Tamshin Rurick Voidcaller, once a renowned mage of Mythralon, had awakened four years ago in the unfamiliar body of George Puslick, a balding, thick-lipped accountant from Chicago. As his eyes had adjusted, the relentless brightness bombarded him from every direction—blinding lights hung from ceilings, mounted on walls, and one particularly harsh, white glare streamed through a window.

  George lived in a one-bedroom condo and subsisted on a strict diet of fast food, fried pork rinds, and noodles that came in small bowls and required only hot water. Tamshin had quickly adopted a diet similar to the one he had followed in his own world, which primarily consisted of vegetables and fish. What self-respecting sorcerer existed on meat? The nature of his powers had not only been powered by the moon, but also by what he consumed from the earth itself. In a way, his diet was his tribute to his old life.

  The following weeks had been a learning experience to say the least. The technology on display was like nothing he could have imagined. Even the vast pre-cataclysm cities that had been long rumored to exist on Mythralon could not have approached what he witnessed on this strange world called Earth.

  There were modes of transportation that could move you around the world in less than a day—massive metal birds that soared through the skies carrying hundreds of passengers at once. A feat which would have taken months of arduous travel on his homeworld, crossing treacherous mountain passes and dealing with bandits, could be accomplished here in mere hours while sitting in a cushioned seat and being served drinks by attendants.

  Then there were cars, trucks, and buses—all exhaust-purging vehicles that came in a bewildering number of colors and designs, each one racing along paved roads at speeds unheard of in his world.

  With no knowledge of how to perform George's old job, a career that required dealing with numbers and computers, he had sold most of his host's things and moved into a marijuana co-op. His skills with herbs and plants proved invaluable to the other growers. He was a stranger to this world and its people, meaning he fit right in with the people he now worked with.

  A mere shadow of his old powers remained and was powered by this world's moon. A moderately large planetoid that orbited the Earth, making the tides possible. He had learned how to draw on that and even store some in a hat, allowing him to weave shadows around himself in any situation.

  It had taken Tamshin quite a while to adjust to life as George Puslick. As he mastered various technologies, he couldn't help but wonder if there were others like him. People brought from Mythralon and deposited into unwilling bodies. A few internet searches had revealed hints. For instance, he had learned that there were magicians in this world. He had been disappointed to learn that real magic did not exist here; although many pretended to possess powers, they were all charlatans who used trickery to fool an audience. These people also seemed to be obsessed with making small orange balls disappear with sleight of hand.

  His searches had eventually led to meeting others like Clara, AKA Shraven Meadowfall. She had been a full blooded elf who lived in the city of Teldarion as a historian. Her knowledge of Elvish culture and history had been compiled over the course of her nine hundred and fifty-one years of life.

  Clara now existed as a highly successful author of dark romance novels. He had tried to read one of her novels, but its pages were filled with heaving bosoms and throbbing members that defied anatomical possibility.

  Another, Landren kept his past locked away, offering only fragments—a royal upbringing, no surname. The pieces clicked together for Tamshin months later, when Lavren's casual remarks about "proper executions" and his disappointment at America's "bloodless politics" painted a dark picture. The man's words often fell to discussing medieval justice. Tamshin imagined Landren's fingers drumming against tables as he described how societies needed "cleansing through conflict."

  "Politics is a pit of despair in this world," he'd typed once. The way he wrote, calculating and precise, made Tamshin certain that those same hands now signed legislation in marble halls, whether in Congress or the Senate, was anyone's guess.

  Others came and went in the group. They had a private server on Discord and used it to discuss their old world, theorize about how they had all arrived here, or argue about trivial things like the importance of cat videos.

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  The main topic of discussion over the past few days had been about Morthisal.

  One Dark Lord Morthisal, necromancer supreme, also known as soul render, and the architect of oblivion. A dark elf who was responsible for much of the misery that had existed on Mythralon.

  How in the hell had this man come to earth? Not only arrived here, but he had also come with powers that eclipsed Tamshin's. On top of that, the dark lord was now an actor. One, Tamshin hated to admit, who wasn't bad based on a movie trailer. His choice of roles had been baffling. He essentially played himself from their old world—the audacity of the evil man. The pure goddamn audacity!

  The man had to go. Some argued the former body, which now hosted Morthisal, had done nothing immoral. Killing his body was wrong. What if he returned? What if Morthisal were to be replaced by another?

  Lavren strongly argued that the host had to go. There was no middle ground.

  Once he was back from Seattle and had a few private moments, Tamshin opened his computer and logged into Discord.

  "Are you back home?" DarkSovereign, AKA Landren, asked.

  "I am." He replied under his userid: CelestialMage. A few others thanked him for attempting to assassinate Morthisal, while some chided him for his failure.

  "We need a new plan. Is he still in Seattle?" ElfLoreMaster, aka Clara, typed.

  CelestialMage: I don't know. He's either in hiding or he has left. I watched his apartment for two days. There was no sign of the man.

  DarkSovereign: He must be destroyed. We need more resources. More volunteers to track him. The man has announced himself to the world. He should be easy to locate.

  CelestialMage: Why don't you leave DC and help us?

  Tamshin often tried to trip up the other man. It failed just as frequently.

  There was no response for a moment.

  DarkSovereign: Nice try. I regret I am not able to leave at the moment.

  ElfLoreMaster: You never leave. None of us has met you. You remain anonymous.

  DarkSovereign: As is my right! I have proven my origin. You need nothing more from me.

  CelestialMage: Fine. Whatever. I've been giving this a lot of thought. After this attempt, I realized that we cannot kill him, and the attempt was stupid. There are too many cameras, too many ways to get caught, and I do not wish to spend the rest of my life in jail. We need to somehow bring him to us. Then we can make him disappear.

  ElfLoreMaster: But do we get him to come to us, and how do we make him go away?

  Opinions came in from some of the others. GreenwoodArcher, the youngest of the group, suggested gathering all of the most dangerous spiders in the world and placing them in Morthisal's bed, which was met with chuckles and sarcastic emojis.

  GreenwoodArcher had arrived here several years ago and been deposited into the body of a teenage girl named Aria. She had quickly learned how to adapt and had managed to fool her host's parents into thinking she was going through a mental crisis. As she became more versed in this technologically advanced world, she became an Instagram influencer. Now she had over a million followers, and the number was growing.

  CelestialMage: Where do you expect to find numerous poisonous spiders?

  GreenwoodArcher: I don't know. It was just an idea. I could ask my followers to bring me a dozen. They'll do it.

  DarkSovereign: Ridiculous. Are you stupid? This would easily be tracked to you. Once arrested, I have no doubt you will turn in the rest of us to save your own skin.

  GreenwoodArcher: Are you sure you weren't a dark lord in the other world? You talk like one. I bet you smell like old man and mothballs.

  DarkSovereign: Enough of your inane comments.

  GreenwoodArcher: You're so cringe. Go drink your Ensure.

  DarkSovereign: You all are ridiculous and will continue to talk in circles. I need to get off this chat before I lose my mind. I will leave you all with these parting words. We need a professional, which means spending money. I suggest we raise fifty thousand dollars and have him taken out that way.

  CelesialMage: Now who's being ridiculous?

  A large middle finger emoji appeared as DarkSovereign dropped off the call.

  The Discord chat went on for a few more moments. DarkSovereign had been right. They talked in circles until even Tamshin had had enough.

  Fifty thousand dollars? There was no way they could raise that much money. He barely made enough to survive, although he dearly loved his job. The marijuana plants in this world were alive to him, mainly because he had taken to smoking the stuff three or four times a day.

  DarkSovereign has sounded a little crazy, but it got Tamshin thinking about the large sum of money DarkSovereign had mentioned. Did that mean he knew of a professional who could do the job? If so, this would require a great deal of planning.

  Tamshin reopened Discord and opened a direct message to Dark Sovereign. What do you have in mind?

  He and the other man spent the next thirty minutes chatting. They ended when they agreed that they now had a solid plan in place. Now, all they had to do was convince the others, as well as raise the necessary funds. Luckily, DarkSovereign had a few ideas about that as well.

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