some monsters to fight. He wasn't going to be doing that. First priority was to find a place to sit down, think, and make a plan.

God knows, he was gonna need one. Luckily using his head was something he'd been trained to do all his life, he already had a few ideas that he needed to write out and see if-

Will froze dead in his tracks. His eyes immediately snapping to what had caught his attention.

"What…" He asked calmly. “...Is that?"

He raised a hand and pointed down onto a street below, where there was a group of people loading up a parked wagon.

They were humans, but… not? Some of them he recognized as bastardized versions of fantasy races from games and TV in his old life.

There were harpies struggling to balance crates on their back between clipped wings, while walking on unsteady claws. One of them was a large woman with the lower body of a snake- a lamia. But there were also plenty which he didn’t have names for, like the ones with beast traits, such as furry ears atop their heads, and animal tails.

Two of these people specifically had his attention.

The first a young girl and the other a boy who had dog ears atop their heads. Both of them were covered in bruises and wore torn rags as clothing. Frail, and obviously malnourished, they limped in pain as they dragged heavy boxes to and fro', loading them into a parked wagon… the rusty chains they wore, scraping the ground as they moved.

"Oh that? Don't mind them, sir, it's just some demi humans doing what they can to repay the horrors their kind have committed- the ones that can be trained to obey orders, anyway, and aren’t just mindless beasts." The maid scowled down at where he was pointing.

“The Gnolls especially are always just a few steps away from descending into savage animals, at any moment. They’re some of the cruelest and most disgusting creatures you’ll find outside the walls. Besides demons themselves, mind you. Oh, but I can see your concern, sir." She said with a sneer "They’re truly ugly look at, them just being around can ruin the view of the entire city. Why, I can practically smell their stink all the way from up here!”

“And the humans down there with them?” WIll asked coldly.

“Debtors who are working to pay off an especially large sum of money they owe, or that their parents owed and passed onto them when they died. That’s the only way a human can legally be bound in chains, so you don’t have to worry- it’s nearly impossible for a morally upstanding person to wind up in that situation.”

"Slaves..." Will asked quietly. “This country has slavery? I take it this is widespread?”

“Yes sir, they are used most extensively in the mines and crop fields, if I remember correctly. Are you interested in purchasing the debt of one, by chance?”

Dixie didn’t respond, and an awkward silence quickly filled the air.

…

"Sir?" The servant started before Will waved her off.

He stared blankly at the slaves, as they stumbled and fell, as they forced themselves up and continued to drag the boxes despite the pain they were in.

He stared until the cart was packed up and drove away, and even then he stared at the empty spot for a long while.

Abruptly he spun on his heel and marched back into the castle, a newfound resolve and determination burning in his eyes.

Justice… Maybe the ritual hadn’t made a mistake after all.

He had a plan to make.

-End Chapter-

This is “To War By Jingo”, an old fic that Kentucky is literally paying for me to reboot. Everyone thank him. (or curse him, if you would have preferred it to stay dead)