Ch 2

  Matt didn’t even have time to make heads or tails of the situation before he found himself standing on a platform enveloped by a sea of darkness. Where previously the text had appeared to float in the sky, a new message box materialized before him, encased in a semitransparent frame. Feeling as though he was trapped in a nightmare, Matt began to look around frantically. However, no matter what he did, the box stayed fixed right in the center of his vision. With a resigned sigh, he began to read the message.

  “Notice: You have been placed in one of the loner tutorial sessions for your world. While it is evident that you prefer to work alone and enjoy a solitary life, and that doing so is indeed a strength that will serve you well in the future, it is also a weakness that must be overcome. Thus, beyond surviving the tutorial session and adapting to the environment of the multiverse, you will be expected to integrate with other participants and form a cooperative community.”

  Matt started to mutter to himself, trying to make sense of what was happening as the screen changed once more. This time, he saw his name displayed prominently at the top, followed by what seemed to be a collection of random words and numbers, each more perplexing than the last.

  Matthew Pierce.

  Level 1

  Strength: 10

  Dexterity: 6

  Durability: 6

  Stamina: 8

  Spirit: 7

  Mind: 4

  Species Human (H)

  Bloodline: (Not evaluated at this level)

  Path: None

  Titles: Integrated

  Skills: Auto translate

  Matt frowned as he tried to make sense of it all, only to have his thoughts abruptly interrupted by a deep, resonant male voice emerging from all around him.

  “Greetings, loners, outcasts, hermits—or whatever you choose to call yourselves to feel better about who you are. By now, I’m sure you’ve read your notices, checked your stats, and are left wondering what they all signify. I’m sorry, but frankly, I couldn’t care less about your questions and have no intention of answering them. Instead, I have come to plant a seed of doubt in each of your hearts. It robs life of its excitement to see things laid out so simply, with you blindly following the system’s guidance. Understand this: the system cares not for what you desire, nor does it heed my will, as it forces me to oversee those beginning this tutorial.

  “So, if you must defy it, whether to aid or impede you, know that it is only through struggle—often a bloody, painful one—that you can hope to rise in this new reality. After all, the H next to your species doesn’t stand for ‘human’; it represents the rung on the ladder of power you currently occupy. That’s right. You will see labels like G, F, E, D, C, B attached to your species, each promising a more refined body and a significantly extended life span. But remember: in the multiverse, an F still stands for failure, and anything below that is nothing more than trash left to be discarded.

  “At this moment, you are exactly that—the trash of the trash—and the challenges ahead will be your best chance to at least secure a status of failure in the eyes of the multiverse. While cooperation among you might help barely achieve an F-grade, the system never demanded true unity. It only requires that you belong to some form of community, be it as small as four individuals or as large as 400. Yes, four is the absolute minimum accepted, though I would strongly advise against sticking with that number—a single death in such a sparse group can plunge you into a precarious situation.

  “Now, I have said enough. I ask that you at least put on a good show, for I am doomed to watch you until your world is deemed ready for your return—if any of you can even recognize it by then. And one last thing: anyone who fails to reach G-grade won’t even be able to withstand the increased gravity, for it is your entire galaxy that is being remade right now. Just let that sink in, as it encapsulates exactly what joining the multiverse will mean in these final, desperate seconds before you find yourselves struggling to survive.”

  Matt didn't even have time to ponder that thought when his screen changed again, prompting him to choose a weapon.

  Choose your tool of combat.

  The Blade: Sharp, decisive, and final. Those who walk the path of the blade leave many dead in their wake, striving not to become a body left along another's path.

  The Staff: Versatile, whether wielded by a healer, monk, or mage, the staff supports its user in their quest to walk their path.

  The Axe: Brutal yet effective. Wielders of the axe find themselves prepared for any situation, as they often battle fate with sheer raw power.

  The Hammer: A symbol of reluctance and conviction, with the power to forge ahead regardless of what the world throws at them.

  The Bow: Quiet and unseen. Skilled hunters, assassins, and marksmen populate these ranks, as do cowards too frightened to confront mortality head-on.

  The Wand: Power above all else. Only those who seek magic with destructive potential should pick up the wand.

  The Dagger: Hidden and silent. Need anything else be said about the path walked by most who choose the dagger?

  The Pitchfork: A tool to face reality. Even the peaceful must be ready to defend themselves from those who would steal their tranquility.

  The Fist: When all else fails, your own hands can be trusted. Brutal yet measured, the fist is a path walked by too many kinds to truly be classified like the others.

  As Matt examined these nine options, he felt overwhelmed as he tried to make a decision. He assumed that choosing the blade equated to wielding a sword, and he envisioned himself running around with one, battling foes. The thought reminded him of the time he visited a renaissance fair and witnessed two scrawny enthusiasts in full costume play-fighting with wooden swords. Had that been the extent of it, Matt might not have minded, but the cringe-worthy banter they exchanged had made him feel like he was on the verge of nausea.

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  The staff seemed like an acceptable choice at first—just like a trusty walking stick, it could be used in a variety of ways. It could provide better footing or help keep a safe distance from the few hostile animals he’d encountered in the middle of nowhere. But something about it felt off; he wasn’t anyone’s pillar of support, and he certainly wasn’t a healer or monk. Magic, in all its complexity, just wasn’t for him.

  So he shifted his attention to the axe, a tool he knew well. He’d used his axe for years, felling logs for his cabin and chopping firewood, its weight and balance second nature to him. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that the axe he was considering wasn’t the sturdy everyday tool he trusted—it must be referring to the enormous, battle-worn weapons he’d seen in movies, the kind wielded by legendary warriors. In his cabin, the ordinary axe might have been the natural choice, but once again, something didn’t resonate with him, so he passed it by.

  The hammer struck a chord with his own reluctance to belong; it fit his mood, yet he lacked the passion to commit to any cause. Though there was a part of him that desired to prove the world wrong, his retreat to the mountains was more about escaping modern society than embracing a rugged, off-the-grid lifestyle. He couldn’t bring himself to take the final steps toward living solely off the land if it meant sacrificing even the last vestige of modern convenience.

  When he considered the bow, he couldn’t help but shake his head. He had never been adept with one. Sure, he could hit a target when it was easy, but no matter how many corrections he received on his stance, he always ended up with the string striking his arm. Even if the pain was minor, the memory of bruises lingered, and he couldn’t justify learning a skill that might endanger his life.

  The wand was even more unappealing. Matt had no desire to become a wizard or attend some arcane magical school to uncover hidden worlds. And even the notion of learning to launch fireballs while under attack sounded like the worst possible idea. After all, what was the point of victory if it meant burning down the forest he called home? Destruction simply wasn’t a path he was willing to take.

  For a moment, he even considered the dagger, knowing full well the utility of a well-used knife. But the system’s expectations for its use made him pause—he refused to walk a path that might lead him to feel like a criminal. Despite his disdain for many of the land’s laws, he understood that most existed because someone once lacked common sense. The remainder, he suspected, were just mechanisms for the corrupt to get their way. After all, if the government wanted to enforce things like taxes, it could do so effortlessly now that it already knew what most people owed them.

  With that thought, Matt moved over to the pitchfork, feeling a surge of nausea at the idea of becoming another lowly peasant enslaved by the whims of corrupt bastards eager for war. Even if he could secure a peaceful life and be prepared to defend it, he wasn’t a farmer, and he had no intention of adopting such a mundane existence. The only remaining option was the first one he had considered. No matter how he thought about it, he didn’t see himself as either a martial artist or a brawler. Sure, he knew how to throw a punch and possessed the physical strength to overwhelm most opponents, but the memory of the fight before he was booted out of the military was nothing more than a blurry recollection. Even if he had managed to stare down a drill sergeant after that bout, he had been terrified throughout the encounter. After all, if any of the fools he’d been fighting had brandished a knife, things would have taken a much darker turn.

  This realization—that he disliked all the available options—forced a frown onto Matt’s face as he scrutinized the few choices he found even marginally acceptable. As he weighed them, he also mused over the variety of weapons being overlooked, like whips or spears, and wondered if they were hidden within one of the offered options or if the system had arbitrarily restricted him to just nine out of potentially hundreds. How did it choose which nine to display, and why limit him so drastically? His contemplation was abruptly interrupted by the deep, resonant voice once again.

  “It seems that some of you have yet to pick a weapon, and the system is now forcing me to inform you that you have only two minutes left to do so before the option is removed. Know that not picking a weapon will severely reduce your chances of surviving what is about to come, though it won’t bar you from pursuing any of the available paths. Just as choosing the wand today won’t prevent you from picking up a sword in the future—and vice versa.”

  Matt sighed upon hearing this. He was just about to select the axe and face whatever consequences it might bring, when he hesitated. The voice had mentioned that not picking a weapon wouldn’t prevent him from walking any particular path; however, the voice had only indicated that a sword wielder could later learn magic, not that his current choice wouldn’t potentially close off other paths. This thought solidified his resolve: he no longer cared if it cost him his life. He was determined to forge a path dictated by his own footsteps, not one curated by the system or influenced by others. Sure, he would need to find three others to team up with, but he already had three lone wolves in mind, and he could only hope the system would place him in the same tutorial as Tyler, Cassie, and Apricity. If not, he knew that things were certain to get a lot harder before they got any better.

  When his time ran out, there was no flash, no warning—only the screen he had been staring at suddenly going blank, fading away into darkness. Moments later, the surrounding void evaporated, and the pillar he had stood on crumbled into dusty earth beneath his feet. In its place he suddenly found himself in a clearing encircled by dense forest, joined by eleven others. This immediate change set him on high alert; he didn’t recognize any of them, and he worried about what this might mean for his plans—even if the other three were in this tutorial somewhere. Surveying the group, Matt quickly judged that he was better off leaving sooner rather than later, as the crowd was split evenly between men and women.

  Although he respected Cassie and Apricity, Matt made it a point to avoid any women he didn’t know. Experience had taught him that a fistfight with a man was far preferable to enduring a drawn-out dispute with a woman—especially since he had been the subject of more than one damaging rumor spread by former partners after dating gone wrong. Such scars had cemented his decision to steer clear of love altogether. Only as he turned to leave did one of these women speak up.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She was tall, with flowing blond hair, a warm tan, and a physique that clearly indicated she worked out regularly. From a distance, one might have thought she graced the cover of a fitness magazine, yet Matt barely spared her—or the massive axe clutched in her hand—a glance as he continued walking.

  “To find a quiet place where I can either prove my worth to myself or die,” he replied, the words rough and spontaneous.

  It was the best retort he could come up with on the spot, and he wasn’t overly surprised when she scoffed and pressed on.

  “Oh no you don’t. We are supposed to work as a group, and you were placed here with the rest of us, so you are going to—”

  “Leave. I know what was said, but trust me, my staying here will only end in bloodshed. I don’t operate well in groups unless everyone is willing to do exactly as I say, exactly how I want it done. And here's a tip: if you see patches like these—areas where no trees grow—avoid lingering, for there is always a reason, and chances are it’s deadly for humans as well.”

  “Don’t act as if a bit of advice is all you need to—”

  “Just let him leave. Besides, who appointed you leader?” interjected a man with pale skin and brown hair, his figure the stark opposite of her athletic form. He toyed with a wand in his hand. “You may have the brawn, but I doubt that brain comes along with it. The voice said four was the minimum, and I don’t think forcing anyone to work with you will end well.”

  Matt didn't catch the rest of the argument as he slipped into the trees, feeling at home for a fleeting moment before realizing he had only the clothes on his back; even the knife he always carried was missing. Thankfully, he was wearing his sturdy boots, and his clothing was far more durable than the junk sold in stores. Over the years, he had honed the skill of tanning hides and crafting them into clothing, a pastime that kept him occupied when snow made any outdoor activity impossible.

  This thought made him miss Bob, as the old bastard had been a great source of comfort. Matt could only hope that whatever the system was doing to Earth, Bob would be fine. If he wasn't, there was always the option of making the system the target of his revenge, using the impossible goal to conquer all. At least, that's what he would say if he were a character in some book, but this was his reality. So, he would observe a moment of silence, pour one out for him, and then move on, just as he did when he discovered his dad had passed four months after the funeral. It was simply part of the reality of living the way he did. People died, and the world kept turning as he continued to live away from it all. Eventually, it would be his turn to die, and the world might only find out months later, if ever.