by Han Yang
“The decagon you mentioned, interesting,” I muttered, a bit in disbelief.
“Close the door, please. I wasn’t kidding.” She waved a key card for a Hilton room. “If the ritual doesn’t work, which it probably won’t since you don’t believe in the supernatural, then we can leave the roaches behind, go to my room and get busy. We can pop vacation champaign along with our ‘drink’. It was a very long journey to get here.”
I glanced down at my phone. It was only two in the afternoon, and I had no texts. I sent a random ‘I love you’ to my mom’s old cell number—the one she’d had before she died. Like always, no one replied, but it always made me feel better.
“Aright,” the gorgeous Wiccan instructed. “Strip down to your undies, and then sit cross legged in the center of the decagon. Careful you don’t shift any of the feathers. After that, I’m going to poke my finger until it wells a drop of blood. The blood goes on your lips or in your mouth. Your pick,” she said.
“Just a drop?” I asked.
“Just the tip,” she teased and rolled her eyes. “Yes, a simple drop.”
“Lips are fine, I guess,” I shrugged, stripping my clothes off and sitting carefully in the middle of the circle.
Caitlyn stuck a finger into her mouth and nicked it on a sharp tooth.
When the blood touched my lips, I winced a bit. Can’t say I was a huge fan of the iron taste.
“Actually, finger in, sorry,” she said, sliding her finger into my mouth.
I wanted to protest, but she started to chant.
“The Zorta is power, and power is life. The Zorta is power, and power is life. I bring a willing champion to gather me Zorta. Cultivate for me ten thousand Zorta, and I’ll return your parents to the living. If you die, you fail. Don’t you want to see your parents again?” Caitlyn asked.
I scoffed, about to get upset.
“I mean no ill will. Just, if you could see your parent’s again, would you want to?” she asked sweetly.
I nodded a bit, placated by her amazing figure.
“Great. Keep my finger in your mouth and repeat after me. Use your own name, though. I, Caitlyn the Temptress,” she paused.
I chuckled at her fake goddess name.
“I, Damien Wilhimer,” I said.
She continued, “Enter into a contract for Zorta. The champion will visit Nordan and reap ten thousand Zorta in exchange for restoration of his parents from death. So I swear to the great Creator.”
I repeated the words after her, not certain if the great Creator she was referring was God.
I may have been distracted during this bit.
My eyes had focused on her thigh gap, ensuring she didn’t have a weapon hidden there—beyond her weaponized looks, which were deadly enough. Occasionally, my gaze raked up her lean abs to those supple breasts. When I forced my eyes higher, I noted no malice in her gaze or in her motions.
She didn’t make any sudden movements or reach behind her where she might have stashed a weapon. My hands were free for me to defend myself the entire time.
I wasn’t scared of this woman.
Did I find her ritual silly? Absolutely.
But it was 2031 in California, and a beautiful half-naked woman telling me some fantastic story, thinking she would gain god powers from some hokey ritual, wasn’t the craziest thing I’d heard this week.
“We're done?” I asked.
She nodded sadly. “Maybe you weren’t the right man to be my champion. Sorry I offered to save your parents.”
“I don’t think they would mind. Like I said, I’m not big into superstitions.” I snorted. “I almost wish your ritual would have worked. Nordan sounds like fun,” I lied.
“You don’t mean that, but I understand. I’ll honor my word as a Temptress. We’ll share a drink and some hot tub fun in my penthouse.”
I nodded eagerly.
“A final question. If I could really bring your parents back, would you take my offer? I mean, really consider the offer,” she said, stressing ‘the offer’.
I frowned, mulling over the proposal.
“How would that even work?” I asked. “Would they be younger than they should be, with missing memories, or would I be in a different reality? Because everyone else would know they were dead or this reality would be gone and I’d be me in a new body?”
“Nope, no,” she said, wagging a finger with one hand, her other hand on her hip.
I became transfixed by her large, jiggling breasts as they moved naturally.
I shook my head, trying to focus, even if she was quite the temptress.
“I would set them up on an island resort with a lot of cash and fake identities. When they adjust I’ll tell them the truth. Stay dead or live as Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Caitlyn said.
“While I like this ‘what if’ game, I’m in a ritual involving crow feathers, in my underwear, and I feel a goddess could just change our reality,” I said.
“Nope, bringing them back would be a huge burden and barely worth me earning ten thousand Zorta, but a goddess takes what she can get,” Caitlyn said, firmly believing her words.
“I do like the ‘temptress’ touch. Your boobs seem real too,” I said with a winning smile.
She rolled her eyes. “They are and yeah, I was Caitlyn the Deviant in my earlier years. I prefer to keep things simple now. So, how about it? If you parents had ample money and new identities in a small island resort community, would you be interested?”
This was kinda fun. I was starting to like Caitlyn for her zaniness. Her tempting body certainly helped win me over.
I stood and said, “Yeah, I would honor the ritual. I don’t see how it would be possible but—”
An aura flickered around her form and the decagon below my feet flared orange.
I furled my brows in confusion.
“Uh… what’s going on?” I asked.
“Finally! That did the trick. Sit, hurry or -”
I spun, trying to flee.
The hell with sitting. The decagon opened into a sinking swirling vortex, sucking my feet into the floor of the motel room.
Inch by inch, the ritual ate my body. My grunting efforts to pull myself out achieved nothing.
Caitlyn stared down at me as her ritual circle brightened.
The orange glow revealed the Temptress’s black wings and spiked tail. I screamed in rage, desperate to be free of the pull, not understanding what was happening.
My hips sunk below the floor and the magic howled until it deafened me. I saw her lips move slowly.
‘Good luck.’
With a massive tug, the ritual completed, and I was yanked from the motel room into a void of blackness.
My final, fleeting thought before the darkness swallowed me was that I no longer liked Caitlyn the Temptress or her Wiccan ways.
CHAPTER 2
Location Unknown
“Mother of mercy,” I groaned, feeling miserable.
My mind reeled in confusion.
Why had my body been sent through a washing machine of pain and agony?
I smacked my lips and shuddered when a fly flew out of my mouth. My feeble arm tried to swat the insect away.
Fluttering my eyes open, I saw a thatched roof above me.
Huh?
A hammock restricted my vision, but I was determined to see more. With a groan, my efforts to raise myself from the contraption failed me.
Why am I in a hammock?
The motel bed?
The wiccan!
My mind raced to catch up, desperate to sort the calamity that befell me earlier.
Hmm… a gorgeous woman, expensive lingerie, and then a ritual where I sunk into a black void.
“That bitch,” I managed to say through parched and cracked lips.
I shivered and my breath frosted from a large exhale.
That’s odd.
My next breath out seemed normal.
“I’m so damn cold, but the air is warm,” I said with confusion
&nb
sp; Using my arms to simply sit upright felt like a mountainous achievement. I struggled to balance myself as the hammock swayed.
“What’s wrong with me,” I grumbled, letting my legs dangle to rest against a gritty floor.
I glanced around, seeing a single end table with a photo of a woman propped up. The image was hand drawn, the edges cracked and partially ruined by age.
The table the frame rested on appeared hand carved. Images of crappily drawn horses etched onto the surface puzzled me.
A single door restrained sunlight from entering and the room lacked a window.
I removed the blanket covering my body and about had a heart attack.
Shriveled skin adorned my boney frame. Long nails curved off my fingers and toes. I grabbed a chunk of my thigh and lifted the loose flesh like a rubber band.
My eyes widened in horror at my new reality.
Of course, I checked my mighty hammer of awesomeness and found the poor guy turtled up. So much for arriving on Nordan with a two foot dick, chiseled abs, and the skills of a ninja.
“Aw, man, this is some bullshit,” I said with a hoarse voice. I entered a coughing fit, common with age. “How the hell am I supposed to be a champion as a grandpa?”
My belly button ached, sending a signal. I tried to gather the strength to stand and my body protested. Without anything else to do, I inspected the painful area.
Where my belly button should be, a clear orb protruded.
“Should probably see a -” I started to say but a new coughing fit took over.
Curiosity killed the cat and I probably was about to die anyway, so I touched the orb. An interface appeared two feet in front of me. The clear magic let my hand pass through it without changing the image.
I saw a message awaiting me and went to tap the button that said accept. My finger went through the display again, and I thought accept. A green ping informed me that mental triggers worked.
Greetings Damien, my chosen one.
I’ve struggled to find a single man on Earth who fit my criteria of actually believing another realm existed. Well, I found a few, but none were as gullible as you. Honestly, you should get a girlfriend, would probably save you the heartache when a Temptress ruins your life. Oh, I crack myself up.
Our deal remains. Cultivate ten thousand Zorta, and you get to retire as Damien Smith on an island with your parents. That’s the good news. Your way home is clear, your goal is defined, and trust me, I want you to win.
The bad news - when a Goddess tells you to sit in her spell, you damn well sit. In this case, your isekai trip had a hiccup. Nothing too awful but an immediate challenge nonetheless.
Instead of arriving as a young and dapper version of yourself, you were sent into the body of an old dead man. Yeah, he died like an hour ago. Gives me the shivers, and I bet you’re cold.
Look, here’s the deal. You need Zorta to reverse the aging and become young again. If you hurry, you can gain some Zorta and stop from dying. Kill something then suck the dead power into your belly button. It’s odd, but it works.
Which, you’ll learn there’s some stats and abilities tied to your competition orb in your Nordan assessment tracker. I mention this because you’ll see an aging timer.
A lot of that data is super self-explanatory. Do more and more information will appear. All of that is irrelevant because right now you need to consume Zorta to avoid dying. Oh, and consuming Zorta does not count to my needs.
Be careful. This competition has no respawns, restarts, or do overs. What it does have is once a day resurrections for healing mages. Hurray, you’re a healer. Boo, you can’t resurrect yourself and healers generally suck in combat.
Final thing, champ. Go get them. Ha, that too, but you have an unknown second magical ability. I’m sure you’ll learn everything as you stumble, trip, fall, and get back up on Nordan. You’re my champion. No one gets two magic types. No one except champions, and they’re worth a whole lot of Zorta to kill. Like worth stabbing in the back.
I hope you catch my meaning. If you return to me the conquering hero with my Zorta, I promise your parents will be brought back to life, and we’ll have a great time.
Your Temptress,
Caitlyn Moonguard
Her message faded, wholly inadequate to explain what the hell was going on. I noticed a walking stick on the ground and felt spry enough to snatch it.
The exertion left me winded, and I used the breathing time to touch my belly button.
Name: Damien Moonguard
I moaned in displeasure. Damien Wilhimer was my name. Not Damien Moonguard.
Whatever, best to figure out what’s what, not like I can fly home.
Before I touched my orb again, I had to wonder - was I not freaking out because of the goddess’s ritual, or was I just this naturally accepting of life becoming batshit crazy?
Name: Damien Moonguard
Race: Human
Affiliation: Nordan
Zorta: 0
Nordan Score: 0
Ostriva Score: 0
Location: Yew Wood
Magic Type: Healer
Healer Level: 1
Magic Type 2: Unknown
Unknown Score: Unknown
Fighting Level: Pathetic
Mana: 20
Mana Recharge: 1
Strength: 1
Stamina: 1
Dexterity: 1
Constitution: 1
Willpower: 1
Cultivation: 1
Intelligence: 25
Wisdom: 25
Charisma: 1
Endurance: 1
Perception: 5
Burst: 1
Reflex: 1
Healing: 1
Melee Combat: 1
Aim: 1
Hunger: 10
Thirst: 10
Aging: 33 minutes 12 second until death.
“Thirty three minutes!”
I shot off my feet too quickly and crashed into the door. Stupid hammocks were not for the elderly.
On three hooks rested three items: a dagger belt I equipped, a purse I hung around my neck, and a plain dirty gray robe that I covered my nude wrinkly form with.
After a brief struggle to open the damn thing, I freed myself of the simple and plain hut.
The exterior revealed a breathtaking view that I ignored. Great, the old dead man lived on a marvelous hill with a big white oak tree that held a tree swing. I would join his soul if I didn’t get some damn Zorta.
I grumbled my way to a worn trail leading down a gently sloping hill. Wild grass with thick bushes and weeds dominated the terrain besides the brown path. A clear sky revealed scattered clouds and a bright day.
My eyes avoided lingering and instead darted for Zorta until I realized a few things.
If Zorta would have saved this man, why did he die? Where did one get Zorta beside from the mythical creatures from… from… shit, I am the worst with names.
I slowed my breakneck pace before I literally broke my neck. A small village rested about five hundred feet from the base of the old man’s hill.
Between the hill and the village sat a farm with shin high oats of some kind. Smoke billowed from chimneys inside small walls, and the early morning sun revealed a beautiful scene I feared would be my last.
I reached the bottom of the hill and continued on the trail for the village. Someone would know what to do. I just knew -
A rustling from the oats on my left caught my attention.
A fluffy white bunny nibbled on some grass, eking out a living between the oats.
Death equals Zorta. Bunny equals life.
I smirked.
Now, I’d never killed a thing in my life, making me the ideal healer … besides, well, an actual doctor. The point is, I stared at that bunny, and all I could see was me eventually sitting on a beach with my parents.
All the video games started with the intrepid hero slaying bunnies, then a wolf or two thousand, and then I’d move on to boars for a six day mara
thon.
Yeah, bunny had it coming.
I stalked forward, careful not to disturb the creature. My damn ancient body popped and cracked as I moved forward.
My heart pounded fiercely to the point it was all I could hear. I raised my walking stick up and the bunny caught sight of me without a care.
I rushed the stick down with my strength of one.
Crack!
Bunny brains smushed from my assault and a leg twitched in shock. The bunny had not seen that coming in the slightest.
I exhaled in relief at my luck.
A tiny, colorful orb hovered over the bunny’s body.
An instinct from the old man kicked in.
I closed my eyes, found my center, and waved my hands over the Zorta.
I welcomed the orb, enticing it to aid me in my future journey. A tug of resistance shattered violently, and the orb crashed into my being.
A prompt generated in front of me.
Zorta: 0.008 - Consume (Yes) - (No) - (Drop)
I selected yes with a mental thought and the interface in front of my eyes changed.
Consume for Mana (Yes) - (No)
I selected no.
Consume for Age reduction (Yes) - (No)
I selected yes.
Aging: 2 days fourteen minutes until death.
I let out a sigh of relief, feeling the dread of a looming death fading.
“Sprinkles,” a young girl cried out from the village exit. “Sprinkles, where did you hop off to?”
“Oh shit,” I said, quickly returning to the trail for the village.
I pushed a bit of dirt over the blood, a feeble attempt of covering my diabolical deed.
The bunny hadn’t panicked not because I was some ninja grandpa warrior but because it was a damn pet.
My stomach twisted, and I wished I could hide, or fly, or -
“Mr. Toneba, have you seen Sprinkles?” a girl asked in a pleading way.
She was probably six or seven and wore a thick hide dress. Her bare feet were caked in mud. The blonde hair atop her head held ten shades of dirty muck, and she reminded me of me when I was a wild, feral child.
“I’m old, hard to see,” I said with a squint.
