WHAM!
My heart jack hammered so hard I thought it might crack through my ribs. These adrenaline-fueled awakenings were going to get old fast—assuming I lived long enough for that to become my biggest problem.
Black grime clung to my skin like industrial-strength tar, each breath filling my lungs with the acrid cocktail of ash and fear-sweat. The sticky film told me I'd been unconscious long enough to work up the perspiration usually reserved for marathon runners or people being chased by bears. Or in my case, apparently, stifling heat from a literal dying sun.
WHAM!
Something massive slammed into the tavern's door with enough force to rattle the windows. The walls groaned in protest, sending a cascade of soot raining down like toxic snow. My addled brain registered this was the second impact—the first one had apparently been my alarm clock.
The side of my head throbbed with each heartbeat, a persistent reminder of where that bottle had made its acquaintance with my skull. Raw panic clawed up my throat for a split second before curiosity shouldered it aside. Voices drifted through the damaged walls—muffled but unmistakably human in their cadence and rhythm.
Human.
I flipped to my hands and knees, crawling around the bar like a commando. The rough wooden floor scraped against my palms, each movement stirring up fresh clouds of that choking soot. Through gaps in the scattered debris, I craned my neck to get a view of the door, keeping firmly pressed to the floor.
Another slam rattled the building's bones, followed by what was definitely laughter. Then a voice called out something that sounded suspiciously like "stand back."
Blue light flooded through the grimy windows like someone had flipped on a neon sign. Every hair on my body stood at attention as the air itself vibrated with barely contained energy. The taste of copper pennies flooded my mouth.
Then the world went white.
The flash seared across my vision like a photographer's bulb. Thunder followed—not the distant rumble of a storm, but the point-blank roar of an amplified shotgun blast that made my ears ring.
The door didn't just break—it achieved liftoff. The massive wooden slab exploded off its hinges and flew two meters into the tavern's center, obliterating several charred tables in a spectacular display of furniture murder. Lightning crackled across its surface like electric snakes, and the sharp bite of ozone replaced the ash in my nostrils.
The impact detonated a mushroom cloud of soot and dust that transformed the air into London fog circa 1852. Through the choking haze, blue electricity gradually faded, revealing a figure silhouetted in the doorway like some kind of budget superhero. Two more shapes materialized behind them.
"Gaia's tits, Felix, you can't compare a bolt of lightning to my fucking shoulder!" a feminine voice shouted. The accent was hard to place—lazy English through somewhere that clearly wasn't England—but it was blessedly, wonderfully human.
"You bet you could break it down," a male voice replied, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "That's five blue coins when we get back."
"My apprentices are morons," a third, much gruffer voice muttered.
"Maybe if you actually instructed us like you're supposed to," the younger guy, Felix, shot back. "How exactly would the legendary Chas Blackwood have gotten the door open?"
"Well, let's see, Felix." The gruff voice could have curdled milk with its sarcasm. "I would have pulled it open. It opens outwards—look at the fucking hinges. Neither of you even bothered to try."
The silence that followed was so thick you could have cut it with a spoon. I bit down hard on my knuckle to keep from laughing. The sheer absurdity of interdimensional travelers—or whatever they were—having a Three Stooges moment was almost too perfect.
The suppressed laugh morphed into something worse. An itch bloomed in my throat, spreading like wildfire through my sinuses.
My eyes went wide.
I slapped both hands over my mouth and pinched my nose shut, desperately trying to abort the sneeze building from all that extra soot they'd kicked up. Of all the clichéd ways to blow your cover, sneezing had to be the most embarrassing. Right up there with stepping on a twig or having your phone go off.
"ACHOO!"
My sneeze echoed through the tavern like a starter's pistol. The trio shifted into combat stances so fast I barely saw them move. Metal sang as a blade cleared its sheath, while blue lightning began crackling around Felix's hands.
"Monster or mortal?" the woman called out, her voice sharp.
Chas just scoffed, apparently unimpressed by the entire situation.
Were they asking me? What the hell did they mean by monster?
I tried to speak, but my throat was caked with enough dust and ash to pave a small driveway. The word "Mortal" scraped out as little more than a whisper, barely audible even to my own ears. I swallowed hard, tasting grit and failure, then tried again.
"Mortal!"
This time it came out louder, though my voice cracked like I was thirteen.
The blue lightning faded, plunging the room back into its previous murk. The woman sheathed her sword with the practiced motion that suggested she'd done it a thousand times before breakfast.
"Damn, man," Felix called out, exasperation bleeding through every word. "Why didn't you speak up when we were making a ruckus outside? I could have blown you up!"
Well. That was reassuring. Nothing said ‘welcome to our world,’ quite like ‘almost accidentally murdered you with lightning.’
"I'm going to come around the bar," the woman said, and I could hear the smile in her words. "Don't panic."
The irony hit like a slap. Of course, I immediately panicked. My heart rate doubled, my palms went slick with fresh sweat, and every muscle tensed like I was about to run a hundred-meter dash. So that's what that felt like—advice achieving the exact opposite of its intended effect.
"You can't just say 'don't panic,' Cassie. That makes people panic," Chas replied, amusement threading through his exhaustion.
"What am I supposed to say then, Chas?" Cassie shot back, heat creeping into her voice like a tide. "You've been doing a piss-poor job showing us the ropes, and now this?"
And just like that, they were bickering. Right here. Right now. While I crouched behind a bar wearing nothing but a curtain and clutching a walking stick like it was Excalibur.
I cleared my throat with the subtlety of a foghorn—partly to speak, but mostly to remind them that
Their voices cut off like someone had yanked the plug.
"Uh... why don't I just stand up?" I offered, my voice cracking only slightly this time.
Progress.
"Oh, that's definitely easier!" Cassie said brightly. "Do that."
Well, I was in it now. After everything—the dome that tried to kill me, the golden runes that saved me, and now interdimensional lightning-wielding badasses—what was a little social awkwardness? I tightened my grip on Winchester and considered my options. They could be anything. Disembodied heads pretending to be people? Really convincing ghosts? Tentacle monsters wearing human suits?
My legs hesitated for just a second before I forced myself upright.
As I rose, my eyes adjusted to the light filtering through the broken doorway, and the sight that greeted me stopped every thought in its tracks. These clearly not-normal people looked... casual. Relaxed. Like they'd just popped by for coffee instead of blasting their way into an abandoned tavern with literal lightning.
Cassie stood tall—easily six-foot-something, which put her a solid few inches above my respectable five-eleven. But it wasn't just her height that commanded attention. Her frame radiated the raw, effortless power that suggested she could bench-press a hatchback and ask for more. Blonde hair woven into intricate braids caught what little light existed, tiny metallic beads glinting like captured stars. She grinned at me—wide, maybe a little too wide—like she was consciously trying to dial down the sheer intimidation factor of her presence.
It wasn't working. At all.
She looked like she'd stepped straight out of a Viking saga, wearing a casual white shirt and vest, with khaki colored pants.
Felix stood beside her, shorter but no less striking. His skin didn't just look tanned—it gleamed with an almost metallic sheen, like someone had sculpted him from actual bronze and breathed life into the result. Every angle of his face seemed precisely engineered, from his cropped hair to his carefully maintained beard. He wore similar clothes, though his were decidedly whiter.
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Then there was Chas, clearly the eldest of the trio. Where the others were striking, he was solid—stocky and broad-shouldered. His skin was dark as cast iron, which was a stark contrast to his thin white shirt and pants. Short-cropped hair framed a face that had seen too much and kept going, anyway. When he caught me staring, he grinned around the spout of a battered flask and took a pull long enough to make me wince.
"Now pay attention," Chas said, shouldering past the other two with the casual authority of someone who'd been in charge so long he'd forgotten it was optional. "My name is Chas Blackwood. This is Cassandra Winters, and Felix Aldertree. We're from a world known as Ark. Is that familiar to you?"
I shook my head, still trying to process the fact that they'd just casually mentioned being from another world like they were telling me they were ‘just from Toronto’.
He nodded, as if my ignorance confirmed something he'd already suspected. The gesture was almost paternal—here's the new kid who knows nothing yet.
"Alright," he continued, pausing for another medicinal swig from his flask. "It seems you have a decent grasp of Universalis—our language. I am what's known as a Monster Hunter. We specialize in this sort of shit." He gestured vaguely at the destroyed tavern around us like a realtor showing off a fixer-upper. "Have you heard of us?"
I shook my head again. This time, something flickered across Chas's weathered face—just a slight tightening around his eyes, like my answer had poked at something uncomfortable. He nodded again, but slower this time, more thoughtful. Like he was recalculating something important.
"I see," he said, his tone shifting to something I couldn't quite identify. Then his gaze actually focused on me for the first time, giving me a once-over that made me acutely aware of every bit of soot, sweat, and general dishevelment currently defining my existence. His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline like they were trying to escape his face.
"Are you wearing a fucking curtain?"
I nodded blankly before I realized how absurd it was. “More holding it in place…” I said.
Chas burst out laughing—a full-bellied, room-filling roar that bounced off the walls and probably scared birds away, if there were any.
Felix's grin split his bronze face, and Cassie's laugh joined the chorus, rich and booming like thunder made friendly. Even I chuckled, because when you really thought about it, the whole thing was insane. Here I stood in the wreckage of a magical tavern, dressed like a bargain basement Roman, talking to interdimensional monster hunters who didn’t know a pull-door from a push-door.
"We're the good guys, kid," Chas said, wiping tears from his eyes and treating himself to another celebratory swig. "I promise."
Then it hit me.
A sensation washed over me like stepping into sunlight after a week underground—emanating from Chas. Pure, defiant rebellion flooded through my senses, not overwhelming like those golden Serenity runes but unmistakably other. The feeling tasted like every action movie from the nineties had been distilled into an emotion—the badass who'd burn down entire corrupt governments just to keep one innocent kid safe. Die Hard meets Robin Hood with a splash of Braveheart, all wrapped up in a spiritual bear hug that whispered:
Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, the sensation faded to background noise like a half-remembered song.
"Whoa," I gasped, blinking hard enough to see spots. "What was that?"
Chas smirked and leaned against a miraculously unscorched chair, casual as you please. His eyes were a kind of brown that suggested coffee and reliability, not interdimensional weirdness.
"Just my aura," he said with a shrug that suggested this was as normal as mentioning the weather. "Nothing special, but it does a great job letting you know who I am. What's your name?"
The wariness I'd been carrying around like armor suddenly felt less necessary—not gone entirely, but dulled to a manageable hum. Whatever these people were, that bone-deep sense insisted they could probably help me figure out what the hell was happening. The aura thing should have freaked me out more, but after everything else? It barely registered on the weird-shit-o-meter.
"Ben. Ben Crawford," I replied, then hesitated as my brain caught up with my mouth. "An... aura. And Monster Hunters? Like... actual monsters?"
"What else would they be?" Cassie asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Giant angry things that rip and tear?" I ventured, not entirely sure if I wanted confirmation or denial.
Felix nodded with the gravity of someone delivering a terminal diagnosis. "Not always giant. And some rend, rake..."
"Disembowel," Cassie added helpfully, like she was listing ice cream flavors. "Eviscerate's a classic. Oh, and defenestrate, though that's more environmental."
Chas shot her a look that could have melted steel.
"Okay." I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly desert-dry despite all the moisture in the air. "And you three are Monster Hunters?"
"Well, strictly speaking, those two aren't Hunters yet," Chas said, gesturing with his flask toward his companions. "Just two Initiates interested in joining."
"We're apprentices," Cassie corrected, her tone carrying some wounded pride. "Even though Chas sucks as a teacher, we were accepted into mentorship. There's a difference. We have badges and everything."
She pointed to a little silver pin on her vest; I nodded as if all of this made perfect sense.
"I think I'm familiar with the concept," I said slowly. "So... are you here hunting monsters? Or do you all live in that city?" I gestured vaguely toward the door.
"What? None of this is real," Cassie said, flicking her hand dismissively to encompass, well, everything.
I froze mid-thought, my heart suddenly deciding to audition for a speed metal drum solo.
"Not... real?" I asked, feeling like the ground had just revealed itself to be pudding.
"Fuck's sake, Cass," Felix muttered, fighting with an overturned chair. "Whether spirit realms are real has been the subject of debate for, like... forever. It sure feels real, doesn't it?" He looked at me with something approaching sympathy. "Don't let her existential philosophy get to you."
Before I could even plan a response—what response could there be to 'none of this is real'?—Chas cut in, his voice carrying the calm authority of someone who'd had this conversation before.
"You've been scooped up by a nascent spirit realm, kid," he said matter-of-factly, making a little popping motion with his hands like he was showing a soap bubble bursting. "Happens sometimes."
I blinked hard, trying to process what he'd just said. Scooped up by a... what now? My brain felt like it was buffering.
Chas carried on, completely unfazed by my slack-jawed expression. "Bubbles of existence pop up in the Multiverse all the time. Call it a hiccup, a fuckin' fart of spiritual energy, whatever floats your boat." He mimed brushing invisible crumbs off his palm with the casual air of someone explaining how to make coffee. "Sometimes they drag an event horizon across sizeable areas of the physical realm. Things—people, sometimes—come out of them into the physical world." He paused for dramatic effect, clearly enjoying this. "Other times, you get pulled in. Happens often enough, we've got a procedure for it."
And just like that, my worldview rearranged itself with an almost audible click.
Sure, it was completely bonkers. But after the dome that had treated me like a personal stress ball, the guardian golden circuits, and the way everything here felt simultaneously hyperreal and dreamlike? It wasn't the hardest pill to swallow. Chas had laid it out pretty simply: bubbles, dimensions, multiverse stuff.
Fine. I could roll with that until a better explanation came knocking. I'd grown up on Doctor Who and Star Trek, after all. This was just Tuesday in those universes.
"Oh," I said finally, my voice coming out flat.
My face must've been doing something special, because Chas's expression shifted to something between amusement and disappointment. Like he'd expected more screaming, maybe some denial, possibly a complete mental breakdown.
"That usually doesn't work," he muttered, sounding genuinely put out before consoling himself with another pull from his apparently bottomless flask.
"I think..." I paused, running a hand through my soot-caked hair and immediately regretting it as grit cascaded down my face. "No, I have a lot of questions," I admitted, more to myself than anyone else. Questions like: And most importantly:
"We can probably answer a few," Chas said with the air of someone preparing for a long night. He motioned to Felix with his flask. "Get us some light, will you?"
Felix nodded, holding out his arm with a flourish that seemed entirely unnecessary. My curiosity spiked as multicolored rings sparked to life around a sleek bracer on his wrist. The symbols shifted and rotated in constant motion, creating patterns that hurt to look at directly. A faint buzz filled the air—not quite the sound, more like vibration I could feel behind my eyes.
I leaned forward, transfixed. It was technology... but it wasn't. Magic? Both? Some impossible fusion that shouldn't exist but clearly did?
Felix frowned as he scrolled through the symbols, his fingers dancing across the glowing runes with practiced ease. Each gesture shifted the patterns, some growing brighter while others dimmed. I thought I recognized one just as he flipped past it—something that reminded me of sunshine and hope.
"What the... The runes have changed," he said, genuine surprise coloring his voice.
Chas grabbed Felix's arm without ceremony, flicking through several symbols with the speed of someone who'd done this a thousand times. His expression darkened with each pass, storm clouds gathering on his weathered features.
"Shit. Runic parallax." He released Felix's arm with obvious frustration. "This realm isn't attached to Ark anymore, so what's in your bracer is practically useless. Unless you want to blow yourself up?" He paused, considering. "Actually, don't answer that. New plan—clean the windows, break down walls, whatever you have to do to get light in here. We're going to set up the beacon before something else happens."
Cassie immediately started attacking the windows with her sleeve, grunting as she scraped away the accumulated grime. Felix began examining the walls like a demolition expert.
"I think..." I started, then hesitated. This was going to sound insane. More insane. "I think I know what one of those symbols is."
Felix spun toward me so fast I thought he might give himself whiplash. "Which one?"
He flipped through the symbols again, slower this time, watching my face for recognition. There—that one. The symbol that danced just at the edge of familiar, like a word on the tip of your tongue.
"That one," I said, and he stopped. The symbol pulsed gently, almost eagerly. It reminded me of the insanely complex pattern I'd seen under the nightmare dome, but far less overwhelming. This was simpler, more focused—a single note instead of a symphony. An offshoot of light, something very specific. It could probably be mistaken for basic illumination by someone who hadn't seen the real thing, but I had witnessed with a capital L, and this was a younger, more practical sibling.
"Radiance?" I said, the word coming out more question than statement.
"You sure?" Felix asked, studying me with those calculating eyes.
I nodded, surprising myself with the certainty. I was sure. Don't ask me how or why, but I knew that symbol like I'd known it my whole life.
"Use the stability mudra on that one, or you'll blind us all," Chas suggested, demonstrating a hand gesture that looked like it had been stolen from a ninja movie.
Felix copied the gesture with practiced ease, and a brilliant white light coalesced between his palms like a miniature star being born. The orb rose lazily to the ceiling, hovering there like a lightbulb. Clean, steady illumination flooded the tavern, revealing just how thoroughly wrecked everything was.
"Nicely done, new kid," Chas said, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to rattle my teeth and possibly dislocate something important. "You should have said you were a light Runebinder."
"A what?" I asked, but before Chas could launch into what promised to be another mind-bending explanation, Cassie's whoop cut through the air.
"Fucking score!" she called from behind the bar, setting out bottles like a conquering general displaying trophies. "Just look at all this booze. We're rich! Well, drunk. Same thing!"
She grabbed a familiar black bottle—the same kind that had introduced itself to my skull earlier—and before I could warn her about its personality; she popped the cork and took a swig straight from the bottle.
The reaction was immediate and spectacular. She sputtered, coughed, and made faces that suggested she was reconsidering every life choice that had led to this moment.
"Graceful Gods, that tastes like ram's piss!" she bellowed, her face scrunched up.
"You've tasted ram's piss?" I asked before my brain-to-mouth filter could engage.
Chas burst out laughing again, doubling over and slapping his knee with enough force to bruise. Felix grinned and shook his head.
Cassie leveled me with a look that could have flash-frozen hell. It was the look perfected by older sisters, strict teachers, and women who'd heard one too many smart-ass comments for one lifetime. I knew it well.
"I'm not sure I like you, new guy," she said, but the corner of her mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile.
