The realms are degenerating. The decadence and corruption of the weak have made reality a myth. We must celebrate our strength and reject the illusion that suffering is normal.

The Book of Wrecker

Later

I wake up in a stadium. I don’t know who I am or how I got here - but this is definitely a stadium. The crowd roars.

I sit up, take stock. Beneath me is cool white sand, surrounded by a moat of crystal clear water. The amphitheater is made of white marble and bronze, the cheering crowd kitted in matching robes and jewelry. Above me, a portal shines like a young sun.

Other than my memory loss, I feel pretty good. That said, I look like I’ve had a rough day. Spear broke, breastplate punctured, crested helm cracked. My long limbs and kilt painted in gore. What the hell happened to me?

There’s a few other broken warriors on the sand around me, and a couple more drop gently from the portal above.

A thick Tiefling in a gleaming white toga and bronze torque climbs a raised dais and bellows “Welcome honored dead!”

The crowd goes absolutely apeshit. Well, hello to you too.

Most of my honorably dead compatriots pop up and roar back at the crowd, beating their chests and casting aside their savaged gear. Naked naiads with hungry eyes emerge from the water, cradling amphoras of wine. They undress the dead, wash them with water and wine, sate their thirst. The warriors drink and laugh. Dive into the waters, or the naiads, or both.

A pair of naiads haul a jug of wine towards me. I sense an awkward social interaction in my future. Am I about to be eaten at the coliseum? I’m not entirely against it, and yet… hmm…

Shadows blot out the portal’s light. A flock of large, winged warriors soar through. They’re not the worse for wear - armor shining, giant maces gleaming. Their leader lands on the sand, gives me a nod.

“Take good care of this one.” he says to the naiads. “She destroyed many of Wreckers foes.”

The naiads bow and gently lead me towards the water. One of them tries to carefully remove my helm, but it splits in half at her touch, falling to the sand. Yeesh. Not hard to guess how I died.

“What do you desire, honored one?”

“Uh, I dunno. I’m really confused. Very self conscious. A bit horny.”

The naiads chortle. “So, the usual? I think we can solve all that by visiting your lord husband.”

“I have a husband? Okay. That’s… okay. Sure. Let’s go see the man.”

The naiads laugh at my consternation, and pull me into the water. One of them casts a spell, shaping the water into circular depression we all snuggle into. Once we’re settled, our bubble shoots off, kicking a huge rooster tail of water behind us. We do a victory lap around the stadium, then rocket out a gate and through a marble city.

We blast down canals bordered by markets, and gardens, and public squares. Our wake douses hundreds of upright, toga clad citizens, but none of them seem to mind. They cheer and blow kisses as we pass. The naiads holla, and show their tits, and chug wine. I have a bit of wine myself. Fuck it.

The city is mostly low white buildings, connected by straight gray roads and twisting clear canals. There's a few huge structures scattered here and there. The coliseum we just left, a few arches etched with mosaics, and a gleaming white ziggurat with a bronze temple on top.

We twist around the city at a breakneck pace, and before long approach a large white villa. The naiads charge the waterfront, skip across a broad, manicured lawn, and park us in a courtyard fountain.

“Woof.” I shake wet hair off my face. “Nice driving, ladies.”

The girls laugh. “Your man’s inside. If you need us, we’ll be here for…” she hefts the amphora. “ …half a jug of wine? Call it twenty minutes.”

I thank the naiads and ghost into the villa. The main hall is large, open, and clean. Like, no dirt, but also uncluttered. Minimalist. The huge room is mostly empty, but what’s in it is uniformly big. There are several large couches around a mighty fire pit. Three big chalkboards crowded with quotes, and equations, and charts. There’s also a giant telescope. It’s of truly epic proportions. So is the man looking through it.

My husband is a massive slab of muscle. He hums tunelessly as he fiddles with the telescope. Thick runic tattoos coil around his limbs, body, and up to his temples. Damn.

“Uh, hi.”

He turns and grins. “Copycat! You’ve come back to me. How’d it go?”

“I don’t know.” I look down. “I’m pretty confused.”

“Oh no!” He’s concerned. Walks over and gives me a hug. “Did you die again? Was it another headshot?”

“I think so.” There’s a big guy holding me. It’s not bad. Little weird. Mostly nice.

“Oh dear. You’re too dangerous for your own good. Never learned how to duck. We need to get you a thicker helmet or something.” He releases me, shakes his head. “I’m sorry, that’s not helpful right now. Me nattering on about things you don’t remember. You’re lost and confused, so let’s consult the sacred text! It will answer all questions!”

He strides over to the crowded chalkboards and pulls a thick tome off a pedestal.

He presents the tome to me. “Everything you need to know is in here.” he states with happy confidence.

“Thanks.” I check it out. Cover says it’s The Book of Wrecker. There’s no table of contents. Or paragraphs, or punctuation, or lowercase letters. It's just an endless wall of heavy text. Wow.

I leaf through the book, scan a few lines, try to get a feel for it.

…MORALITY IS THE ENEMY OF NATURE…

…..PHILOSOPHY ONLY DESCRIBES THE PHILOSOPHER…

…….TO REMOVE TEMPTATION IS TO REMOVE LIFE…

Huh.

“I suppose this does answer questions.” I muse. “Is there a chapter on waking up dead with no memories? Or an index? Perhaps a short version? Just the hits?”

“No, none of that. I mean, all answers are within the sacred text, but you kinda got to tease them out.” He waves to the crazy jumble on the chalkboards. “I can help explain it! Kind of. I’m still wrapping my head around some stuff. I’ve got a bit worked out. I think.”

I heft the book. It’s heavy. Gonna be a bit of a slog. Hmm. I eye my husband. He seems nice. Eager to please. Well set up. Maybe being confused isn’t that important.

“I’d really like to know what’s going on.” I say. “But we only have the naiads for another twenty minutes. Maybe we should fuck them now and study the sacred text later?”

My husband nods. “It’s your birthday, sweetie. We’ll do whatever you want.”

1 Week Later

“It’s the cyclical nature that gets to me. Apparently this has all happened before? I fight, I die, I fight again. What’s the point?”

I’m meeting with Marcus, my spiritual advisor. He waves away my existential angst.

“Your life may repeat, but Wreckers plans move ever forward.” He smiles gently. “Don’t worry that you don’t yet understand those plans, but trust that they include you.”

I nod. Feel a bit better. I like Marcus. He’s the Guardian of the Forbidden Library. Protecting the realms from the flawed philosophies of Wrecker’s defeated enemies. It’s an important and dangerous job, but he still takes time to meet with any Wreckworld Wizard who has doubts or confusion about Wreckers teachings.

Marcus is slender, bald, and black robed. The black robes are unusual. Other than him, the only ones who wear black are the Praetorians. Does that make him a secret Praetorian? That doesn’t make sense. Ex-Praetorian? Praetorian adjacent? Whatever, I like him.

I enjoy exploring the Book of Wrecker with Vali. We read it aloud to each other - the easiest way to parse a book with no punctuation. We puzzle over it’s secrets, worry it for hidden meanings, read it backwards just in case. It’s loads of fun - high level play - but only with Marcus does it make sense. He’s able to turn a mishmash of holy wisdom into simple concrete action.

“We’ve been blinded to the true reality. Only Wrecker remembers it. His enemies would keep us blind. If we fight them, we will win back the true reality. If we die fighting, we will return to Wrecker and be reborn. That is the promise of the future. That is the covenant we made with Wrecker.”

I nod. Keep fighting till things make sense. Easy enough.

2 Weeks Later

“Fire!”

Ten recruits focus their will, and nine targets explode.

Aww dang.

Cato sighs. “I guess we’ll go through it again.”

I’m training at the Wreckworld Action School. We specialize in violence and mobility. We’re the largest school with the most recruits. There’s also a smaller Utility School, and a much smaller Investigation School. There’s rumored to be a School of the Mind, but if it exists, it’s so small I’ve never seen it.

Today's guest instructor is Cato, the head of the Praetorians. It’s an honor to be taught by him. It’s also really tough. This class had thirty recruits an hour ago.

“Secondary desires. They are what makes a Wreckworld Wizard.” atones Cato, as he stalks behind us. “The shackle - the WEAKNESS - of desire magic, is primal desire. The focus on what you want.

“A true wizard does not rely on primal desire. He holds the primal desire in his heart, but focuses instead on his secondary desires - the steps he must take to get to his primary goal. The means and ways to his justified ends.

“Your primary goal is to exalt Wrecker, to execute his vision. But you do that today, by mastering magic, by destroying those targets. You must learn to see the two actions as one. To exalt Wrecker, you must destroy the target. They seem different, but are the same. Once you understand that, you will be able to do things you never dreamed you were capable of.

“But some of you still don’t understand…”

It’s true. I don’t have a fucking clue what it means to exalt Wrecker. Is it just murder stuff? How does that help him?

I can feel Cato’s presence behind me, practically oozing lethal menace. Cato believes in pain as a motivator. This is how the other recruits washed out today. Beaten till they quit, and left the holy city for monasteries in the desert. Or beaten to death, to pass again through the Sinner’s Gate.

Cato stops walking. Here it comes. I wince.

BAM!!

An old gnome, called Presto, is thrown to the ground. He struggles to rise, but several heavy kicks knock him back down.

“Make the connection! Fight for Wrecker and be reborn!” Cato gives him one last kick, turns back to the rest of the class.

Presto uncurls and glares at Cato’s back. I don’t like that look. It’s not rage, just… intention. His fingers curl around his regulation dagger.

Aww, don’t try it old man. I can tell by Cato’s expression, he’s hoping for an ill conceived back stab. It’s a sure ticket to the Sinner’s Gate. Just give up. Quit. It’s the desert either way, but save yourself a gruesome death and a scrambled brain.

Presto stares at Cato another moment, then shakes his head. Staggers back to his place in line. I’m not sure if he’s dazed from the beating, or if he’s drunk again. Either’s possible. I’ve often seen him nervously drinking before class. Which isn’t forbidden, but he shouldn’t be nervous about it. Wrecker says the strong drink their fill with confidence.

Mind you, I’d be nervous too, if I knew I was going to get the shit kicked out of me all day long. Presto hasn’t learned a single spell. I don’t know why he’s still here. Thousands of would-be wizards come from the desert every morning. And thousands go back each night, having their aspirations beaten out of them. Even so, most of those petitioners manage a bit of magic before they washout. Presto’s complete failure at magic is unprecedented, matched only by his refusal to quit.

I wish he would quit. It’s hard to watch him get beaten all the time. Stubborn old man. Vali says he must have come through the Saint’s Gate. That he has the soul of a warrior, and just needs more time to remember his way back. Vali’s always saying unsubstantiated positive shit. It’s a big part of why I love him. He’s a brillant, dumb, walking contradiction. Believes Wrecker’s axiom that we shouldn’t trust the weak, but is always kind and considerate to Presto anyway.

Cato smirks as Presto shambles back into line. “See! You can act contrary to your immediate desires, to achieve your ultimate goal. Now you just need to do it with magic.”

Cato’s a prick, but he’s not wrong. Secondary magic’s not that hard. I don’t give a shit about exalting Wrecker, but I ain’t going to no fucking desert. I’ve got my own goal.

“Again!” barks Cato. “Focus! Fire!”

To get back to Vali, the target must die.

Nine targets explode.

4 Weeks Later

Big mission today. Fourth one this week. My nine person squad has been ordered to wipe out a tribe of giants. We’ll have three Praetorians as back up, but Vali warned me not to expect much from them. And to protect my head.

I’m nervous and drinking. Not nervously drinking - I’m drinking with confidence - I just happen to be nervous while doing it.

Aww fuck it. I toss my bottle, and order the squad to form up. Let’s get this done.

Our Utility Wizard visualizes our foes, and the rest of us juice him with our raw desire to exalt Wrecker, or whatever.

A wavering portal opens before us. It doesn’t look good - this is gonna cost a few brain cells. I order the squad through anyway. Vali says the second portal’s always worse. Also, I don’t want to give the fucking giants too much time to prepare for our visit. I’m sure they’re already eying the other end of this crappy portal.

I come to covered in gore. I’m on a rocky hillside, standing ankle deep in blood. There’s three battered members of my squad standing near me. Fuck. Did I fight the whole battle in a blackout? That’s not good. There’s a deafening roar to my left. A two ton giant is charging at my depleted squad. I guess the battle is ongoing. That’s not great either.

We plink a few destructive spells off him, but he ignores them and stomps one of my wizards back through the Saint’s Gate. Shit! How did we kill the other giants?

The big bastard lines up a crushing blow on the smallest member of my squad. Presto smokes contemptuously at his attack. He’s got no blood on him - has he even been fighting? Fuck! I get my spear up to block the immense hammer fist. Stab deep into his pinkie, which causes him to flinch back. That’s a mistake. Before he can recover, I bury my spear in his thigh. Get the artery. I’m blasted with another layer of blood, and the giant pops off to gods know where.

I look around blearily. Any more? No. Fantastic. I’ve successfully saved Presto. I order him to give me his joint.

Presto, the other wizard (what’s his name? It’ll come back to me), and I wander down to the dwarven village that the giants were preying on. The Praetorians are already there, looking shiny and new. Bastards.

They’re supervising the transfer of a couple dozen dwarves back to Wreckworld. It’s always like this. Everytime we save a village, a tithe of villagers choose to join Wrecker’s covenant. Makes sense, I guess. Who wouldn’t want to be on the winning side?

Anyway, I like to join the Praetorians and new converts for the ride home. Their portals are better. Also, my Utility Wizard is dead.

I form up the remains of my squad behind a raggedy line of grim dwarves. They look nervous about the portal jump, but they should be alright. Each one gets an imp to ride his back, offering advice to ease the transition.

The portal opens, the dwarves jump through, so does my squad. As I approach the portal it flickers out. It’s just me and Cato on this side. I guess we’re gonna have a talk.

“You lost most of your squad.”

“Yep.” No thanks to you, asshole.

“You could have had a much larger squad. A limitless squad.”

I’m confused. “What are you talking about? Are you offering me more men?”

Cato shakes his head. “Let’s start over.”

His mace darts out. What the - CRACK!

Later

“It’s the cyclical nature that gets to me. Apparently this has all happened before?”

I’m meeting with Marcus, my spiritual advisor. He waves away my existential angst, smiles.

“Don’t worry. Your life may repeat, but Wreckers plans move ever forward.”