Another Litrpg: Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Ishtaaq woke up slowly, groggy and on the edge of confusion. He laid with his back against the ground and his eyes to the sky. The view that met him was a canopy of green leafy tree branches. They blotted out the sun so entirely that it felt as if it was evening. His body ached mildly and his muscles felt sore. Rather than address that, he moved his hands, happy to know they remained within his control and patted his pockets.

He let out a relieved sigh when he felt the lumps. He still had the cartridges he’d taken from his room. In his left hand he still held his gun. His mind took a moment to worry about his siblings. Where they alright? Did any of them decide to try and outlast the world’s pull? Did they succeed?

He pulled his mind from its thoughts, reminding himself that there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he worried about things he had a better chance of affecting. He thought about his friends. The will of the world wouldn’t have sent them too far away. He wasn’t entirely certain about that, though. From the moment people had started disappearing, he had been working off knowledge given to him and his siblings by his parents. They claimed that most people would be restored near or within forests, as close to nature as possible.

Ishtaaq pushed himself from lying down and sat up. He looked around him, at the sea of trees and the soft grass he sat on. He nodded to himself.

“Nature,” he muttered. “Check.”

His parents hadn’t been wrong so far. The next thing they claimed was that people who were in the same vicinity during the awakening wouldn’t be restored too far from the point they had been before, and people who were very familiar with each other would wake up not too far away. Ishtaaq was happy for that, although he couldn’t be sure how far away not too far away was. It was the reason he had given the others three days to meet up and given a week before he would start making his way home. It was unarguably safest there.

He got up and dusted his pants. Broken blades of grass came away from the action. On his feet, he checked on his weapon. He pulled the chamber back and checked on the cartridge. The weapon was fully loaded and the safety remained on. He contemplated turning it off. After a moment, he thought better of it. He left the safety on.

It would be a while before he ran into any real threats. Upon an awakening event, the world protected its own. Those who were transported always woke up away from danger. From what he knew, it was, in a way, the world’s last show of kindness to those within it. Thus, it would be a while before he ran into threats.

Leaving the safety on the gun on, he slipped it within his waist band. There was no point in accidentally killing someone he came across since he had a higher chance of coming across a person than a threat. The gun fit in his waist band uncomfortably and he had to adjust it a few times before he found something acceptably uncomfortable. The soreness in his muscles had faded now, gone as if it had never been. He tested it with an easy stretch and kicked out his legs. Everything seemed fine… for now.

“Alright,” Ishtaaq muttered to himself. “Let’s get going.”

He took a single step forward before hesitating. He was forgetting something and he knew it. He waited, allowing his thoughts come to him without rummaging through them. As was expected, unnecessary things came first. He fought back a bout of panic which was more emotion than thought, he catalogued his worry for his friends and family, carefully placing it elsewhere. It was more worry for his friends than his family. When actual thoughts came to him, they came in unneeded chaos. He remembered the time he’d broken his leg as a child. Memories of his childhood before he’d come here scurried in. There were memories odd animals that wouldn’t be found on earth playing with children. He remembered children with white hair and grey eyes and skin a deep tan that beckoned on bronze. He thought of white lashes and playful smiles. He thought of a young boy too fit for his age and a girl who preferred playing with clubs than dolls. Their names came to him easily.

“Fenic and Abswin,” he muttered. It brought him a touch of worry. “Why the hell am I thinking of them now?”

It had been years since he’d thought of them. Since leaving his home, he had thought of them lesser and lesser until they were practically forgotten. His father had never told him and his siblings the real reason they had left their home. After a while of asking and getting random answers, they had learned to stop.

To be thinking of his childhood friends now felt ominous. Unfortunately, he Ishtaaq was very certain they were not what he had forgotten. Rather than continue to wait out his mind, he directed it to most recent events.

He remembered the panic in the room, Dave’s terror when the news reporter had vanished on screen. His miscalculation of Zac’s sense of self. His weapons. Muhammed’s exit.

Ishtaaq ran a hand down his forehead as he realized what he had forgotten. He looked around him, eyes searching the grass until he found it. When he did, he was glad for it. A gun was going to be useful, but if he wanted to get what he needed, he had to get close and personal. For that, he needed a knife.

He bent down and picked his knife from the ground. He held it up before him and tested its blade with a finger.

“Still sharp,” he noted, careful not to cut himself.

He lowered his hand and was about to slide it into his waist band when he realized it was a stupid idea. That was an amazing way to cut himself. When Dave had given him the knife it had come with its own sheathe. It seemed the world had chosen not to retain the sheathe.

With a sigh he began his walk, knife held in his hand while its naked blade swung with each step he took.

The forest was easily familiar. He had been in it a few times in the past. If he was not mistaken, it surrounded the military camp he and the others often went to train in on three sides. If the others had turned up in the forest as well then he would have lesser reasons to worry. How deep in the forest they would be was an entirely different conversation. No one had ever confirmed just how deep the forest went.

“Can’t be too deep, right?” he muttered as he walked.

He had walked past a few trees before he remembered something else. The memory spurred him on and he slipped his free hand into his pocket. He rummaged about in it. His hand touched something too firm, confirmed it to be one of the cartridges for his gun before moving it to the side to grab what he was searching for.

“Please be working,” he prayed as he pulled out his mobile phone.

Ishtaaq turned it on and was more than happy to find it still charged. Its battery life was in the red but it was sufficient. It was better than nothing. He swiped to the dial pad before his eyes moved to what was more important.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned, swiping away from the dial pad. “Mana comes to the world and takes away network availability.” He paused. “Actually, I should’ve expected that.”

Before he slipped the phone back into his pocket, he checked the time and date. Surprisingly a lot of time hadn’t passed between when he’d burst into smoke and now. He was only two hours into the day which put him at the decline of afternoon, somewhere closer to evening.

His walk never slowed, and his gaze never stayed completely focused on his phone. As he walked, he used his attention generously, moving between his phone and his surroundings. He didn’t consider people to be actual threats. They were a problem, a potential one, but they paled in comparison to what he knew came with the mana awakening. Still, people were deadly when confused.

If he didn’t pay enough attention, he could accidently run into someone whose weapon’s safety wasn’t on.

“It would be really stupid to die to a gunshot so early,” he muttered as he moved on.

The ground dipped under his weight. With each step he took, he felt as if he wasn’t walking fast enough. The awakening had just begun. According to his parents, there would be no need to rush just at the start of it. Unless a person was significantly unfortunate enough to stumble onto a threat, they had at least an entire day before they would have to deal with the panic of the new world.

If his knowledge continued to serve him right, earth was about to be flooded with the oddest kinds of creatures. According to his parents when worlds awakened some of the monsters seemed to come straight out of eldritch horrors. Some seemed as if drawn from human myths and horror stories while others where simply the unimagined.

Ishtaaq’s mind played graphic designer to his father’s stories. He thought of drakes and dragons, demons and wyverns. In truth, he had a feeling it would be as amazing as it would be fantastical. He remembered the first time he’d seen a dog and how smitten he’d been by the creature. They didn’t have dogs in his homeland. He and his siblings had gone the extra mile to beg for a pet dog, but their father had refused.

Ishtaaq stopped, brought his stroll to an end. He looked behind him out of curiosity and found a trail of footprints. Each footprint was deep, pressed firmly into the dirt.

Odd, he thought. The ground was usually firmer than this. Had rain fallen at some point? He bent down and pinched the dirt. He rubbed the dirt between his fingers, staining his fingers brown. The soil was coarse, dry. He let the rest of the soil fall to the ground and frowned at his now dirtied hand.

He looked back at the tracks he’d left again. If anyone decided to follow him, it would be the easiest task they would ever accomplish. Paying attention to his footsteps, Ishtaaq took three steps forward. He looked back and found his footprints glaring at him.

He sighed. This was going to be tricky. He didn’t have to worry about anyone following him. Everyone would be too worried about disappearing and the people they know disappearing to be hunting down anyone. As for eldritch horrors coming after him, it remained too soon. Still, it was better safe than sorry.

Ishtaaq spent the next few minutes experimenting with footsteps. He decided to head north, then figure his way out from there. He was hoping he would come across something familiar, something that would let him know where exactly he was.

Each time he took a step, the soil compressed, leaving a deep footprint as if he had jumped rather than walked. It took him around thirty minutes to find a solution to this issue. At first, he tried as much as he could to lighten his steps. He tried quickening his steps with little positive result. He tried dragging his feet. That helped a bit more but didn’t leave him unable to be tracked. In the end, the best solution was one he found himself disliking.

He took off his combat boots and walked with his feet bare. Refusing to discard his boots, he slipped the ends of the laces through one of his belt loops and knotted them together. In this way they dangled from his waist. The result did not conceal his steps sufficiently, but it was the best of all the options he’d found. It left a footprint that wasn’t as obvious as the one his boots left behind.

It’s almost like I’m heavier, he speculated as he continued his walk. The idea was odd since he didn’t feel heavier. If anything, he felt lighter, freer.

After another long walk and the absence of anything that helped him figure out where specifically he was, he pulled out his mobile phone and checked the time. The forest was dark, darker than what the time on his phone was showing.

His phone claimed that the time was barely past the eighteenth hour of the day, but it was so dark he could scarcely even see what was in front of him. He turned his phone on. His battery was less than fifteen percent and he still had no network coverage. Ishtaaq sighed as he made a conscious decision. He had hoped to hold out until he got even a bar of service so that he could dial anyone from home. Now… he had more immediate uses for the phone.

He increased the screen brightness and turned it on the environment around him. With the light from its screen, he navigated his way to a tree. It was on the large side of things, larger than most of the trees around. His purpose for it was not necessarily a place to stay or a shelter of some kind. Instead, he sat down at the foot of the tree and rested his back against it.

Survival tip 101, he thought, recalling something his father had once told him and his siblings on a camping trip, never leave your back exposed.

He turned his phone screen back to his face and winced at the brightness.

“Shit, that’s bright.”

He turned the phone about once more. The light of the screen was bright but not enough to see much ahead of him. There’s got to be a way to get more light out of this, he thought as he squinted to get as much distance as he could. What’s the point of a smart phone if it’s not—

Ishtaaq’s thoughts paused. His lips pouted in embarrassment despite being the only one around. In a few taps of the screen, he turned down the brightness of the screen and turned on the phone’s torch. The light blasted forward, showing him more of what was in front of him. He turned it from side to side. Certain that he was alone, he turned the light off and allowed himself to relax.

A sudden alert popped up in front of him.

                                                                     Intruder Detected.

                                                           Ishtaaq Bloodborn [Otherworlder].

Ishtaaq chuckled at the reminder.

Yea, I get it. I’m not from around here. But you don’t have to be so— wait. Intruder?

From what he knew about the will of the world, it was basically information the world possessed, reality interpreted. Once mana awakened, people gained the ability to read this information. At least, that was what his parents had said. Children, apparently, couldn’t see these pieces of information until they were of age. ‘Of age’ was a concept that varied. Some children awakened to it at thirteen years while some awakened to it at the age of twelve. One thing was necessary, though, the world they lived in had to be awakened first. And the will of the world was only supposed to be accessible to those of that world.

If it views me as an intruder, then why can I see its information? He wondered.

There was a possibility he had missed some of the things his parents had taught them. After all, it wasn’t like they had trained them. The information he had about world awakenings and the will of the world were not holistic. They were gotten in the form of conversations or stories. His father often trained them on how to fight monsters, sometimes making a game out of it. They knew his prayer was that they would never need the skills, he merely taught them because he suspected that earth would one day wake up. If it wasn’t in their lifetime, it would be in the lifetime of their descendants.

The aim was for it to be a happy family tradition of sorts.

“So much for that,” Ishtaaq muttered. “What I need now is to access my information.”

As if acting without command, another notification popped up in front of him. It was a touch eerie that even in the darkness surrounding him he could see it clearly.

 Trait: [Healthy]                                    Ishtaaq Bloodborn [Outworlder]

                   Traits: [Healthy], [Unbound], [Otherworlder], [Intruder], [Willful], [Unfocused].

                                                                            Skill: […]

                                                                 Status: [Awakened].

“That’s a load of bullshit,” he complained after reading it. “How in the hell am I unfocused?”

With no actual person to complain to, he moved on from his complaint. It seemed the will of the world thought he was unfocused. Or maybe he thought he was unfocused. He couldn’t remember the finer details of these things. His father had often said there was always a self-perspective about a person’s personal information. Ishtaaq wasn’t sure if his father meant how a person viewed themselves affected the information or affected how they saw the information.

Ishtaaq ran a tired hand through his hair in frustration. He was certain his hair wasn’t black anymore. Awakenings were known to eliminate artificial additions. This was not knowledge he’d been given. He’d witnessed it a few times when he was a child. It was only when his childhood friend’s older brother had awakened that he had found out that the boy had been adopted… or was his half brother?

Ishtaaq shrugged, unable to remember. The bottom line was that when the boy had awakened that was when he’d found out he had actually been a half-elf and not a full human.

Come to think of it, maybe Bantat was also a half-elf… I never really found out if—

Ishtaaq sighed. Maybe the will of the world was right. Maybe he was unfocused. Rather than dwell on it, he focused on the notification, and it narrowed down to his traits. The new notifications he saw were to his benefit.

                                                                   Trait: [Healthy]

                  You have no underlying, dominant, physical flaw. You are in optimum condition.

Ishtaaq glanced past it easily. The notification had not told him anything new. The next ones were what he needed more knowledge on, even if he had a vague idea on what they meant.

                                                                         [Unbound]

You are an anomaly that has left the world incapable of accurately quantifying your true capabilities. You possess an innate trait rare amongst those new to the grace of mana. As an unbound your affinity to mana types is mediocre at best. Do not let this bring you down. With focus and hard work, you just might rival your peer. Note that this does not affect your ability to develop a class.

Ishtaaq’s jaw dropped. “What the hell?!”

When his father had spoken of the unbound he had spoken of them as rarities. They were unique, special. His father had never shed them in a negative light, but here he was being told being unbound made him weaker than his peers. Now, he definitely needed to get home as quickly as he could. He had never met a person without a mana affinity before.

His mood dulled horribly and very quickly. He took a deep breath and pushed through, moving on to the next notification.

                                                                       [Otherworlder]

You are not of this world. As such you do not have the protection of this world. All awakened non-sentient beings of the world will hold an innate enmity towards you for the sin of your very presence. 

Ishtaaq’s jaw dropped.

“What the hell?!” he exclaimed. He shut his mouth quickly, his head on a swivel, surveying his surroundings to ensure he had drawn no unwanted attention.

What the actual fuck?! He thought. Everything’s going to be out to kill me? Why? It’s not my fault I’m from another world. This awakening just keeps getting worse and worse. This is bullshit.

Accepting that things were only going to get worse, he cast his mind from the positive and read on.

                                                                                 [Intruder]

You are not of this world. Your presence here is a violation of the world and its people. You have trespassed and gain none of the perks that come with the gift of being of this world. You will not be guided as your very presence here is a threat to those of this world. As an intruder your growth will be limited to a world restriction of all foreign presence. You will be forced to depend solely on the blessings of your world. Good luck, and may defeat always be in your favor.

“I’m beginning to think the will of this world holds a grudge,” Ishtaaq muttered, frowning.

                                                                                  [Willful]

When the world asks you to move, you stand your ground... At least for as long as you can. You have proven you possess a great sense of self and have displayed a great command unwilling to be moved by a will greater than yours. Even if that will belongs to a world.

                                                                               [Unfocused]

You are an oddity. For someone so willful, you lack the ability to focus on a specific task. This is as much a curse as it can be a blessing. Figure it out.

Ishtaaq frowned at the remaining notifications. He was beginning to rethink his stance on the will of the world. Maybe it was quite sentient… godly, perhaps. Unfortunately, he had bigger things to worry about. Apart from [Willful] and [Healthy] he had no positive traits. Even [Unbound] that he’d believed all his life was unique had turned out to be the very opposite of a boon.

“So much for getting as strong as I can get in the beginning.”

                                                                                          Alert!

                                                                Outworlder Existence detected.

                                                                                    [Outworlder]

An outworlder is an anomaly of world proportions. You have denied the protection of your world and possess no world protection. You exist outside the protection of all worlds. Awakened non-sentient beings of all worlds will possess innate enmity towards you. You are blessed by no world and fall under the purview of this world or any other. No world holds jurisdiction over you. You are a world pariah. To overturn this, you must bind yourself to a world.

Ishtaaq simply stared at the notification. For some reason staring at the notification made him feel lonely. It was an odd feeling. Not the loneliness, but the fact that it made him feel lonely. The world he had grown to love had just informed him that he was not a part of it. He had also just been informed that the world he had been born to had no claim to him. He belonged neither here nor there.

He belonged nowhere.

His eyes grew teary, and he touched a finger to his cheek. It came away wet. He chuckled self-deprecatingly at it. He was crying. He hadn’t cried in years, not since he’d fallen from the tree at the back of his house and broken his leg at the age of thirteen.

“I guess, things don’t always turn out the way we expect,” he sighed, nodding to himself. It was all the motivation he had to give.

He could really use someone to talk to right now. With that thought, he looked at his phone. A moment after he put it down.

“Still no connection. So much for that.”

Something wet stained his cheek again and he lost it. He was too old to be crying just because worlds didn’t want to be his friend.

“That’s it!” he scowled. “No more pity tears. I’ve got work to do.”

He wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his forearm and moved to get up, to continue his walk when he paused. His forearm was warm, and so was his cheek. Too warm.

Everywhere was dark. He could see nothing, not even his own hand. An almost soundless scuttering flickered passed his ear and fear seized him by the neck.

It’s not possible, he thought, worry filling him. I shouldn’t run into anything for at least twenty-four hours. My day can’t be that bad.

He turned the phone in his hand as slowly as he could, the sound of scurrying growing louder but not faster. Ishtaaq tapped against the screen of his phone and turned it at the tree above him.

The light shone unnaturally bright. It presented him with a grotesque sight. Something unnatural shrieked, scurrying away from the brightness of the light. Ishtaaq saw it as it scampered away. It was horrid. A gelatinous blob with eight limbs and a worm like body. Its limbs stretched out like that of geckos. From what he had seen, its limbs had no claw, but its razor like teeth made up for that in deadliness.

The tree quaked as the creature dived away from it. Ishtaaq turned in worry. Fear and terror led to quick thinking, whether it was the correct line of thoughts was a worry left to the wind as Ishtaaq pulled his gun from his waist band. He aimed haphazardly into the night, his phone light beaming forward.

Nothing came at first, only the dark gloom of the forest. Another scurrying sound teased his ears and he turned to the side, light and gun aimed.

This can’t be happening, he thought. I’m not supposed to run into them for another day or two. Why the hell is this—

“Shit,” he swore as the answer came to him.

He was an otherworlder. He wasn’t under earth’s protection, which meant whatever mechanics were supposed to transport him to a place that would buy him time did not apply to him.

A terrible shriek filled the air and Ishtaaq turned to it. gun leveled. He pulled the trigger from nothing more than panic. The explosive booms of gunshot shattered the silence of the dark and an ear piercing shriek filled the air like a dying banshee.

The creature was on him a moment after.