The Devil in the Dungeon.

The mage’s expression turned somber. “When the event ended, her awareness just… disappeared. She went from being this brilliant, otherworldly sorceress to a shell—a puppet without memories, still wielding power but without a spark of life. We can still call upon her skills in times of need, but it’s like watching a ghost.”

Karlos hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal. But the genuine curiosity in their faces made it hard to resist. “Well,” he began slowly, “we don’t have magic the way you do. Our world relies on, uh, machines, kind of like that other collab warrior mentioned. They let us communicate, travel, even learn about each other’s lives without ever meeting. It’s… complicated, but it works.”

The knight raised an eyebrow, clearly fascinated. “No magic at all? Not even for defense?”

“Not in the way you’d expect,” Karlos replied, feeling a bit self-conscious. “We use… strategies and tactics, I guess you could say. Most of us don’t wield weapons ourselves; we’ve got, well, groups that defend us. It’s like a different kind of power structure.”

The mage let out a low whistle, looking genuinely impressed. “A world that survives without magic. I wonder what your people would be capable of if they had even a drop of the mana we take for granted here.”

Karlos shifted, half-amused and half-overwhelmed by their fascination. But there was something heartening in their questions; it felt almost like he was regaining some grounding, something that connected him back to where he came from, even if he was here under the strangest of circumstances.

“ We also have that question so we use simulations to answer questions we can not otherwise prove. The answer is quite complicated as with magic technology, sorry machines would probably never be built because it would take too much time for any progress of substance to come into fruition.

Karlos responded to the question with out realizing he was rambling. “I’m…”

The mage interrupted Karlos’s rambling with a gentle chuckle, eyes glittering with the amusement of someone who had seen many worlds pass before him. “It’s quite alright,” he said, his voice layered with a warmth that Karlos hadn’t expected. “It’s rare to find people who have such a perspective. For someone from a world without magic, you carry a remarkable aura, like a flame that won’t easily be snuffed out.”

Karlos paused, a bit startled by the mage’s keen insight, wondering if he’d just let slip too much. Yet, beneath the mage’s calm gaze, there was something deeper—a knowing look, as though he was aware of truths beyond what was said. It was unnervingly close to the feeling of prophecy, as if the mage was reading thoughts Karlos hadn’t voiced.

The knight observed this exchange with a respectful nod. “I’d say we’ve met more than just a normal collab warrior,” he remarked, his voice rich with a calm certainty.

Karlos shifted uncomfortably under the knight’s gaze. The weight of his words carried an expectation Karlos wasn’t sure he could meet. “I’m just trying to make sense of all this,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “I didn’t ask to be here, and I don’t even know if I’ll be able to go back. But I’ll do what I can while I’m stuck here.”

The knight’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Sometimes, being thrust into a situation we didn’t choose is what forges us into what we’re meant to be. The flame of the forge doesn’t ask permission to shape the blade.”

The mage nodded in agreement. “True. And if I may be bold, Karlos, you seem like the kind of person who thrives under pressure. Your world sounds like it requires constant innovation, adaptation. Perhaps that’s why you were chosen—whether by fate or by the whims of whatever power brought you here.”

Karlos frowned, his thoughts swirling. Chosen? The idea of being chosen for anything felt strange, almost laughable. Back home, he was just a gamer, someone who spent more time in fictional worlds than dealing with the chaos of reality. He certainly didn’t feel like someone destined for greatness. But here, in this world of mana and magic, he couldn’t shake the feeling that every step he took was leading him toward something bigger—something he wasn’t sure he wanted to face.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“I’m not sure I believe in fate,” Karlos said carefully, “but if there’s one thing my world has taught me, it’s that you don’t have to be special to make a difference. You just have to try.”

The knight’s smile broadened, and he clasped a hand on Karlos’s shoulder, the weight surprisingly reassuring. “Wise words for someone so young. Perhaps you’re more a warrior than you realize.”

Before Karlos could respond, the mage’s attention shifted, his expression growing serious. He raised a hand, and the air around them shimmered faintly with mana. “Someone’s coming,” he murmured, his voice low.

The knight immediately straightened, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. “Friend or foe?” he asked.

The mage’s eyes narrowed as he concentrated. “It’s hard to say. The mana signature is… unusual. Not hostile, but not entirely familiar either.”

Karlos felt a chill crawl up his spine as he instinctively stepped closer to the others. “Unusual how?” he asked, his voice tight.

The mage hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. “It’s as though they’re not fully tethered to this plane. Their presence flickers—here, then gone, like a flame struggling against the wind.”

The knight nodded grimly, his grip on his sword tightening. “Stay behind us, Flame Mage. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it.”

Knowing what he was doing was but couldn't help it Karlos shook his head, surprising even himself with the firmness in his voice. “No. If this involves me—if this world is trying to pull me into something—I can’t just stand back and watch.” He reached for the staff strapped to his back, its familiar weight grounding him despite the rising tension. “I’m not a warrior like you, but I can fight.”

The knight gave him an appraising look before nodding. “Very well. Stand with us, then.”

The mage’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Perhaps you’re more than just a visitor after all.”

A ripple of mana surged through the air, and the ground beneath their feet seemed to hum with energy. The tension was palpable as a figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, their form cloaked in a strange, iridescent light. Karlos tightened his grip on his staff, his heart pounding as the figure stepped closer, their face obscured but their voice clear.

“You’ve come far, Karlos,” the figure said, their tone calm yet unnervingly knowing. “But your journey is just beginning.”

Karlos swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at him to run. But he stood his ground, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. “Who are you?”

The figure tilted their head, the iridescent light around them pulsing gently. “Someone who knows what you’re capable of.

Karlos Get behind Godfrey the Mage shouted As he casted a barrier.

Grow strong enough to be worthy of being my vessel. The figure iridescent aura slowly morphed into a dark purple. The aura lengthens and the light morphing until it reaches a blood-red color.

The aura lashed out fast like a whip and shattered the barrier like glass. It continued it path and struck the mage in the stomach but retracted before it could go further.

Turning towards the knight a long sword was also wedged deep into his plated armor exiting the back.

The figure’s voice echoed like a chorus of whispers, each tone resonating with malice and something older—primal, as if it had existed long before the world they stood upon. Karlos’s stomach churned at the sight of the knight staggering back, his armor groaning as the sword embedded in him disintegrated into nothing but smoke. Godfrey, the mage, collapsed onto one knee, clutching his abdomen where the lash had struck, his barrier spell reduced to sparkling fragments dissipating in the air.

Karlos tightened his grip on his staff, his knuckles whitening. The scene felt surreal, like a nightmare dragged out of one of the many fantasy games he’d poured his life into. But this wasn’t a game—he couldn’t reload a save or respawn here.

The figure stood motionless, their iridescent aura now fully consumed by the dark crimson light that wavered like fire, licking hungrily at the air around them. Despite the destruction they’d caused, their stance remained relaxed, almost casual, as though this were nothing but an idle warm-up.

“ It is a game at least it was to you. You are now a character. So if I kill you now as long as I don't use my Hell’s Agony you won’t permanently die not in a dungeon at least. Though you might be come a puppet a bit to earlier for my liking.

Karlos stepped forward instinctively, fear clawing at him but pushed down by an unexpected surge of anger. “You’re not taking me,” he growled. “I don’t care what you think I’m worth to you.”

The figure chuckled—a sound that resonated like breaking glass. “Oh, Karlos, you misunderstand. I don’t need to take you. Not yet.” The glow around them surged, shifting from blood-red to a deeper, blackened hue as they advanced. “You’ll come to me, willingly or not. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Not if I burn you to ash first,” Karlos snapped, lifting his staff. He felt the rush of mana flooding through him, the fiery energy surging as if it had been waiting for this moment. The flames at the staff’s tip roared to life, illuminating the darkened clearing with an amber glow that cast long shadows.

The figure’s head tilted as though amused. “Good. Anger fuels the fire. Let it grow.”