The walls were shimmering, dancing with my blood, and there were shadowy figures flickering and crawling out from the cracks between the stones. They were hunched things, bent and twisted. I ignored them. None of it was real. Probably just hallucinations conjured by a mind flooded with a chemical cocktail of endorphins. Instead, I focused on the stairs. Grenades didn’t toss themselves. Some mujahideen dickhead had thrown it, and I intended to see they got a face full of lead for their trouble.

There was no sign of Chatfield or Dixon—no bark of rifle fire or the shots of the dying—but it was impossible to miss the steady thud of footsteps that emanated from the staircase. I braced myself, weapon at the ready.

But what rounded the corner wasn’t human. Humanoid, sure. But not human.

It was a creature of shadow and smoke, ten feet tall, with writhing tentacles protruding from its back. It had no face. No eyes. No defining features at all. Its body was a void space filled with the twinkling lights of distant galaxies.

I blinked, trying to banish the hallucination, but it didn’t disappear. It drew closer with every second, marching inevitably toward me like death made manifest.

“Ritualas kaipic atliktaes,” the creature intoned, pointing a finger straight at me. Its voice was like the crooning of a thousand locust and set my teeth on edge. “Aukaum bryuvo preimtia. Kompaktias pragamintas. Dubar ateinek ruosprendium.”

Maybe I hadn’t survived the grenade after all.

I’d spent more than a few Sundays cooling my heels in church, and if this ugly sumbitch wasn’t a demon getting ready to drag my unruly ass straight to hell, then I didn’t know what was. But I didn’t lower my pistol. Even if this thing was the Devil himself, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Come and get some,” I growled, squeezing the trigger three times in quick succession, two shots to the body, one to the head just like I’d drilled a thousand times. The Colt barked but the rounds disappeared harmlessly into the empty void that comprised the creature’s shadowy form. It didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. More of the shadowy creatures—these smaller than the behemoth in front of me—were closing in on every side, their motions disjointed and strangely out of synch with time. Shadowy hands reached toward me.

I lashed out with the K-Bar, but the blade passed harmlessly through their limbs.

“Yes, this one will do nicely,” the creature said, this time in English.

A shadowy hand the size of a hubcap closed around my throat, squeezing until my eyes bulged and my lungs burned. More of the otherworldly shades wrapped themselves around my arms and legs, dragging me down into the floor. I felt myself sinking into the ground while the walls of the temple pulsated with crimson light, strobing in time with the thunderous hammering of my heart. I screamed as the world spun apart around me, flinging me not into a burning lake of fire, but into the vastness of the Milky Way.

In the span of an eyeblink the inhuman shades were gone, replaced by an endless sea of twinkling stars and spiraling galaxies, spinning away in the distance.

Far down below I watched my body slowly die. Watched as Chatfield and Dixon surged up the stairwell, guns blazing as they dropped the man responsible for my untimely demise. I should have been happier about that—my friends had survived and avenged me, hell yeah!—but honestly, I was pretty fixated on my soon-to-be corpse.

All the duct tape and morphine in the world wasn’t gonna fix what ailed me.

“He isn’t the worst candidate we’ve ever had,” someone whispered.

The words drew me from my thoughts and dispelled the gruesome scene below like the rising sun burning away a layer of morning mist. The voice—soothing, and sweet, and oddly feminine—reverberated through the cosmos, bouncing off distant planets. Above me the faraway stars began to swirl and morph, taking on the rough visage of a face. I squinted, confused by what I was seeing. Not one face, but five. Five faces built out of constellations and galaxies, all of them inexplicably intertwined.

“Far from the best either,” came a retort from one of the other faces. She was gruff and matronly. “He’s physically and mentally fit, I’ll give you that, but the transition will be jarring. His is a world devoid of magic. They’ve long ago given up the old ways in favor of their science.”

“Oh, give over, Gadriel. I like him,” growled a man positioned just to her left in the swirling star cluster. “His death was glorious. I could watch it a thousand times and never grow bored. Saving his comrades. Jumping on that grenade. Scooping his guts back up. He even tried to fight off the heralds. That’s what killer instinct looks like. That’s the warrior spirit. I can mold that. By the gods above and below, I can mold that!”

“We all know you’d approve, Thuriel,” sniffed a fourth voice, regal and somehow more levelheaded than the rest. “But Gadriel’s point is valid. Our ways will be strange and foreign to him. Mastering our magicks is the work of a lifetime, and most of the Vigils start training from infancy.”

“We always have this problem with Inkarnates, though,” said the first voice. “By their very nature they are outsiders. We’ve always found a way before.”

“You’re not wrong, Lero,” chimed in the naysayer, Gadriel, “but usually they’re from shadows that are far closer to our own realm.” The voice paused, clearly worried. “This one is so far off the central finite arc…”

“You’re saying that like we have a choice,” interjected the final member of the odd celestial group. “Why are we even discussing it? It’s not like we have another option, do we? We wouldn’t be fishing so far from Cantorii Prime if we had better candidates. He died valiantly, defending his brothers in battle, and fell with weapons in hand. And the sanctum sanctorum accepted his blood offering, or else he would not be here. Those are the criteria, are they not? Akora, surely there must be a way? You’ve done more with less.”

“Once or twice,” the levelheaded voice in the center replied. “It will all be moot unless he decides to take on the mantle. But assuming he is agreeable, I can adjust the system so that it will work with his… natural aptitudes.”

The cosmos whirled and I abruptly found myself sitting on a velvet chair across from what might have been a man, if a man had a rotating head with five different faces protruding out from each side like cancerous growths. There were two female faces—one steely eyed and matronly, another young with a dazzling smile—and two male, one stately with a black beard peppered with silver, the other gaunt and slightly crazed looking. I’d seen battle-hardened Marines with that same thousand-yard stare. The final face was androgynous, the skin waxy and pale, its eyes a milky white.

Naturally, weirdo face was the one that settled on me.

“Welcome, Boyd Knight, to the Inbetween. I am Akora, Ward of Truth, and we collectively are Raguel.” It dipped its head in a small bow. “This is a space that dwells in the crevices of existence, tucked away between time and matter and space.”

“Am I dead?” I asked, my voice a hoarse whisper.

“Oh, most certainly,” the pale face replied.

“And in a most glorious manner,” the gaunt, crazed face added.

“Does that mean you’re God?” I asked. “I always pictured God… well, with less faces I guess.”

“Some call us a god,” Akora replied with a shrug, “though we are not the god you are thinking of. We like to think of ourselves as a protector. As for our likeness, that is not our doing but your own. Whatever you are seeing is not really us as we are in truth, but rather a rough facsimile that your mind is capable of comprehending. None of that matters, though, Boyd Knight. What matters are these things three. First”—a pale finger went into the air—“would you like to live?”

I squinted at the five-faced space freak like it had just grown even more faces. What kind of question was that? Did I want to live? Of course I wanted to live. Who didn’t want to live, given the option?

“Honest question. Does anyone say no to that?” I asked.

The gaunt face chortled. “What’d I tell you? I knew he had it in him. Takes a special kind of crazy to lose all of your intestines and want to go back for seconds.”

“A simple yes or no will suffice,” Akora replied, ignoring the other face’s remarks.

“Yes,” I grunted, not entirely sure where this was going.

“Very good,” Akora said. “Wouldn’t want there to be any loopholes or misunderstandings. There are powers that be, other than ourselves, you understand, that might take umbrage should the process not be followed to the letter. Now, if you were to continue to live, would you willingly pursue justice, valor, balance, wrath, and truth?”

Now that question took me a moment longer to parse.

I definitely wanted to keep on kicking, but that sounded like a lot of commitment to me. Sure, I was dedicated to Corps and country, but outside of that I was mostly dedicated to the pursuit of drinking good beer, eating good barbeque, finding the perfect fishing hole, or grinding out levels in Deadwatch Crusade. I couldn’t say any of that, though. I might’ve grown up in the backwoods of Kentucky, but I wasn’t stupid, and the way Akora was looking at me practically screamed that if I said no, I was going to get my ass booted straight into the sun.

Since I was interested in not being a charbroiled soul I said yes.

“Excellent,” Akora replied with a nod and a slight smile. “And three.” A final finger joined the other two. “Do you like to play games?”

“Games? What’re we talkin’ about here? Risk? ’Cause if it’s Risk, I’m gonna whoop all your asses, gods or not. I’ll just hole up in Australia and wait it out.”

“There is Risk indeed, but you won’t be a general. You will be a piece placed carefully on the board, but a potentially powerful one, given time. The game we are playing is Risk on a cosmic scale, Boyd Knight, and the rules we use are called the Ascendant System. The world we are sending you to, Alkran, is but one of many we oversee. Yet it is of great interest to us. It is a world out of balance, and we are unsure why. Something dwells there that even we cannot see. You will ferret it out in due time. Assuming you survive.”

“And if I don’t survive?”

“We will find another and try again,” Akora replied evenly, folding its hands passively in its lap. “Now, there will be many dangers presented to you,” it continued after a moment. “Alkran is not a particularly kind or coddling world, especially to an outsider. Which is why we shall give you what advantages we may. First, I will assign you a spirit guide to act as your intermediary while on Alkran—we have a host of accomplished warriors who may guide you along the path.”

I froze. Spirit guide?

“I want Cal,” I blurted out. “As my spirit guide, I mean.” Despite being dead, I was still wearing my full battle rattle. I reached into my pocket and pulled out his dog tags. “You want me to play your game, I want you to do me a solid and bring my friend back.”

“That’s quite an unusual request,” Akora said slowly. “It is possible, especially since he died in such close proximity to you. But I have to warn you, he will be a specter, not a creature of flesh and blood and bone as you shall be.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit,” I said, shrugging one shoulder. “Bring my pal back and I’m in.”

“It will be a very difficult transition for him,” Akora said after a second, “and he will make a terrible spirit guide. He’ll know little more of the world than you do. Are you sure this is a wise move, Boyd Knight?”

“Listen,” I replied, leaning forward, “I didn’t get to be where I am by making wise life choices, okay? Bring my friend back. I’ll deal with the fallout.”

Akora frowned, their lips little more than a slit. “Unorthodox, but very well. I shall also allow my brothers and sisters to each grant you one boon to aid you on your journey. Gadriel, I supposed we’ll start with you? I assume you’ll give the same boon you always do?”

“What other boon would I give?” the stern-faced woman replied, a deadly fire burning in her eyes. “What kind of warrior can seek justice without weapons to enforce his will? Only a fool. To you,” she said, pinning me in place with a steely gaze, “I grant the boon of the Soul Bound Weapon. I’ve given the same gift to every Vigil who has ever served the Five.”

“And if his weapons fail him?” asked the maiden face.

“Then I suspect he shall die,” she replied, largely indifferent.

“Dear me, but I certainly hope not,” the maiden replied. “Which is the very reason I always grant the Language of the Heavens. There will come a time, Boyd Knight, when the weapons of war will be inadequate to the task, but the balance must still be maintained. In my experience, balance is more often served through revelation and conversation than through violence. How shall you search out the truth without a proper means to communicate? Accept my boon. Know and be known. Speak, listen, and be understood.”

“Right,” Akora said with a sigh of resignation. “So we’re just going to play this by the numbers then? Same as it ever was? Voch, I suppose you will grant him the boon of Diamond Body? And you, Thuriel, will bequeath him Arcane Insight?”

“If I don’t gift him Diamond Body,” the bearded man retorted, “he’ll never survive his first encounter. Soul Bound weapons won’t do him much good if he can’t regenerate fast enough to use them.”

“And how will he accomplish his goals without Arcane Insight, hmm?” asked the crazed, gaunt-faced man. “His mind must be prepared if he is to have access to the Ascendant System Interface.”

“Of course,” Akora conceded. “I am merely suggesting that if we want different results, perhaps it is not best to play the game the same way.”

“Isn’t that why we’re bringing in an Inkarnate in the first place?” asked the matronly face.

“Perhaps,” Akora conceded once again. “But this one… He intrigues me. Already, he is playing the game in a way we have not seen before. This could be to our benefit. A true wild card, as your people say, Boyd.”

“It could also be to our detriment,” the matronly face growled.

“Perhaps. But that is a risk I am willing to take. I think I will do things just a tad different this time. I’m going to let him decide what boon I shall grant him.”

“Decide?” said the man with the stately beard. “Decide how? Decide what?”

“Decide everything,” Akora said cryptically. “For my boon, Boyd Knight, I give you the gift of choice.” In front of me, golden words flashed by in a whirlwind.

Essence Coalescence… Incatno Recall… Magnus Arcana… Differential Channeling… Terrain Dominion… Planes Totem… Heresy Pact… Oblivion Conversion… Valor Eater… Bladebound… Quni Attunement…

On and on they went like a Star Wars opening crawl.

“Cool. Cool. Now what exactly am I looking at here?” I asked, squinting at the passing words.

“Everything,” Akora replied softly. “When you enter your new life, you will be granted access to many powerful spells and abilities, which you will be able to unlock over time. But these boons we grant are the foundation upon which all else is built. Arcane Insight gives you the ability to interface with the Ascendant System, and all that it entails, while Diamond Body will allow you to survive the many horrendous physical challenges that will surely face you in the coming days and months.

“We five are bound by pacts older than time to grant only a single boon apiece, yet there are so many to choose from. For the first time in living memory, I am going to let you select which boon you would like to receive from me. Heresy Pact would allow you to forge additional alliances with other deities, for example, while Oblivion Conversion would grant you the ability to channel and work with the wildly unstable Oblivion Essence that permeates the darker regions of the universe. Some of these boons are never granted because they are too dangerous, others because they are useless. Choose as you will, knowing that whatever decision you make will have eternal consequences…”

So, no pressure, I thought as I searched through the list.

There were a hundred different abilities. How the hell was I supposed to know what a good choice would be? If they really were whisking me away to some new world, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what might be useful and what would be totally worthless. Sure, Oblivion Conversion sounded cool, but what if I ended up on a world where there was no Oblivion magic to harness? Forming a pact with some other deity could also be useful, or I could wind up running for my life from some alternate reality version of the Spanish Inquisition.

Bladebound had a nice ring to it and some solid utility. With it I could telekinetically manipulate and control bladed weapons. I could envision myself with a cloud of knives circling around me like planets orbiting the sun, lashing out at anything that got within striking distance. Badass, but not particularly useful if I ended up on a world with high-powered sniper rifles. I read through ability after ability, feeling more unsure by the passing second. Quick Draw… Empty Body… Bloodline Essence… Maker’s Mark… Hex Meld…

Any one of them could be amazing or useless, and it all depended on the circumstances.

Then I spotted an ability that stopped me dead in my tracks.

Threads of Fate. It didn’t sound nearly as cool as Hex Meld or Valor Eater but damn did it have some serious potential.

Threads of Fate (Active)

Who can know what the future holds? Only the wise of heart and those with the vision that comes from experience. The threats a Vigil faces are as numerous as the sands on the shore, and the solutions are just as varied. Unwilling to leave his fate in the hands of others, the Vigil with the Threads of Fate Boon becomes the master of their own destiny. By visiting an altar dedicated to Raguel, a chosen Vigil may reweave the tapestry of their fate once every 12 hours, reclaiming spent Ward Points.

All of these foundation skills were vague and somewhat unhelpful, and this one was no different, but I could read between the lines. Unless I was way off base, it sounded like Threads of Fate would allow me to respec my skills later on. Since I had no idea what I would be facing, having an ability like that in my back pocket could be invaluable. How many times had I started a DnD campaign only to realize I’d picked the worst possible build? More times than I could count. My life was on the line here, and I was playing a game I didn’t even remotely understand.

Improvise, adapt, and overcome.

“Threads of Fate,” I finally said.

“Hmm, an interesting choice indeed,” Akora said, sounding more than a little pleased. “A bold choice. We shall see if it pays out. Welcome to our game, Boyd Knight. We will watch your progress with keen interest. Now… Sleep. Forget. Prepare. A new world awaits…”