When Tenser’s portal first opened onto earth, it appeared without purpose or temporal association. So it was that across the globe and throughout the twenty-first century, humans of every writ and creed witnessed a series of strange and inexplicable phenomena. Wars erupted, halfwits briefly became popular electoral choices, and a double rainbow was witnessed somewhere over the Yosemite National Park. There was even a brief incident involving two women and a cup.

Then Tenser’s words of power passed across the void that separates all worlds, and the portal finally went in search of its true target.

A target which was located at 3.33pm on the 31st of March 2022 in the city of Portland, Oregon. More precisely, in the communal restrooms of the Deer Valley University, where a human male by the name of Patrik Convoy was in the process of defecating…

***

Boom!

The moment the portal opened in front of Patrik, he knew his life would be changed forever. His foresight could partly be ascribed to witnessing the very fabric of reality torn open before his eyes, and partly due to the decidedly uncomfortable sensation of finding himself unable to move, breathe or even scream.

But mostly, it was because in that same moment, Patrik was dragged bodily from the toilet upon which he was perched and hurled into another world with all the dignity of a tiger cub stolen from its mother by Joe Exotic.

After which, he faceplanted into the ground like an amateur skier on TikTok.

A long moment passed, then another as Patrik’s mortal mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened. His body suddenly ached like he’d been beaten black and blue, and there was a ringing in his ears so loud he could barely think for the racket. When he tried to open his eyes to assess his surroundings, stars danced across his vision. Even his sense of smell seemed off. Inhaling air into his bruised lungs, he did not find himself choking on the reek of a freshly utilised toilet, but rather tasted the pleasant scent of earth and ash.

Or…am I somehow outside?

As the thought tricked through his awakening mind, Patrik became aware of the dirt pressed up against his face. He was definitely somewhere outdoors.

And his pants were somewhere around his ankles.

A bolt of adrenaline lifted Patrik into a sitting position. It took several attempts and a lot of scrambling in the dirt to get his jeans back around his waist. By then, his mind was fully awake, and he had become aware of three extremely pertinent facts.

First: it was suddenly nighttime. Darkness loomed around him, as thick as a cafeteria soup. There were no streetlights to pierce the gloom, no apartment buildings glowing in the distance—not even a glimpse of the stars or moon for guidance. The only source of light was the nearby crackling of flames, which at least allowed Patrik to come to his second realisation.

That he was not just outside, but in some kind of forest. By the flickering glow of the fire, he made out the swaying of branches above and the pale trunks of nearby trees. Old leaves crunched amidst the dirt as Patrik shifted, struggling to get his feet beneath him.

At least the forest explained the lack of modern lights. But it definitely did not make the last of Patrik’s realisations any more comforting.

He was not alone.

As the ringing in his ears faded, Patrik finally became aware of the sounds around him. The soft hooting of an owl in the darkness. The flapping of leather wings on night air. The rustling of a creature as it moved through the undergrowth. The whisper of a breeze through the trees.

And the harsh rasping of a man drawing breath.

Heart hammering in his chest, Patrik came to his feet. Thankfully, the pain of crash landing had begun to fade and he tensed, preparing to flee. His mind had settled on one of two conclusion about his current predicament—either this was a terrible practical joke by his fellow students, or he was about to come face to face with a serial killer.

Movement shifted amongst the shadows. Footsteps approached, though they were not the steady thump of an adult man, but rather strange scuffing sound, as though their owner was dragging his feet. Squinting into the darkness, Patrik strained for a glimpse of whoever had brought him to this place.

Whoosh!

Patrik staggered back as the campfire flared into a waist-high column of flame. It was as though someone had just poured gasoline onto the embers. Heat washed across his face and he had to turn away to keep from being blinded by the brilliance.

As the heat passed, he whipped his head back towards the fire, half expecting an axe-wielding maniac to leap from the shadows.

But the truth was stranger than either of his hypothesises.

By the glow of the now-blazing-fire, a man stumbled towards Patrik. But this was no serial killer—and definitely no student from the Deer Valley campus. This man was so old he appeared to already have one foot already in the grave. Time had carved deep ravines across the pale flesh of his face and age spots covered his withered arms. What little that remained of his grey hair was revealed as he tripped on a loose rock and dislodged the pointed hat from his head. The only thing that kept the man from keeling over then and there was the old staff to which he clung.

Patrik’s next thought was that this must be one of the professors. Some of them were wacky enough—one actually rode a unicycle to class. But no, not even a college professor was mad enough to wear a full-length, bright blue set of bathrobes covered in shiny yellow stars in public. The hat he had lost even matched the robes.

No, if Patrik had to guess from the man’s appearance alone, he would have said that Dumbledore had just sprung from the pages of a Rowling novel and stumbled into downtown Portland.

Except of course that Patrik was not in downtown Portland anymore.

“Ahhh,” Patrik started, but trailed off as he found himself at a loss for words.

The man’s laboured breaths rattled through the clearing as he took another step. Face haggard, he stretched out a hand towards Patrik, his fingers like claws.

“Patrick…Conroy of…Portland?” The words grated from the old man’s throat, more statement than question. Bloodshot eyes shone with desperation.

“I…yes?” Patrik stammered.

Just a few minutes ago he’d been sitting peacefully on the toilet reading the latest news on his iPhone. Now he was…he had no idea where he was, or where the old man had come from. But suddenly his confusion no longer seemed so important beside the terrible anger bubbling up inside him.

“And who the hell are you?” he demanded. “Where have—”

“Thank…the gods,” the old man rasped over Patrik’s spluttered indignation. He staggered forward again, reaching inside his robes…

“Holy shit!” Patrik leapt back as he caught a glimpse of what the old man had hidden inside the silken gown. His heart was suddenly racing. “Dude, is that a sword? You can’t just walk around with one of those here!”

He retreated another step, but found himself bumping into solid stone instead. Glancing behind, only then did realise notice the ring of granite boulders that stood in a circle around the clearing.

“What the…” he muttered, then gave an angry shake of his head. “Fuck this, I’m calling the police.”

His smartphone’s glow lit his face as he pulled it from his pocket. But as he made to dial 911, he noticed the bars in the corner. No service.

“Patrik of Portland…” the Dumbledore cosplayer rasped, taking no notice of his panic. “Know this…I, the Wizard Tenser…have summoned you here…to fulfil an ancient prophecy…”

The old man was really struggling now. He wheezed out the words between each strained breath, as though he’d just run a marathon—or dragged an unconscious body for several hours through the forest. His eyes were drawn again to the sword hilt. Was the man faking his exhaustion, or was something else going on.

“Look, Tenser,” Patrik said, trying to keep his voice calm. He held up his hands in a show of peace. “Or whatever the hell your name is, let’s just talk about this. If this was all meant to be some practical joke, I think you and I can both agree it’s gone too far, right?”

“Too…far?” the ‘wizard’ wheezed. His eye twitched, a spasm passing across his face. Both hands were clinging to the twisted staff now. “You are…the hero foretold…champion of Portland…the chosen one.” His eyes fluttered closed as he sucked in a laboured breath. “You are to…destroy…Dark Lord…arggggg—”

The old man’s words dragged out into a moan as he sank down his staff to his knees. Patrik watched, mouth hanging open, as the so-called ‘wizard’ topped sideways and crumpled to the ground. His body twitched, jerking as a harsh rattling sound from the depths of his throat, slowly fading to nothing…

Patrik stared at the man sprawled at his feet, unsure whether to be amused or horrified. Sprawled amongst the fallen leaves and dirt, the man now lay completely still. He didn’t even appear to be breathing. But…surely this was all an elaborate prank. The situation had already rocketed beyond insanity, right into the patently absurd.

“Hey man, don’t you think this whole thing has gone a bit far?” Patrik muttered, stretching out a foot to give the wizard a nudge.

No response. After a long moment, he nudged the man again, still gently, but this time he pushed hard enough to roll the fallen figure onto his back. The old man’s head wobbled slightly as he rolled, but otherwise there was no response.

Patrik stared for a moment longer, then swore. Prank or no, he wasn’t about to leave an old man lying on the cold forest floor, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe. Kneeling, he touched a hand to the wizard’s forehead. His skin was damp and clammy. Not a good sign.

“Hey, if you’re awake, you need to tell me,” he said, giving the old man a shake. “Fine. I’m going to check your pulse. Say nothing if that’s okay.”

You never knew how people would react to a Good Samaritan these days. But his wizard friend remained unresponsive. Pushing aside the collar of the silk robes, Patrik placed a finger to the man’s throat.

Nothing. A frown spread across Patrik’s face as he moved his fingers with greater urgency. Then he tried his other hand. Still nothing.

“Well shit.”

Whoever the old man was, he wasn’t faking.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Instinct kicked in. He’d been an RA for his college dorm in his sophomore year and they’d all had to do a first aid course. Now if he could just remember the basics of CPR…

The man was already on his back. That was a start. He checked his pulse one last time to buy time. Then drew in a lungful of breath.

“Here goes nothing.”

Patrik entwined his fingers and placed them on the man’s chest, then pushed down hard. He flinched as he felt something go crack, but the nurse who’d run the course had warned them that might happen.

If you break a rib, you’re doing it right.

Baring his teeth, Patrik continued the compressions, hoping against hope he was indeed remembering the instructions right. How fast were they meant to be again? There’d been a song the nurse had told them to use for the rhythm, but…that had been almost two years ago and he’d been distracted by other things. Like the curve of her bra as she bent over the CPR dummy…

He shook himself. It had been a song by the Bee Gees, hadn’t it? He couldn’t remember. Actually, there’d been two! His spirits rose briefly as he recalled the second song, although it was far from idea…

I’m going straight to hell for this.

Patrik started to sing.

“Another one bites the dust. Another one bites the dust. And another one gone and another one gone. Another one bites the dust!”

“Aaaah!”

With a rattling cry, the supposed wizard lurched upright. Patrik toppled backwards in fright as the ancient eyelids snapped open. The frail chest swelled as the old man inhaled a life-giving breath.

Relief swept through Patrik as he sat back on his heels. He reached a hand to his own chest in an effort to calm his racing heart.

“Chosen…one, hear me!” The words rasped from the wizard’s pale lips as he exhaled.

A frown touched Patrik’s brow. Surely this dude wasn’t still playing his part in whatever prank Patrik’s peers were playing.

“Sir…” he began, but before he could continue, the old man reached out a withered hand and caught him by the front of his shirt.

Despite his supposed close call with death, the wizard turned out to be wickedly strong. Patrik cried out at the assault, but had no chance to tear himself lose. Instead, he found himself dragged forward until he was face to face with the old man.

“Ring…” Patrik’s assailant rasped. Abruptly, the icy fingers left his collar. They wrapped around his wrist instead. Patrik flinched as something cold and metallic was pressed into his hand. “Help…protect…go…Bledross…”

Each word was forced out between strained gasps, before finally a terrible cough tore from the old man’s throat. Bloody droplets of saliva splattered Patrik’s face as the wizard crumpled, slipping back to the ground. His eyes fluttered closed. His breath stilled.

“What! No!” Patrik cried.

He went back to the compressions. Seconds turned to long minutes. At some point, there was a second crack from the man’s chest, then a third. But this time there was no miraculous gasping for air, no sudden recovery. Until finally, his arms aching and own lungs gasping, Patrik was forced to accept defeat. The old man was dead.

He made to stand, and only then noticed the item he’d dropped when the man collapsed the second time. It had fallen in the dirt at his feet. A ring of gold. He bent down and picked it up. For a second he thought he glimpsed something inscribed around the outside. Then to his complete shock, the ring disappeared. Just blinked out of existence. He stared at his empty hand for a long moment, trying to understand what had happened.

Achievement Unlocked! Necromancy. Congratulations, you have successfully brought someone back from the dead. Reward: you have learned the spell Raise Dead [level 1]. Use this spell to temporarily bring a person or creature of a level equal to or lower than your own back from the dead. Duration: ten minutes. Cost: 10 mana.

Patrik lurched back from the body as a voice boomed through the clearing. At the same time, words burst into his vision, flashing a brilliant red. In a panic he lashed out, sure someone was trying to attack him. His fingers slashed through the swirling text and while they encountered nothing tangible, the words inexplicably went flying away.

More immediately appeared to replace them.

Achievement Unlocked! Hell Raiser. Woah, congrats! You have defied the laws of Death and revived a creature more than 50 levels higher than your own. Reward: Your spell, Raise Dead, has advanced to level [2, 3….6!] You can now temporarily revive creatures equal to or up to [+5 levels] greater than your own level. Duration: two hours. Cost: 10 mana.

Reeling from the booming voice, Patrik came to his feet. He swung one way, then another as the text flashed before his eyes. Screaming, he lashed out, trying to catch a hold of his unseen assailant. Instead, the text flashed again and flew off into nothing. Yet more burst into existence to replace it.

Achievement Unlocked! First victim. Congratulations, you’ve killed your first man. I mean, it was an old man, but still, just like your first time with a woman, a first kill is to be celebrated. [Reward: +10 gold]

“What the fuck is going on?”

Every time he got rid of one set of flashing text, another appeared—accompanied with that booming voice. Had someone set up a projector and speakers in the middle of the forest just to mess with him. If so, their prank had gone about a mile too far.

Achievement Unlocked! Giant Slayer. Well look at the balls on you. You’ve have killed a creature more than 50 levels higher than your own. [+500 gold]

Achievement Unlocked! Friendly Fire. You’ve killed an ally. Shit mate, that’s not cool. Why’d you go and do that? [-500 Alignment]

Patrik shook his head, his stomach lurching as the repeated bursts of text left him disorientated. Then the meaning behind the words and booming voice finally caught up with him. Had someone just accused him of murder?

“What?” he burst out. “I didn’t kill anyone!”

For a moment, silence descended on the clearing. By now the fire had burnt down to coals. He stared at the gaps between the standing stones, struggling to make out the owner of the voice or the speakers that had been booming out the words. But all he could see were the silent trees beyond the boulders. Their pale trunks standing like an audience ghosts amidst the darkness.

“Come out, whoever you—” he started.

Bring! Bring! Bring! Congratulations. You have reached level 2, 3…9! You have been awarded [24 stat points] to distribute amongst your attributes.

More enraged than confused now, Patrik waved a hand as the text flashed again before his eyes. Like before, the gesture scent it spinning out of his vision. He squinted at the nearby stones. Did they have some kind of projectors hidden in the rocks?

“Look, whatever sick joke you’re trying to play, enough!” He called, then made a gesture in the direction of the old man. “Someone is dead!”

Patrik stood amongst the stones, keenly aware just how exposed he was in the darkness. The soft pop and crackling of the embers was the only break to the silence of the forest. A sudden emptiness hung about the clearing, an eerie stillness. Patrik swallowed, wishing suddenly for the voice to speak again. Had the pranksters finally realised how serious things had gotten and fled? If so, how was he ever going to find his way back to civilisation…

Geeze, I didn’t even know you could do that. Did you really just revive that old dude just so you could kill him again? That’s cold, mate.