CHAPTER 1: So I Got Attacked By A Patchwork Zombie Pomeranian, But At Least I Have a Name Now

1.

The forest was alive with sound. The deep howling of wolves, the chirps of crickets, the buzz of dragonflies.

It'd been serene if our hero wasn't running for his life. He had found something. He couldn't see what it was yet, but it sure as hell was growling and snarling the second the village was too far behind to see. He took one step too deep and- bam.

A snarling hell creature was trailing him. The more he thought about the scenario, the more it felt like he probably should of waited to do this. You know, help the villagers kill some slimes, level up a bit, go into the woods with a party...

...damn, was Jakob supposed to be the healer this story gives you? Well, I screwed that up... Ah, the things your mind turns to while being pursued by an unknown, probably terrifying, creature. Tends to make you think of your mistakes, even in a new life as short as our unnamed hero's.

He heard the creature's deep howl- a very close deep howl, followed by the sound of thuds on the ground. Thuds that sounded behind him. He was about to die- again. He couldn't even make it 24 hours in this new world and he was about to be out of it...

The next thing happened in a flash as the tiny beast leapt into the air, biting him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Our hero shouted in pain as he kept running. The beast's teeth were certainly sharp- he could feel the warm blood start to run down his back as the creature dislodged itself, jumping back to bark and snarl again. He heard another set of frantic thuds behind him- clearly larger than the creature, but knowing his luck? Probably its mother, looking to finish the hunt.

...But hey, if it wasn't striking again, that was just more opportunity to get as far away from it as humanly possible. Our hero tried to pick up a sprint, as fast as his malnourished, I-eat-nothing-but-cup-ramen-and-its-great ass could carry him.

It wasn't very far. The creature jumped up and aimed for his jugular. With a sickening chomp, he felt himself fall to his other side, the creature dislodging and trotting in front of the dying man with a triumphant howl. He laid there, vision wavering and fading- trying to get a view of what killed him, what had successfully protected its home and probably the witch.

It was small, not even a foot tall. It was fluffy, mostly, except for the parts of it that'd been replaced by a stitch of cloth. It had two little beady eyes and the face of a teddy bear.

It was a Pomeranian. Our hero had been killed by a Pomeranian. Of all things, one of the tiniest and most yapping creatures to ever exist, and in two bites killed a man grown. He was never meant to be a hero if that's what killed him... His vision failed him as he heard whoever- or whatever- was chasing the lap dog approach.

“--there you are, Cuddles~” A sweet, feminine voice cooed, followed by the sound of excited barking and jumping. “Oh, what did we say about leaving Mommy's cabi--”

There was a deep pause as the woman looked down, seeing the man bleeding out on the forest floor.

“...Bad boy, Cuddles!”

And with that, our hero died for the second time.

2.

It wasn't long before he woke again, shooting up like lightning shot through him, finding himself in a hastily made bed of hay. His vision was blurry as it slowly returned to him, revealing he was in a... room. A not-too-well-kept room, judging by the fact things were scattered about, but a room none the less.

But hey- it's better than rotting on the forest floor, right? He just wanted to know how- and why- he was alive again. He instinctively reached up to his neck, finding a crudely stitched patch of cloth covering where his neck had been torn open.

“FEED ME THE BLOOD OF THE OUTWORLDER, OPHELIA!” A deep, yet oddly cartoon-y, voice crooned from outside the room he was in. He grimaced the second he heard that- and the grimace grew even deeper when he realized it said Ophelia.

He was in the company of the Witch of Blue Hills Forest.

“Shhh, he's our guest!” The feminine voice replied- clearly that had to be the witch- to the other. What the hell was she talking to?

“IT MATTERS NOT, I NEED BUT ONE TASTE, PHI-PHI! PLEASE, JUST ONE DRO-” There was a pause as there was the sound of a loud thud, the kind that follows when a particularly thick book falls onto a wooden floor. Followed by the sound of the deep voice giving a high pitched shriek as the dog- Cuddles, wasn't it?- ripped and dragged something around in frustration.

The door opened then, a sweet looking woman with long, flowing white hair stepped inside. “Ah! You're up!” She gave a smile. “That was a nasty tear my lil' baby gave you!” A laugh came from her. “But, that's all in the past now, isn't it?”

What in the name of God...? Why was the witch- the sinister, evil witch who held a village hostage- so damn nice?

“What's your name, mister?” She gave another sweet smile.

Our hero cleared his throat. “I, uh, don't remember...”

The smile was once again sympathetic. “That's okay, mister. I'm sure we'll come up with something to call you.” Ophelia replied. “I was mostly worried that Cuddles' bite was a bit too hard to fix...”

“How did you do that, anyway?” He asked, voice cracking slightly in fear. But he remembered what his dad told him his whole life- always be polite when you're a guest. He never had to try it until now, but man, was it good advice.

“Necromancy.” She replied cheerfully.

“...excuse me?” His eyes were wide as his hand went to his neck, feeling for a pulse. There wasn't any.

“Yeah! Dragged you back here, grabbed Connie, and Wham! Bam! Pow! You're back!” Ophelia grinned cheerfully.

That's an awfully cheerful way of saying you were playing God... Our hero blinked as he stared at Ophelia, who by all accounts so far was a sweet thing, despite having the reputation of being a terrifying necromancer.

Contradictions sure were something.

He cleared his throat again. “So, uh, who's Connie?”

It was Ophelia's turn to go wide eyed this time, shooting up and out of the room.

“OH THANK SWEET HEAVENS YOU'RE SAVING ME FROM THAT BEAST, OPHELIA!” The deep voice sang, as Cuddles was pulled away from whatever it was attacking. Probably whatever 'Connie' was.

She came back into the room holding a thick tan tome against her chest. She took a deep breath before, in grandeur, saying: “I present to you, mister, the mightiest of spell tomes: Connie!” She turned the book so it's front faced our hero.

The book had two black, beady eyes and a mouth of yellow teeth, sharper than a knife and cracked into a sadistic grin.

“HELLO, OUTWORLDER. I TRUST YOUR WORLD KNOWS OF THE MIGHTY BOOK OF THE DEAD? THE POWER KNOWN AS THE NECRONOMICON?”

...Ah. His eyes went wide in terror. He'd seen enough horror movies to know what was going to happen. The book would slowly drive them all mad in return for its mighty knowledge of the unknown.

So our hero fainted.

“...NOT MUCH FOR CONVERSATION ARE YA, PAL?” The book then cracked into a hideous giggle.

3.

A jet of water to the face was all it took to shake our hero awake. Ophelia stood over him, Connie splayed open as she cast Aqua 1. He arose a second later, dripping in water and rubbing his now-bruised forehead.

“You didn't have to go that far.” He replied, grimacing.

“It's not polite to act like that to Connie!” Ophelia pouted. “Connie is a very nice spell book, you know!”

“I- it's- Connie's scary?” He stared on in disbelief at Ophelia, who only huffed in reply.

“Apologize!” She shouted, closing Connie and holding it up to our hero. The book's eyes squinted and gave a steady stream of tears.

“BOO HOO! BOO HOO HOO- SUCH A RUDE YOUNG MAN!” It whined. “ALL I DID WAS SAY HELLO TO YOU AND YOU FAINT! I UNDERSTAND I'M NOT THE LOOKER I WAS THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO, BUT A YOUNG MAN SHOULDN'T TREAT THEIR ELDERS LIKE THAT!”

He sat there, dumbfounded and mouth agape. The Necronomicon- the book of eldritch lore that every nerd worth their salt knew about- was before him, and it was crying crocodile tears to get him to apologize.

Maybe staying dead would've been better to this.

“I'm...sorry?” He stared at the book, eyes unflinching in his despair at how ridiculous of a situation he had gotten himself in. Maybe the book wanted to feast on that despair, maybe this was all a ploy by that voice to give the Book of the Dead an endless source of food.

Or maybe it just nagged its owner into demanding an apology. Either seemed likely.

“OH, KIDS THESE DAYS! I SWEAR, NO SUCH THING AS HEARTFELT APOLOGIES!” The book huffed, having Ophelia wipe away its tears. “BUT AN APOLOGY IS AN APOLOGY, BOY, AND I ACCEPT IT.”

“Now that's that~” Ophelia chimed cheerfully, smiling again as she set Connie down on a table next to the bed. “I figured out a name for you, too!”

“You... did?” Our hero raised an eyebrow.

“You have to be a strong person to go into these woods! I've heard the last couple people through here gossip about me, they think I'm a horrible witch with control over foul beasts- it's very mean, you know?”

I mean, you are a necromancer... He thought, nodding along. “Very terrible.” He said, placating the witch.

“So- I'll name you Andrew!”

Before our hero could refute the name, before his eyes, he saw this:

NAME ACCEPTED.

Then his stat sheet appeared once more, with one change: it had his name as Andrew. With a sigh of defeat, Andrew gave a nod.

“Fine. That's better than nothing, Ophelia.”

And so began a friendship that'd change the face of the world.