Tyler Donovan was born under a sky that seemed perpetually overcast, as if the world knew from the start that his life would be a battleground. Even as a toddler, there was a gravity to him, a seriousness that set him apart from other children. By the age of six, he had already learned that life was not fair, that the world was a harsh and unforgiving place.
His small frame belied a resilience that baffled adults and peers alike. When other kids his age were learning to read and write, Tyler was figuring out how to navigate a home that was more war zone than a sanctuary. His father, a man whose fists spoke louder than his words, and his mother, whose presence was a ghostly one, offered little in the way of guidance or love.
Despite this, Tyler had a mind sharp enough to cut through the thickest fog of despair. He understood things about the world that children his age should never have to ponder. Right and wrong were not abstract concepts to him but stark realities, etched into his consciousness through the bruises on his skin and the hollow echo of his mother's silent suffering.
By the time he was ten, Tyler had already seen more of life's dark side than most would in a lifetime. He had an unyielding sense of justice, a need to set things right, no matter the cost. This wasn't born of naivety or idealism but from a deep-seated understanding that someone had to stand up, and if not him, then who?
His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, held a wisdom far beyond his years. They were the eyes of someone who had been forged in the fires of adversity, who had faced monsters both real and metaphorical, and had come out the other side, not unscathed, but unbroken. Tyler Donovan was a child in name only; in spirit, he was already a warrior.
Tyler's life was a series of challenges, each one tougher than the last, yet he faced them with a fearlessness that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He didn't back down, didn't flinch in the face of danger. He knew pain, knew suffering, but he also knew that he could endure. He had to.
And so, in a world that seemed to conspire against him, Tyler stood tall, his heart a blazing beacon of defiance and determination. He was a boy, a man, a force of nature, all wrapped into one. Tyler Donovan’s reputation as a fighter grew with each passing year. It wasn't just his fearlessness that made him formidable; it was his relentless determination. He fought not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Each punch he threw, each blow he took, was a declaration that he would not be broken.
His fights became legendary. Whether it was defending a classmate from bullies or standing up to local toughs who thought they could push him around, Tyler never backed down. His body bore the scars of countless battles, but his spirit remained unbroken. He moved with a precision and ferocity that left opponents dazed and onlookers in awe. He was a whirlwind of fists and fury, and he didn’t know the meaning of surrender.
Despite the seriousness of his life, Tyler developed a wicked sense of humour, a way of coping with the chaos around him. His quick wit and sharp tongue were reminiscent of a certain merc with a mouth, Deadpool. This humour, dark and irreverent, became his shield, deflecting the pain and keeping his spirit intact.
Then there was Emily. She was more than just manipulative; she was downright cruel. She had a way of wrapping people around her finger, using her charm to get what she wanted and discarding them when they were no longer useful. Tyler was no exception. She needed someone to take the fall for her schemes, and Tyler, with his sense of loyalty and justice, was the perfect mark.
She manipulated him into stealing, intimidating, and even sabotaging rivals. When her plans went awry, she pinned everything on Tyler. He found himself facing charges that were as severe as they were numerous. Despite his protests and the clear evidence of Emily’s involvement, the court saw a troubled boy with a history of violence and a penchant for troublemaking. At fifteen, Tyler was sentenced to juvenile detention until he turned eighteen.
Juvenile detention was another kind of hell. The other inmates were hardened, ruthless, and ready to assert their dominance. But Tyler, who had faced monsters his whole life, wasn’t easily intimidated. He fought to survive, each day a battle for respect and survival. His fists became his language, his way of ensuring that he would not be prey.
The system didn’t do much to rehabilitate him; it merely contained him. Tyler emerged at eighteen, a man in a boy’s body, with a criminal record that shadowed his every step. Jobs were scarce for someone with his past. He took whatever work he could find, often labouring in the most menial and gruelling positions. He lived in a rundown apartment, barely scraping by, his dreams of a better life constantly thwarted by his past.
His sense of justice never wavered, though. He continued to stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves, often putting himself in harm’s way to protect others. It was in these moments that his true nature shone through—a beacon of hope in a world that had given him every reason to lose faith.
Despite the harshness of his life, Tyler discovered a passion for coding. After school, he used online classes to teach himself how to code, immersing himself in the world of programming. It was a way to escape, a way to create order out of chaos. He spent countless nights hunched over a second-hand laptop, learning languages like Python, JavaScript, and C++. This was also the time when Tyler found an escape in computer games and fantasy novels.
Tyler took on freelance work when he could find it, but steady jobs in coding were hard to come by with his criminal record. Whatever money he managed to make from freelancing, he gave most of it to help other kids who had it worse than he did. He kept in touch with several children from the juvi where he had spent part of his childhood. They had become his makeshift family, and he did what he could to support them, buying them clothes, books, and sometimes just a hot meal. His generosity was a quiet testament to the goodness that endured within him, despite everything.
One cold winter night, as Tyler walked home from a late shift at a warehouse, a truck barreled down the street. Its driver, drunk and reckless, didn’t see Tyler crossing the road. The impact was sudden, violent. Tyler was thrown like a ragdoll, his body landing in a twisted heap on the icy pavement.
The world, always so cruel to Tyler, took him in that instant. His fierce heart, which had fought so many Tyler Donovan, the fearless warrior, met his end not in a fight, but in a senseless accident. The world lost a fighter, a protector, a man whose life was defined by his unwavering sense of justice.
As Tyler's vision dimmed and the cold seeped into his bones, a strange warmth enveloped him. He found himself standing in a void, neither here nor there, his pain replaced by an odd sense of calm. Before him appeared a figure, ethereal and otherworldly, bathed in a soft, shimmering light. The being had an imposing yet gentle presence, with flowing robes that shimmered like liquid silver and eyes that held the universe within them, swirling galaxies and distant stars.
"Tyler Donovan," the being spoke, its voice resonating like a symphony of whispers and echoes, "you have endured much in your short life. Your courage and sense of justice have not gone unnoticed."
Tyler, ever defiant, straightened his back. "Who are you?" he demanded. "And what do you want?"
The being smiled, a multitude of emotions playing across its ethereal features. "I go by many names: Guardian of Realms, Director, some have called me the Master of the Show," the being replied, its voice melodic yet commanding. "But you can call me Bob. I have come to offer you a choice. Your life on Earth was fraught with hardship and suffering, but your spirit remained unbroken. I offer you a chance to enter a new world, a world where magic is real, and where you can start anew."
Tyler's eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"
"There is no catch," Bob assured him. "However, since you will be joining this new world at the same age you are now, with the same body, minus all the physical trauma, I will give you the opportunity to exchange the hardships you endured and the sacrifices you made for others in your previous life for a gift in this new world. This gift will shape your destiny and aid you in your journey."
Tyler considered this. The idea of a fresh start was tempting, but he had never been one to take the easy way out. "What kind of gifts are we talking about?"
Bob extended a hand, and a series of images flashed before Tyler's eyes: strength beyond measure, the ability to control the elements, healing powers, and more. Each gift shimmered with potential, a promise of what could be.
Tyler nodded slowly, the weight of the decision settling upon him. He thought of the countless fights, the bruises and scars, the betrayals, and the moments when he stood alone against the world. He remembered Emily and the pain of her deceit, the cold walls of juvenile detention, and the struggle to survive afterward.
"I want to keep my strength and fighting skills," Tyler said firmly. "I've always fought for what I believe in, and I won't stop now. But I also want something more. Give me a powerful mana core that will grow with me, adapting to my needs and challenges."
Bob smiled, a radiant warmth that seemed to brighten the void. "A wise choice, Tyler Donovan. Your gifts will serve you well in the new world. Remember, this new life is a chance to forge your own path, to write your own story."
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
With a gesture, Bob opened a portal, a swirling vortex of light and color. "Step through, and begin your new journey."
As Tyler neared the portal, Bob's voice reached him once more. "Know this, Tyler: you will forget making this choice. You will simply wake up in the new world, unaware of the power and decision you just made."
“What!? Why!?” Tyler looked at the being.
Bob's smile widened, and he said, "It's all about the show! The universe is always watching, and your journey is now a part of the grand spectacle. Also, disorientation and confusion after teleportation is normal, not that you will remember."
Tyler didn’t understand, but it wasn’t like he had any other options. He stepped through the portal, the light enveloping him, and his consciousness faded.
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When Tyler emerged from the ancient alleyway, the first thing that greeted him was the intense glow of the midday sun. He squinted, trying to adjust his vision to the brightness. As he looked around, the familiar scenes of modern life were gone, replaced by the bustling activity of a Roman-era capital city. Magic users and merchants lined the cobblestone streets, selling their enchanted wares and casting minor spells to entertain and attract customers.
He felt disoriented, a strange fog clouding his thoughts. Tyler rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the lingering dizziness. “What the hell…?” he muttered, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He felt a weird, tingling sensation at the base of his skull, like static. "Did I pass out somewhere? Is this... a dream?"
Then, a hazy memory drifted through his mind, just out of reach, like trying to recall a half-forgotten dream. He vaguely remembered something—an advert, maybe? There had been talk online about some new game, one that was supposed to be the most immersive experience ever made. Tyler couldn't quite recall the details—something about a neuro-link? Full-sensory integration?
The thought slipped in and out, like trying to grab smoke. "Wasn’t there some buzz about a game like this?" he wondered, rubbing his temples as if that could help clear the mental fog. "A world that feels more real than real...?" The idea felt distant, half-formed, but standing here, in the midst of this impossible city, the question pushed its way forward: “Could this be it?”
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Maybe... but surely I’d remember signing up for something like that. Or… would I?" His mind felt sluggish, as if wading through thick mud, and the more he tried to pin down the thought, the more it eluded him. "Okay, focus, Tyler," he muttered to himself. "It’s a lot more likely that I’m in a game than this being real, right?”
But as his eyes darted around the vibrant streets, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right—like there was a detail he should be remembering, but it was just out of reach.
Tyler was desperately trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. One moment, he had been immersed in the mundane routine of his everyday life; the next, he found himself here. His clothes—a black hoodie, cargo pants, and sneakers—felt too real, and his skin tingled with a cold sweat that seemed too vivid for a mere dream. “Okay, Tyler, get it together,” he muttered. "Did I sign up for some kind of beta test? Maybe a demo? But I don’t remember getting any gear or neuro-link setup..."
The fog in his mind made it hard to focus. The edges of his thoughts felt fuzzy, like he was trying to grasp smoke. Everything looked so… alive. The city pulsed with activity—the sights, the sounds, the smells, all overwhelming his senses. It was far more detailed and immersive than any virtual reality experience he'd ever heard of. “I swear I’m awake,” he muttered. But the absurdity of it gnawed at him. A game like this wouldn't just start without a menu, an interface, or a tutorial prompt—something to guide him. Was it broken? He thought about it being a prank but quickly realised the scale of what he was seeing was well beyond anything feasible to be a prank.
"Alright," he told himself. "Just roll with it. Maybe the HUD will show up once I interact with something. Maybe the rig is blocking my memories to increase the immersion? Yeah, that makes sense?”
Tyler approached a stall where a grizzled old man was selling what looked like enchanted amulets. The man glanced up, his eyes twinkling with interest. “Hello, young traveller! What can I interest you in today?” the merchant asked, his voice slow and deliberate, as if not expecting Tyler to speak his language.
Tyler noticed the way the merchant's eyes lingered on his clothes. “Huh. Dynamic NPC reactions,” he thought. "Advanced AI, if this is a game." He decided to play along. “Show me your finest wares, old man,” he said, trying to trigger some sort of interface. "And no side quests involving rats or lost children, please."
The merchant raised an eyebrow but complied, laying out a collection of shimmering amulets and trinkets. Tyler picked up one that was particularly ornate, its surface etched with intricate runes and a small glowing marble in the centre.
“What does this one do?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual while he kept thinking ‘identify’ but nothing happened.
The merchant smiled. “Ah, that is the Minor Amulet of True Sight. It allows the wearer to see through minor illusions and detect basic hidden objects.”
Tyler nodded, impressed. “How much?”
“Fifty gold pieces,” the merchant replied.
Tyler patted his pockets. He felt the fabric, the weight, the emptiness. “No inventory menu either?” He muttered, "Status. Inventory." Nothing happened.
“Okay, maybe voice commands are off,” he thought. “Or maybe I need to find a way to activate them.” Tyler's certainty wavered. Could this really be a game? But if it wasn’t, what the hell was going on? He decided to keep moving, and see more of this place.
The merchant seemed to notice Tyler's growing unease, but Tyler was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care. Still, the reality of his situation was beginning to sink in. “If this is a game, why does it feel so… heavy?” He felt the urge to pinch himself but stopped short. If he was dreaming, would it even matter? Dreams didn’t feel this solid. "Hands… check the hands," he thought. He glanced down and wiggled his fingers, expecting to see them blur or melt—something he'd read in a lucid dreaming guide—but they stayed firm, solid. Real.
"This is nuts. If it’s not a game, it might be… some kind of isekai thing? Like in those novels, but I’d have to believe in fairies first,” he muttered to himself, unsure whether to laugh or panic. "Focus, Tyler. Think it through. You’re not scared. Just… cautious."
He wandered away from the stall, determined to gather more information. “Alright, Tyler. Let's find someone with a yellow exclamation mark over their head or something.”
As he strolled down the busy streets, Tyler noticed a grand bathhouse, its stone façade adorned with statues that seemed to move slightly in his peripheral vision. "Dynamic graphics, impressive," he thought, but again, there was a nagging doubt. The steam, the scent of the baths, the sound of laughter—each sensation was unnervingly sharp. “This is some next-level immersion.”
Further down, he saw a sign: "Adventurers Guild." Tyler stepped inside. The interior buzzed with energy. Adventurers crowded around tables, swapping stories and planning quests. A massive board on one wall displayed various quests and bounties.
“Now this is my kind of place,” Tyler grinned. He imagined himself taking on a quest and slaying monsters with a sword. "Just need to get my bearings," he thought, his earlier certainty that this was a game starting to fray at the edges.
A burly dwarf approached him. "New in town, lad? Fancy joining the guild and making a name for yourself?"
Tyler grinned. "Maybe later. Just getting the lay of the land for now." The dwarf nodded, and Tyler moved on, scanning the room for clues, hints, or anything that might indicate how this “game” functioned.
Crossing a stone bridge, Tyler felt the cool wind whip around him, and saw the reflections on the water below. His heart pounded, not with fear, but with a strange exhilaration. If this was a game, it was damn convincing. If not… “Okay, don’t go there,” he told himself. “Stay cool. Keep exploring. Gather data.”
He moved on to the auction house, where a man was auctioning a potion "from the 15th floor." "The 15th floor of what?" he asked one of the people bidding but he seemed confused and turned away. Tyler tried to dismiss his growing doubts. "Could just be bad quest dialogue," he rationalized. "But… it feels too damn real."
Tyler explored more, entering a park where the trees shimmered with magical light, then to an arena where he watched gladiators fight magical beasts. “Game or not, it’s amazing,” he thought. "But… what if it’s not? What if this isn’t some fancy VR rig? What if…"
He cut that thought off. No point in panicking. His head still felt foggy, thoughts slippery. “Maybe that’s just part of the game mechanics,” he thought, but his certainty felt more like a wish than a belief.
Turning a corner, Tyler noticed a nobleman engaged in a heated discussion with a merchant. The nobleman, Lord Varon, was dressed like he was auditioning for a period drama. “If this isn't the setup for some major plot twist, I don't know what is.”
"I have no interest in your excuses, merchant," Lord Varon snapped, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s a game. This guy has 'villain' written all over him. People like this don’t exist in real life,” Tyler thought, smirking.
The merchant, a nervous man with a bald head and a trembling moustache, wrung his hands. "My lord, I assure you, the goods are of the finest quality. There must be some misunderstanding."
Lord Varon sneered, lifting a piece of cloth from the merchant's stall. "Look at this! Do you take me for a fool?" Tyler imagined the nobleman in a modern setting.
The merchant's eyes widened with fear. "No, my lord, of course not. Perhaps there was a mistake in the shipment. I will rectify it immediately."
Suddenly, the Lord turned and nearly collided with Tyler.
"Oh, pardon me, Your Grace," Tyler said with exaggerated politeness. "Didn’t see you there with all your fancy feathers and jewellery," adding a thick accent for effect.
Lord Varon’s reaction was immediate and angry. "Are you mocking me, boy?"
Tyler laughed. “Oh no, not me. Just enjoying the immersive AI,” he said, mostly to himself. But then, a flicker of doubt. If this wasn’t a game…
The guards approached, and Tyler’s pulse quickened. “Alright, fight mechanics, let’s see what you’ve got!” He readied himself, and for the first time, he realised how powerful his body felt. His speed and grace were on another level. “I mean, either this is a game, or I’ve been on steroids for the last ten years,” he thought as he tried out a few shadowboxing moves.
The first guard lunged, and Tyler dodged, his reflexes sharp. He landed a punch that sent the guard stumbling back. “Wow!” he thought, looking at his fist in surprise. “I know how to fight, but that was incredible.”
The second guard charged, and Tyler sidestepped, landing a swift kick. “This is awesome!” he thought, adrenaline surging.
Behind him, Lord Varon drew his sword, the blade glowing with a strange light. From a distance, he swung the sword, and a wave of energy crashed into Tyler's legs. Pain exploded through him, a searing agony that took his breath away. “Argh! What the hell!” Tyler gasped, collapsing. He looked down and saw both his legs bent at unnatural angles. "This is… too real. Way too real!"
Panic clawed at him, but he forced it down. “Stay calm, stay calm,” he thought. “Maybe it’s a glitch… maybe…” But his body screamed with pain, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was no game.
Lord Varon sneered above him, "Let this be a lesson to you, peasant. Know your place."
Tyler struggled to think, the pain clouding his mind. "If this is a game, it’s broken as hell,” he thought, gritting his teeth. But doubt was creeping in, and with it, a sliver of fear. "No, don’t go there… can’t be real…"
The guards loomed over him, ready to finish him off. Tyler closed his eyes, bracing himself. "If it’s a game… respawn… right?" he thought, but his confidence wavered. “Please be a game…”