Chapter 1 #2
“Propaganda told me fake tits were bad. No, they fucking aren't. Give me a big set of bolt-ons or a little, barely there upgrade, or anything in between. As long as the nipples don't point in weird directions, I'm in. Okay, even if they do. I'd just prefer they didn't.
“Older women were like a weird fetish when I was a kid. Who the fuck decided that? A MILF bod is art, my guy. It's different from a teenager, and that's the point. A few wrinkles, that slightly thick stomach? Sign me up. It's all amazing.
“You know what other propaganda fucked me up?”
I shook my head.
“Pubic hair. Mass media wanted us to believe it was gross. Nah, let that pussy have whatever haircut it wants. If the girl it's attached to is confident about it, that's all you need. Even armpit hair. Why do we give a fuck?”
I didn't answer because I didn't know but also because what I said in conversations like these didn't really matter. Once my uncle got to ranting, the only option was to let it burn itself out.
“Labias! Mother Mary, I almost forgot about labias.”
He pointed a finger at me.
“They're all perfect. Don't let the media convince you that some pussy lips are better than others. They're like boobs. Every shape and style is incredible. Get in there and enjoy them.”
I nodded.
“I know I say a lot of shit,” he continued.
“This advice is serious. I passed up some prime opportunities because I didn't know how to appreciate different flavors.
I still feel like I'm making up for fucks I missed in high school.
Like Keeli. I could have had that, but I was too hung up on the ‘perfect girl' to notice I had the option.”
A foggy memory bubbled to the surface of my mind. “Did you tell me about her before?”
“Don't know. She used to date Kenny Eggers, and I know I've bitched about that guy a bunch.”
By total chance, Kenny and my Uncle ended up living next door to each other well after they graduated.
Kenny was a douche in high school, and he was a douche 15 years later too.
When it was clear that living next door to him was going to be miserable, my uncle paid homeless people to harass Kenny and mess with his car and his porch until he moved.
We soon pulled into the warehouse. Once we unloaded the PCs, my uncle got to wiping the drives while I returned to my book project.
Of the 12 I put aside, 11 were confirmed garbage. The last book, though, I couldn't find anything about it online:
Reflections on Will Bending.
All kinds of books had gone to print around the world over the years, so finding a crap title no one cared to remember wasn't unusual, but this book was thick, impractically so, and it was handwritten in fountain pen.
“It looks cool, so it's got that going for it,” my uncle said when I showed it to him. Sometimes looking cool was enough to make an item worth flipping. After skimming a few pages, he added, “Zaglis? So fantasy probably, right?”
“Probably.”
“Well, we can hold onto it for now. Hey, I've got a thing. Wrap up the reformatting for me?”
“Got it.”
He patted me on the shoulder and went to his car. That's always how he made his exit. Ask a question that was not really so much a question as it was a poorly worded assignment and pat my shoulder twice before heading out the door.
I had worked for him for five months, and already the routine of the job felt like I had done it for years.
Maybe I fucked up by not giving a shit about school.
College wasn't a guarantee of any kind of success, but it would at least feel like I was moving, heading toward something meaningful. If that didn’t pan out, I would have at least gotten to drink and party while I was there.
I could still enroll, of course, but I didn’t want to be the old freshman.
At any rate, reformatting that many PCs meant a lot of waiting for progress bars to progress, so I passed the time reading the book I found.
It was porn.
Page after page of a guy describing all the girls and demons and such that he fucked, going into great detail about how he went about said fucking. In between the gratuitous sex scenes was a decent story, good enough to pass the time.
Within a few chapters, I was completely enthralled. When I finished reading and looked up, it was 3:30 a.m.
This mistake was going to hurt all day tomorrow, so I should leave now to get at least a few hours of sleep.
But I couldn't close the book. See, in the story, Byron ends up with the soul of an evil sorceress in his head, and it's not clear if she is friend or foe. But she and Byron made a pact, so he was stuck with her until they found a body to put her in.
The final page was written like Byron himself offered the same deal to the reader. If the reader accepted, Byron would give them powers like he had in the book, but the reader was stuck with Byron’s soul until he got a new body somehow.
That last page ended like this:
To accept, tear this page vertically to forge a soul contract with Byron of Zaglis.
Do anything else to decline.
Very few good decisions have ever been made between the hours of 3 and 5 a.m. Staying up that long had me feeling a little loopy.
“Fuck it.”
I tore the page.
I lost track of myself for a moment, like I nodded off driving but woke right back up. Man, I really needed to get to bed.
“Where am I?”
“Jesus, fuck!” I jumped in the air like a cartoon character, ready to fight whoever had snuck up behind me.
I was alone.
“Can you hear my words?”
The voice was deep, and as strange as it is to say, it sounded muscular, like I knew the person behind it was yoked.
Feeling several shades of stupid, I said, “Hello?”
“Good. Now answer my previous question, please.”
“Who is this?”
“I would pose the same question to you.”
“I don't know what this is, but I've had enough, thanks.” I continued to search all around me for the source of the voice.
“I don’t know what this is either. Wait. Look down again. What is that?”
I did. The book was closed on the desk.
“How the fuck did I die? Shit. Shit. Shit. I was leaving a meeting with-Gods dammit. She must have done it.”
“Who?”
“Mammoni, the Queen of the Abyss. Penny was with me too, but that doesn’t really matter now, I suppose. How long has it been?”
I rubbed my eyes and took deep breaths. When I was very young and learned that some people heard voices in their heads, I knew then that if such a thing ever happened to me, no way was I telling anyone about it. The moment you did, they carted you away.
But now I debated a hospital visit.
“I asked, ‘how long has it been?’”
“I don't know how to tell you this, but you're a fictional character.”
“You accepted the contract.”
“I thought it was a gimmick. I didn't think it was real.”
“Why wouldn't it be real? I spoke plainly about how this would work and detailed the terms. I did that so-Nevermind. What does your system say? That will clarify a great deal.”
“That doesn't exist either.”
“I assure you that it does. Try it. Imagine you're unrolling a scroll with your mind.”
Level 1
Viceroy, Tier 1 (0/100)
Silk Cleric, Tier 1 (0/100)
Chaotic Neutral
Strength 1
Dexterity 2
Constitution 1
Intelligence 3
Wisdom 2
Charisma 1
Active Abilities: None
Passive Abilities: Bend
And the description for the Bend ability automatically displayed:
Bend
Passive Ability
When a target obeys your command, absorb Will points from them, applying a permanent, passive debuff that lowers their resistance to future commands given by the ability holder.
Well, shit.
“This doesn't exist in my world. I am certain of that. And why did you make me a cleric?”
“The system assigns your first class. You don't get a choice.”
Right. I remembered reading that.
“So it says you're a cleric. What else does it say? Is viceroy listed?”
“Yes, and I'm a silk cleric, technically.”
“You're welcome. Starting with a rare aspect at level 1? Quite the good fortune.”
“It says I have spells, too.”
“Naturally.”
I mentally selected Light. A bright glowing orb appeared over my head. It was there. I was certain it was real, but obviously, it couldn’t be.
“How common are clerics today?”
“Byron. This is not the world from your book. We don't have systems and magic and levels. I promise that I would remember a history class about dick towers.”
“Might we step outside for a look?”
We stood on an empty sidewalk in one of the more industrial parts of the city. It was all old brick warehouses. In an hour or so when morning shifts kicked off, it would get busy, but right now it was a very quiet and very generic urban street.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“Yes. You don't have to speak out loud for us to have a conversation. You should get used to doing that in your head, for both our sakes.”
“Okay.”
“Go back inside.”
I did.
“Tell me your name.”
“David. And you're speaking to me like you're will bending.”
“Apologies. You will develop the same habits with time. A few levels in and it will be automatic for you.”
“I won’t be gaining levels. We don't have dungeons and dungeon cores. Nobody farms XP here.”
A long pause elapsed.
“We are bound by the soul contract now, so regardless of how you or I feel, we are stuck with each other. And listen, I know what this is like. I have no intention of making your life difficult on purpose. Does your world have libraries?”
“Yes.”
“Take me there. We need to find out how transferring souls works here. When we're done, I'll leave you to your life.”
I texted my uncle to say I was sick and couldn't work, and then waited in a diner for the library around the corner to open. In that time, having Byron in my mind was like babysitting a small, annoyingly inquisitive child.
What's that? A car. And that? A bus. It's like a car but more. Okay, what about that thing? It holds napkins.
And on and on.
After 2 hours in the library, Byron reached the conclusion that I anticipated.
“I don't know anything about this world.”
“How would your phylactery end up here?”
“An interesting question, to be sure, but it is not the most pertinent. We would both like it very much if I were no longer in your mind.”
“Agreed.”