The ground rumbled, shaking so violently Jason thought he was lying right next to a tornado. His body vibrated along with the tremors in the earth, like a mobile phone dropped on a metal table. His eyes snapped open, adrenaline spiking in his chest. Where was he?
This place wasn't his apartment. Not even close. The sky above was pitch black. Missing the clouds and the stars, only the moonlight shone on the ground and illuminated the ancient battlefield. There was a bitter metallic smell in the air, it smelled like death. There was no way to describe the smell one could only perceive. A strange beeping was inside his skull—like a heart monitor wired directly into his brain. What the hell was going on? As his blurry vision started to settle, he blinked a few times, and then froze. Galloping toward him on the battlefield was a dark knight clad head-to-toe in black armor. The horse he rode was even darker, as if someone had carved it out of the night itself. The only thing reflecting any light was the knight's blade, glinting with a faint red sheen. It didn't take a genius to figure out what that was. Blood.
Jason stared, paralyzed, as the knight raised his sword. The blade sliced the air like lightning through a storm cloud. A warrior in red armor lost his head in a blink. The severed head jumped off the man's neck like it had hit a springboard. It went so high up that it spun through the dirt and landed a foot from Jason's face, eyes wide, mouth still frozen in a silent scream. The dead man's gaze locked with Jason's, lifeless and glassy. It was like being caught peeking through a crack in a door just before someone slammed it shut. Jason squeezed his eyes shut. He prayed this was a nightmare. A really bad one. The kind you wake up from drenched in sweat, gasping, heart racing, only to find your cat sitting on your chest. But no. This wasn't a dream. He could feel every rock digging into his back, smell the blood in the air, hear the moans of the dying. His hands were dirty, blood on his knuckles. It felt too real to be fake.
"Swisshh." The blade again. Then a scream, sharp and sudden, the scream didn't even fully leave the victim's mouth before it was cut short. He cracked one eye open. Just a sliver. He didn't dare look fully, afraid the knight would spot him. The man moved like a demon, cutting through warriors in red like they were nothing—like they were made of wet cardboard. Six of them fell in less than a minute, blood painting the ground darker than it already was. Jason's brain finally kicked into gear. He looked around, trying to make sense of the mess. He was lying in a field of corpses. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. All in red. He looked down at himself. He was also in red, the same uniform. The Same armor. "Shit, shit, shit!"
His chest tightened. He wasn't a bystander. He was one of them—the losers in this massacre. His heart thudded in his chest like a drum being pounded by a baboon. The only thing he could do was shut his eyes again and play dead. A really convincing dead. Motionless, not even breathing, even a rat couldn't play dead better.
One… two… three minutes passed. Then he heard it. Hoofbeats. Getting closer.
The horse stopped. Right above him.
The knight jumped off. The thud of heavy boots hitting the ground sent a jolt through Jason's body. The armor rattled with weight and authority.
A gravelly voice that sounded like it belonged to a man who'd smoked for decades and gargled with nails, muttered, "It seems these were all the survivors."
Another set of hooves clopped closer. A second knight.
"Artimus, are you done here?" the newcomer asked, his voice calmer but no less dangerous. Artimus, apparently the name of the first knight, gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I'm done. These guys were trash. Swinging swords like they'd never held one in their damn lives." Jason's stomach turned. He also didn't know how to use a sword. He wasn't even sure how to hold one. Trash? He was worse than trash. He was a walking joke in this world.
The beeping in his head, the one that had been gnawing at his focus, suddenly stopped. A new voice took its place. This voice was calm and mechanical like a human trying to mimic a robot.
[Congratulations, host. You have awakened the System of Fate. You have met the requirements for activation. All natural attributes have been boosted.]
Jason blinked. A what? A system? Boosted? What the hell did that mean? He wasn't in a game. He wasn't some fantasy hero as far as he remembered. He worked in tech support, for crying out loud. At least that was the case the last time he checked. His body twitched at the shock of hearing a voice inside his head. Just a small movement, but enough to alert the trained warrior on top of him. Artimus spun like he'd been hit with a live wire. His reaction was so fast, Jason couldn't believe it. One second he was standing still, and the next he was airborne, leaping back like a feral animal. He landed near the second knight, blade raised.
"Who's there?" Artimus snapped. "Show yourself!"
Dammit was this guy a cat or something? He definitely wasn't human.
Jason slowly pushed himself up, hands raised in surrender. He didn't say anything. What was he supposed to say? Hey, guys, don't mind me. I just woke up in a pile of dead bodies with no clue how I got here. Both knights took a step back. Their boots crunched the blood-soaked dirt. Fear twisted their features, even through their helmets.
"You… it's you," Artimus said, voice cracking like glass. "How are you still alive? The general confirmed you were dead." Jason's jaw tightened. "What the hell are you talking about? What general?" Of course this was all in his head, he didn't dare speak to the knights like that. They might have looked like they were afraid of him, but he feared them even more. He had no answers. Every question they threw at him only made things worse. Was he supposed to play along? Pretend to remember? He didn't even know who he was anymore. He lifted his hands slightly, thinking maybe they'd talk instead of fight.
Bad idea.
Artimus flinched like Jason had thrown a grenade. The other knight jumped back too, both of them acting like he was a goddamn monster.
Jason's blood ran cold. Who the hell was he? They were the ones slicing through men like butchers at a slaughterhouse. Now they looked like cornered rats. It didn't add up, was he someone more evil and ruthless than these two men.
The second knight gripped his sword tighter. "Artimus," he said carefully, "he might be strong… but if we use that, we have a shot."
That?
Jason didn't like the sound of that.
The voice in his head chimed in again.
[Host: Your first mission has been assigned. Objective: Eliminate the two Death Knights currently plotting against you.]
[Reward: Basic comprehension of the sword concept.]
[Penalty: Inescapable, instant death.]