I stared at my palms as wisps of residual fire beam curled from my fingertips like dying cigarettes. The acrid smell of vaporised metal and earth hung in the air, mixing with the ancient dust of the crypt to create a scent that probably violated several health codes across multiple dimensions.
Well, that escalated quickly, I thought, watching the smoke dissipate into the vast chamber. Note to self: maybe don't casually vaporize ancient war machines when trying to stay under the radar.
The construct's remains were scattered across the obsidian floor like the world's most expensive scrap metal fused with stone and earth. Bits of enchanted plating sparkled in the ethereal light filtering through the stained glass high above, and I could swear I heard the distant sound of cosmic customer service putting me on hold for property damage claims.
Time to make a strategic exit before anyone asked uncomfortable questions like "who are you" or "how did you do that" or "please don't kill us, mysterious god person."
I took a careful step backward, then another, trying to blend into the shadows cast by the towering colossi. Just a casual retreat. Nothing suspicious here. Definitely not the guy who just performed what was apparently a Kamehameha beam without breaking a sweat.
Come on, Ren, I coached myself. You've snuck out of enough awkward streaming sessions. This is just like escaping chat after accidentally revealing your browser history, except with more mortal peril and—
"One wrong move and you'll be breathing through a new hole, stranger."
The voice was soft, almost conversational, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying than any shouted threat. I felt the cold kiss of steel against the back of my neck, positioned with surgical precision right where my spine met my skull.
Ah. The rogue.
My hands shot up in the universal gesture of "please don't turn me into a human shish kebab," and I tried to channel every diplomatic bone in my body. Unfortunately, most of those bones were currently occupied with keeping me upright while a blade-wielding shadow person decided whether I was worth keeping alive.
"Whoa there, knife-lady!" I said, aiming for friendly and probably hitting somewhere between panicked and mildly constipated. "Can we talk about this like civilized people? I come in peace! Universal translator not included!"
"Turn around. Slowly."
I complied, moving with the careful deliberation of someone who'd watched enough movies to know that sudden movements near sharp objects led to immediate and messy consequences. As I turned, I got my first good look at my captor.
She was young, maybe early twenties, with the kind of lean muscle that came from a lifetime of dodging things that wanted to kill her. Her hair was a practical brown pulled back in a tight braid, and her leather armor bore the distinctive wear patterns of someone who used stealth as a survival tool rather than a hobby. Most importantly, her eyes held the flat, professional assessment of someone who'd killed before and wouldn't lose sleep over adding to the count.
Target: Kira – Level 3 Rogue [Level 3 | Dual Daggers: Rank R | Threat Assessment: ModerateCurrent Status: Extremely Suspicious]
The system helpfully provided tactical data I absolutely did not want right now. Knowing her level and equipment didn't make the blade at my throat any less sharp.
"Who are you?" she demanded, circling me like a predator evaluating prey. "And what's with the..." She gestured vaguely at my outfit. "...whatever that's supposed to be."
I looked down at myself, taking in the tattered remains of my gym clothes and the blacksmith's apron that had somehow survived interdimensional travel better than my dignity. Yeah, I could see how that might raise questions.
"Ren Kurogane," I said, raising my hands higher in what I hoped was a gesture of peaceful intent. "And before you ask, yes, I know I look like I got dressed in the dark by someone who hates me. It's been a really weird week."
The name seemed to catch her attention. She tilted her head slightly, and I caught a flicker of curiosity beneath the professional wariness. "Kurogane? That's not a local name."
Before I could explain that I was, in fact, very much not local...like, different-dimension-entirely not local...heavy footsteps approached from behind. The swordwoman, the team leader who'd been dancing around the construct's death-blades with impossible grace, stalked toward us with the measured pace of a apex predator.
Target: Thane – Level 4 Swordmaster [Level 4 | Gear Rank: R | Combat Effectiveness: HighThreat Assessment: SevereCurrent Status: Evaluating, Minor bleeding]
Oh good, I thought as she approached. The scary one wants to chat.
Thane was everything the rogue wasn't, where Kira was lean shadows and quiet lethality, Thane was controlled power and barely restrained violence. She moved like someone who'd learned to fight against opponents bigger, stronger, and meaner than herself, and had not only survived but thrived. Her blonde hair was cropped short for practicality, and scars decorated her arms like a roadmap of every mistake that hadn't quite killed her.
But it was her eyes that made my mouth go dry. They were the color of winter storms, and they looked at me with the calculating intensity of someone trying to decide if I was a threat, an asset, or just an inconvenience to be removed.
She stopped just outside my personal space, close enough to strike, far enough to react if I tried something stupid, and began a slow circle around me. I felt like a used car being evaluated by the world's most dangerous mechanic.
"Strange clothes," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Foreign features. And that magic..." Her gaze locked onto mine. "What are you?"
The simple question hit harder than any accusation. What was I? A programmer who'd gotten too obsessed with a game? A cosmic accident? A very confused interdimensional refugee with delusions of competence?
Before I could formulate an answer that wouldn't sound completely insane, a new notification blazed across my vision in angry red text:
[ERROR: POTENTIAL ESSENCE VESSEL DETECTED]
[COMPATIBILITY RATING: EXCELLENT - 47.3%]
[INITIATING DIVINE COURTSHIP PROTOCOLS...]
[WARNING: SYSTEM INTEGRATION UNSTABLE]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: INITIATE MATING RITUAL]
Pain lanced through my skull like someone was rewiring my brain with a rusty screwdriver. I staggered, pressing the heels of my palms against my temples as the system's helpful suggestions crashed through my consciousness like malware designed by a perverted cosmic entity.
Oh hell no, I thought desperately. System, I am NOT hitting on the scary sword lady who could probably turn me into human confetti! There is no universe where that ends well for anyone involved!
The system, apparently deaf to reason and basic survival instincts, continued its assault:
[ESSENCE WEAPON CREATION REQUIRES COMPATIBLE PARTNER][SUBJECT: THANE - OPTIMAL CANDIDATE]
"Are you alright?" Thane's voice cut through the digital cacophony in my head. She'd stopped circling and was studying me with what might have been concern, if concern could be weaponized and used to cut steel.
"Yeah," I managed, blinking away the lingering red overlay. "Just a headache. Happens sometimes when I... when I use magic."
It wasn't entirely a lie. The system notifications did feel like someone was jackhammering information directly into my brain stem.
Before Thane could ask any follow-up questions that I absolutely wasn't prepared to answer, someone shoved past her with the manic energy of an academic who'd just discovered their dissertation topic walking around in the wild.
The mage, Vex, according to my Eyes of Arcum, practically bounced as he approached, his thin frame vibrating with excitement. His robes had definitely seen better decades, and his staff, while impressively named "Ember Needle," looked like it had been through several wars and possibly a blender.
Target: Vex – Level 4 MagePrimary Weapon: Staff "Ember Needle" [Rank RR]Specialization: Fire Magic TheoryCurrent Status: Academically Aroused
"By the gods!" Vex exclaimed, his eyes literally glowing with magical energy as he examined me. "Did you just perform Aetherscripting?! Raw divine manifestation without arrays or incantations?!"
The fourth member of their team, the healer, chose that moment to make his opinion known. Jorik looked exactly like what you'd get if you ordered "reliable support character" from a budget adventuring catalog, practical robes, sensible gear, and the kind of perpetually tired expression that came from keeping idiots alive for a living.
"Vex," Jorik said, brushing dust from his cloak with deliberate calm, "you're suggesting this... person... wielded God-tier magic." He gestured at me with the kind of polite dismissal usually reserved for door-to-door salesmen. "Look at him. He's wearing what appears to be undergarments as outerwear."