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Selection of 2021 Works

Matt Puts On a Strange Ring and Sees Someone Else’s Memories October 13, 2021
Matt watched a few birds fall off a roof like ragdolls. He goggled the bodies as they hit the ground with a muted thud. He gasped. Throwing every hesitation in the wind, he ran to them, grabbing them by the hand and looked for signs of injury. He found none, so he took his phone out and called a number.
The people he called arrived and placed the animal in a nice blanket, carrying them away to be cared for.
Matt wondered why they suddenly went limp and died—they could still be alive.
He walked back home, reviewing papers on things he’d done in the past. They said he was a criminal and all that, but he didn’t believe it one bit. They wanted to bring him to the authorities and whatnot, but did they have proof? No! He laughed, not out of a superiority complex but of stress. He feared his hopes to live a simple life as a salary worker would be disappointed.
He slipped and hit the back of his head. He stood up. “Damn, that was close,” he muttered. A car ran over him as soon as he brushed the dust off his back. He yelped, too late to be saved.
He woke up, undeterred by the buzzing noises. He saw a goblin staring back at him. He yelped, pushing the goblin away. He was successful, but the goblin remained neutral and curious. He furrowed his brows and got up. The goblin was 2-feet-tall, and it held a curved sword. He backed off and held fists in front of him. He stopped after a moment, curious about the passiveness of the goblin.
“Goblin-sama? Are you going to be killing me any time soon?”
The goblin didn’t answer, nor did it show any other response. It merely breathed in and out without fear.
He backed off again, tripped over a rock and hitting his head on a boulder. “Owie!” he exclaimed, soothing his head. He looked around him and at himself, cradling his head and huffing in confusion. “Where in the world am I?” he said in a casual voice that betrayed what he felt. “Goblin. Is. There. I am here.” His voice almost sounded robotic.
He walked up to the goblin, holding a stick the size of his arm. He shouted “hiya,” as he hurled the stick at the goblin, missing by a few feet. The goblin didn’t say a word, but instead, it ran away robotically, disappearing within the forest.
He gave the situation a quizzical look and hummed, placing the stick down. He ran after the goblin, a little bit worried monsters would eat him if he was all alone. He didn’t see the goblin as a monster, huh. It was passive. Who was he to judge based on the insides of books that he read about them? Maybe they were hate speech against goblin-samas everywhere.
Maybe he should kill him? It? Her? They?
He laughed, not willing to believe himself capable of making bold consequential decisions without concrete information. He sighed the goblin after running far enough. The goblin was… among other goblins. He raised a brow—wait a minute—who’s the goblin-sama among you? He feared he would lose the tiny connection he made with that goblin-sama and get registered as a threat.
He looked at his clothes, brushing his hair and scratching his teeth. He wanted to look clean and well-kempt. This might save him a leg or two.
He walked up to them, standing a few meters away. How far could they run? He called to them. They turned and stared at him with that blank stare the goblin-sama gave him a while ago. He gave them a quizzical look and handed them a leaf. A leaf!? What’s the point of that?
Their face tensed. 
The leaf isn’t a weapon, okay?! It’s like a token of friendship, I think, he thought. I have nothing else, okay?!
Seeing they weren’t going to kill him, he relaxed and contracted his arm. He smirked when he saw the goblins looked just like goblin-sama. They were goblin-samas too, but he wasn’t sure they were good goblin-samas. He was still far away. There was no reason for them to be alert besides the fact a giant bear had jumped down from the trees on two legs behind him.
He screamed like a baby on diapers. The heck is that! You motherclickin’ truck of a person. Get the hell away from me! He ran for miles. After a while, he began collecting leaves and slowing down. He almost forget he was being chased by a bear until he heard a roar. “Ahhh! Please not now. My legs aren’t made for running—well, they are, but you get what I mean?!”
He grabbed a stick that had fallen above him and aimed it at the bear as he ran. “Spell!”
Nothing happened.
“Spell of that kid with glasses movie!”
“Oh, gosh, I’m not well-versed with pop culture, okay! I like country music, hehe. Oh, wait—”
The bear missed him by a hair. He yelped.
A giant knight from the trees landed in front of him and had his sword raised and about to swing. He yelped, closing his eyes, but he kept running. He hit his head on the knight’s legs.
The knight swung its sword at the bear and kicked it in the balls. The bear reacted by grabbing its precious parts and goggled at the knight, feeling betrayed by a fellow man. After the pain went away, it was already cut to pieces and dead.
Matt yelped multiple times throughout their fight. When it stopped, he cried. Should he run? What is the point of that against that?
The giant spoke, “You are human, right? Don’t fear. I am a friend of the humans.”
Matt gulped. Should he speak? What should he say?
He looked at the giant with beady eyes and cried. “I’m sorry, okay! I used all my brain power and still, I’m dead for some reason. Why am I here anyway?” 
He had the cutest eyes the giant’s ever seen, but he threw away those thoughts and focused on the important matter at hand. “You’re well-aware you’re trespassing on our property?”
“I don’t. I just came here. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Do you want to follow me? I’m heading to a human village for trade. Here. “ He pointed to a thicket. “These are my steeds who carry my goods.”
His shoulders tense, Matt asked with a squeaky voice, “Am I allowed, Giant-sama?”
“‘Giant-sama’— I am Willderatu.” He raised his fist to the air in greeting.
“Strange.” Matt raised his fist into the air as well.
“What?”
“Nothing. I am Matt, and I want to come with you, Wilderatu-sama.”
“Right. Don’t do anything strange, Matt, okay. I saved you, but no need to thank me.” His voice lowered to a murmur. “I don’t need another fanatic.”
Despite hearing it, Matt acted like he hadn’t and followed him on foot. In truth, Matt wanted to stop caring and just swear at the first person he saw to give him some sense of superiority and control, but that wouldn’t be nice, would it?
He yelped when he realized the giant had picked him up and placed him on a steed. The steed was a giant winged rhinoceros with upright scales along its back. He learned it couldn’t fly though from what Giant—I mean—Wilderatu-sama said.
They arrived at what looked like a fortress city. Village? In what hell, earth, heaven, or any other dimension is that a village? That is one mean looking statue, though. He was talking about the large statue that looked like a bald human raising both fists in the air. What is that? Some kind of war statement? He cared less about the outside. He needed to know what lay inside his “fellow” humans. Were they nice? Were they bold? Were they dumb? Hehe, dumb isn’t rare, is it? 
Like me!
He went inside the doors and goggled the weird structures. They were shaped like a box and a triangle meshed together. Is that like some kind of abstract art? Why are all the buildings like that? Is that like an architectural style? Heh, small words even for him.
The giant kept peeking at him like he was some parent getting introduced to his child’s new partner. I don’t care about sharing my opinions, but if it helps, I’ll do, Matt thought.
“I haven’t been here before. I like it.”
The giant said nothing and stopped peeking at him.
Wait, did he not want his opinion? No! I’m so bad at society convos, he thought.
Help! he screamed in his head, unbeknownst to Wilderatu. He had a good poker face, his friends, before they branded him an evil criminal, would say. They blamed it on his poker face one time for hurting a child! I was teaching him about how to eat vinegar without water! We were doing a challenge for Toktik! Oh, shoot, now, they know I know about pop culture. Dang it…! The only country song I listen to is New Town Road! Haha! I admit it, you lowlives~!
A man punched him. “You have hair!”
“I have hair!” Matt screamed. He calmed down. “W-what about my hair?”
“It’s heathenous!”
“That’s not a word.”
“Heatheny~.”
“Still not a word.”
“Heathen!”
“Correct. Ding ding! Congratulations to this young man from—where do you live, Sir?—Dyke Village…. I-it’s called a village? What?!”
The giant had left without Matt noticing and came back with a bag of bread, very small compared to him. He handed the chatterbox Matt the bread and left, waving goodbye.
Matt almost ignored him, staring in disbelief and waving back. He was silent for a few seconds until a group of adventurers he spoke to got his attention.
“Then, what happened?”
“You see, it was this big boom that—”
He spoke so much that by the end of it, he found ten new friends! Haha! I shall rule the world! he shouted. They call me a master talker! I am socially not inept! 
He woke up with this itch. He explored the house like he hadn’t been here for a year. He got married about—5? 6?—6 months ago to this beautiful adventurer lady, but enough about her. 
He went looking for a ring. One of the things he needed in his daily life back on Earth was some kind of medicine for his allergies, but there was a ring here that granted him immunity to itch pain. He lost it for some reason during his particularly adventurous (hehe) night with his wife.
He found it outside in one of his plants. There, he found another ring equal in appearance to it. He was a little scared. He didn’t know what it was, but he was curious—that’s what scared him. He got himself close to dying because of his reckless curiosity. Not like I can help it, okay! he thought.
He wore it. A stream of someone else’s memories came to him.
What? 
Tala and Ramil Report to the Ant Lord; Mutya Announces Her Pregnancy October 13, 2021
“Magic is supposed to hurt!” exclaimed Eeya, a child, waving a fizzy orb about to pop. She motioned several horses far off from her right towards her. “Back! Get back, you cantankerous cadaver!” She poured mana generously into the orb—severing it, brightening it, and bringing those creeping in front of her to cower.
Elsewhere within Ormoc City, Tala, a young woman, glanced side to side, stressed as torn muscles.
Cold rain splattered onto the stony, beaten road beside her, yet the smell of petrichor wafted through the air. Spread around the area were trees among other greenery, and the only light therein was the glaring torch of Ramil, a young man, strutting toward his companion.
“Ranch is hot today!” he exclaimed and danced in place, shaking his hips from side to side. He smiled, although it didn’t reach the eyes.
“How long did it take this time?” asked Tala. She refocused her mind on what his words could be, breathing deeply. She turned to him.
“Faster. Like twenty—? Twenty before he dropped.” Ramil’s voice calmed, his eyes softening. He stilled his body and shifted into a thinking pose as embers fell from the torch he held. “He’s at least that capable.”
“Right, right.” Tala waved her hands approvingly, stretching with torso twists, shoulder shrugs, and high kicks, and tensed, raising the left corner of her mouth and grunting.
Ramil hummed curiously. “Love the new look?” He stretched his hands crosswise and pointed at himself, his expression poised.
“Black…. Too black.” Tala’s voice resembled a mumble. She cast her eyes elsewhere, wrinkling her nose.
“I see.” Ramil turned away, extended one foot forward, and placed both hands on his hips.
A convoy of sailfins—towering, four-footed, green-feathered animals with forked tails and upright plates along their backs—dropped down numerous passengers, who wore bonnie hats, and various military animals. One of them was Mayumi, a plump older woman in her mid-forties who knew Tala.
“Eddie,” Tala said, her voice admonishing but her eyes warm. Ramil glanced at Mayumi and leaned against a fence, escaping into his head.
“Let’s hope he gets—good morning y’all!” She tittered, her voice rough like sand. “—hope he gets the Bronze Cross Medal for your worries,” said Mayumi, her tone suffocating like knives against Tala’s throat.
Tala huffed disgruntledly.
A few minutes later, Mayumi left quietly along a social trail to the district’s trading post. 
Ramil resumed his lunge stretches, many steps off from Tala, who was petting some military animals.
As sunlight bathed the world in life, they received a telepathic call. “Return time,” Ramil said and stood up, bringing his shoulders down and back and keeping his head level. He patted Tala’s shoulder and brought her close. “Must you oblige her so diligently?” he asked with a knowing look.
Tala sighed briefly and said, “I like to have rough talk—my words, again.” She stroked her hair.
“Right.” Ramil drawled and hummed in peaceable resolution, letting her free.
They passed by numerous animals loitering along—most of which were tarlacs, knee-high military animals composed of a rabbit from the neck down and an eye for a head—and Romanesque houses which were short and empty of people. However, the buildings were clean and saved some life in them by way of botanical decor.
GAP
They arrived at a temple, its walls white and grainy. Several centaurs in full armor, holding staves, stood outside at the corners of its entrance, nodding and stomping their hooves at Tala and Ramil in greeting.
Further inside the temple was a gaping hole which they entered to see gremlins in wet leather clothes traveling in and out of another gaping hole that led down to a sea cave. They held harpoons in one hand and still fish in the other, purportedly ignorant of the two. 
After passing a few rooms, knee-high ants from the darkness swarmed the two with greetings and guided them forward.
They met Liam, an ant towering over them, at the end of the temple. She nodded in response, a tattoo resembling a crane bird on her head. Before she could open up a telepathic conversation, Ramil spoke first.
Let me handle this, Lord, thought Ramil hurriedly to prevent the ant from speaking first to dishonor.
I assure you, Liam told the two. This creature of yours has done nothing but help us throughout. I’ll spend my energy helping him myself.
GAP
Mutya, an older woman, popped out from behind the great ant. Wearing a steel helmet, she motioned for them to come closer. “I am with child,” she said, clearing her throat.
Her sibling and husband expressed their complaisance in shallow gasps and half-squeals, their voices a chorus of angels in an opportune moment.
Ten years later, Eeya, the child of Mutya and Ramil, banished the skeletons from the gully into the estuary.
A 40-Year-Old Genius Dies, Reincarnates, and Fights a Boar October 15, 2021
Matt was an angry man. No, he was self-possessed, but he also allowed himself to burst into rage. Rampaging was easy, but managing it depended on what stress relievers I had—in particular, music. 
He slammed his fist against his thigh. He slapped his arm. That fired him up for some reason and cleansed his anxiety. It was a daily cleaning, that’s it.
PAGE BREAK
He watched two birds racing each other, making calls he’d hear every time he went into a cafe.
He exited the bathroom, glancing at his cleansed body. There was confidence in his walk because despite his anxiousness, he was shrewd and had many talents to back him up. He was a fallible but multi-faceted genius to many people.
A few glances came his way, but they were of the norm. He hid under many internet personas after all. If one would see and recognize him, it would be his livestreaming persona.
Personas were efficient and a coping mechanism. At least, that’s what he’d like to believe rather than them being a way for him to trample those below him. He feared the downfall after pride, and he needed to stay down-to-earth.
Returning to his seat, he began typing silently, albeit with a speed that matched those who typed in vain. He was writing a novel, and he was here for a meeting.
He finished his short—because he knew his way around conversations and how to speed them up—meeting and walked home.
He wore a purple shirt and yellow shorts, and his face constantly twitched. He was thinking, and his emotions and ideas vaguely surfaced on his face.
He studied those around him, putting each and one of them to memory. He memorized the names of those who regularly passed by him as a past time. Of course, he learned their name by initiating meaningful talks with them. He knew just how the human mind work, apparently.
He wasn’t perfect, of course. Like he said, he only did was he could, and he only knew what he could learn. There were many failures that nobody else could notice but him. Alas, rapidly improving himself further up heights no normal person could comprehend was the duty of those who were born privileged like him. 
Despite his more-than-decent early life, he lived in a simple house that fit his needs sufficiently. It was a small (containing only enough space for what he truly needed), true white, and windowless. He turned around and raised his head, voicing out his thoughts to a camera.
He had a camera watching him 24/7.
Except for when he had meetings, which was rare. That meeting was the third this week, but before that, fifteen years ago.
He was already more than 40 years old, and many people were proud of him. It was good to be privileged, but most importantly, it was good to feel needed.
“Back again, my dear friends, I should gladly inform you that I am indeed finished with the short meeting I had. Truly, I didn’t need it, but if I can please those who want to hear from me personally every once in a while when I felt like it.”
He left the camera’s sight, entering a hallway to the bathroom. He removed his shades and mask, took off his clothes and hat, and changed to a purple hoodie and yellow pajamas.
He returned, smiling, as he lay down, happy that he could help. He didn’t deserve this anyway. 
It wasn’t his choice he was like this.
It also wasn’t his choice that he died that night. 
Unknown causes.
He stared at a woman in front of him, who had been beckoning him to stand up as he shook his head. When his eyes cleared, he goggled her. 
She looked dependable, but who was he to judge until he gathered enough data?
She struck his wrist with a parchment of paper. On it were words he didn’t understand. He tensed his shoulders, wincing from the expected pain. A chill hit him when he realized his surroundings were dark—darker than dim lights—darker than the moon. 
A chill…. That might just be enough to break the ice between him and whoever this snarling woman is, hehe.
He backed off with a fierce closed-mouth face. He released a piercing wave of superiority over his possible benefactor.
“Miss,” he said, his voice weighty. “Please give me a brief explanation of what’s going on?”
“Follow me,” said the woman, her voice hurried. After climbing down the slope for a while, she turned around. “Please, I mean no harm. Sir.”
“Then, I shall follow you, but may I inspect my surroundings? It hasn’t been two minutes, and too little and too much information will plague my performance for whatever we’ll be doing next.”
“I, I can explain later!” She dragged him down the slope, their feet sliding a bit as they ran.
However, Matt had great balance. He was athletic, and so he separated his hand from her and paced himself to run an alongside her.
She brought him down what looked like a staircase into a pit of darkness. He stopped, grabbing a long sharp stick and demanding one question answered.
“Where are we going?”
“To, to, to…. I know you’re from Earth, and I know you’re strong. Will you help us?”
“I’m afraid that wasn’t enough. Will you force me to go with you?” He glanced at the stick and back at her. suggesting he wasn’t defenceless.
She huffed impatiently, looking back and forth, her feet pointed to the walls.
She shouted, and it was loud enough such that her targets arrived in a heartbeat.
A group of bandits, wolves, goblins, and slimes, who served their country as either war animals or guerillas. They surrounded Matt and pressured him to walk back slowly down the staircase.
As soon as Matt went far enough, the woman dragged him, making him lose balance and depend on whoever’s holding him to carry a man the weight of five children.
She put him down in front of her toward the darkness.
He ran down, making loud brief sounds with his mouth. They didn’t echo that far, and he didn’t feel rushing air pushing toward him.
He sighed, hurrying toward a door leading to a fiery wasteland. He saw skeletons, children, and something giant and blue. He looked behind him to see the door he went through was a portal.
It disappeared as soon as the woman entered, ostensibly leaving those monsters to cry in the darkness of the surface.
He let out a sustained scream. He flipped the table, grabbing objects in the room and throwing it at the boar. His voice crescendoed, frightening the boar. The boar galloped in fear, stepping over the objects on the floor. It banged at the door. He grabbed a metal object and slammed the boar in the head, making it collapse after numerous blunt attacks from above.
He calmed down abnormally fast and walked out the door, appreciating the scenery with “wows” and “damns”.
Matt Reincarnates as a Hunted Rainbow Ferret October 15, 2021
The Saga of Ferret the Evil
Matt is larger-than-life and borderline self-possesed: he can be impulsive, violently angry, paranoid, and diffident. Nevertheless, he’s a down-to-earth multifaceted genius.
He died to cancer a little early at 45 years old, unfortunately, but he was transported to a different world as an rainbow-furred ferret, a special animal hunted down for events.
Oh, gosh, help me.
Matt Dies, Gets Collected by Quincy Along With Crisha and Tiey October 16, 2021
Matt held a large sword, cutting down the two goblins in front of him. The goblins were four-foot-tall biped monsters. They screamed in fear when he slashed their arms off, but what scared them the most was Matt’s anger.
He was screaming louder than the goblins. His eyes burned with rage, and he punched them like a machine, battering them black and blue. When he dropped the sword, it clattered with a boom. It was three times heavier than an average human.
He left the goblins alive, gasping for life. Matt wasn’t mad anymore. He calmed down now that he got his daily outburst. It was a coping mechanism to head into the dungeons, but he wasn’t stupid enough to start a fight he couldn’t win.
He picked up the goblins and tended to their wounds, healing them with everything inside him. The goblins screamed as he healed them. Healing wasn’t a painless process. He tapped them on the shoulder until they woke up.
They woke up, screaming, and then running away. Some froze on the spot. He didn’t mind them and went on his way. He always found a way to convince himself that this was way better than him doing it to people.
If only monsters without intelligence existed.
He arrived home with his sword strapped to his back. He arrived at a forest glade, scanning his surroundings. He called out, “Amanda, lend me your magic!”
He glowed yellow, raising his head, and then he flew up in the sky. He zoomed toward his village, yelling in celebration.
His voice crescendoed into a frightened squeal when he saw two dark elves flying up to intercept him. He cast a magic that created a square shield wall in front of him.
His leg got grabbed. 
He looked down—a large turtle standing on two furry legs pulled him by the leg and bit him.
He screamed in anger, indignant that anyone would do such a thing. He healed the turtle, checking for any damages to distract the turtle with pain. 
The turtle crunched on his bones and killed him.
The two dark elves looked elsewhere from which seven masked subordinates armored in black and hints of red flew toward them. They slowed midway, staring at the city at their right.
In front of the two dark elves, they sent their message: “‘Win against them or die,’ he said.”
One of the dark elves, Crisha, hummed.
They all flew toward the city, grabbing trees as they went. They set fire to the trees when they arrived at the city.
They set fire to the trees and dropped them. The trees weren’t affected by the magic shield. They fell, burning up, crashing some houses. One tree was stopped by a thick floating rock platform acting as a physical shield.
The trees exploded, destroying multiple houses. Some created a domino effect because some houses smuggled gunpowder. It satisfied the attackers. 
The city had a large anti-magic shield, so they brought bombs in the form of large trees. The reason they used trees was because their bombs took much space, and it needed to look like a dumb attack.
They cheered.
Humans with the same power level as Matt took offence and rushed to fight the attackers. They shot arrows with gritty motions, shaken by the amount of bodies that were left after the bomb attack, worsened by their knowledge of who they were fighting.
The attackers were subordinates of Tiey, one of many borderline noteworthy rulers. He declared his nation’s sovereignty less than a year ago, which invited challengers who proved him strong.
King Tiey was there himself, snickering as he saw a maddened mayor staring back at him. The mayor climbed and jumped up to the top of buildings, pointing his spear at the flying king.
The king nodded delightfully, coming down with two hands emerging from his back.
The mayor’s hands glowed as translucent orbs contained them. He combined the two together and then separated them, the orbs and glowing disappearing. His teeth turned into hard, sharp metal, and he gnashed them.
He huffed. “Tiey!” he exclaimed, blocking two maces with a sword. He bit the sword, but he was stabbed repeatedly by the two other arms protruding from the kings back. He fell to the ground and died.
Arrows had been hitting harmlessly onto the king since he arrived. Too weak to be noticed.
He left, too lazy to kill off those who survived, leaving them to his subordinates. He was here to fight the king in a death match, nothing else.
He arrived back home, drinking sweet coffee and then lying down on a white bed in a true-white box room.
The city was one of many under the nation Ulfric, but they were in a war with another large nation (not his) and had to hope the mayors could defend the cities themselves.
Tiey destroyed his second city. He should have grabbed their attention by now.
Goblins emerged out of the walls, breaking through them and pouring acid on King Tiey on his bed.
The four arms on King Tiey failed to account of the fact the goblins were well-disguised acid golems. When he struck them, he ended up burning himself even more.
His chest was destroyed by the acid, and his fore arms were gone. He yelled out in pain. “How did these fuckers get here?”
No one answered him, and he died where he lay.
Matt, Crisha, and Tiey—a human, a dark elf, and a human king.
Tiey scoffed. “Who the fuck washes their back with their own saliva?”
They woke up thirteen hours ago in a locked room. Since none of them were timid, all three of them conversed after only a minute of confused muttering. If one tired and needed time to think, the other two would carry on.
Crisha had a raspy voice and shrugged a lot. Matt waved his arms as much as Tiey did, but it was clear who was the feared king and who was the larger-than-life peasant.
The room poofed into nothing, leaving them to fall from the sky. Tiey and Crisha flew, watching Matt fall, ignoring him. Tiey wanted companions, but he priotized knowing what kind their captor was.
Quincy, a large man with long white hair and a strange mask with many holes, appeared out of thin air, making a squeaking door sound. He grabbed Matt and slowed down to a stop.
Matt muttered in fear, feeling his weight and the weight of looking away from an extreme fall. He cried with sniffles.
Quincy flew to the other two captives, still carrying Matt, whistling.
Tiey and Crisha glared at their captor.
Matt was still muttering in terror.
Quincy grabbed a quill and wrote down on a piece of parchment that appeared out of thin air. He handed it to Tiey, Crisha, and Matt, who began sucking his hand like a baby.
Tiey huffed. Crisha cringed. Matt pleaded to be taken to the ground.
Quincy snapped his finger, and all four of them teleported to a marsh, floating above the water.
Matt cringed. “I can’t see the water. I can’t see past the water!”
Quincy sighed, flying toward an area they could all stand on comfortably.
Matt moaned in relief. “Thank you—wait a minute, hey! Who are you?!”
“King Quincy from the north continent. I’m here exploring with a far-distance teleport spell.
“I teleported and cursed you with temporal mental fog. I revived Matt with an artifact that allowed me to revive one person as long as their souls remained every 6 years.”
“Don’t expect to know why I chose each of you. I don’t care to explain, but I’ll be using my global teleport spell on each of you. Each of you will have their respective destinations, but the main reason is each of you are a reincarnator, including me.”
After a long silence, Crisha said, “Reincarnator? I thought I was the only one.”
Tiey nodded, but Matt shook his head, glancing from Crisha to Quincy.
“Who did you meet, Matt? I know every name.”
“Kai…. Kaiser Kairos. She died on one of her adventurers.”
Quincy nodded after a brief silence with eyes that showed he understood. He touched them one by one on the shoulder, making them disappear.
Quincy Charms Matt Into Escaping Before the Kingdom Falls October 16, 2021
Matt woke up, his heart restless, his nightmares pointing to one thing—a group of adventurers almost murdered him. He dueled a person out of desperation to pay his family’s debt. He gritted his teeth, blaming both his parents for choosing to get married and start a large family despite their life-ruining financial decisions. They came from noble backgrounds and could’ve chosen good lives; instead, they chose their skewed idea of love and faith over a future resulting from pragmatism.
Even so, he got that they were lonely, but they didn’t have to give birth to 10 children on the way.
Matt and his eldest brother, Quincy, met later that day. 
Quincy had a past that well explained his life, ruined during the testing stages of two narcissists. They punished and berated him severely during his childhood and then neglected him during his teenage years, reasoning that he was too rebellious after he disagreed with them on numerous occasions. He knew very well the heavy financial decisions they made and could forgive them for that, but when the consequences came around, they took it out on him and blamed him for it. He was a broken man who didn’t know how to die, and that’s why Matt acknowledged and respected him for living a good life despite all that.
“Matt. Thank you for coming.”
Quincy’s words were always simple, but his motions were elegant. Because he was afraid of narcissists, he pretended to be one, similar to when one would wear a bat costume because he was afraid of bats. Unfortunately, he struggled with emotional dysregulation and an unstable self-image—he was larger-than-life and loveably charismatic at one point and then violently angry, paranoid, diffident, and highly impulsive the next. These changes happen rapidly, but he balanced it with his life as an adventurer.  He let out his negative emotions when he travelled, when he fought, and when he built a reputation around the city.
Yet here he was, chuckling awkwardly. It must be because Matt reminded him of the past: he unconsciously used his persona during his teenage years. “No one ever calls me Quincy, he said in response to Matt’s greeting. “It’s a scary name.” He let out a one-syllable laugh and repeated that every half second.
“I apologize,” Matt said, but he wanted to know how he’d react after all these years.
Matt knew Quincy wasn’t talking about his name scaring others, but the fact that his parents always used that name so much it triggered his fight-or-flight when he heard it. He hated it as much as he hated hearing a certain tone of laughing that his father had. 
It was a laugh Quincy’s father brought out often, but it was especially damaging when he was disappointed.
“Kairoskairos almost killed me,” Matt said with a deep noble-like tone albeit quiet. His brother had grown, and he was going to treat him as others would in homage to him as an adventurer. “I need your help, Noble Healer.”
Nobles were rare among adventurers, and that’s why when Quincy wore outfits nobles would wear despite his peasant lineage, they called him that. It became true since Quincy’s full-time success: he lived on an estate and bought hunting land he called “his training grounds.”
Matt was nowhere near his level of success; instead, he was a struggling journalist specifically on adventurers. It was only expected that he’d meet his eldest brother on the job.
They had meaningful conversations about their lives, moving to many different establishments, until the day was over. Meeting and conversing with an adventurer usually lasted this long when things went well. He needed to fill up his next edition of an adventurer encyclopedia, after all.
“Matt, I have to tell you something…. I sold out the kingdom to the Witch Queen, and if you want to live, you need to come with me now. You can still make it.”
“Quincy, what are you talking about? Did you drink behind my back again?” Matt chortled.
“No. Do you want to come with me?”
“Sure, sure. I’m down. Tomorrow is a rest day, after all.”
“Good because it’s happening tomorrow.”
They walked for a brief while, and then Matt’s eyebrows furrowing, he asked, “How about the rest of us?” He was talking about his siblings and sister.
“I… I can only choose 10 people. You’re the last slot. Please don’t make this complicated.”
“W-what?” Matt laughed. “I knew you were joking. I’ll come with you if you can prove to me there’s something out there where we’re going.” Matt pointed at the dark streets and buildings in front of them.
“That’s where we’re going. I’m a member of the Blue Beheaders, after all.”
“Ha, that’s a good one…. Stop lying to me. Are you planning to sell me out?”
“No, Matt, you know what. Stop this. We’re going to live if you come with me. This kingdom is so close to falling anyway. Have you heard the news?”
“The Witch Queen is attacking, but we must defend it. That’s all.”
“Matt, do you know what they’d done to Tork, Peltia, and the—”
“I know, but could they really be that strong? I know that witch killed a hundred thousand with one spell, but come on. I had met so many people in my life that it’d be impossible I didn’t meet something that powerful.” Matt’s reasoning would make sense if he’d travelled much and he was immortal.
“Go. If what you say is true, I’d rather die than be a murderer. Abiding with one is doing as one.”
“No, you’re coming with me. [Charm]”
“Sure, let’s go.”
“You’re the only one among the family who knew how to love people unconditionally.”
“It’s as you say,” Matt said under the effects of the [Charm] spell.
Matt lived in a village far away from the ruins of his home country Adam. He still woke up because of nightmares, but not because of that trivial group of adventurers anymore, he woke up because of a raging guilt. His family who he loved were dead, and he couldn’t save them, including his parents. He struggled to wake up everyday, but he had more-than-enough of his basic needs met.
He joined a group of adventurers where his eldest brother Quincy led. His brother was lame, but he fared well against agile glass cannon monsters. He always shouted in rage and hatred whenever he saw a monkey jumped from wall to wall.
That’s what got him the title Berserker after he stopped healing and became a frontliner. In fact, he was such a frontliner that he left the others to defend themselves. It was an established system in place, patiently tolerated, fortunately.
Matt gave up on journaling and changed interests to become someone that defeat the Witch Queen, but he knew that was never going to happen. No one in the world could stop Mael Grime Fetter, yet he went on with his life, laughing almost manically that someone could be so frighteningly powerful.
He might as well travel to a different continent instead of defeating trivial monsters that could kill him in one swipe.
In any case, he still allowed himself to enjoy the new world where humans and demihumans lived together in harmony. The Witch Queen had the power to do this for better or worse.
That day, he conversed with some dwarves over
Matt Gets Kicked Unconscious by Martha, Wakes Up on a Beastman’s Lap October 21, 2021
Matt watched the birds flying overhead and smirked. He hadn’t eaten much nowadays, but he held that confident smile and walked on. He had left and had taken a walk one day that had been going for years. He still walked on today.
He heard voices playing a few meters off. He smiled. Not one day went by where the cheering of children didn’t calm him down.
He ignored them and moved on this time. There was a woman waiting a few meters in front of him. He smiled with his eyes closed.
Her face twisting to rage, she ran with wide motions, throwing her all into a kick she launched to his balls.
His face twisting in pain, he fell to the ground, a few tears leaving his eyes.
He laughed. “How’s your day, Martha?” he asked with a squeaky voice.
Martha huffed in annoyance and threw him a kick to the temple. He fell into the ground, unconscious.
He woke up on someone’s lap. He goggled the person the face overhead. It wasn’t Martha but a large beastman.
He screamed in the most manliest voice he could muster, his voice turning from fear to anger. “Who are you?” he demanded, getting up and throwing the beastman a dirty look.
The beastman stood up, raised an brow, and left.
“Oi! I’m here, you big ass idiot!”
The beastman cocked his head at him and then moved on, ignoring his next words.
“Hey, Mr. Beastman! Oi!”
A Mage Company Uses Smoke and Rogues to Kill Three Runners October 21, 2021
“I sought life. I sought to create a world that mattered. I sought to be free from the world at large. I wanted to become something of worth. Why did the world treat me this way? Why did the world end up this way in the first place? I wanted to be free from the pain. Why was it so hard to become a person? I needed to be free. Why was it so hard?
“I don’t understand. Why is it so complicated? I need to become a better person somehow. I can’t lose myself now. Do you understand? The world isn’t that complicated. I know it isn’t. I need to change something fundamental about the world somehow. How long would that take? It won’t be easy definitely. I need to create beauty, or else I would mean absolutely nothing. I shall prevail. This incessant pain is a continuous pattern. I can’t be here feeling this way.”
Dan, arguably the only true mage in this surprise military strike, stood among 73 mages, gazing at the direction of the enemy targets from below around 9 miles off.
Despite their low number of three, the enemy targets were full armored, wielded large shields, and had the high ground against infantry in this terrain with steep slopes. One of them had high perception. this meant they could detect movement about 1 mile off—based on the findings of an informant who focused their stat points on agility.
Dan was the leader of a mage company. They usually consisted of 120 standard mages, 1 artillery observer, and 1 mage leader. Standard mages increased their mana pool with training, having no spells, while mage leaders, born with a spell, consumed the former’s mana pools and his own to cast the spell.
After Dan received his first correction from the company’s artillery observer who observed the enemy target’s position through high perception close to the enemy, he sucked in the half of his company’s mana into himself.
An extensive jet of smoke generated from Dan’s palms and flew. Travelling at 1 mile per second, it slammed uselessly against one of the targets’ helmet. It obscured the targets from each other—including whoever had high perception because of its magical characteristic—and their surroundings.
This was the third shot.
A company of 60 rogues who carried 12 warriors and 8 tanks charged 1 and a half miles off from the runners, chasing them uphill.
One of the enemy targets carried the other two and ran straight.
They exited the smoke, falling in the hands of the company in front. The company encircled the targets and attacked them.
The first runner had 70/30 in agility and strength, the second split their stat points between constitution and perception, and the third was an archer who could take four warriors from the company without a scratch and ten with a few scratches.
The tanks glued themselves onto the targets, each wielding a shield in front and a shield faced up, while the warriors stabbed them with spears from behind.
“I can’t see!” exclaimed one of the targets repeatedly even after they had regained the use of their perception.
When they died, their dreadful expressions betrayed their haughty reputation, byproducts of a strategist who vowed to crush the arrogant.
A Meteor Destroys a Village; Survivors Rebuild in the Forest October 23, 2021
The cold air blew into Callum’s nostrils, energizing him to take a long-winded swing on rock with a pickaxe. His legs firm and his posture upright, he continued this action until the day was over, during which he leveled up several times in evolutionary paths related to mining. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he left the quarry with the rest of his fellow miners and returned to his house. 
The mine situated near a mining town, at which Callum resided. The extraction period had gone on for 15 years, at which the mine was in the latter phase. It was a diamond mine.
Callum carefully molded the body parts of a humanoid clay figure. He stuck them together through a fire spell, whose heat release rate mirrored that of a match and which he released from his right index finger. He placed it down among an assortment of clay figures and prayed again that his family would be safe.
Afterwards, hearing the notorious bell, he walked out and followed the rest of the miners into the mine once again.
That morning, he heard a boom and ran outside to see a meteor falling down from the sky. He exclaimed, “Wow!” as he influenced other miners to wave and say their wishes and prayers.
One of the mining town’s guards berated them and got back to work. “Your families back in Irontooth won’t be celebrating until we turn that town into a paradise. Enough, get back to work.”
One miner looked terrified. He was questioned but rather than complain about working conditions. He said that the meteor might’ve landed too close to the village.
The guard and most of the miners dismissed him, but the few that believed him began to worry as well. 
That night, a report of the destruction of Irontooth came to them. The guard dismissed his words as stupidity, but it was evident he too was terrified. At this time, the miners were asleep.
Most of the guards ran out of the city, leaving the miners to wake up in the morning with no bell ring.
The guards who hadn’t joined them got the miners together and told them they were packing up to head to the village to see the aftermath.
When they arrived there, those who had been close when the meteor hit and created a crater were there. They were carrying the very few bodies in mats and placing them in a line.
Callum was deeply troubled and held nothing back. He had an aged father who had worked hard for him when he was a child not as a miner but as a protector of the village. He didn’t find his father’s body, and that put him among the majority of the people there who silently watched the very few grieve.
Whoever summoned the meteor was impossible to locate. In the first place, no one knew if there was anyone who could summon a meteor. They had a scattered meeting about it.
Since most of the guards had been in the town, those who remained feared that they’d have to travel into the deeper parts of the forest where the beasts and monsters had turf wars.
One of the guards, Eve, who had a good relationship with the miners, gathered the people and told them the village could be rebuilt. She reasoned that if they helped each other, the village would come about again. They already had a life back in the mining town: if they pushed themselves to learn how to hunt and gather food, they would survive.
With no other way in mind, the miners soon listened to her plans and obeyed with anger, not at their new leader but at many other things. The fact that everyone of them were together in this grieving made it easier for them to transition to the first stage of rebuilding.
Only one person was both vocal and lively throughout the first day: Callum. Since he was still twenty, the others couldn’t help but feel aggravated when he talked that much after everything that happened. Afterwards, Callum took note and shut up.
His energy went outward: he studied the various features of a forest. He picked up rocks and smelled them. He paused to watch animals from afar before letting an arrow fly. He divided the countless smells and textures of the forest to numbers and names in his head.
It wasn’t until one of the former guards over the course of a month spotted a town several hundred kilometers away. He returned after several months. By that time, the former miners had leveled up many times in evolutionary paths related to hunting and building. (Although half of them were already proficient in building.)
Before that, however, they came across many beasts—goblins, wolves, kobolds, and orcs. It was a bloodbath at times, but the guards were guards. 
The leader, Eve, wasn’t a frontline fighter, but because the guards were so tough, the crossbow she wielded from the backline was nothing to scoff at. She took care of the beasts quickly who wielded javelins and bows, which made the job much easier. However, the crossbow was nothing in the hands of another. Because she had many levels in evolutionary paths related to archery, her reloading was more than ten times faster. Also, the bolts hit harder.
Notwithstanding, Callum, like the rest, were no longer mining grunts, because now, they built buildings like proficient artisans. Since Eve stayed in the village looking for ways to defend against a meteor (which she joked about at times), they had to strengthen their bodies for aggresion. 
Callum wondered if anger influenced their rate of evolutionary development.
Evolutionary developments, paths, and levels took the forms of animallike features that emerged when one slept. One could have osteoderms across his chest, arms, and back, while another could have jaws and teeth that could crush a turtle’s shell if they were lucky. 
Some levels took years to pass, while others took minutes.
It was supposedly a process that quantified one’s faith in Elfieism, the religion of which the village were believers. Callum was pious in this, but his fellow miners were apathetic about it, chances being none of them actually believed. When Callum wondered if anger influenced their rate of evolutionary development, he actually meant anger influencing their faith.
An Earth Crossbowman Is Found Deteriorating and Recruited October 23, 2021
“Crossbows are fantasy’s silent rifles,” was the whispered mantra of Terry Daniel Hitch, who preferred the break-action shotgun; even his name was double-barrelled. After a goddess summoned him to this world, he couldn’t help but adore the only weapon in disposal that reminded him of “ease of accuracy”. 
Like a disturbed ant, his left hand fiddled inside a quiver on the ground as his right hand unstably held a crossbow. He jammed a bolt onto his weapon after bouncing off several bolts far away. Stooped, he aimed, quivering as if the rock under him rolled in place, and pulled the trigger at a horde of frenzied horned rabbits racing uphill.
The bolt flew sharply at a rabbit’s screaming face, throwing it to the ground. The rabbit stopped struggling moments later.
He backpedalled, grabbing a halberd.
He trudged forward: collision with the rabbits was inevitable:.
He gored the few who hadn’t run, wielding his new weapon like a drunk driver that had come out of a crashed vehicle.
Consequently, he received a flurry of bites and skewers, but because a healer stood beside him, his face showed less tangible screams of pain.
Sharla Maine, her appearance a nondescript woman, squatting beside the healer. He needs more practice, she thought, sorrowfully waving him off.
It was only a few days ago when those rabbits turned a village to something similar to the guts of an exploded whale. According to an inspector, the culprit was most likely a partitionist based on the mana readings in the air, which would make discussions with the major unpleasant.
“Mana is the window to the soul,” the inspector paraphrased, his forced smile hinting at frustration.
“What do you think?” he asked Maine, his voice steady. “Is there anything wrong with the tattoos?” He tapped the symbol on one of the rabbit’s nape.
The woman turned her head faster than her body, taut with frustration. “Whoever started this should end this, or I’m going to use the finder artifact,” she said, her voice rather callous.
The finder artifact located a named individual up to 200 minutes running distance away, the inspector recalled. It had a price tag, however—it required a human sacrifice to activate. 
Funny.
He narrowed his eyes at her but let his expression fade.
She stayed unaware of his dismissive stares, one of her fists raised in the air. Huffing, her face solemn, she slammed a rock at the ground.
Terry Daniel Hitch woke up, his expression groggy, drooling. After a minute, he sat up and comprehended the people around him.
“What happened to me?” he asked, wiping his mouth with a gloved hand.
“Deteriorating body,” said the healer, who wore a warm smile and a prosthetic hand. “I healed you, remember?”
“Is that so?” He calmly lifted himself the ground. After searching for a while, he found his horse and sat back down.
“Want to kindly share who you are?” asked the female healer, blinking long, who, with the two others a few feet off from her, had met Terry after he provoked the rabbits. She dressed like a rogue but eyed him like those in her line of work.
“I’m a… tourist from the… north.”
“Ah, don’t tell me you believe in that stuff?”
“W-what?”
“That there’s another landmass larger than Cortila.”
That garnered a passing glance from the other two, who were smashing the ground with rocks and levitating in the air. They looked like children playing with each other.
“Hehe, no…. Don’t worry I’m, I’m no threat. I’m j-just a lost—I’m a passerby here.”
The healer raised a brow but decided not to press the matter. Did my healing not work? she thought. She went off on a tangent about details surrounding her healing as Terry smelled himself.
He winced.
“Thanks for the help,” he said after a short while sitting in silence. “The crossbow was good—the spear too.”
“That’s a… halberd.”
“Yeah… that—too.”
“Who are you?”
“We’re patrol. I’m the healer, he’s the paladin with the halberd, and she’s the rogue who lent you the crossbow and the halberd.”
“Right. Why did you guys test me again?” He winced at his blatant words.
“We wished to see what, what kind of person you are. For you to have come here, you must have been hiding here—are you a refugee?”
“A refugee? That’s…. why would I be a refugee?”
“You were deteriorating when we found you, and you looked determined to fight those rabbits. No one prepared goes fighting those level-1 rabbits, I tell you.
“You only lived because I healed you as you fought to fill your stomach. Were you or were you not that hungry?”
“I was. I lost my wagon and my guards, that’s why.”
“Who uses a Elfie-damned wagon and guards to pass the ocean? Tell me, why are you here?”
“Okay, okay, the gods brought me here. That’s why I don’t know… what is happening. I come from a different world.”
“Then say so! I knew you might have been brainwashed and plopped down here by some powerful lord!”
“Uh.”
“Forget what I said. Thanks for your time. I need to be protect this kingdom. It’s a duty of mine.”
“Hmm, sounds like something I would say,” said a figure that emerged from thin air behind them.
“Ah, Lord Bind, it’s nice to see you.”
“Yes, yes, now, is there anything crucial that I haven’t been informed of yet?” asked the hooded skeleton.
“Uh… this man was probably a slave of some sort. He believe he isn’t connected to the Red Wing.”
“Yes. I see.”
The male skeleton had a lazy tone, but his gestures struck when it mattered, creating this conflict of emotions when the healer talked to him.
“Is he eligible for the first army?”
“He is.”
“
A Village Defends Against a Goblin-Orc Attack and Evacuates October 23, 2021
“I’d like to become a genius fighter,” Matt said, sitting down among his friends, Danny and Mckertin, who helped him every day with his chores.
Danny offered a story about his father who travelled far for years and came back only to say he wanted to sleep. Danny was interested in adventuring like his father, but he hearkened to warnings about how important training was to dreamers.
Mckertin began a story about his lack of a harem, but his two friends stopped him which made him chortle.
Matt said goodbye and thanked his friends for another day of help. They separated, and Matt returned home, listening to his father complaining about the war and such.
Matt was unsurprised, finishing a cup of milk and going upstairs to sleep. He had a brother and sister in the same room: Carla and Ferret. They had good futures because they received training unlike him. His parents had wanted him to receive the training when their rate of mining mana crystals increased due to mastery, but he had declined and had reminded them that the younger learned magic faster.
Matt slept and woke up the next day, healthy and fit. After he finished his next cup of milk, he heard the booms of cannons. He rushed outside with his parents as the alarm bell rang throughout the village. His father suited up and took a halberd, while his mother grabbed a couple of crossbows.
The other adults did the same, grabbing all sorts of preferred weapons and gathered around the west wall. The distance from the houses to the gate was half a mile, good enough for them to let the interlopers in and fight them there.
They formed a wall and prepared as the village’s cannons stopped firing. Those cannons were old and dusty, but they did a good job taking out some pesky trolls quickly.
The sounds of the gate opening got the fighters upright and tense. They shouted in unison as the interlopers—goblins, orcs, wolves, and kobolds—were let in. They shot a volley of bolts and arrow first. Afterwards, they charged in unison as the enemies scattered, acknowledging the impenetrable human wave. 
Despite common knowledge, the village’s enemies wielded shields, spears, and hunting bows. They usually fought with weapons similar to the machete, but this time, it was different.
This time, the orcs dragged in a cannon and shot as fast as they could at the wave of villages, scaring the youngest of the fighters. 
The older stayed firm and shouted the message to separate where the cannon aimed. It sounded like a good plan on paper, but the cannoneers scared off one side while the rest of their forces surrounded the other.
A small group of villagers separated and attacked the cannoneers, but the orcs were plentiful and stopped them easily.
Gunpowder was one thing the humans didn’t have, but one old mage limped toward the battle and garnered the rest of her strength. She froze the kobolds, goblins, and wolves heading toward her and then redirected her freezing magic toward the orcs and the cannon.
The orcs leaped out of the way, causing the rest to retreat. Those among the interlopers who hadn’t realized were cut down and thrown onto a pile.
Unfortunately, as a consequence of using such powerful magic, the mage had fallen to the ground, dead.
The fighters gathered and paid their respects to the village’s last mage, calling the village chief who had been among the fighters for a meeting.
The village chief concluded that staying in the village would be suicide after witnessing their enemies’ newfound strength. He said it was a miracle the recluse mage threw their life away for them. He sighed, apologizing for his oversight.
The villages affirmed that they failed too because of their comfort here behind the village’s defences. They didn’t bother to check the developments much outside the village, especially since they got news that their teenagers were blessed with magic.
They gathered everyone to the center of the 13-month-old village and announced their decisions. The children whined, but nevertheless, basically everyone came to an understanding after watching the fight.
With Danny’s father, the village’s strongest villager in front, the village chief led the village out to the east. He sent a agile messenger to Morrak Kingdom.
Fortunately, the east was relatively peaceful since the village knew of many other remote villages out there.
Morrak Kingdom was far away, and because they were so far away, they established the mining community, which they repeatedly called “Steel Village.” It was an open secret that their village was established not because of choice but because they were ordered to by their kingdom.
Two Men Plant Lightning Rods Across a City and Destroy It October 23, 2021
“The two of us came running and then fell down this hole that led us to this undiscovered temple…,” said Ragdad. His discreet, succinct voice contrasted his strikingly handsome, fierce, young face and plentiful dangling bone jewelry. Complementing his voice, he was of medium height, perfect posture, and clearcut muscle. It was evident that his erratic eyes offered critique to last a lifetime but kept them under the surface. “It’d come to my attention… that there was a large steel brace hiding within the rock. I mined it slowly with my axe, and when I finished, there was a secret room. I found tomes inside that gave me the magical spell of doom.”
“Wow, that was so amazing!” exclaimed Delfie. His sarcastic voice, playful, bouncy steps, and the slapping of Ragdad’s shoulder showed the familiarity between the two. “Ahaha! I can’t believe it! It’s so cool!” He was a very handsome young man, of short height, with loosely defined or messy features. His playfulness had an unintelligent ring to it, but all throughout, he turned visually quick-witted briefly, rarely. 
The two of them left the drawing room prematurely, adding a bit of mystery behind as the hosts and their guests whispered around. They marvelled at the juxtaposition of the news that Ragdad had killed Delfie’s father in a duel and their unbroken friendly familiarity.
The two placed a rod on the ground.
A citizen took notice and interrogated them.
The two softly explained that the rod was merely a guide for a scent spell they’d been working on. The citizen gathered others to confirm it, but no one could confirm nor deny it. They watched in silence, as the two hammered it into the ground for a good ten minutes.
They repeated this across town, some getting guards to come over and stop them, but instead of giving up, they retried in another place. When this became a rumor around the city, they had already finished.
The went outside and drew a summoning circle. A few powerful guards fought them, and after several hours, they disarmed the guards and knocked them out.
Reinforcements arrived, but it was too late.
They poured enough mana into the summoning circle where a large cloud emerged. The cloud flew up into the sky and rained down lightning on the city. The rods amplified the lightning and scattered it around and inside the buildings, taking out those who hid in the darkest rooms. 
The city fell silent as Ragdad and Delfie knocked out the army of reinforcements.
A Reincarnator Drinks Coffee for the First Time in Ten Years October 23, 2021
Verdigris inhaled deep through his nose, as the caffeine from the coffee he drank hit him like a gut punch. It was the first time he’d drunk caffeine again in this world, Xanthous. “No tea but that’s fine,” he said.
It was ten years ago that he had arrived here, struggling as an “all-around worker”. Now, he was here in a bar where they served coffee under a different name.
A Man Wakes Up to Alarms Going Off Again October 23, 2021
Verdigris-green flashes of light dizzied him. Coleman woke up with a startling sharp ringing inside his head. “Oh…,” he said. He swore with a shout. He got out of bed, pushing the blanket off him to the floor. He trudged toward the door, his eyes narrowed and his expression taut with frustration. 
Alarms from farther within the building startled him and gave him pause. “It happened again.” He sighed.
A Man Tests His Sister’s Theory and Joins a Cult of Perfection October 23, 2021
“Now, how should I divide this core?” Maroon cut up the core with a silver knife, placing the pieces into a bowl for mixing. He rubbed his face with a towel and put it down; he sighed. His eyes glanced over a paper that contained the encrypted recipe on his left hand. “When am I going to get results?” His voice lingered with tiredness.
“Now, now, what should you do?” asked a female voice from behind him.
He inferred her displeasure from her sarcastic tone of voice. “I need to keep testing and get things done; I know, Angel.”
“Good then. Good luck,” she said before leaving the room and the door open.
His face twitched in frustration. He knew she was disappointed because he promised her he’d get her the core. He was testing her theory, and he was pushing himself to prove it. Even if she was a little selfish, it was his duty as an eldest brother to support those younger than him.
If only he could be some kind of perfect creature. 
He stared at a pamphlet in the shadows of a framed painting that depicted his family. The pamphlet was color gold-yellow, white, and red, on which the words, “Perfection is nigh, my friends!” read.
If he was going to help his family that included those who suffered, he needed something…, a tool to help him succeed.
He took it and left the house, ignoring those who berated him on the streets. He was notorious for quitting his country’s national hero’s party. He had talent, but he quit because “it wasn’t enough.”
Perfection isn’t good enough. It surpasses that a million times over!
He joined a meeting where a woman with bright-yellow hair stood on stage. The woman’s outfit mirrored those among the crowd. She frowned and wrinkled her face. “It is time, my friends. We must become perfect! Your gods and the universe ordains that we become perfect, my friends! I have tested this over and over again, the theory of dissimulation! If one hid his thoughts so well, if observers stopped knowing what went on inside, he would gain power from the aura of mystery around him!”
A Group From Earth Comes Through a Portal Into a Fantasy World October 24, 2021
Rust hurled himself on a jeep. slammed his hands on the wheel, and jammed the accelerator to the floor, and the jeep flew forward. He chortled as the rants from his chasers passed him by. He grinned, grabbing a gun and reloading it, as a helicopter hovered overhead. He shot at the vehicle behind through a broken window as the heli’s door gunner complemented his bullets. The vehicle crashed with a muted boom as a giant portal opened in front of them, the heli and the jeep slipping through it.
In another world, where the portal closed, they made a bunch of surprised sounds, staggering as verdigris-green hues flashed and large pillars of ice boomed from a distance high beyond the trees. The helicopter dropped down as its passengers jumped out, sniping a load of questions at Rust.
Letting his confused expression linger, Rust explained that whatever brought them here had disappeared and that it was up to them to decide whether they should wait here or head toward the lights and sounds.
As soon as their waiting began, they sniffed around like dogs for information, peeking at the commotion.
“Is that magic?” asked Robert, one of Rust’s cousin’s friends. He had nothing in hand but a tall stature.
Another of the friends confirmed it through getting close. He died from a stray bullet in the form of ice debris.
Robert screamed as did the others and Rust’s cousin. Rust felt mildly frustrated, and in his thoughts, he dictated that he’d seen enough to feel enough. He studied the body, more concerned with knowing his enemy despite the risks. He backed off, waiting for the next stray bullet.
Only 5 seconds passed as ice debris landed near the body. 
It took much more for them to rally again.
“What was it that caused this phenomenon?” Rust’s cousin asked him, tapping on Rust’s shoulder with an expectant expression. “You’re the genius.”
Rust sighed. Not genius enough, he thought as he grabbed his shotgun and shot at the center of the lights and sounds thrice.
Nothing happened, but more “stray” bullets landed near him afterwards. The rate of attacks increased multiplicatively until they had to leave the area, flying off into the sunset on a helicopter.
They landed on hilly terrain, expressing awe at the alien grazing animals on the ground. They had feathers, were bipedal, and were shaped like dinosaurs.
“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Rust’s cousin, Liam. “It’s a fuckin’ raptor, guys!”
“W-what?” Robert said, his voice cold and solemn. “That’s a large chicken. How can that be a raptor? Actually, large chicken or raptor—again, where the heck are we?” Asking the last question was his job.
“Oi!” Rust exclaimed as the raptors wandered a little close to them. He led everyone away back to the chopper. “Let’s find a village of some sort. The forest won’t be doing us any favors.”
They left again and flew away from the explosions and the raptors, their next target being any villages in the region.
They landed much farther than the last stop near a city, Rust’s cousin complaining because of the dinosaurs he saw below him, while Robert stared with mild interest. 
A Man Guards an Apple Grove From Children October 24, 2021
Fiddle loitered near an apple grove, rubbing his chin, his eyes narrowed, his nose wrinkled, the corners of his mouth turned up. He was ready to throw in the towel, but what could he do against a crowd of children playing ball?
A maiden asked him to keep them from rummaging as they explored, but hey, he wasn’t the culprit who decided to give them a ball!
A Boy and His Guardian Join an Adventurer Group After Fleeing a Boner Attack October 25, 2021
Lord Damon watched the two figures behind him with an unassuming smile, his face clad with mischief. He wasn’t one of the head figures of Ragdad, but he at least acted like one, unlike the head figures themselves. He littered books all around and began the summoning process for Kyrie the Cruel. He chuckled like a little idiot. “This is thy calling, Miss Arara,” his voice reverberated down the mountain.
Lord Damon, despite his childish speeches, was a daunting figure of a man. His voice was deep enough to be the father of a nation, but often times, his tone mirrored that of a moody—a bundle of pride, power, and bashfulness—prince. The sweetness of his greedy sly grin was like dark chocolate, and his brooding eyes left one stricken with a heartache that longed for his rough words and taut expressions.
‘“If only he would listen,” said Wisk, a man a few meters off from Damon, turning his head to a woman beside him. He wore gold-plated metal in the form of a prosthetic left arm, his pauldrons, and portions of his lower front neck and chin. “What say you?” 
“I have no qualms with such a leader,” said the woman, her eyes bulging, and smiled, her lips crooked with a scar. Underneath her outfit, Alaya had colored tribal tattoos around her torso. “He is magnificent, ubiquitous, and ethereal.”
They both wore gambesons bearing the symbol of a plate holding a vase from which the handle of a sword jutted out. 
“A new set of praises for our lord.” He shook his head away from Alaya.
A gathering of people covered with nondescript brown robes watched in silence as a source of loud booms fell onto the platform, beside their lord.
“What is it that ails you, Dammy?” said the voice of Kyrie the Cruel, Damon’s stepmother, her voice silky and her smile sweet like honey. Yet, she had scars that ran deep underneath her milk-white tunic and overcoat.
“I am pleased you’ve answered my call, Miss Arara. I wish to mobilize our troops to Bastion, and I need your help.”
“Oh, asking for my help before mobilizing? You doubt your ability to convince me?” She glanced at the people a few hundred feet off at the bottom of the hill without moving. “What is it, Dammy, really?”
“I need your love again, Miss Arara.”
“I am your mother, remember that.” She took a step that shattered stones and slapped Damon as if he was an unruly child.
“I know, Miss—”
“You may not call me Miss Arara if it is to serve your fantasies.” Her voice grew deep, and her presence all-encompassing. She was a greater beast than he was.
Wisk and Alaya, Damon’s goons, showed restraint both to run away and to protect, their faces a blurry of emotions.
“What is it, Mother?” He huffed, his voice turning dark. “Why did you come then?”
“I wish to help you.”
“‘I wish to help you,’” he mocked and paused, turning around toward the setting sun. “Mother, if we don’t make it past the Horizon Rising, it was a pleasure to serve you.”
“As Goddess of the Wind, your request for my help is granted.” She was expressionless, her voice vague of intention.
Damon knew what that meant. He curled his hands into fists, wrinkling his nose in frustration. He was determined to make things right.
“Tomorrow should be a better day. Is that right, Miss Copenheim?” The voice of Ribbit, a boy from a far-off town in Yoksei Kingdom, was soothing and slow-paced, his body swaying as he walked.
Miss Copenheim, a woman in her 80’s, refrained from smiling after hearing the boy’s optimistism shining through his parents’ departure from a year ago. “It is good that we all remain calm, but it is also beautiful that we share our feelings, young one.”
“Young one? Are you mocking, Sir Davis, again?”
The boy had an endearing, contagious laugh that Copenheim heard every once in a while, especially around Davis.
“No, no,” the woman continued in the same Davis voice impression. “I am but a wheel in a ship. Let the rows take me.”
The boy’s lips smiled with his brows furrowed. After a long pause, his expression cleared. “Davis likes to paint.”
“That’s right, but Davis is a genius, you said.”
“He is but he doesn’t grasp the fundamentals of shading and perspective. I need him to teach me some time.”
“Isn’t it the other way around?” The older woman giggled like a sneaky child.
“Hey….” The boy quieted down. “I like him, okay. It doesn’t matter if he’s bad or good. I don’t like to treat him like his efforts don’t matter.”
“Again, that maturity….Your parents have reasons to be proud and worried.”
“R-really?” The boy smiled.
A pause followed as the boy processed his next words such that Copenheim’s mind began to wander.
“I only wish they’d return home faster.”
The arrival of heavy rain soon frightened their present thoughts away.
They hurried back home.
“What are we having for dinner, tonight?” asked the boy when they returned, raising a brow.
“Watermelons and radishes.” said Copenheim, trying her white hair.
“That’s… ew… don’t say them together. You make it sound like one dish.”
“Oh, right. Watermelons alone and radish soup.” Her muted voice came from beyond a doorway and around a corner in a kitchen.
“Y-yey.” The boy removed his wet clothes and dried his hair with a towel in his room, his black eyes staring at the sheathed great sword on the lower surface of a desk.
“Mother is here.” A familiar, motherly voice rang through the house from the open door.
The two occupants of the house tensed. They ran with silent footsteps, turned corners, and curled their hands into fists.
The newcomer’s smile faded when Copenheim and Ribbit emerged with green particles around their hands. She grabbed two daggers from her pockets and threw a dagger at each of them.
The two turned the thrown daggers into dusts with their open palms and tackled the attacker to the ground.
A moment later, a scatter of bones spread around the floor.
The attacker was a Boner, an impostor who neither breathed nor slept. They closed the windows and the door, heading down through a wooden hatch in the floor of Ribbit’s room.
A portal floated with bouncing motions where they entered. It was their safe exit if things went wrong.
“Now or never,” they said as they each placed a drip of blood onto a summoning  on the ground and walked through the portal.
After the portal closed, the summoning circle turned the house and the adjacent land into ashes.
Copenheim, on the other side, took out a fresh pair of clothes from a tiny bag that contained more space than it looked and gave them to Ribbit.
“Ribbit, remember to follow the code. I don’t pay respects to them, but at least act like you do.” Copenheim kept her eyebrows raised, as if something was missing and intending to come out.
“I sure do respect them, Miss Copenheim. If only they gave me more cake?” Ribbit noticed and carefully hid one hand in his pocket and let it emanate green particles.
A loud, piercing bell ring struck the two and left them on the ground kneeling and greedily sucking in air.
“What is that about cake, I hear?” came the baritone, playful voice of Cadaver, an acquaintance of the two. “It’s a good rise and shine for you guys from Yoksei, isn’t it?” He at least proved his power once again to the two. He promised he would.
“I’ll explain the details, later, Cadaver,” she said with a voice that betrayed her playfulness with Ribbit. She pointed a finger at the distance behind Cadaver. “Please don’t play around. You’re scaring… Davis’ nephew.”
Intimidating, tall figures emerged from invisibility including Cadaver, sighing, their chins resting on open palms, sitting on the ground. 
“Why spoil the fun, lady?” asked one of them. His name was Quincy Davis, or Sir Davis as Ribbit would call him. “Preparing a child is our sacred oath, isn’t that right, young man?”
“H-hey, Sir Davis,” said Ribbit. He picked up his things and rushed over to the very handsome man whose features were firm and clearcut. He shook his hand and grinned at another joke the older man made.
After a friendly reunion, Ribbit shook another person’s hand and introduced himself to them.
“I do idolize you, Ribbit,” said the woman who bowed in front of him. Her name was Rascal. Her eyes were red, and her lipstick was cherry-red. She was petite, but she looked tough, her hair short and her hands rough. Despite her foolish guise, she held the leader position in combat.
“Can you not?” asked the sighing Copenheim.
“‘Twas a joke, Captain Miss Quincy Davis’ ex-girlfriend.”
“Hey,” said Cadaver “Verdigris” Herrington. “No, no, Ras.” He shook his finger at her.
“Anyone in need of a quencher?” asked Davis, ignoring the remarks.
“Yes, yes, yes, village boy,” said Rascal.
The others muttered in agreement, except for Ribbit who stared at the distance.
“Ehehe… hehe,” said the last unmentioned member of the welcoming group, Carter Wen, his presence airy.
Copenheim’s attention drifted toward the large steel towers around. She had been here before, but there were more towers now—around 5 to 10 times more. She and Ribbit gave each other a knowing look.
“Looking at one feature of Ricas’ reign, travelling youngster?” asked Cadaver, his voice leaning into sniping territory.
Ribbit took a while to process his thoughts and then nodded slightly.
The rest of the group noticed and glanced but kept quiet, their eyes more solemn than before.
Copenheim breathed deeply and took out a bright blue gem from her tiny magical bag.
“Oooh, oooh. That’s…. What’s that?” Cadaver wasn’t the welcoming group’s leader, yet here he was taking control of an important subject. 
After a long pause, he glanced at Carter Wen. “Is this what I think it is?” He squinted, but his expression was carefree more than anything, as if waiting for the right opportunity to make a joke.
“Hehe, it is, Verdegris,” said Carter.
“Uh-huh,” said the small voice of Rascal. “Wednesday, do tell me more about it.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. That, Sir.” Davis joined in.
“Everyone, everyone, I’ve no idea what it is,” said Copenheim. “I picked it up on a hike.”
“What?” the four asked in unison, falling to the ground.
“It’s a Steal Crystal,” said Cadaver. “You store people’s souls with it.”
“Apparently, Verdey?” asked Rascal. “Call it a ‘Soul Crystal’ then.” 
“I didn’t name it, okay, Ras?” Cadaver asked.
“T-there it is,” said Davis three minutes later, his lips pointing at a small town. His tone turned desperate. “Oh, gosh, young man, it was only a few steps more. No. The king, the king, he was so close, and his stone-faced guards, oh no, Tucker, Tucker. Please don’t execute me for coming in three steps late.”
The rest of the group didn’t hear because they were far off, while Ribbit on the other hand heard and chortled with tears.
The true leader of the group stood before them minutes later—Tucker, a noble, shorter than 5 feet, a feet below the average height of the people before him. He was slim and athletic, but his slimness didn’t make him any younger. He frequented around with a short moustache and clean, styled hair, known for his flight magic. He sniffed the air, squinting. “Is that coffee?”
Davis had been handing out cups of coffee from his tiny magical bag since they arrived.
“Sir, new recipe,” he said. “It hails from Davavo, a small kingdom twenty-five days to the east.”
“Wonderful. What happened to Rascal Scallops who promised she’d do all the work? Hmm?” He aimed his squinting eyes at Rascal, who hid miserably behind Cadaver.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am a failure.”
“W-we—” said Cadaver Herrington.
“Enough, Herrington, not now. Rascal, it’s fine. Only results matter, but I only order those I trust with those orders. Keep that in mind.” He slurped a cup of coffee and sat down after the group made themselves comfortable.
Staff brought plentiful food to the table before them.
He turned his head to Copenheim, who sat beside him. “Boner or wildebeest, Copenheim?”
“The former.”
“‘Twas a good bout, wasn’t it?” asked Rascal. “For you to come so early?”
Copenheim glanced at Rascal curiously. 
 “Boner, no abilities rare or higher. It had the uncommon impostor morph spell and pretended to be this one’s mother.” She gestured toward Ribbit, who sniffed the food and found half of them strange.
“By the way, have you spared with the new members of the guild?” Tucker gestured toward Rascal.
“Not yet, Rascal and Carter, is that right?”
“Uh-huh,” said Rascal.
“Hehe, yes,” said Carter. Again, he looked dignified, but he spoke as well as the next parrot.
“Wonderful anyway. It’d be a good lesson for your boy, Ribbit, to engage a dungeon core.”
“Sir Ribbit, here you go,” said one of the staff, Jade. She handed him four hemp canvases and painting materials, motioning him toward another table where Davis had been adding the finishing touches to his painting.
“How’d you like it? With the cool undertones of dusk that carried the bloody cries of people on the top of the hill far-off near the top of the painting. Weapons of war floated in midair near hands but didn’t touch. The people were turned towards the bottom of the painting where the light before dusk was. It meant that this was the end of those who joined the wars; subsequently, it was the next light of those who survived.”
“It serves its purpose well… if that purpose is to depict a war.”
“That’s right, young man. It’s about the Hoallerkin War. You’re a splendid learner, like the fresh weeds of summer. Now, what’s on the mind of our thoughtful worker?”
“I’m depicting my parents’ time among the Grike Molemen.”
“They liked their festivals, didn’t they?”
Ribbit nodded, using symbolism in his painting.
After he finished, he turned around to see Rascal standing behind him. “Oh, my gosh,” he said, slightly rubbing his nose. “How is it?”
“No other like it, Ribbit,” said Rascal.
“What did your parents say when they found out by the way, Davis’ nephew?” asked Cadaver after he advised Copenheim and Tucker about joining a small adventurer group.
“Oh, they haven’t returned yet.”
Cadaver sat down on the arm rest of Davis’ fancy chair or chaise lounge. “I hear you’re preparing for a mini cave dive. I’m a level above Miss Copenheim. She’s level 3, if I remember correctly.”
“She’s 4 right now.”
“That’s good then. The easier the better, nephew!”
“‘Nephew?’ Are you someone I should know?”
“A nickname. You don’t like it?”
His face serious, nodding, Ribbit gave a thumbs up and said, “It has that oomph.”
Cadaver guffawed. So did Davis and Rascal.
Those in the table turned a head and joined them, asking about what made them laugh so hard. They smiled in response to hearing it themselves.
Copenheim, wearing a hat that was a gift from Tucker, told them Ribbit’s level.
They raised their eyebrows and kept their mouth shut, glancing at Ribbit.
Copenheim nodded slowly.
“Young man, you haven’t been taking drugs like a monkey, have you?” asked Davis whom Copenheim allowed to speak. “Stop it. Get some help.”
Copenheim exhaled through her nose.
Ribbit laughed and then shrugged, his face curious. “Why would I?”
“It’s a joke, but you can get stronger with drugs although you end up a pile of ashes. How did you level?”
“I can’t say.”
“Is that so?” asked Copenheim, her face relaxed, having expected that answer.
Davis showed signs of confusion and curiosity as did the rest, but he held his peace and stood up. “1 cave dive coming right up.”
Meanwhile, inside a small cave, two monkeys jumped down from a platform onto wildebeests, holding axes. “Copenheim forgets,” they said. They batted a bunch of Boners to pieces. “We must complete the lesson.”
A Traveler Helps Soldiers Repel an Orc Raid, Then Dies in a Cave October 25, 2021
Matthew was a tall man, wore a hat with a feather and a stylish outfit, and smiled slyly. He walked around with his arms crossed, looking around for a sign of life. The village a few hundred feet away was tall. He took this opportunity and ran over there, grabbing a stick on the way to defend himself. He heard ogres screaming and humans crying. He emerged from the bushes and put the stick around an isolated ogre’s neck and choked it. The ogre struggled, its hands pushing the stick back to no avail. Matthew used the rest of his strength to push the ogre to the ground and finally choked it to death.
He sighed, seeing a young man around his age. “Do you have a spear or anything sharp?”
The other man nodded and pointed to a hut.
Matthew ran inside the hut, scavenging for the weapon, and then a voice screamed behind him. A group of ogres was smashing the man to bits.
He found a halberd and ran outside, carefully engaging the ogres. He stabbed one through the head and pulled it back before the ogres could grab it. He did this repeatedly until the last one kicked a body toward him. Matthew dodged, but the ogre earned a time window where it could grab Matthew by the neck. Matthew struggled for a second before grabbing two daggers from his pockets and slammed them into the ogre’s temples.
The ogre fell to the ground with a thud, and Matthew greedily sucked in oxygen.
He sighed, glancing at the bits that belonged to the man he saved previously.
He saw litters of bits along the road whence the group of orcs came. He followed it, and it led to an congested area of tall houses. Orcs were everywhere, and soldiers could be seen struggling to push them back. The orcs were tall, 8-feet-tall, and buff. One of them grabbed a soldier’s head and crushed it into bits.
This repeated head crushing scared half of the soldiers back to the centre of the town.
Matthew rushed in, picking up crossbows on the ground. He stood behind the orcs and shot at them with the pile of seventeen crossbows.
After seventeen crossbows emptied, the orcs were down to sixteen from forty. The soldiers had used the opportunity to counterattack. They had mages prepared on their side, and after seeing Matthew’s engagement, they used their remaining mana to give the soldiers a short strength buff that pushed the orcs to flee.
The orcs couldn’t escape because Matthew had been grabbing more crossbows and shooting at them.
The orcs cried, falling to the ground with a thud.
Matthew slowed down and shot the last orc. He sighed, celebrating.
The soldiers saw him and gave their respects, throwing an applause as they shook his hand.
Matthew nodded and asked for forgiveness since he was a traveler who had just arrived a few minutes ago.
The soldiers shook their head and told him that he had done more than enough and thanked him.
Matthew left behind smiles as he departed from the town, looking in the direction of his destination.
A long journey, indeed.
Meteors fell all over town that night. The people from Earth had arrived.
He woke up with a start, slapping his face with a towel after he washed himself. He ran outside, climbing a tree hundreds of meters tall and grabbed a juicy, watery fruit and ate it. That took a quarter of his day. He climbed down. That took another quarter. He was a slow climber.
He ran toward the dungeons, slamming his fists against the skeletons face and grabbing some of their bones and paying a blacksmith with the big tree fruit for a bone axe fusion. He yelled, “Yahoo!” and returned to the cave.
A group of wildebeests tunnelled through the cave caught his fox-like eyes. He ran at high speeds, grabbing a few bones and launching them at the beasts. He slided under the wildebeests and blocked them in front, holding the bone axe.
The wildebeests switched from quadrupedal to bipedal, looking like a minotaur. They grabbed their horn and turned into a curved dagger. The horn regrew slowly.
They charged at Matthew, who threw himself under them to slide, but they stopped him and grabbed him by the neck, stabbing him.
Matthew smiled, wearing bone armor. He slammed his axe at the wildebeest’s throat and jumped down, swinging his axe left and right as the wildebeests panicked and hit each other as they charged at Matthew.
Matthew inhaled deeply and held his breath, swinging at peak speed and cutting them down to bundles of cow meat. He carried them back and sold them for cheap, but he was glad nonetheless. Cleaning up after others, taking risks, and making use of whatever he could find was who he was.
He dropped what was left of his bone axe and removed his armor, throwing them in the bushes. He ate another fruit he kept in his pocket and slept again, only to wake up with fire all around him.
He processed his thoughts and ran toward the door where an armored human from Earth grinned. The Earth human spoke in a language he didn’t understand and slashed at him. Matthew dodged and smashed the door into the human. The human pushed the door back, but Matthew had already escaped through using the door as a blind spot.
The human cursed.
Matthew sighed in defeat, running off through the plains. He saw the town he was in from afar. It looked like a child made a mess of a miniature town.
Matthew grabbed a few pieces of meat on the ground and began chewing it, puking later as he thought deeply about what he ate. He stopped eating and cooked it over a fire he started. He hid in a thicket, but he left as soon as the meat cooked. He yelped as the meat burned his hands as he ate it.
He arrived at a cliff, looking down. There was a village below. He threw a rock, and it banged against an invisible magic spherical shield. He shrugged and climbed down, almost slipping once or twice.
If he died, it was back to square one.
He dropped down from seven meters high, breaking his leg. He shouted in pain, but he kept on, crawling with his arms. He found a small critter and threw a rock at it, spitting as his lips touched grass.
He found himself on muddy ground. He sighed, drinking from a dirty pond nearby. He choked and slapped himself to keep himself awake. He couldn’t stop now.
A group of worried people emerged from the village. They carried him and brought him inside, nursing him with herbs and the like.
He coughed as he woke up, shaking his head to rejuvenate himself and process his thoughts. He stared at five people staring back at him. They looked friendly, but they looked like wildebeests.
Demihumans. He asked them how their day was. They told him they were alright.
He wondered why they spoke in unison.
He sat up to find one of his legs gone. He gulped, staring at the five. “What happened to my leg?” he asked.
“We’re fixing it,” they said.
“Fixing?”
Another two-footed wildebeest entered, holding a leg with two hands, and handed it to Matthew.
Matthew gulped and held onto his leg. ‘What now?”
“Eat it, and you’ll be fine. We’ve blessed your leg such that if you eat it, it will grow attached to your body.”
“What?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Come on. Just reattach normally or something.”
“Our magic is sacred. Respect it or face the consequences.”
“R-right.”
He asked for them to burn the leg, and they did. They returned the leg to him, slightly burnt. He ate it, pinching his nose.
It took days for him to finish it, but he saw the results and was happy.
He ate his leg, and it regrew where his leg was gone.
He left the village, not before selling them food from a nearby cave. The cave was mostly empty except for a tall bear.
He blessed his entire body with their magic and let himself get eaten by the bear. His entire body regrew from the bear’s head, which killed the bear.
He sighed. “Why did he do that?”
He wrote something on the ground with the bear’s blood. It read: “Wildebeests have weird magic.”
Later, he arrived at an empty razed town. He stayed there for a while and thought about what he did with the bear, spending a week recuperating.
After that, he fell asleep and never woke up.
An Earth Man Is Guided Through a Fantasy World by a Priestess October 26, 2021
Matthew woke up and took a short walk toward the store. He had other thoughts in mind including taking a shower, going to the park, and falling to sleep on a Wednesday. He wasn’t particularly sad that he couldn’t meet his friends due to COVID-19 restrictions, but that was fine as long as he could eat tacos at the nearby certain restaurant with aid from robot staff.
He went back home, reminding himself to take a power nap at 4 PM, but he forgot and stayed up until 12 midnight. He sighed as he went to sleep, hoping his days were long and healthy.
He died and woke up in a different world. He looked around. “Grass?” he asked. “Why is there grass in my home—This is not my home!” He ran his fingers through his hair and breathed deeply. What could have possibly caused my teleportation here? he thought with a sigh.
Little green people emerged from the bushes beside him, goblins. They snarled.
“Oh, frick me,” said Matthew, slowly backing away before bursting into a sprint. He heard footsteps behind him as an arrow grazed his hair. He yelped, turning a corner, moving in zigzags, dodging bushes. He climbed up a rock, taking a stick from the ground and waving it around in the direction of the goblins.
The goblin in front stopped. The rest of the goblins bumped into it and each other. They peeked their heads from each other’s back. They snarled when they saw him.
He threatened them with curses, grabbing a rock and throwing at the ground with all his strength.
The goblins tilted their heads upward, doubting his resolve and ability, rubbing their chins.
He panted, wrinkling his noses, furrowing his brows, his four canine teeth showing.
A stare-off was in order.
Ten minutes or so later, the goblins nodded at each other, and the one in front spoke.
Matthew didn’t understand a word. He shook his head with a confused look.
The goblin understood and looked around, having a mini meeting with the rest of the goblins.
After a minute, Matthew grew bored and increasingly worried. The goblins could be planning to kill him with a super secret strategy that only goblins knew. He breathed deeply and slowly backed away.
The lead goblin raised a hand and motioned for him to stay.
His lips smiling, his eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed, he gave a “yes,” and nodded slowly as they nodded back.
After another minute, one of the goblins left, and that scared Matthew.
Reinforcements? he thought. I’m alone here. Please no killing.
The goblins smiled with their eyes, unnerving Matthew more.
The goblin returned, bringing a human.
The human was very beautiful; her arms were slim, and her chest was packing. She had gold-plated metal in multiple areas of her body: her front lower neck and her chin, her left arm, her halberd, and her pauldrons. She gave him a warm smile despite the cold portions of her body.
He grinned sheepishly. Matthew was a daunting figure of a man. His voice was deep enough to be the father of a nation, but often times, his tone mirrored that of a moody, prideful, powerful, bashful, young prince. The sweetness of his sheepish grin was like dark chocolate, and his brooding eyes left one stricken with a heartache that longed for his rough words and taut expressions.
Yet, he remained unassuming at this delicate time of contact. His nondescript clothes complemented this attitude.
The woman, the only human besides him that he could see, after hearing what the goblins had to say, gave him a stern look and nodded at the goblins. She wore the halberd on her back with a strap, pointing it toward the ground. 
He approached her, his face doubtful, but he appreciated a human more than an alien creature.
Standing twenty feet from her, he gestured that he came from nowhere and that he didn’t know where he was and what to do.
The woman understood with a nod and pointing at a certain direction.
Matthew understood as to mean that there was a community there. He nodded and jogged in that direction, keeping his distance from the goblins.
100 miles later, he arrived at a small town, taking more than 24 hours. The only good thing was the fact that the woman followed him 100 feet off.
She more or less protected him by motioning approaching goblins, orcs, and minotaurs to back off and let him pass. He nodded at her with a nervous smile every time.
After that ordeal, he was nervous because of her now.
The town looked strangely cathartic after what he’d experienced so far. He wanted to sleep in a camp outside, but the woman sternly shook her head. It was a good thing nods and the shaking of the head meant the same thing back in his world. He sighed. How many times must I get lucky? he thought. I must prepare for disaster somehow.
He stared at the woman, thinking about how he’d approach her about how he could handle himself. The woman took a coin out of her sack and handed it to him.
The coin was turquoise-blue, and it had those cracks that you saw in ice. It shined and smelled good. (He smelled it in front of her. When he realized, he got sheepish.) He asked her about it through expressions and hand gestures.
The woman replied with the same form of language that the coin was worth much.
He nodded and gave her a warm smile, which was aptly returned. He didn’t know how long his good ties with her would last, but he would make sure every decision he made counted toward his goal of not dying and not killing.
He sighed once again once he exchanged the blue coin for a bag of green coins. What the heck is the money system? he thought. He was unsure how to ask, but he asked the woman who sat beside him now about the money system, saying the words, “Green coins,” when he gestured toward the green coin.
She repeated what he said in a whisper and explained through numerous failed attempts the system of money.
She counted five with her fingers. Gesturing toward her index finger and the table, she tapped the table thrice. She revealed tapping turned her five fingers into ten fingers. She tapped the table thrice again and revealed that the tapping turned her ten into one hundred. She concluded that one blue coin was worth one hundred green coins and that that was the same for the yellow coin, the silver coin, and the bronze coin, respectively.
They ate chicken and beans, respectively.
Matthew began to look thinner after waking up in the middle of the night in a room in an inn. The woman stood a few feet off at his right. He yelped and covered his face with a pillow, slowly revealing himself. He gestured at her to tell him why she was here.
She explained that they needed to go sleep somewhere else. There was danger, she gestured.
He breathed deeply and slowly tiptoed, following behind her. They left the town to another nearby town. He covered his mouth as he yawned and said, “Excuse me,”
She glanced at him, taking note that he said the same thing every time he yawned. It wasn’t enough to understand a whole language, but she felt hope another set of cultural norms that she didn’t know meant another culture to explore.
He crunched on a strange fruit he picked up and fell to the ground, forgetting his no-dying rule. His stomach ached. He felt safe around her that he forgot to think before eating some beautiful fruit that looked edible.
She extended her hands over him and prayed.
His stomach ache disappeared as quickly as it came. He whooped, asking her with his voice how she did it.
She backed away, scared of this new side of him. She almost drew her halberd when he stopped in place and entered a thinking pose. She waited for him to finish before continuing their journey once again. Her role as a traveling priestess never lost purpose.
He sneezed, his allergies acting up. He looked for something to blow on. He grabbed a leaf and blew on it, wincing. The leaf didn’t give the same feeling worn clothes or a handkerchief did. He listed this as another reason why the new world he lived in was bleak. (“No modern technology,” was number 1 of that list.)
They entered a marsh biome, their lower legs submerged at times. It was usually quiet because of the woman’s presence, but it was particularly quiet here.
In fact, the water didn’t make any sound as they travelled through it. He called out to the woman with his voice, his voice not making any sound. He felt a chill run down his spine as he glanced around frantically.
The woman was still there albeit standing in place.
He went to her, gesturing for her to answer why he couldn’t hear anything.
The woman gestured back that someone waved their hands around and somehow removed the sound.
Matthew was frustrated, but he looked weird having such a wrinkly face without the sound of anger. He almost tapped the woman’s shoulder, but he stopped himself. Be careful, he thought. Familiarity breeds contempt.
The woman, after looking around for a while, began moving again. She warmly smiled at him as she walked past.
He smiled back, only to frown when she wasn’t looking, following her a few feet off.
A 10-foot-tall bipedal monster with a voodoo doll head, flailing their arms around as they ran, headed towards them at high speeds. 
It stopped a few meters off, glancing between Matthew and the woman. It spoke in a language that only the woman could understand.
She shook her head twice, unrolled a scroll, and handed it to the giant.
The giant accepted it and bowed his head. Afterwards, he stood in place, looking around as if on guard duty.
Matthew nodded gently as he walked past, letting the woman follow him this time.
After more than a hundred miles of walking through the marshes with nothing particular to report, they arrived at a large city with numerous people—more kinds of people than he’d feel comfortable imagining.
At the gate, there were bipedal crocodiles who didn’t stand up straight but looked like regular crocodiles. They patrolled on their powerful hindlimbs and grasped with their weak forelimbs that had in-hand manipulation skills from what he could see. Their forelimbs carried irregular objects and pole weapons, and their backs carried strapped goods.
They looked uncomfortable in those bodies, but they couldn’t have known any other body other than their own.
The woman handed them a scroll, and they let her pass, including Matthew who had grown terrified, but he didn’t hide it. They were about 4 to 5 meters long (13 - 16 feet), almost 3 average male humans on top of each other at most—he took almost 4 seconds before he passed one of them by.
One of them bellowed at him. He felt it wasn’t out of anger. He bellowed back.
Nothing happened.
He shrugged and sped up.
Before he knew it, the woman picked someone up—a troll with regenerative powers. It was thin for a giant, but the woman fed it.
Bipedal crocodiles weren’t the only things here. After walking for a bit, he counted at least ten animals that looked like they were from earth but bigger, including trolls.
They were also all homeothermic and had human intelligence or so from the fact that all of them ate some kind of omnivorous diet regularly and spoke some kind of language to each other.
He shrugged. He hadn’t even learned the woman’s language. The same went for her.
They dropped at an inn. He appreciated the amount of work put into making animals that weren’t all bipedal and human-sized comfortable.
Where were all the humans? he thought. I feel less lonely with her with me, but what am I to do if she leaves…? I’ve picked up this admiration for her… most likely because of the exposure effect and the paradox of choice not bothering me. She was beautiful, but back in the old world, he rejected relationships to ensure a healthy life on his terms.
Now, he was weak and depended on her. 
He had talked with her much during the boring parts of traveling and taught her words as she taught him hers. He asked if he could get stronger, and she agreed to help him. But that was it. She said, “Yes,” but she couldn’t explain how she’d do it. He nodded gently and told her, “I’ll wait.”
An orb fell on the table in front of him. She told him to eat it. He glanced back at her, wrinkling his nose, raising a brow. The orb was as large as an orange, but when he touched it, it felt like slime.
She nodded passionately and smiled warmly.
He picked it up, studied it, and ate it, chewing it quickly. When he swallowed it, he felt a warm feeling in his chest. Was it love? he thought.
He felt the urge to urinate. He excused himself and then returned, his body lighter than before. He still had a veteran bodybuilder’s body, but it wasn’t the same after the past three days of idle walking. The lightness made him feel like a gymnast. He tested himself by moving his body around in ways that required flexibility, balance, and coordination. These exceeded performance-enchancing drugs. She said it cost her half of her monthly salary.
He asked her where her money came from. She gestured that it came from the sky—God? She might have meant the Universe or the System, but he wasn’t sure.
If it wasn’t for the large, terrifying beasts in the room, he’d be fine. The orb didn’t do anything besides make him go the bathroom once.
The next day, he looked around, imagining the many occasions that’d lead the beasts to fight each other. “When do people fight?” he asked the woman, whom he called “Dakderikualim.”
She confused it to mean sports.
He repeated in a way that meant bloodshed.
She said, “It doesn’t happen.”
He shrugged and tapped the table with his fingers. Hopefully, it stays that way, he thought.
“Let’s go,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder as they left.
He sighed in relief as they finally left.
A Troll-Looking Man Goes for a Run to Remind Himself Life Is Worth Living October 26, 2021
David had particular boundaries as to how others should approach him. He held a club, looked like a troll, and dressed like a war general, but in this peaceful society, he was an edgy adult. 
He went running for something to do. He had to remember what made the world beautiful in the first place. He had to remember what made the world better somehow. He had to keep his head up no matter what happened.
Matthew Plays Video Games Until Dawn November 7, 2021
Matthew took the time out of his day to make things interesting. He went to the shop, considered buying sandals, and assumed everyone was nice. Someone slapped him on the face because he was such a dick, but he didn’t care—in truth he cared but didn’t want to. He had to calm himself down to create a valuable world that matched his ideals, so he sat down and played video games until dawn. What a pleasant surprise, he said to himself. He saw a young lad with ten fingers pointed at him. They looked strange to him, but he slanted his back and twisted it to stretch, making a few pleasurable cracks.
A Captive Is Injected With Intelligence-Boosting Poison and Escapes November 14, 2021
Finnessy took note of several Grime District workers that’d passed the gates a few minutes ago. He memorized their faces and drew them neatly in a separate leather ledger. His current repertoire comprised of proficient drawing and beginner kickboxing. He was new habitual drinker as well, not surprising considering a few bandits sold off his rare dog breed a few months ago. 
His dog was a Cartrunner, the kind of breed used by royals to take their carriages around, its disappearance saddening to its goal-oriented pet-loving owner.
He rubbed his arms and yawned as the night fell, his eyes beginning to droop. He turned around, trudging past a few torches and glancing at a few corners. He tripped but picked himself up. He arrived at his small home, opening the window.
A nailed plank punctured him in the face. He yelled, but his attacker silenced him with a dirty wet cloth.
He puked as soon as he woke up, his tongue recoiling from the ugly taste lingering in his mouth. He gasped.
A knife touched his neck. “Money can save a soul if handled correctly,” said the uptight-looking young man in front of him, dressed in fresh peasant clothes. “Hand it over.”
“W-what?” said Finnessy, stopping himself from gulping midway, his larynx pressing against the knife and bleeding smoothly. His face crumpled and looked about to cough.
The knife moved away, allowing Finnessy to cough safely. A hand fell on Finessy’s head in return. “Will you please help me convince a few of your friends to ‘forgot’ a few faces?”
“Friends…. What do you mean?” Finnesy’s face scrunched into a pleading one. He dodged the hand that came down to slap him lightly on both sides of the face.
“Stop. Listen. Do as you’re told.”
The hand stopped a slap midway, descended, and grasped his throat, choking him harshly. A sonorous scream followed not from Finessy but from the captor. It was if a demon possessed the captor’s light curt voice. “No more mistakes…. Perfection is required of me.”
After his captive forced him to sign his name, Finnessy fell unconscious.
He woke up, looking at a puncture in his arm. He shook abnormally, his mood erratic, as his brain struggled to hold a thought. He screamed. The pain in his lungs worsened, but it couldn’t be compared to his uncomprehending mind. Pain without meaning is a pain not backed up by will or personal strength.
He fell to the floor from his seat, his arms and legs splayed in all directions like a broken doll.
The young man, Finnessy’s captor, introduced himself, his hair matted and spiked with blood. “I am Tyre. Pleased to meet you as your your master.”
Wind blew fast as the sky grew red. The eyes of god appeared as stars that littered across the night sky. It was a beautiful night for Tyre, his eyes growing tired as his captive woke up in chains. 
He had been raising hobbits since he was a boy, tending to them until they grew old. Since Tyre looked to be only a forlorn human, no one suspected him.
He had been in a war against towns where no one suspected he’d use hobbits for the job. The war deferred, however, until he could raise a prodigy.
Finnessy, revealed to be a hobbit of a new town named “Newtown”, hurriedly hid himself as Tyre’s footsteps arrived. Finnessy heard firsthand about Tyre’s tending and war—Tyre’s definition of “tending” differed greatly for Finnessy. He thought “enslaving and making those enslaved slave away” would be a better term. 
He coughed harshly as his body expelled blood because Tyre’s injections gave him blood poisoning. This “blood poisoning” was actually arcane and magic-related instead of septicemia.
Tyre opened the lock and threw a parcel of bread into a basket beside Finnessy. It was dirty and nearly spoiled, yet Finnessy gobbled it up.
Tyre sighed. “Finnessy is showing signs of dissapointesis, a rare condition closely related to being a disappointment,” he muttered to himself and chuckled.
Finnessy took Tyre’s laugh as a sign of impending danger and backed away.
Tyre’s face darkened, his eyes gazing deep into Finnessy’s soul. In reality, he forgot something and was trying to remember it: his gaze only happened to land on Finnessy.
A month later, Finnessy turned 24, spinning his chain around absentmindedly. Tyre had been feeding him injections the entire month, and Finnessy’s body took it much better than his 4 previous occupants.
Finnessy’s muscles weakened and his body thinned until it looked like a stalk, but his brain strengthened, unbeknownst to Finnessy.
Tyre took him out a week later to clean his cell according to normal procedure, as Finnessy lay there, knocked out by Tyre himself.
Finnessy woke up prematurely and gazed at Tyre, his face scrunching but his eyes droopy. He hurled himself at Tyre, knocking Tyre down.
Tyre lifted Finnessy up and threw him down, breaking his back and knocking Finnessy out.
After Tyre finished cleaning, he exited the cell and locked it, heading upstairs to bed.
Finnessy watched him and stopped himself from laughing. Tyre hadn’t realized Finnessy’s chains had been gone for a week. He attacked Tyre as a test, and hopefully, this is good enough data to go by.
He slipped through the gaps in the cell bars because of his new absurdly thin body.
Tyre was sitting down, staring at Finnessy climbing up. He smirked. “You get a ‘B-’.”
Finnessy raised his arms in surrender.
Tyre shook his head. “Follow me.”
Finnessy slowly lowered his hands and followed closely, paying attention to the harpoon Tyre held and gulped. It had been the first time he’d seen a weapon made to hunt and not to protect.
“Do you hunt marine animals?”
“M-marine? What? You mean alligators?”
“Y-yes, alligators are included in that.”
“Interesting,” he repeated mindlessly as he trudged, opening cabinets and doors, picking up cups and placing them in a neat order. He turned around often to make sure his captive stayed aware of him as a predator.
Finnessy blinked every time Tyre’s droopy eyes gazed at his thin arms.
Tyre fixed his posture as soon as they left the dungeon, pointing below to a quiet bay with few activity.
Finnessy moved forward almost instinctively with a curious forward-leaning look.
Tyre stopped and aimed his harpoon where he injected Finnessy’s arm. Finnessy recoiled and froze, watching Tyre’s every minor movement.
Tyre huffed and poked him on the back with the back of his harpoon, leading him forward. They were still in a high inconspicuous place, going down an uneven pathway.
Finnessy was noisy and screaming for his life every step of the way, but Tyre ignored it all.
Tyre relaxed. 
Finnessy grabbed the harpoon in Tyre’s hand and spinned it around, struck Tyre to cancel his attack, pulled it back, and stabbed now that he was open, putting Tyre down.
Tyre fell to his knees, gasping.
Finnessy huffed as a harpoon plunged into Tyre. Tyre fell backwards silently.
“Fake-screaming isn’t easy, you know? Actually, scratch that. Screaming is painful.”
Despite Finnessy’s calm voice, his body shook nervously. He stayed up, pacing around. The place wasn’t familiar, but he didn’t smell any unfamiliar smells. It was still home, he thought. From his experience, if the wind smelled foreign, he most probably was in some foreign land, but the wind smelled like nothing, which meant it was the usual smell he was used to.
He looked at Tyre, his face crumpling. Now, he could shout genuinely.
He arrived back in the city, looking around nervously. His body didn’t feel like it used to be, and the place around him had this pressure that he didn’t recognize. It was a new feeling.
He reported his disappearance to the guards, making it obvious with his frail beat-up body.
The guards nodded, and a worn-out healer arrived to bring him back to health. The healer not only healed his broken bones but fattened him up to healthy weight.
That was the most the kingdom did for those in the lower classes, but to Finnessy, it was good enough. He leaned against his door, stressed. He didn’t open the door for a while.
After sleeping for past 8 hours, he woke up and returned to work, fined for his absence and fired. He sighed, taking up a new job his networking uncle invited him to.
A few days later, he sat down, watching the flowers in front of him grow with no care in the world. “It’s a good thing I’m here for you guys,” he said, his voice muted underneath a dirty cloth. “What a lonely world, huh.”
“How are you holding up?” asked one of his co-workers, who looked as young as he was, but he didn’t dare do anything promiscuous with the energy he had.
He advanced several times in his job all because of the intelligence-boosting injections Tyre had given him. Finnessy didn’t know, but that didn’t matter as long as Tyre had excellent results.
After his shift ended, he yawned and patted his arm, walking through a different lane that led to his window.
His co-worker followed closely behind.
“Finnessy, what’s holding you?”
Finnessy spun his bag around and slammed it into his co-worker. “Oh, it’s you.”
His co-worker went flying.
“Ok, I can’t see that far. I’m not sure if it’s you now.”
Stumbling to his feet, Finnessy’s co-worker, Markus fumed and left.
Finnessy checked his window and entered his small house, inspecting the harpoon inside on his way to bed.
His position
Finnessy Trains Under a Mage Mentor and Fights Werewolves November 15, 2021
Finnessy looked at the bystanders around him, his eyes speculative. The water he’d drank was like heaven to the touch, although he smothered his reaction. He postured as if he was digesting the water’s characteristics, his face yearning to crumple from the pressure. He endured it until he was back in his room. Hongmen banquets were the worst. That was the final day of his training as a junior mage, resisting shyness by wearing an expensive-looking suit outside where 99% of the bystanders wore peasant clothes. When he drank that water, he could only assess it like a scientist to distract himself.
He gasped for air, slouching onto a chair. Throughout his time outside, his clean body, suit, and hair had been an oxygen tank in deep waters. He would’ve handled it better if his friends had been with him, but who cares about a bunch of idiots like them? “Idiots” when referring to them was an endearing term.
His friends appeared one after another like finding eggs in Easter. Their bright faces were like jabs to his bad mood.
“That was a good speech,” said Crystal, a alumni from martial arts school who liked to tease him about crushes, yet she feigned ignorance about him liking her. “Anyways, Wednesday should probably be a good date day, would it?”
“Yeah, nah, the people behind the scenes were like orange juice on a sunny day. Water tasted like the shit, not going to lie.” Finnessy said after he entered the bathroom and began taking a shower.
“Weird tastes, huh,” said Josh, his voice remarkably deep. He’s a old friend who used to play gomboc with him a lot. Sadly, because of a few mishaps, he hated being here as much as Finnessy hated being in the same room as him.
The rest were quiet as usual. The noisy were rare, but when they appeared, they were like hundreds of Tchaikovsky’s cannons firing at once. Anyways, if anyone was the rare medium in loudness, that’d be Josh, who was a sucker for women’s attention, playing the nice guy with his moderateness—Finnessy’s opinion.
“Careful with that, Martha,” said Lady Gretha, the only woman in her hundred forties, the rest being on average sixty years.
Everyone in that room were “wood elves”—an old term but a recognizable one for those unfamiliar with their remote region.
Lady Gretha was Martha’s mama. She poked Martha’s shoulders until Martha tensed further. She was a dazzling female dog, in Martha’s words without the euphemism.
Martha had been throwing her chances at burning the candles on a cake, using an eastern magic art. She was thirty years old, the youngest attractive woman in the world—not that anyone cared to get tossed behind bars.
Josh stepped up with that rugged face of his and imitated Lady Gretha’s poking but on Lady Gretha.
Right, Lady Gretha had a thing going on with that stupid piece of… Josh Thompson.
After the manchildren’s playtime ended, Finnessy stepped outside and watched his guests leave one by one like chocolates waiting to be opened from a box. They each had potential to be great magicians, but that depended on whether they chance upon a crouching tiger or hidden dragon of a mentor.
He did but who could he tell but himself for being such a lucky bastard.
“Ey boss!” exclaimed Finnessy, boasting a fashionable pink outfit. He laughed at himself for his dead inside joke and took off his clothes, going out with presentable clothes.
“Hi, good, Sir,” he told his new mentor, who happened to look like a familiar singer.
His mentor swayed his hand around and slapped his other hand as if he had alien hand syndrome. “Yo, rocker boy, how’s the tree bark and the leaves?”
“They are horrid in my eyes. I dislike veggies and the brown stalks. Please stop with the racist stereotypes and move on with the teaching, Sir.”
His mentor, Greenwood, gave a shocked look and then shook his head, nodding in embarrassment. “Sorry, human things,” he said.
“Anyways, magic is like your mother—”
“S-stop there, is—”
“Oh, you lost your mother. Sad.”
“No, what? Don’t joke about my still-living mother.”
“What? How? Living parents? Impossible.”
“W-what?”
“N-nevermind. Here’s a silent rocking spell.”
He stuck his index and middle fingers together and raised them as one, swinging them to the left.
The tree beside him rocked a bit.
“Damn,” he said, raising his thumb, index, and pinky fingers, “that’s hella cool.”
“Are you serious—you know what, here’s a heat jet spell.” He gestured his right arm into a pronated grip and placed his thumb on top. He inhaled and shouted, “Heat jet!”
Hot, invisible air flew out of his thumb and slammed against the tree, leaving nothing but hot bark.
“You got guts, Sir.”
“I’m a living creature. Of course I have guts.”
“Is this a joke?” Finnessy raised an open hand that faced up, looking above his hand.
Greenwood’s face scrunched up. “I’m sorry, is this some sort of wooden elf joke that I’m too human to understand?” 
“‘Wooden’. It’s getting worse, healer.”
After showing him ten more spells, he told him the only way to condition his body to learn his spells was to be hit by it repeatedly.
Finnessy nodded, bringing out a healing potion and placing it ten feet away from him. He could jump and get it if needed.
Greenwood chuckled, blasting him to the ground. 
Rain fell, its winds like a rocking buoy in the middle of the chaotic sea.
Finnessy ached, but he held back from screaming, the sounds hitting against his teeth and the walls of his mouth. He moaned in the wrong place at the wrong time as the rain revealed his abdomen.
Greenwood raised a brow, signed a few papers, and checked a magical camera hundreds of meters away if it was still recording the area to ensure his non-involvement in infidelity. His partner that had a cold personality was watching. He gulped.
His student, who had been screeching non-stop like a banshee on fungi, stood up, the tasteful thickness of his eyebrows allowing him the pleasure of not bringing an umbrella.
“Now that’ve gotten the basics, time to head to my place,” said Greenwood who had dropped from a hill after he turned off a magical device.
They headed to Grime Coast, a stretch of coastline with sheer cliffs and a rugged shoreline, dotted with small beaches and pastel-colored fishing villages.
Greenwood, who had been carrying his magical device, sat Finnessy down and told him about his faerie friends. They were on a carriage.
“Do I look like I care enough to bother a brother?” asked a voice outside, having a conversation with someone else. The person talking was an orc with a helmet made out of fangs. The person he was talking to was a lowly hobbit, tiny opposed to Finnessy.
“Keh, then, tell the head to get a grip, and let’s see whose jaw gets unhinged next time,” said the hobbit, his voice like an imp masquerading as an orc.
“Keh, that tongue of yours isn’t any different!” exclaimed the orc. “Anyways, my younger sister’s inviting you to a silver banquet.”
Greenwood, Finnessy, and others seated couldn’t help but listen absentmindedly to the idle talk of folk. Talking about idle, Greenwood had been wiping his device for their next training.
The talk of the town were squires initiating brawls for Mayor Rhodey’s daughters. Whoever financed their shenanigans must be the deep pockets of a mage or a mage’s apprentice, like Greenwood or Finnessy. The only difference was Greenwood was a loner, although he wasn’t an outlier.
“Sense deprivation, Finnessy. You can do it. Can I call you that?”
“Uh-huh, no holds barred. Call me ‘Finnessy’ whenever.”
Greenwood had been reading a book, which was expensive, about the fall of tyrants, who were mostly mages. The rest of the tyrants were steel folk, a group of humans forged under lava and fire through the god of steel. Weird process but it works.
Finnessy had been floating in a wooden tube where his mind floated elsewhere.
Greenwood waved his fingers around, refreshing the decaying spell he had been using on Finnessy for the past 2 hours of so. It was a good time to take a break and watch the talk of town through the windows. Good scenery, too. A few fishing boats around was enough to get Greenwood day-dreaming.
Finnessy got up, his face scrunched up in a mix of emotions, mostly determined. He slammed his fist against the wall, making a shallow hole that fit the hand that hit it.
Greenwood spent the next five minutes paying for the damages.
Finnessy, after those hundreds of days, returned to his hometown, invited hundreds of his friends to the guild “Wandering Traders, a name he came up with after conversing with hundreds of strangers on Finnessy and “Goatee’s” short journey. Greenwood and Finnessy got comfortable with each other, bordering on disrespect at times, but it was necessary for those hundred days to feel shorter.
They didn’t actually travel far, mostly circling the area.
Finnessy huffed, his eyes gazing at the treetops, and told Josh, an old friend in front of him. “If I had a coin for every time a pack of beasts roared before they jumped out of the bushes, I’d have three, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird it happened thrice.”
Josh’s face scrunched up in pain. A bipedal wolf stabbed his back and threw him to the rest of his wolves to feed.
Finnessy looked at that and almost froze to death from the coldness he unleashed. He grabbed a thick spear that acted as a wand and slammed it against the wolf in front of him.
The wolf slapped the spear away, getting itself grazed. It chuckled, throwing burning hot wood at him from the bonfire.
Finnessy fell, his hands burning as he caught the fast-flying large projectile. Because of his height, the wolf’s throws hit more than once as he ran.
He turned around where the thirty friends he brought here fell victim to werewolves. He lived because of how far he was from the direction of the attack.
Greenwood hadn’t been there.
Finnessy flicked his fingers around and muttered words at the wolves running on four legs behind him. They were similar to a monkey in utilizing both quadrepedal and bipedal locomotion. Hot air bursted out of his thumb, gushing against the wolves.
One fell to the ground.
Finnessy Forcibly Converts His Friend Marcus From Human to Elf November 15, 2021
Finnessy didn’t have qualms about the fiasco between him and Marcus. Marcus was a friend of his who liked “secret” dangerous magic. He’d say it wasn’t a surprise Marcus got himself kidnapped as a result.
“Hilarious, almost,” said Finnesy as he packed his things and left the house, heading towards the bandit camp he was the leader of.
When he arrived, Marcus was shocked, throwing his arms around like a fool.
Finnessy spoke with a calm voice, “Is there anything I can help you with, Marcus Holmes?”
“Yeah, nah, get the heck away from me.”
Finnessy quickly unlocked the cell, grabbed him, and threw him out from there with a heavy swing.
Marcus hit the ground with a thud, rubbing his head. “The heck, man.”
Finnessy stretched his neck and asked, “Is there anything you want help with, Marcus?”
Marcus’s face twisted into a deep frown. “You’re a coward, Finnessy, hanging out with these lost causes.”
Finnessy sighed. He took a knife out of his jacket pocket and threw it at Marcus’ shoulder.
Marcus cried, failing to pull out the knife. “Hey, this isn’t right. Don’t do this, Finnessy. The gods are watching.”
Finnessy stared at him with an expressionless face and muttered something. He took out another knife and threw at Marcus’ balls.
Marcus screamed, but a napkin around his mouth stopped his voice from leaking out.
Finnessy nodded at the underling who muted Marcus and nodded in return. “I want to help you, Marcus. The pain you feel is needed for your transition.”
Marcus gasped. “W-what are you speaking of?”
“From man to elf. You know what I mean.”
“But humanity is….” He looked around, noting the elves around. “Humanity has much more generally useful aspects such as fire and steel magic.”
“Is that so?” asked a elven underling of Finnessy. His eyes pleaded Finnessy to permit hm to punish Marcus for his remarks.
Marcus gulped. “You e-e-elves need the transition more than we do. We can’t help someone who doesn’t want help—”
Finnessy had nodded, and the elf underlings hurt Marcus without fatally injuring him. Marcus screamed and swore.
Finnessy looked at the sun rising out of the ground pleasurably like taking a sip out of his favorite morning drink. Speaking of morning drinks, he went to prepare cups of coffee and cups of coffee with some ancient magic to hand to his underlings. This gesture was more of a formality than a practical one.
Finnessy hummed in silence, mostly ignoring Marcus who lost his balls and finished his session with the elves.
Finnessy waved his fingers a bit and half-danced as he walked around, imagining the villages around. The gods blessed him, and he’d do as he was destined to do—tend to the villages like a gardener would tend to rampant weeds.
Marcus woke up and touched his ears. He gasped. “No,” he said. “It’s a sin to be an elf! Why would you go against the words of the gods?”
Finnessy glanced at Marcus expressionlessly.
The gods have blessed and instructed to save the elves, he thought. Who are you to judge them as sinful existences?
Marcus’ hatred toward elves divided Finnessy and him morally, but Finnessy still looked at him like a brother. If only he didn’t attempt summoning a human “god” to “cleanse” the elves.
Finnessy Works as a Mercenary for Fox Clans and Levels Up November 17, 2021
“Do you have a quill and paper?” asked the fox with a hesitant look.
Hawkins took a piece of paper from his pocket dimension bag. “Use your blood. I don’t have a quill.”
The fox’s eyes screamed for help.
“I’m kidding. Here you go.” Hawkins handed the two items to him and watched the fox calm itself down with deep breaths, disappointed.
Foxes weren’t exactly hunted down because of laws, but adventurers tended to go bandit if a opportunity presented itself: As much as one out of ten adventurers dabbled in lobbying, especially with how rose-tinted the public saw adventurers because of the Hero’s Party. Even the 1-year civil war gave leeway to a boom in underground inhumane activity.
The only one stopping these adventurers? The Hero’s Party’s sister party, the Langka Party, founded on religion. A large portion of adventurers had an instinctive hate for their symbol.
Isabella came inside, holding a long club. “Is this one of their weapons? This reminds me that a troll visits the city every now and then with a chain around its neck.”
“Hmm,” Hawkins said, “nah, that looks more orcish than trollish to me. Isn’t that right, Finnessy?”
Finnessy nodded. He made an magical contract, which costed 100 gold, with the trio to keep each other from communicating anything that could incriminate the other. It sounded like a contract with equal benefits at first, but the trio discovered he was the human in the wanted posters and hated him for it. Two things calmed them down: death being the penalty for going against the contract and Finnessy’s long explanation of his past in this world and his values and goals.
Speaking of hate, Finnessy missed his [Fugitive Optimization] tag, which boosted his performance based on how many intended to kill or capture him.
After more than three weaks, they calmed down and focused on enjoying themselves as adventurers, and that’s when Finnessy paid them to help at the village. His funds came from a high-difficulty quest he took that spanned a week and a half.
After they finished their business with the ‘rat’ as Hawkins called the fox, Finnessy let the trio go and followed the fox.
The fox’s name was Kylee, and her speciality was negotiation. She liked carving rocks as a hobby, she said. It was obvious Hawkins scared her.
Finnessy complimented the hat, which got a, “Hehe!” from the fox. Foxes back on Earth were able to laugh as a result of more than 6 decades of domestication. He put the two and two together and could only predict what zoology would find out in this fantasy world. 
“Oill” was the name of the fantasy world: three known continents, plentiful islands, countless unknown regions, and two kingdoms. Human and humanoid civilization was still young, he guessed. Magic might function the same way nuclear warheads did.
He had a lot of assumptions that he let flow whenever he lost sleep.
His first target was a platoon-sized group of silver elf bandits that had been disturbing the west side of the forest. The fox clans were competitive, but if there was an enemy, they’d rally until they only had each other again. The unknown and the overwhelmingly powerful were threats to the system they had.
Finnessy was one of many adventurers they hired as mercenaries. They split the short-lasting hires across a span of months with long gaps in between to prevent the hires from learning too much and taking the bandits’ side for whatever reason. Lastly, they kept the hires from using their home advantage to prevent the spread of stategic information.
Two weeks after the walls of the Finnessy’s village finished, he waited patiently as the running footsteps near him stopped for a few seconds and then switched to walking. He waited until the sounds got faint that he began moving behind them.
Since Finnessy’s targets were at the edge of a clearing, he came out from the other side on a branch and shot at them, aiming his two crossbows at them. His strength came into use in deep squatting on branches for long periods of time. The leaves were low-hanging and the branch was high up.
The targets before him comprised of the third squad.
Unfortunately, the bolts missed again, and Finnessy had to bring out his automatic rifle to settle the job.
Their emergency magic shields broke like paper as the bullets punctured holes in their upper chests.
Finnessy exhaled finally. He had been holding it in, not letting a single movement break his aim. He dropped down and then stood up, supporting himself with an arm on the ground.
He looked at the familiar notification and celebrated inwardly.
Level up! You’re now level 11!
New tag! [Squatter] You perform deep squats at 3% more efficacy.
“Oh, come on, System? I’m no squatter!” He laughed. It’s been a while since the System “spoke” to him, and it had been the only familiar thing in these deep forests.
Level 11, Bad Boy Jones (Finnessy Graham)
Race: Human
Class: Runner Gunner
Strength: 2
Agility: 0
Intelligence: 0
Toughness: 4
Willpower: 0
Unused points: 0
Tags: Steel Weaponry (12%), Marksmanship (12%), Fugitive Optimization (3%), Squatter (3%), Rock Weaponry (16%), Rock Hard (19%)
At long last, he finished his shift. He returned and heard that they delivered the crystal bombs early. Now, because these bombs were at the edge of what could be considered illegal, they could sell them normally.
He sold them within six weeks at a high 1000 gold, his face beaming with excitement. “1000 gold after only two days of work!”
Of course, any problems that couldn’t be settled with money would be settled with his automatic rifle. His reputation preceded him, but that didn’t stop gangs and corrupt adventurer parties from probing him.
The time it’d take to sell the next batches would be drastically lower, Finnessy surmised.
He didn’t know the ways crystal bombs could be used, but he pleaded the gods to prevent a post-war change of laws that included the restriction of crystal bombs.
After achieving the title of “stable income”, he asked the trio about what they could do to make the village more independent. They gave him the usual list: stable food supply, social structure, system of government, religious system, highly developed culture, advances in technology, highly developed written language—huh, that sounded more like a search result of “civilization” to me.
Wait, what if he made a civilization? That sounded hella interesting, but how would he go around doing that? He should think about that after he completed his tiny village.
He hired a platoon-sized group of tamer contractors.
“Oy, what’s this?” asked their representative, whose name was “Grille” (pronounced /grīˌlē/). “Is this a house? You call this a village?” 
Grille’s group had this laidback soft tone, but they were talkative.
Finnessy tuned out most of what they said, mostly listening to their tone and what they hated and watching their mannerisms all to get a peek at their dispositions.
He asked them where he could find a reliable library. He planned to do this frequently—ask the trio questions and compare others’ answers to theirs. In reality, he had visited the library both the trio and Grille mentioned first a few weeks ago and opted to study history because listening to strangers, bystanders and passersby, was ample for an overview of the political climate.
After handing them a paper that looked similar to the one posted at the adventurer guilds, he surmised Grille’s group was upright. 
His judgements were subpar at best. It could be bettered with an information network, but he didn’t want to dip anywhere in the adventurers’ secret society’s ditches.
Speaking of secret societies, Tchaikovsky’s invisibility was a skill learned through 1-3 years of practicing hiding, which meant it wasn’t rare among mercenaries, private military contractors, adventurers, and criminals alike. He believed the government utilized this best, however, despite his previous criticisms of them.
His previous criticism could be summed up to the government’s overwhelming power but distant efforts. They were like a child playing with toys among other independent minds, distracted by a third or quarter of major issues that get passed around far and wide. 
One particular issue that Finnessy pondered were [Invisibility] and [Telekinesis] being major spells that defined both the nation’s Arcane Forces’ military power and the criminal activities that danced within its borders.
The tensions that led to the civil war was heavily affected by this. Most of the cities get overwhelming effort, leaving some cities get little to no enforcement. Those untended cities become strongholds for criminals to grow. Unwittingly, the criminals that get shown in those cities distracted the public eye from the hidden pockets in the goverment that hid well-tempered iron fists.
Only a few of those who learned the truth believed the invention of magic made it impossible to prevent civilization from becoming anything but this. Most were caught up in the civil war.
The West, which advocated Langkaism ‘a religion or philosophical tradition, and way of magic that utilized fundamentals such as [Guided Levitation] and [Rock Hard]’ opposed the East, which advocated Greenlightism ‘a separate but historically tied religion or philosophical tradition, and way of magic that instead utilized fundamentals such as [Invisibility] and [Telekineses] “at lower acceptance rates”’.
He also learned that those he met when he first arrived in this world were those from a different continent. He passed the border unwittingly and entered this continent called the “Kisetrets” or “Kissetrets”, where he felt 99% of the world’s drama took place.
A Gender-Confused Reincarnator Accidentally Kills a Beastfolk Child November 24, 2021
About half an hour ago, he pondered if he was the only one from Earth that the System brought here. Whether the System was sentient or a force of nature, it didn’t matter. The System was both a voice ringing in her head and a holographic virtual assistant that told him objectives and goals he could achieve in exchange for rewards. 
He guffawed, worried. When he got a good look at the unfamiliar plantlife and animals, her heart sounded like maracas shaking ominously.
He inhaled the fresh air surrounding him and complained, “It’s a shame.” He’d only lived 20 years back on Earth, thus he frowned knowing her most of her experience and achievements were useless in ther new world. “Promotion is gone!”
her frustration turned cold as soon as he looked below him. A few species spread on the ground below him in groups. He stood on a mountain top and the trees below were sparse, safely scouting these strange beasts. They were eating plants, standing around without a worry in the world. He wondered if what their reaction would be upon seeing him approach.
Some of these beasts had contours and gaits like bears, which he remembered didn’t live in rainforests. That might be good enough evidence to back down.
He dropped down and walked down the hill, holding on to trees along the way to help him balance. He was inexperienced in trekking, but he could quite handle himself. He had gone a handful of times with close friends and family.
It also showed him her status menu. Ther status menu showed him her bio; equipment; level; class; name, which was apparently “Leroy Quill”; attributes, skills, unused points, and age. 
In ther new world, it wasn’t only her understanding of the universe that had changed: her physical body changed as well. He wore strange clothes, and her body felt different. He was taller and felt less refined.
Speaking of new and old worlds, before the System placed him here, he was seated in a truck by a lake, taking the freshest breaths because of all the oxygen around. Remote areas were the best. He even recorded her experience with a camera a friend handed him and posted in on the internet: a few hundred thousand viewers had made him frown at how stressed the folk back in the cities, or “stress boxes” as he’d personally call it, were.
Anyways, he followed the System that spoke to him with floating words and images in her vision. A little nostalgic considering augmented VR was a recent thing back on Earth.
“Anyone, want to explain to me what’s going on?” he asked, looking at the beasts, her voice almost erratic in avoiding falsetto. “I’d like an explanation, please.” 
He looked at her body, then at the ground, and then at the desert around him. “An explanation to help me with my stress issues.” 
He turned her head around, lowering her voice. “Yeah, for stress issues. Let’s go with that.”
The System flashed the request screen, implying that it declined her request for an explanation as to what her situation was all about.
He sighed. “System, you and I are like peas in a pond. I talk to children similarly as well.” He slapped her forehead. “Maybe, ther is retribution.”
He sighted the beastfolk, eating a biscuit from a starter kit the System provided. He smiled, her head in a state of bliss as he ate, but during her “bliss”, he was meticulous in preventing attention to him.
One of the items that joined him here was a handy gun.
“Nice, let me just….” He aimed her rifle and gazed. After a long pause, due to habit, he thought to reload.
“They’re not gone. Why are there still bullets—you know what, frick me.” He aimed her gun and shot at the fleeing beastfolk.
He hit one.
“Breaking Innocence, Breaking Bread” quest incomplete! -5 xp and -10 gold debt received!
Level up! You are now level 0.
He was not having a good day.
“Children,” he repeated, her anger escalating. “Why the — did there have to be children, huh?
He killed one of them. He wished it wasn’t one of the children. He repeated ther wish outloud until the beastfolk came. her stress grew to a moderate level.
She was in a game called “Crushed Apples”, one of the relatively popular games based in Herolty, aptly praised for its unspoken support toward its VR games as they became a global phenomenom. Nevertheless, words and phrases such as “soft power” and “subduing without fighting” floated by.
In real life, despite her recent developments in those three basic skills—writing, drawing, and singing, she specialized in livestreaming with an aptitude level of 2 out of 10, not that she could compare much to her betters, but it was good enough for her. These results composed a common example of a lower-class modern-day native Silker, or citizen of Silk City. 
Finnessy and His Robot Cassie Are Transmigrated to a New World November 25, 2021
A drawing pad fell off Finessy’s desktop computer. His eyes swiftly moving, he caught it as he read through articles about political theory and high-speed railways. He paused scrolling his mouse and sneezed. He said, “Excuse me,” despite his years of solitude, maintaining a piece of etiquette he learned during his outgoing days as a child.
A robot entered his room, standing as a reminder of the tacit agreement he had with himself never to “sleep” with it. The robot was good-looking, but throughout his late teenage years, he lost interest in maintaining relationships and instead pursued his creative career as an artist. Those articles he was researching were what ensued his researching and reference searching for art.
He looked out the window, seeing a bright, animated day. He used a remote to switch the window to display a real life, first-person, color-graded video of a man walking through the woods. 
He yawned, placing his hands on his lap and stretching. He turned around and took the cup of sugarless soy milk that he drank every morning and evening to keep himself going. He had four hours left until sleepy time.
Four hours later, he heard a beep, and his room lights turned on and off. It was the alarm going off for him to sleep. Without proper sleep, his momentum would collapse, and he had maintained it for almost a year already.
His eyes closed, he heard the door open.
His robot went inside and stood in front of him, giving him a knowing look.
He nodded sleepily and moved from the center of the bed.
His robot dropped down and lay down beside him, sleeping on its side and facing him.
He fell asleep seconds later, his eyes a little lit from the night lights in his room.
When he woke up, his hands shook. His body was in a state of fight-or-flight. He moved slightly, looking in front of him. His robot, Cassie, was there, sitting down with its legs on top of each other. 
He yelled, “Cassie!”
Cassie’s eyes were lifeless.
He yelled again to no avail.
He stood up, but he couldn’t feel his legs in front of him. He supported himself with his hands, dragging his legs across the ground to Cassie.
Cassie turned to face him, its face becoming bright and receptive.
He sighed in relief, caressing his forehead.
Cassie moved close to him and gave him a head pat.
He blushed, but then he forced his body to stop feeling that way. He stood up, his immediate surroundings a tiny thicket of trees with plains beyond.
As his legs regained feeling, he stood up clumsily and deep-squated back down. Then, he stood up again and gestured for Cassie to stand up as well.
He asked Cassie, “Are you alright?”
Cassie nodded and said, “I’m okay.”
He took a deep breath and walked forward out of the thicket and beyond. Cassie tiptoed, following behind.
Finnessy gulped, his eyes getting used to the stretch of land ahead of him. He sat down when he felt they were safe. He motioned for Cassie to take a seat and not think too much.
“Where are we, Cassie?” he asked, not expecting an answer.
“It looks like Africa, but I’m not sure.”
“That sounds great, sounds great—if there are beasts, we should go now!” He offered Cassie a hand, and they left, eying a few trees on the way.
Two gates stood in front of them with five humanlike creatures standing straight in front of it.
He called from hundreds of feet away, not expecting an answer.
The creatures had fur and turned their heads exactly at him and Cassie.
He raised his brows, his stress going up slightly. He gazed at the beasts, so did Cassie who had already gone into a fighting stance.
After some time, he stopped, relaxing his shoulders, and telling Cassie to relax too.
The humanlike creatures looked like beastfolk, so Finnessy called them that. “Beastfolk,” he said.
Cassie agreed with his definition. “Roger that,” it said.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead, feeling an urge to flap his shirt to cool himself. He wore a bright-colored functional outfit. Cassie wore a decorative outfit with earth tones, not that its robot body needed functional outfits to function well.
One of the beastfolk approached, giving them no room to breath, because of how fast the beast ran.
Finnessy cowered, but Cassie, being the protector and helper she was, stood in front of him.
Hundreds of people appeared out of thin air at their right. These people’s bodies looked lifeless and didn’t move, only standing upright.
“You are Finnessy and Cassie,” said the beastfolk, its voice male. He gestured toward the other beastfolk. “We are deities, or creatures of great supernatural power, whichever you prefer.”
He turned around, pointing around him. “This is the world of Cordum in a universe different from your own.” 
He turned to the hundreds of people to his left. “These are some of the key leaders of Cordum. Pick one who you’d like the two of you to be transmigrated under the authority of.”
Cassie suggested, “We should ask why we’re here.”
“Why are—thank you, Cassie—why are we here?” asked Finnessy, making his voice loud enough for those the other beastfolk to hear.
The beastfolk in front of them replied, “You are one of our lucky participants. Both of you died because we cut your life off. This new world should be better for the both of you. Immortality is a possibility.”
Finnessy raised his brows and smiled subconsciously. He then forced his reaction away. “We’ll trust you since it looks like we’ve no choice and not much information to back us up.”
“You do have a choice, that is….” He turned his body toward the hundreds of people once again. “That’s a choice… but yes, you’re right, you have no choices outside of Cordum. Have a nice day, or you may hate us, whichever you prefer.”
Finnessy sighed, not liking the beastfolk’s way of talking. Cassie shrugged and listened to Finnessy’s next words. “Speaking of lucky participants, I do hope this isn’t a scam.”
They fell to the city-state of Gremlin, where hundreds of people passed through day to day, as wherein lied the Port of Gremlin.
Instead of their bodies falling down from the sky and slamming into a rare portion of the waterlogged streets of Gremlin, they appeared near the gates of Gremlin, wearing simple clothes befitting of a traveler.
Cassie furrowed her brows, as did Finnessy, who showed clumsiness when they popped out of thin air. Finnessy fell to the ground, hugging Cassie’s metal leg.
Cassie looked at him, her eyes turning soft but turned fierce again at the sound of human chatter.
“How’s the cold press? I wouldn’t have staked my life if I were you.”
“It gives me too much mobility. I feel like I might puke!”
These two speakers were heading in Finnessy and Cassie’s direction.
Finnessy, sitting down with his legs in front of him, his arms on top of each other, squinted his eyes at them. Cassie had its left hand on Finnessy and its other hand waving beside its waist.
The two speakers raised their brows, giving them both a slight smile and passing them by outside the city’s spiked walls.
Finnessy listened to his thoughts jumping up and about. He waited a while before he turned his head and asked, “Hello, I’m Finnessy, and I’m very new to this place. How long is the nearest city from here?”
One of the speakers reacted faster than the other, wearing a large hat that complemented her soft wavy hair and round face. “You mean Threshold City? Around seventy days at most.”
Finnessy’s eyes flickered with disgust. “Thank you.” He turned to Cassie. “Let’s follow that road, Cassie. I’ll trust your default fighting skills, even if I use regularly them for references.”
Cassie nodded excitedly, its eyes full of delight, although it tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to keep probing for information from others.
His forehead wrinkled, his brows raised, he nodded, his body walking more stably than before.
Several minutes, asking questions from weirdly-dressed passersby. They learned the state of the continent.
Two wars to the east. A big civil war to the west. A long route to the other end of the continent to where they were headed to the south. North was the Port of Gremlin. 
Finnessy joined hundreds of people traveling on a large lizards.
Finnessy Buys Blades and Assigns Two Goblin Guards to an Ally November 25, 2021
Finnessy had two eyes, ten silver wings, and 2 copper coins in disposal. He bought several golden, spike-riddled blades, leaving him with an eye and a copper coin. When he left, his two aides followed him toward the inner part of the city, covering their bald heads and large ears with hoods.
Finnessy wore a tight tunic covered by a long jacket that reached the feet. He was seven-feet-tall, and he had a rugged chin, acne scars along his right cheek and nose, and large eyebrows. He had the average ruggedness and attractiveness of a citizen of Lain.
His two aides were man-sized goblins who couldn’t grow head hair and had distinct ears that’d get an insult or two if they flaunted it.
They arrived to their destination at a well, their heads turning to an approaching beastman that had the physical combination of a human and a deer. The beastman was a good friend named “Barter”.
“Tell me about the two friends behind you,” said Barter.
“Mercs. Don’t think too much and take them with you. Your life is crucial to New Lain’s sovereignty.”
“I get it, I get it. What are their names?”
“Sunder and Liam.”
“Liam? So much for goblins’—”
Finnessy shushed him, pressing a finger to his mouth. He turned left and right and shot a piece of paper in Barter’s pocket.
“Take it with you, okay?”
“Yes, yes. I hear you.” Barter left with the two disguised goblins, whose skin Finnessy smudged with some coloring to mimic humans.
Finnessy left as soon as he came, taking with him several copper coins that he took from Barter’s pocket. Barter knew this because they had an agreement.
The piece of paper was the magical contract that assigned ownership of the two goblins to whoever had it with them.
The sword Finnessy bought a while ago were inside his magical bag, which allowed him to store items larger than the bag itself up to about an average inn room size.
Later, within the same city, he knocked on a door, trying not to listen to the groanings beyond it. “Ehem,” he said.
The two women inside opened the door hurriedly, wearing simple clothes and greeting him with sweat still on their foreheads. They weren’t the only ones, for they had male servants in another room next door.
He smiled politely and sat down gently. “Ten sacks of gold. I need at least ten for transportation.”
With the constant need for pincer movement fuel, manufacturing of gold weapons are at a all-time high, selling them to 7 different provinces and counting in the east.
Finnessy Listens to a Memory Orb, Then Possesses a Boy 1000 Years in the Past November 27, 2021
Expectations could be dazzling; they clouded the passerby that was Finnessy Hale. 
Three steps out of his office door, he shook his head. Not one person passed his expectations.
“Lai Yan, Dean, and Daya,” he said, pausing between words. “I saw something in them, but that. No. That. Maybe my guess was wrong.”
He unfolded his sleeves, fixed his hair, and checked his face. He was coming home.
At his arrival, two dogs waited inside. Music played ahead to his left. The faint smell of burnt food wafted through the door behind him. Muttering entered his ears.
He entered the living room past the hallway and sat down on a red couch. The walls were true-white and semi-soundproofed.
The first one who greeted him was his wife, who gave him a wry smile as she rubbed his shoulders. Her name was “Desiree Curry”: the reveal of her being still married to someone else occurred about a hundred nights ago. 
One of the only two countries in the world that prohibited divorce was where Finnessy grew up in, but that was false because it was possible to file a petition for declaration of absolute nullity of void marriage.
“Hi, honey. Anything you want for this evening?” Glancing between him and the door Finnessy left open, she tapped her shoulder twice and let her left hand slide off.
He sat cross-legged, his right arm lying on top of the couch backrest. He took out an orb.
His wife and his children, who ranged from 7 to 20, numbered 5, and they were loud in their rooms, not that Finnessy and his wife’s ears weren’t used to them already.
He placed the orb down on a round table in between the couch and a floor mattress in the living room.
He took a deep breath and listened to the whispers coming from it. Warmth emanated from those whispers, and memories of another world.
The orb glowed, and its light was growing brighter and growing faster the brighter it got.
He placed a hand on it again and put it inside his bag, cutting the orb’s glowing out.
“It’s not enough.”
Ten hundred years ago, Finnessy woke up as a 14 and a half year old in a hamlet. Through looking through the boy’s memories, he learned the boy grew up distinctly better than the others, but because of that, the boy struggled to keep up with the expectations of those around him. He didn’t become arrogant; instead, he became a neurotic early teenager.
The boy’s name was “Carl Copper”.
Finnessy, inside Carl Copper, spent the first two weeks studying and getting used to his new surroundings. His memories were useful, but those memories were from someone else’s perspective.
Finnessy spent the next two weeks after that asking open-ended questions and making statements that’d get an answer he was looking for.
Finnesy had too many thoughts that he wanted to say. He had put in the least effort that he could put in a world.
A Brief Scene of Finnessy Being Unaware He Owes Reparations November 27, 2021
Finnesy took two things out of his pocket, imagining himself a posh man. He had no clue about the reparations expected from him. He was delicate with his words, strong with his vowels, and entirely made up. He was a joke character.
A Warlock Perfects the World Until His Mind Collapses December 28, 2021
Perfection was a peak those in the bottom reached out of desperation. He created a peace that perfected the world’s desires. His mind turned to ashes as the world became perfect. The world narrowly escaped the Devil’s reaches. The world turned to ashes, and the sky turned to beauty. He beautified the world’s discrepancies. The world became still as the sky turned red. “Is there a sound worth listening to?” asked a young lad from the shires. He followed the world’s hopes and combined the lost feelings into beauty. He tenaciously relieved himself of the past pains. His head shook as the world turned to ashes. He taught himself the world’s hopes. He rejuvenated himself under a northern sun. The world combined the aspects of feeling and hopelessness well. The major problems weakened the world specially. “Let the world turn to ashes under the northern sun,” said the young lad from the cold landscapes of the northern winters of Jotun. 
The world fell.
“Let the winters speak for themselves,” said the young warlock of the north. Internalizing the weaknesses of those who bore hatred toward the sky was a pleasing cause.
The world entranced our feeble minds. It calmed our spirits. It pushed us above the sun and beyond the fog. The world became a perfect one under two spirits’ crushings.
“Should it have become the world’s hopes?” asked the young lad from where the countries comforted us.
In those times, the world turned to ashes in a way that followed the gods’ commandments.
The world was perfection before it all began. I didn’t understand the concept of falling to the ground and failing. It was a beautiful night without the flavors of joy. I stood bacK, and those who wept came and comforted me. The world was perfect before it all began. They furthered the world into global distribution. The world became a sea of loathing. It was the world’s hatred toward us that made us want to believe the world was pure and full of honey.
How long had the world gone on without the past pains and suffering? He was supposed to stand there and watch the world turn to bits? He couldn’t stand a single day without doing a single thing. How long had the world gone on and fell to the ground? He controlled those in the highest regions of earth.
He watched over those who exhibited behavior that belonged to the government. He watched the world perfect in the first place. The first time it happened. He fell to the ground and forget what made the world unique in the first place. He watched the world fall to the ground and become numb. It was an incessantly difficult position to be in. He yearned to be free from the past pains and become perfect in the first place. His mind became numb under the circumstances of the weak. He benefitted from the lost causes of the century. His mind became an onslaught that stopped when it ended. His mind became a stone that rolled through the ages and became perfection. His mind was a sea that lived for the world. He controlled those who wished hard upon the world. His mind was a beautiful sky that stopped when the world moved. The sea of change stopped for those who believed in a beautiful world. His mind became perfect under the northern star. His mind ran through several days of work to stop at the worst possible moment of time. He recorded every second believing the world was impeccable and could only be stopped in three seconds of time. His mind became a sea of loathing all throughout the world. He furthered his causes and became an incessantly perfect person. His mind was a sea of hatred that stopped when the world became still.
His mind escalated beyond normal means. His eyes became a sea of change under the northern star. His eyes removed itself and placed itself at the top of the world. It rejuvenated under the northern star of change. He ran through several hoops before succeeding the parliamentary. The world became a sea of loathing under the northern star. His mind turned to ashes throughout the history of Dune. When the world caved in, it became an unstoppable onslaught that moved between the two continents  The world became perfect in the first place. It winded up toward the world that created it. The world became perfect in the first place. Its mind became a sea of loathing where the world didn’t shine. Its eyes became the sea where the sun didn’t shine again. Its purpose became weaker and weaker as the world turned to ashes more frequently. Its mind became a world that mattered in the first place. Its sea became a world that couldn’t compare to ours. Its sensual deprivation methods became the talk of the show for years. He watched the world fall to the ground slowly. His mind became a whirring mess of the background. His soul turned into a rabid monk who knew nothing but the pain that came with winning a losing fight. His mind became a sea of loathing that the world failed to stop.
He lacked the mans of creating the world that mattered.