The Bear Cub

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Name: Loiel Krieger

Class: Lord of Tyranny (Slave Knight)

Species: Ursine Therian

Level: 1

HP: 12

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Those were the first words to greet me when I opened my eyes.

They hung mysteriously in the air, like how menus functioned in VR games. I reached a hand out towards it, and it passed through, like an illusion. A hand that was too small, too fragile, and a little too dirty to be mine. I flipped my hand from back to front, and confirmed that this was not my hand. These were not my hands, the product of years of hard work and dumb mistakes. I looked down to find that I was too close to the ground, that my limbs were too short, and that I was wearing some filthy sack as my sole piece of clothing.

This was not my tiny room in the middle of the city, crammed with all my worldly possessions and my parent’s ashes. There was no computer, no light, no bed, no comfort. I stood in a room of brick and stone and iron bars, damp and cold, completely lightless. Though it was dark, I could see with shocking clarity, far better than I had any right to.

I could tell it was dark, but still I could see well, far better than I had any right too.

My entire life I'd had poor eyesight; near blind short-sightedness and poor night vision coupled with expensive glasses ensured that I spent most of my life in a literal blur. The sharpness and clarity made the circumstances feel too unreal, too unnatural. I felt my face and found that I no longer had glasses, and a nose and cheeks whose shape felt foreign. Opposite of me was another cell, clearly medieval in form, empty save for a puddle of dark red fluid. Besides the damp, mildew smell that permeated the air, there dwelt the unmistakable copper-iron scent of blood. Wait, how could I see without a source of light?

Such vivid imagery and senses kept stabbing my anxiety with a single question: How was I seeing so clearly in the dark?

The sound of rusty metal creaking on ancient hinges came reverberating from far down the hall, out of sight. It was followed by the sound of heavy footsteps and the unmistakable jangle of keys. Wisps of red-orange light slowly crawled across the stonework, growing brighter with every step. Someone was coming, but I couldn’t even bring myself to focus on that, because I realized that when I sensed sound, it did not reach me from the sides of my head, where my ears should be. I brushed the sides of my head to find no ears. The steps came closer, and I realized I was hearing from the top of my head. I reached up and felt something that I knew distinctly felt like the ears of a dog or a cat, but what I knew to be my own ears. Did I have animal ears? I then became aware of something else, something which felt altogether foreign but I knew with all the innate confidence of my arm. I glanced back to find that I had a short, black, furry tail sticking out from my behind. A piece of fluff that reacted to my mere awareness, a horrifying sensation that felt both familiar and alien. I had an animal's tail, and an animal's ears, but my hands, my skin looked distinctly human, and my face had human-like features. What the hell am I?

“Wake up.“ I heard a woman’s voice bark. It was deep and rich, like velvet or stained glass. “Oh, surprise. You’re alive and awake.“

I looked back to find a tall, powerfully built woman, her features turned horrific by the way the shadows and the light of her torch clawed at her face. She towered over me, a titan of raw strength and muscle. Instantly I recognized her clothing as high medieval, maybe even renaissance, an arming sword strapped to her hip. A rich black cape adorned her, draped over which was the black fur pelt of a predator, possibly a bear or a wolf. But nothing she wore was historically accurate, rather, they were the bastardization I’d expect to see from some fantasy setting. A fantasy setting like Otherworld Online.

“The time has come, bear cub.“ The woman said as the iron bars creaked open and she took me by the arm. I was shocked at how effortlessly I was pulled along.

“Stop! Let me go!“ I yelled, and I was again surprised by a voice that wasn't mine. A high pitched voice, the noisy words of a child.

I was a child. The reality of my circumstances shocked me into silence. Who am I kidding? This wasn't real, it couldn't possibly be real. I was a grown-ass adult. I had a job, a life. I'd already been a child once, and that's something that only happens once. But I also died. And that only happens once.

The woman dragged me through halls of cells, we must've passed dozens of them. Dozens turned to hundreds. Hundreds became uncountable. Most were empty. Sometimes I'd see a huddled shape in a corner of these innumerable cages, and they would shrink at the torch's light, as if terrified to be seen.

“Where are you taking me?“ I asked, maintaining a futile struggle by simply refusing to walk. That didn't matter, I was so small and puny that she carried me by the arm.

“Who are you? Where am I? What is this place?“ I continued to ask as we went onwards, into the dark depths of this prison.

I continued to rattle off questions, most repeating, and I screamed for help once or twice, but that led nowhere. We continued to sink into this artificial night, down steps that would seemingly go on for eons, and curved avenues that carried gentle gradients that were barely noticeable. Some steps were long flights, others were winding stairwells, all went down, and as we went, it felt as though the darkness grew deeper, richer, more alive.

Then the woman even stopped and dropped me, her freed hand coming to rest on the hilt of her blade. She strained to see into the dark, listening for something. That was my moment to escape, and then I heard it, something clicking, growling, a high pitched animalistic noise that made me realize that there really was something lurking, hunting us. I strained to see and saw only as far as the torch went, the bright light ruining any night vision I may have had.

“So there is something there. The Wheezing Dragon? No.“ The woman murmured as her eye glanced down at me, a smirk growing onto her lips. “Looks like someone answered your call for help, little cub.“

For several long and tense moments I held my breath, not daring to make a noise. She leaned down, picked up a chipped piece of masonry, and hurled it into the darkness. Something inhuman yelped, and skittered off. Eventually, the woman relaxed, and she once again took me by the arm.

“Why are you doing this?“ I asked, again futile, but ‘why’ had been the only thing I had yet to ask.

Again, she remained silent, pushing through the dark maze of hallways, cells and rooms guarded by ancient, petrified oak doors. I had given up on any response when she finally spoke.

“You’re very noisy, all the others have been silent. You would've died had we not picked you up. Whether you die out there, in the burnt out wreckage of your dead home, or here in the Dungeon, it doesn’t matter.“ The woman said as she pushed her way through a door leading into the first room I’d seen so far. “Go ahead and think of me as cruel for giving you a chance.“

It was a large chamber, cavernous by the claustrophobic standards that we'd endured before. Several flaming sconces burned at the room’s periphery, revealing it to be cornerless, a perfect circle. At its center was an ominous pit about a dozen feet in diameter, its boundaries marked by clean masonry engraved with mysterious runes and words I could not read. The only thing that came to mind was a well, but I smelt no water here.

“And if you do live, then that means that you are the Chosen One. Or one of the Chosen, anyway.“ She said, approaching the hole, and a terrible fear gave me new strength to try and pull away. I hit her arm with my thin arms, clawed at her with broken nails, bit at her skin to find it tougher than leather. I tried and tried and realized that there was nothing I could do.

She stood at the pit's edge, whose darkness could not be penetrated by the torch. It felt like a depth more endless than the deep sea. This close to the edge, it would take only a light push to go down and fall forever. Powerless to stop what happened next, whatever that might be, I asked ‘Chosen to do what?’

“To free us from the tyranny of class, and make all people under the sun equal.“ She said grimly as she took me by the collar and threw me into the pit. I screamed. I screamed and screamed. And I screamed for far longer than I expected. I fell for several long and painful seconds, and I felt that I would die by the terror of the fall alone. I wondered how many people had the privilege of dying for a second time, or if this was something everyone went through. Being born into absurd circumstances and dying knowing nothing, over and over again.

The sweet relief of death never arrived. I felt the stomach churning sensation of falling fade, and the sensation of air rushing past slow. I was still falling, but gently, gracefully, like a leaf snapped from an autumn branch, carried by a gentle hande. I eventually came to a complete stop inches above the ground.

Whatever spell or magic prevented me from reaching terminal velocity terminated once I came to a complete stop. With that, gravity reasserted itself, and I hit the ground, nose first. I couldn’t help but be impressed by the booming thud I’d made, echoing and reverberating, mocking me long after the injury had ceased to hurt. Not as dead as expected and with my life still intact, I still found enough entitlement in me to groan upon landing.

I would've laid there for a moment longer to enjoy the cool touch of the stone floor, if not for the clattering of a still flaming torch landing inches away. My body automatically recoiled in fear with reflexes I knew I never owned. I looked up to the woman, whose face was now completely shrouded by shadow. The gaping hole I'd fallen down was now a dot of dim light in an ocean of darkness. I had nothing to measure it against, but as far as I could tell, the entrance was lethally high up. Without whatever that slowing effect was, it saved my life. I'm not sure it was a favor.

“Good luck.“ She said disappearing into the world beyond the rim.

I heard something skittering around in the dark, just beyond the reach of the dying torch.