BOOK I
The Infernal Frontier, Very Serious Business
Chapter 1
The Chosen or the Punished
It burned, the coiling of fire dementedly suffocating. Only for a moment, however.
Asher opened his eyes but hardly anything changed. There was darkness still, everywhere, though at the very least the pain was gone. The silence lasted for a few seconds before a faint, snapping sound echoed and something appeared: about twenty yards to his left, he saw a figure ‘sprout’ into existence. A man in his early twenties, tall yet skinny, with round glasses covering half his head.
Though he wanted to call out, his lips wouldn’t part and voice wouldn’t leave. Then there was another snapping sound... then another, and then another. Soon enough, there were roughly a hundred figures standing about the endless darkness, though all were visibly lit by the light that was simply not there.
However, no matter how many people appeared, nobody was able to talk, and all could only stew in silence that was scarier than anything Asher had ever experienced in his life--and he’d been shived, twice.
Just as it seemed as though this was their permanent purgatory and that they’d stay in silence for the long forever, another snap echoed--though this one was more akin to a deafening explosion. So much so, in fact, that everyone’s eardrums burst and sprayed out blood. And yet, as though by miracle, they did not go deaf, their wounds healing almost immediately.
At the far front of everyone, something appeared--it wasn’t a person, nor was it an animal but something in-between. It was bipedal, standing on two feet, and wore a classic tuxedo with a bow tie. It had head of an eagle, its beak red like blood, and was wearing a top hat above.
Its body was feathered and scaled and two tails emerged from the rear, coiling like to serpents around its body. One of its hands held a cane with a human skull for the handle while the other hand was tucked neatly behind its back. Its eyes were daringly obsidian, as though no light could ever escape their grasp.
“Kwa-kwa--ugh, fuck, Falcon, I know that was you!!” the bird spoke. Words. Human, tangible words. “When I get back I’ll pluck all your feathers and bathe you in boiling oil, you bastard! Khm,” the bird fixed its posture and gallantly began its speech. “Verily, all ye lovers of goodly games, I bid thee welcome to the Realm of Divine! Hither, beyond the veil of reality, thou art summoned to exert thy claim for Immortality! I am Regal Bird Eagle the 18th, Lord of Divine Storm Palace and the Champion of the Teneva World’s Forest Hunt Eternal game!” the silence beckoned. “What, no applause? Humph. This is why I despise lower entities. Alas, thou shalt evolve, thy puny, insignificant brains wilt either perish in the attempt or achieve the unprecedented--Nirvana! Ah, Nirvana, her blessings eternal!
“There are two hundred of you presently here, and ye shall all compete for the singular prize--Survival! Only ten of you may proceed to the next round! The rest shall count their blessings and be food for the Divine Lords, your nutrients barely a touch of their Divine base! Ye shall all be teleported to your personal cabins where ye shall proceed with the Initial Selection! The map ye shall compete on is called ‘Grassy Lowlands’. More shall be explained to you individually at a later date. All ye must remember is this: do not die, do not cower, do not surrender. Guide on forward, to Eternity! And thus, the Games begun!”
Asher couldn’t even react before the searing, burning pain returned--once again just for a moment--and the darkness took over for a brief second yet. By the time he blinked, however, the darkness was gone, as was everyone else within it. Instead, he found himself in a small cabin, as promised--there was a bedroom with a bed and an empty shelf and a closet, a dining room and a kitchen rolled into one, though with none of the modern appliances, and an empty, living room. There were no windows, and the light came from the burning candles attached to the walls.
He could finally move, and so he did.
Slap.
It didn’t work.
Slap.
He was still there.
Slap.
“WAKE THE FUCK UP!” alas, he was awake, it turned out, and all he did was turn his cheeks red and nearly cry in pain. Before he could spiral further into depression, however, something beyond strange happened--an egg appeared in front of him, at the center of the living room, the size of a chicken egg. Right away, it began to crack, shards of light pouring out through the gaps.
It exploded into the flurry of blinding illumination, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment. By the time he opened them, the egg, as well as its remnant shells, was gone, in its place an even stranger thing--a winged human the size of his palm, fluttering curiously about his head.
“What’s wrong?” a young girl’s sweet as Spring voice poured from between the tiny lips. It was terrifying. And Ashar reacted aptly.
Slap.
The fairy flew backward like a cannonball, slamming into the wall and causing the entire cabin to shake. However, within a second, she was back in front of him, unharmed.
“What the fuck...?” Ashar mumbled.
“Te he~~” she posed like a K-pop idol for a moment, smiling. “I’m immortal, invulnerable, and cute! The lethal trifecta! Anyway, I understand your confusion, anxiety, and abject horror. You’ve been kidnapped from your home, dragged into this hell and told to kill stuff just to survive. I imagine I’d be terrified too--if I were a big-ass coward, that is. Te he~~”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Your voice is cute but your words are fucking nasty.”
“Aww, thanks, you mumbling nimrod.”
“--hey.”
“This is cabin KK03-9987. Would you like to rename it to something that doesn’t sound like a sterile way of saying you are terminal?”
“What--?”
“What would you like to name this cabin, you hollow-brained moron?”
“... oi, fuck you!”
“Fuck you, too. Now, for the love of God, tell me what to name this thing! I can’t leave this fucking loop until you do!”
“... no.”
“... what?”
“Not until you say something nice about me.”
“...”
“Te he.”
“...” she visibly snapped, yet seemed wholly incapable of doing anything about it. Taking a deep breath, she eyed him in silence for a moment before replying. “You are the least unfortunate-looking one of this batch.”
“The least unfortun--no, wait, that’s not a compliment!”
“Trust me,” she groaned. “Every human on planet Earth is, at best, garbage-looking. To us, you all look like shit-infested worms writhing about in pointless existence of agony, pain, and self-delusion of grandeur. Being the least-unfortunate-anything is akin to another human calling you a God.”
“... wow,” Asher sucked in a cold breath before replying. “Fine. You can call it... Scallywag’s Enduring Torture Room.”
“Other people will eventually be able to visit it.”
“Did I stutter?”
“Fine, whatever, be the moron that you are,” the fairy seemed to shrug for a moment before continuing. “Alright. Let me quickly break this whole thing down to you so I can take a nap.”
“Ha ha ha, you nap?”
“What, you have a problem? Naps are incredibly important for one’s well-being and development! They are as important as breathing! Would you laugh at someone who’s breathing, huh?”
“Well, uh, I used to have a roommate who had to use that stupid breathing machine ‘cause he had sleep apnea,” Asher replied. “I laughed at him. Does that count?”
“Wow. You are sick in the head. Nice.”
“Nice. So?”
“Right,” the fairy took a deep breath before she flew over and landed on his shoulder. “This is your base. For now, you can’t leave it--it’s a privilege you have to earn. Tomorrow at dawn, you will run the first map for the first time. I dunno what the goal will be; usually, it’s something stupid, like survive 5 minutes, kill 10 of things, something even brainlets like Earthly humans can do. Have you ever played Count’s Arsenal of Death back when you weren’t here, you rotten-plum-looking-trout?”
“CAD? Hell yea’ I did!” Asher exclaimed, by now filtering out the insults as they came flying forth frequently. “Great fucking game. You choose one of the characters, you run around an infinite map, pick up weird fuckin’ weapons and blow shit up to smithereens!”
“Well, yeah, that’s about what you’ll be doing. Imagine yourself as one of the characters in that game,” she explained. “During each run, you will earn persistent currency--Souls and Divine Gems--that you can spend between maps to upgrade yourself. Eventually, you’ll unlock items, be able to choose the starting weapon and/or spell, the whole nine yards. If you don’t die immediately. Which, if I were a betting fairy, I’d put some serious gold on.”
“... are all the fairies this fucking nasty?” Asher asked.
“You mean delightful, right?” she chuckled. “And no. I’m the most amazing one, by far. You really lucked out, vision-impaired troglodyte.”
“My vision’s fine, though?”
“The best of human vision is garbage.”
“Oh.”
“You may as well be completely blind.”
“I get it.”
“Not only can you only see up to a certain distance,” she riled on. “You only in three dimensions. Garbage.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Legitimately the worst race to ever evolve.”
“Jesus, can you chill for a second?! I got a thick skin but even I’m starting to feel it being peeled!”
“You can check out your status window by imagining it,” she continued, ignoring him. “Everything else is locked for now, but if you by some divine miracle manage to survive tomorrow, you’ll unlock a couple of new things. Oh, right. Your daily rations include a hardened loaf of mouldy bread and half a cup of river water. You can not only improve your diet but also your living quarters by surviving, saving, and going on a shopping spree. So, basically, you’ll either die in a pigsty or live to make it a less shitty pigsty. Go humans.”
“What’s your name?” Asher asked.
“Why?”
“So I know who to curse tonight during my midnight prayer.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t bother,” she said, flying back out in front of him. “There are no gods here; only mirrors bereft of voices and agency epoxied to agony.”
“...”
“But you can call me Qyne.”
“So... Q’?”
“No. Qyne.”
“But you gotta admit--”
“--if you call me Q’ one more time, I’ll split open your scrotum and shove a thousand fiery ants into the hole before sewing it shut.”
“...”
“...”
“So, Qyne, imagining the status window, right?”
“Right.”
Asher closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, imagining a ‘status window’ appearing in front of him for when he opened his eyes--and, as soon as he did, it was there. There were a lot of question marks everywhere, indicating that the vast majority of options were locked away from him, and the only things he could see were the very basics.
Name: Asher Rune
Age: 0 (Died at 23y, 8m, 22d; Atlantic Ocean)
Race: Human (Unevolved)
Cabin Name: Scallywag’s Enduring Torture Room
Titles: 0
Cabin Upgrades: 0
Blessings: 0
...
Health: 10
Health Regeneration: 0
Damage: 1
Movement Speed: 1
Attack Speed: 1
Strength: 0
Intelligence: 1
Agility: 0
Armor: 0
Critical Chance: 0.1%
Critical Damage: 150%
Cooldown Reduction: 0
Luck: 0
Gathering Range: 5 yards
...
Passive Abilities: 0
Completed Runs: 0
Unique Enemies Slain: 0
Bosses Slain: 0
Secrets Unlocked: 0
Most of it was what he expected, with a few caveats. Sighing at the sight, he imagined it away and it disappeared--Qyne had fluttered over to the bedroom and lain on the edge of the bed, leaving him drenching in the quaint silence. The sinking feeling of terror was difficult to kill, prompting him to sit down onto the cool, wooden floor. It’s come, again. In fairness, it’s been exactly three years, four months, and six days since he last had a panic attack. He was due for one, and would have probably gotten it on the ship had he not been spirited away.
He exercised the breathing technique that John taught him--in, hold three, out, hold three, then in again.
He rubbed his palms together and pinched at the webbing between his index fingers and thumbs. Pain was acute yet refreshing, though not enough to cheat his mind. It was too much, all of it. Too overwhelming. He’d begun to shake and shiver and his heart began to roar like a mad, wild beast. His mind battled the juxtaposition--the horror on one end, and the rational understanding on the other. But such was the ail of a panic attack--no matter how well a mind could reason against it... it didn’t matter.
Perhaps, he mused as he lied down and curled up, rocking back and forth, it would be better tomorrow. Tomorrow when he would be beset with surviving the unfathomable. Tomorrow when he would be tasked with realities of the devils whose phantoms he lost to back on Earth. Tomorrow, it would be better. Tomorrow.