Theodore "Theo" Blackwood was unremarkable in every way that mattered to the world—and that was precisely how he preferred it.
At twenty-seven, he possessed the kind of forgettable features that allowed him to disappear into any crowd: standing six feet one inch with a lean but solid build that spoke of maintained fitness rather than vanity, and brown hair that he kept short enough to avoid drawing attention but long enough to avoid looking military. His face was angular without being sharp, with a strong jawline softened by the perpetual shadow of stubble he never quite bothered to shave completely. His eyes were perhaps his most distinctive feature—a deep hazel that shifted between brown and green depending on the light, and possessed of an intensity that made people uncomfortable when he chose to focus on them directly.
Those eyes had seen too much for someone who had enlisted at eighteen and completed a full six-year contract in Marine Special Forces. Now, three years after retiring at twenty-four, they held a watchfulness that never fully relaxed, constantly scanning his surroundings with the automatic threat assessment of someone who had learned to survive in places where a moment's inattention meant death.
The transition from military service to civilian life had broken something fundamental in Theo's psychological framework. In the field, every action had clear moral context—protect your team, complete the mission, eliminate threats to American interests. The people he'd killed had been legitimate targets in a defined conflict zone, their deaths necessary for the greater good. But in the quiet aftermath of retirement, those same actions felt like anchors dragging him toward a darkness he couldn't escape.
What made it worse was that Theo knew, with absolute certainty, that he would make the same choices again if the mission demanded it. He possessed the unwavering conviction to do whatever was necessary to achieve his objectives, regardless of the personal cost. The weight of those decisions—the lives taken, the collateral damage accepted, the moral compromises made in service of the greater good—would settle on his shoulders like stones, and he would carry them without complaint. This was not cruelty or callousness, but a fundamental understanding that some burdens were worth bearing if they prevented greater suffering.
But understanding the necessity of his actions didn't make living with them any easier. The nightmares came in waves. Some nights he'd wake in a cold sweat, hearing the voices of insurgents he'd eliminated speaking in languages he shouldn't understand. Other times it was the weight of decisions made in split seconds—choosing to take a shot that would save his squad but doom a civilian caught in the crossfire. The military had prepared him for combat, but no amount of training could prepare someone for the way those memories would reshape his understanding of himself.
Gaming became his salvation, the only activity that could quiet the ghosts in his head. In digital worlds, death was temporary, choices could be undone with a reload, and the enemies were clearly defined as entities that deserved destruction. He could experience the tactical satisfaction of combat without the moral complexity that had driven him to seek early retirement. The strategic thinking that had made him an exceptional soldier found new purpose in optimizing character builds and leading raid groups through complex encounters.
But even his escape came with isolation. Real relationships required emotional availability he couldn't provide, vulnerability that felt like exposing himself to enemy fire. It was easier to interact with people through screens and avatars, maintaining the distance necessary to keep his demons contained. The few attempts he'd made at reconnecting with civilian life had ended badly—panic attacks in crowded spaces, an inability to feel anything more than mild displeasure at inconveniences that sent others into fits of rage, and the constant sensation that everyone around him was soft, naive, and utterly unprepared for the realities he'd experienced.
Theo's hands told the story his unremarkable face concealed. Calloused from years of weapon handling, marked with small scars from training exercises and operations that existed only in classified files, they moved with the controlled precision of someone who had been trained to kill efficiently and had done so when duty demanded it. He kept his nails trimmed short—a habit from the service that served a dual purpose now, preventing him from unconsciously picking at them during the anxiety attacks that still plagued him years after leaving the sandbox.
His apartment in downtown Portland reflected the same calculated averageness as his appearance. A modest two-bedroom in a building old enough to blend into the urban landscape, with furniture chosen for function rather than style. The only hints of his past were subtle: blackout curtains that allowed him to control lighting completely, a door with three separate locks and a security chain, and a strategic arrangement of mirrors that let him observe the hallway outside without being seen through his peephole.
But it was the second bedroom that revealed the man's true nature. What should have been a guest room or office had been converted into something that resembled a digital fortress. Multiple monitors dominated one wall, their screens dark now but ready to spring to life at a moment's notice. Shelves lined the remaining walls, packed with fantasy novels, gaming sourcebooks, and an extensive collection of tabletop RPG materials that represented decades of careful acquisition. A custom-built gaming chair occupied the center of the room, surrounded by controllers, headsets, and enough computing power to run a small business.
This was Theo's world now—a carefully controlled environment where he could lose himself in digital realms and fantasy adventures that offered the adrenaline of combat without the moral complexity that had driven him from military service. Here, death was temporary, choices could be undone with a reload, and the enemies were clearly defined as monsters that deserved destruction.
The transformation of the world had found him exactly where he spent most of his time: seated at his command station at 3:33 AM, guiding a party of online companions through a particularly challenging dungeon crawl. He'd been analyzing the encounter mechanics, calculating optimal damage rotations and threat management strategies, when every screen in his apartment had simultaneously frozen for exactly thirteen seconds.
In those thirteen seconds, Theo had experienced something that his analytical mind initially rejected as impossible: a complete understanding of concepts that had never existed in human consciousness. When his screens flickered back to life, the fantasy game he'd been playing seemed almost quaint compared to the new reality that was downloading itself directly into his awareness.
The first indication that something fundamental had changed came not from news reports or social media, but when he went to investigate the cause of the technical malfunction. Pulling aside the blackout curtains of his command center to check if a power surge or electromagnetic pulse might have affected the building's electrical systems, Theo found himself staring at a view that defied explanation. The urban landscape that had remained unchanged for the past three years now included structures that belonged to no earthly architecture. Towers of what appeared to be crystallized shadow rose from Pioneer Courthouse Square, their surfaces reflecting light in patterns that hurt to look at directly. Between familiar office buildings, bridges of solidified moonlight stretched across streets that had been solid asphalt just hours before.
But it was the knowledge that accompanied these visual impossibilities that truly shattered his understanding of reality. Somehow, without study or explanation, Theo found himself in possession of information about concepts that should have been completely foreign: spell structures, mana manipulation, and most disturbing of all, the theoretical framework for animating and controlling the dead.
The status panel that materialized in his vision when he focused on the strange new knowledge appeared as naturally as breathing, its interface more intuitive than any software he'd ever used:
CHARACTER STATUS
Name: Theodore Blackwood
Race: Human
Class: Wizard
Subclass: Necromancer
Level: 1
Experience: 0/300
Attributes:(+2 points per level, baseline human: 8-10)
Strength: 14 Dexterity: 16 Constitution: 15 Intelligence: 18 Wisdom: 16 Charisma: 12
Health Points: 23/23
Mana Points: 45/45
Mana Regeneration: 4.5 per hour
Passive Abilities:
Analytical Mind: +25% experience gain from studying magical theory and spell structures Combat Veteran: Immunity to fear effects, enhanced reaction time and threat assessment in dangerous situations Death's Scholar: Undead creatures created by the user develop intelligence over time and retain personality habits from their previous life
Known Spells:Cantrips (No mana cost):
Mage Hand Prestidigitation Minor Illusion Chill Touch
1st Level Spells (5 mana each):
Magic Missile Shield Detect Magic Speak with Dead
Special Abilities:
Animate Dead: (15 mana) Create permanent undead servants from available corpses. Current limit: 2 undead. Type of undead created depends on the level of the source material. Current access - Tier 1 (levels 1-25): Skeletons, Zombies, Ghasts, Shadows. Higher tiers locked until requirements met. Undead gain experience and can evolve into stronger variants.
The implications of the information contained in that panel should have sent him into the kind of panic attack that had plagued him since leaving the service. Instead, Theo found himself studying the data with the same methodical analysis he'd once applied to mission briefings and enemy force assessments. The three passive abilities particularly caught his attention—they seemed specifically tailored to his background and psychological profile in ways that suggested this wasn't random chance.
Analytical Mind resonated with his approach to every challenge he'd faced since childhood. Whether it was mastering hand-to-hand combat techniques, understanding enemy tactics, or optimizing character builds in games, Theo had always processed information with systematic thoroughness that bordered on obsession.
Combat Veteran accurately reflected changes that military service had burned into his neurological patterns. Fear, as an emotional response to immediate danger, had been trained out of him through exposure to situations where panic meant death. The enhanced reaction time and threat assessment capabilities made perfect sense—years of room clearing and close quarters combat had honed his responses to supernatural levels.
But it was Death's Scholar that truly unsettled him, because it suggested a level of understanding about his character that went beyond surface observation. Theo had always been drawn to the concept of necromancy in fantasy settings, not out of any morbid fascination with death, but because it represented the ultimate expression of control over chaos. Death was the final entropy, the ultimate unpredictability—and necromancy was the art of imposing order even on that final frontier.
The irony wasn't lost on him that someone who had spent years trying to forget the deaths he'd caused was now granted power over death itself. But where guilt and trauma had paralyzed him in civilian life, this new ability felt like a tool he could finally use without moral ambiguity. The undead he could create wouldn't be victims—they would be willing servants granted purpose beyond the grave.
The mana system integrated into his awareness with the same naturalness as the status panel. His base pool of 45 mana represented significant magical potential for a first-level practitioner, growing with each level advancement. The regeneration rate meant he could cast a first-level spell roughly every hour while maintaining full mana reserves, or push harder for short periods before needing rest.
But it was the Animate Dead ability that captured his tactical imagination. At 15 mana cost, he could create up to his current limit of two undead if he had access to suitable corpses. Since the undead were permanent, he would only need to replace them if they were destroyed in combat. With his current mana pool, he could create both undead on the same day if necessary, though the ability description hinted at a broader progression system he couldn't yet access.
Currently, he could create Tier 1 undead—Skeletons, Zombies, Ghasts, and Shadows—from the level 1-25 beings that were manifesting during these early stages of convergence. The notation about "higher tiers locked until requirements met" suggested there were more powerful undead types he could eventually access, though the specifics remained hidden.
Most intriguingly, the evolution system indicated that his current undead could grow beyond their initial forms. The strategic implications were promising—he could build a core group of undead early and watch them develop stronger capabilities over time, though exactly what they might become remained a mystery he would have to discover through experience.
Testing his newfound abilities proved easier than expected. The Chill Touch cantrip manifested as a thin beam of negative energy that made his apartment's temperature drop several degrees when he targeted the wall. Mage Hand created a translucent appendage that could manipulate objects with surprising dexterity. Prestidigitation allowed him to change the color of his coffee mug and create small illusions that flickered in the air like holograms.
The more complex spells would require actual targets and situations to test properly, but even these simple demonstrations confirmed that the impossible had become routine. Magic wasn't metaphor or imagination—it was a new set of tools with specific rules and limitations that his analytical mind was already beginning to understand.
The outside world's descent into chaos reached him primarily through digital channels. News feeds, social media posts, and emergency broadcasts painted a picture of global pandemonium as humanity struggled to process the same impossible reality he was experiencing. But where others seemed paralyzed by the magnitude of change, Theo found himself energized by the challenge.
This was a tactical situation on a scale he'd never encountered, but the fundamental principles remained the same: gather intelligence, assess capabilities, identify objectives, and develop strategies for achieving them. The fact that the battlefield now included magic and mythological creatures simply meant expanding his operational parameters.
His first practical test of the new reality came eighteen hours after the initial convergence, when the sound of breaking glass from the apartment below indicated that whatever was happening had finally reached his building. Theo armed himself with his service pistol—a Sig Sauer P320 with a threaded barrel and attached suppressor that he'd maintained in perfect condition despite having no intention of using it again—and secured his Ka-Bar knife in its sheath on his belt. The familiar weight of both weapons provided a comfort that three years of civilian life hadn't quite erased. He made his way down the back stairwell to investigate.
What he found in the building's basement laundry room challenged even his newly expanded understanding of reality. A section of the concrete wall had been replaced by what appeared to be natural stone, and from the opening emerged creatures that his new knowledge immediately identified as goblins. But these weren't the comical green-skinned creatures of popular fantasy—they were lean, vicious humanoids with mottled gray skin, oversized ears, and yellow eyes that reflected light like a cat's. They moved with predatory grace, and the crude weapons they carried were stained with something that probably wasn't rust.
The lead goblin was in the process of ransacking the laundry machines, apparently fascinated by the mechanical operation of the coin slots. Two others were attempting to figure out how the fluorescent lights worked, jabbing at the fixtures with sharpened sticks while chattering in a language that Theo's new Common comprehension allowed him to understand perfectly.
"Metal-magic boxes dispense shiny-coins! Tribe-leader will reward great for discovery!"
"Light-without-fire burns when touched! Must be powerful magic-user thing!"
"Smell-scent indicates food-stores above. Weak-meat humans probably sleeping-time."
The tactical situation was straightforward: three hostiles armed with primitive weapons, confined space that limited their mobility, and they hadn't detected his presence yet. Under normal circumstances, Theo would have withdrawn and called law enforcement. But normal circumstances no longer applied, and something about the goblins' casual discussion of humans as "weak-meat" triggered responses that three years of civilian life hadn't quite suppressed.
The engagement lasted less than thirty seconds. The lead goblin died with a single suppressed round through the center mass, its expression shifting from curiosity to surprise to nothing at all. The second managed to turn toward the sound before Theo's follow-up shot dropped it beside its companion. The third actually got its weapon—a crude spear tipped with what looked like a sharpened bone—partially raised before the final round ended its participation in the conflict.
Standing over the bodies, Theo felt something he hadn't experienced since leaving the service: a complete absence of guilt. These weren't human enemies with families and motivations he might understand. They were threats that had discussed hunting the residents of his building like prey animals. Eliminating them had been a tactical necessity, not a moral compromise.
But more importantly, they represented an opportunity to test his necromancy in practical conditions.
Animate Dead required physical contact with a corpse that had been deceased for less than 24 hours. The spell structure that downloaded into his consciousness was complex but logical, involving the manipulation of negative energy to create a framework that could support consciousness and motor function without biological processes. With the goblins being level 2-3 creatures, he could expect to create Tier 1 undead from their corpses.
Theo placed his hands on the largest goblin's corpse and felt mana flow out of him in patterns that seemed to carve themselves into the air above the body. The process took nearly a full minute—much longer than combat spells—and consumed 15 mana exactly as indicated. As the spell completed, the goblin's flesh began to decay rapidly, sloughing away to reveal bleached bone underneath. When the transformation finished, a goblin skeleton sat up with movements that were jerky but purposeful, its eye sockets glowing with eerie green light.
The result was exactly what his new knowledge had predicted: a Tier 1 skeleton created from low-level source material. As his necromantic abilities grew stronger and he gained access to more powerful corpses, he would be able to create increasingly formidable undead servants across all four tiers of the progression system.
The goblin skeleton stood and turned toward him, its movements conveying absolute loyalty despite its inability to speak. It raised one bony hand to its ribcage in what could only be interpreted as a salute—a gesture that somehow retained the mannerisms of its former life while expressing complete subservience to Theo's will. The pronounced lower jaw jutted forward aggressively as it moved, giving it an almost predatory appearance that reminded Theo of a grinning skull. "Grimjaw," he decided, the name fitting its intimidating visage perfectly.
The goblin skeleton retained some of its personality habits and mannerisms, but filtered through absolute obedience to Theo's will and a blank slate where specific memories should have been. It moved with the same predatory grace that had characterized the living goblin, but possessed only basic intelligence that would clearly develop over time. More importantly, it showed problem-solving abilities and initiative that suggested his undead would grow into genuine assets rather than remaining simple puppets.
Creating a second skeleton consumed another 15 mana, leaving him with 15 mana remaining, but gave him a small squad capable of reconnaissance and combat support. As this skeleton rose from the corpse, Theo immediately noticed its different movement pattern—where Grimjaw had risen with aggressive, deliberate motions, this one seemed to flow upward like smoke, its bones barely making a sound as they settled into position. Even its salute was performed with fluid grace, and when it moved to stand beside its companion, its steps were naturally silent. "Shadowstep," Theo murmured, watching the skeleton's uncanny ability to move without creating noise despite being made entirely of bone.
The two undead servants immediately oriented themselves toward him with perfect synchronization, their distinct movement styles complementing each other perfectly—Grimjaw's intimidating presence and Shadowstep's silent grace displaying the tactical coordination that would make them invaluable assets in the challenges ahead.
But it was later that same evening, as Theo was securing his apartment and posting his newly created undead as sentries, that everything truly changed.
Theo was positioning Grimjaw at the window to watch the street while Shadowstep took position by the door when the voice filled his apartment with a presence that made his military-trained threat assessment systems scream warnings. This wasn't auditory communication—it bypassed his ears entirely and spoke directly to his consciousness with an authority that belonged to forces beyond human understanding.
Chosen one.
The words carried weight that pressed against his mind like atmospheric pressure. Every instinct told him he was in the presence of something vast and dangerous, but the Combat Veteran passive kept him from experiencing the existential terror that should have accompanied such contact.
You have been selected to serve as my champion in preventing the complete merger of realities. I am the guardian deity of your reality—my nature and existence have been hidden from your species to prevent interference with natural development.
Images flooded his awareness: two cosmic entities older than galaxies working in perfect synchronization to weave universes together like threads in a tapestry. The process they were conducting would create a new form of existence, but at the cost of an explosion that would unmake not just both merged realities, but countless others in a chain reaction of cosmic destruction.
The exiled entities conducting this merger possess power that rivals my own. They have expended vast amounts of their energy to achieve the initial convergence—forcing your world from zero to over fourteen percent integration in a single moment. This massive expenditure has left them working at their maximum sustainable rate to complete the process. The convergence now proceeds at a fixed rate of 0.1 percent every twenty-four hours. Your world has eight days before reaching fifteen percent integration, at which point entities of significantly greater power will begin manifesting.
However, maintaining the stability of your reality during this forced integration has left me severely weakened. In my current state, I cannot confront them directly without certain defeat.
More images flowed through his mind: the scope of the conflict he was being drawn into. The hidden deity's voice continued with information that made his tactical mind race with implications.
You are one of six individuals I have chosen across your world for specific qualities that make you suitable for the coming conflict. The exiled entities have selected ten champions of their own to serve as protectors during the final phases of their work. You will not be able to identify the others by sight or sense.
Your role is to grow in power and gather allies while preparing for the final confrontation. The enemy champions will seek to eliminate my chosen before you can threaten their masters' work. Trust no one completely—the corrupted ones are hidden among both the displaced beings and your own kind.
The communication included tactical intelligence that made Theo's analytical mind race with possibilities. Most importantly, the level progression he was experiencing was directly tied to the cosmic forces being unleashed—meaning rapid advancement was not just possible but necessary for survival.
As the convergence progresses and more powerful beings manifest, you will gain access to corpses suitable for creating stronger undead servants. The current Tier 1 undead you can create are merely the foundation of what will become a formidable army. Your necromantic abilities will unlock access to more powerful undead types as you grow in strength and understanding.
You will know the enemy by their actions, not their words. Trust in your undead companions—the death magic you wield cannot be corrupted by the exiled entities' influence. Build your power, gather intelligence, and prepare for conflicts that will determine the fate of multiple realities.
The presence withdrew as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving Theo alone with knowledge that fundamentally altered his understanding of the situation. This wasn't just a random convergence of realities—it was a deliberate act of cosmic terrorism being conducted by entities powerful enough to destroy multiple universes as a side effect of their ambitions.
For the first time since leaving military service, Theodore Blackwood had a mission that mattered. The guilt and moral ambiguity that had paralyzed him in civilian life evaporated in the face of clear objectives and an enemy that represented genuine evil. The skills that had made him an effective special forces operator—analytical thinking, tactical planning, ruthless efficiency when necessary—were not just relevant but essential for preventing cosmic catastrophe.
Standing in his converted command center, surrounded by screens showing the chaos engulfing the world, with two goblin skeletons awaiting orders and the authority of a hidden deity backing his actions, Theo felt something he hadn't experienced in years: purpose.
The convergence was proceeding at a mathematically predictable rate. In eight days, more powerful entities would begin manifesting. Somewhere out there, enemy champions were working to accelerate the timeline and eliminate him before he could grow strong enough to matter.
It was time to get to work.
The recluse was gone. The necromancer had awakened. And the fate of multiple realities might well depend on what a broken marine could accomplish with an army of the willing dead.