Strength Based Wizard

Chapter 02. Entering the Game

Chapter 2

Entering the Game

The message vanishes from view, and for a moment, I’m alone again in the boiling hot, sweat-drenched weight room. I turn around, scanning the room. Still alone, and silent other than the sound of my breathing (which is uncomfortably loud in the aftermath of the message), and the old fan mounted in the far corner of the room near the stationary bicycles.

Then, the air in the center of the room wavers, like heat rising off asphalt in the middle of summer. I instinctively take a step backwards, my back bumping against the racked barbell of the squat rack.

A sound follows—a bizarre, impossible noise. It’s like someone ripping fabric, but layered with the crisp snap of scissors slicing through wrapping paper and the deep, resonant chime of glass shattering in slow motion.

Right in front of me, the air unzips. There’s no other word for it. A glowing doorway of bluish light appears, cutting through the space like it was always there, just waiting for the right moment to show itself.

And then, in my vision, etched in neat, faintly glowing numbers:

1:00

0:59

0:58

A timer, clear as day, counting down right in front of my eyes. I blink hard, twice, but the numbers don’t go away.

“What the hell is going on?” My voice echoes in the empty gym, but no one answers.

I take a cautious step forward, my sneakers squeaking on the rubber flooring. The doorway hums softly, emitting a faint, rhythmic whoosh as cool air pulls towards it. I can feel the draft tugging at my shirt, like an invisible hand beckoning me closer. A faint, barely perceptible sound emits from the portal—like the buzzing hum of a neon light turning on.

I sidestep the portal, circling it. From the side, it’s almost gone, barely more than a shimmer in the air. I keep moving, coming around to the other side, which looks just like the front—a glowing, blue-tinged doorway that shouldn’t exist.

I glance at the timer suspended in the corner of my vision. 0:40 . . . 0:39.

“Integration.” The word from the message bounces around in my head. Am I dying right now? Is this really a stroke? Did I collapse under the squat bar, and this is my brain’s messed-up way of coping? Did that message really say ‘the END OF THE WORLD’?

The thought hits me like a bar full of forty-five pound plates smacking me in the back of the head. If the world really is ending, maybe this portal is a life raft. Would I be an idiot not to walk through it? ‘If you choose to accept, you will be one of the first inhabitants integrated into the Interdimensional Uniform System.’ That’s what the message had said. If I didn’t accept, was there a less likely chance that I would be integrated into whatever post-apocalyptic inter-galactic order had descended onto our humble planet? I can’t help but think of all those Sci-Fi movies I used to watch in high school—of being part of the cursed population left on a dying planet while the rest escaped into outer space. Was this an ‘early access’ ticket?

Then again, with my luck, it’s probably a black hole disguised as an escape hatch.

I look around the empty gym,

“Approximately eight hundred million of your fellow Earthlings accepted the summons,” he says, his smile widening. “I imagine most will enter the Game.”

The number slams into me like a freight train. Eight hundred million. Those are worse odds than hitting the jackpot in the Mega Millions lottery. My chest tightens, but there’s something else there too, a flicker of defiance. What would my life be like if I could have everything I could ever want? And if the world was really ending, wouldn’t it be better to enter the new, intergalactic age as a demigod?

I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over me. “Does only the winner survive? Are these some kind of death games?” I ask.

The man chuckles. “There are always casualties. I would be lying if I said there wouldn’t be a lot of casualties. But that is a fair question. No, there are usually many survivors. But there is only ever one winner.”

“I’m assuming there’s no waiver and release form that your civilized multiverse has prepared for me to review and sign?” If not, these god-like fuckers could really learn a thing or two from all of Earth’s corporations.

This elicits a small chuckle from the man. “By participating in the Game, you risk being severely injured or, yes, death. And by willingly proceeding with the steps necessary to enter the Game, you accept all risks. But trust me when I say this: life as a mortal itself is a hazard to your wellness, and the power the System grants in many ways offers a comfort and protection from many of the risks you face every waking moment on the gigantic heated rock of a planet you call home.”

I almost move my hand over my chest. Shots fired! You wound me, Throne Guy!

“Well,” I say, forcing a tight smile, “I’ve always liked a challenge.”

The man leans back in his throne, his yellow eyes gleaming with something that looks suspiciously like amusement. “Good,” he says, he straightens and taps the bottom of his staff against the obsidian-like floor. The snakes’ carved bodies coil and gleam as if they’re alive, catching the sterile light streaming from above. “Now, to finalize your acceptance as a participant in the Game, there’s just one more step. You must create your Participant Profile.”

I blink, trying to decide if this is terrifying or ridiculous. Probably both. “How do I do that?”

“Place your hand on the pedestal.” He gestures to the empty slab of stone between us, his smile curling upward.

“Just . . . put my hand on it?”

“Precisely.”

I reach forward before freezing halfway. I look up at the man. “It isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

I glance at the pedestal like it might bite me. Knowing my luck, it might. But the man’s unwavering stare is like a spotlight, and I know I don’t have much of a choice. Swallowing down my nerves, I stand and step toward the pedestal. Without another thought, I place my hand against the top of the pedestal.

As soon as my palm presses against the smooth, cold surface, something happens. A jolt—like touching a doorknob after shuffling across carpet—shoots through my body. Except it doesn’t stop at my hand. It courses through my veins, filling every inch of me with electric, tingling heat. I gasp, my fingers reflexively curling against the stone.

Ding.

The sound rings out in my head, clear and bright, and I flinch, half-expecting the man to comment. But he just watches me, unbothered.

Assimilation complete. A voice says—vaguely feminine, though hard to pin down. It’s the same voice that announced the end of the world before the portal appeared in the middle of Diesel Athletic Club. It’s calm and mechanical, like an automated phone line that somehow got a personality upgrade. You have been successfully assimilated into the System. Congratulations on becoming a Participant in the God Game! It is with great enthusiasm that I welcome you to the Interdimensional Uniform System.

Assimilated? The System? God Game? My brain feels like it’s buffering.

Another notification pops into my vision, hovering in the air like a hologram I can’t swat away. Assimilation Complete. Participant Status: Active.

Before I can process that, a new message appears, the words crisp and glowing:

Basic Participant Profile Generated. Please complete the Profile Creation Process. Please note all decisions made in the Profile Creation Process will be semi-permanent and will not be capable of being changed until later stages in the God Game.

Continue?

The static-like energy fades, leaving me feeling light-headed—but sharper, somehow. More aware. I pull my hand back, staring at the pedestal like it’s some ancient relic.

“Well done,” the man says, clapping his hands slowly, like he’s at a one-man opera. “The first step is always the most difficult, isn’t it? But you handled that like a champion!”

I stagger back toward the chair, my pulse hammering in my ears. “What the hell just happened?”

“You’ve taken your first step into the greater universe, my friend,” he replies, his voice almost smug. “Now comes the fun part: defining who you will be in the Game. Go on, Joseph. Complete your Profile.”

The glowing notification lingers in my vision, waiting for me to act. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but my hands are already shaking.

Whatever this is, there’s no turning back now.