Gamer Drive. And School…..
Lessons we're learned with the whole "Boggart Domain" thing going on. One, never touch a suspiciously unsuspecting thirst trap. Because you know, it's always a trap. Two; whatever I ate last night was catching up to me in the worst way possible because the second I opened my eyes to the real world, I ran straight to the toilet and started throwing up everything I had.
Althea rushed behind me but I slammed the door at her face. Having her watch me throw up just felt wrong on a number of levels.
I heaved until my stomach was completely empty, my throat burning with the harsh, acidic aftertaste of the two 500ml cans of Monster Energy I'd chugged last night. Note to self: surviving a mythical boss fight in a parallel dimension does not cancel out a severe caffeine crash in the real world.
I leaned my forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths. The Interface was gone. The smell of the Boggart's sizzling drool was gone. The only thing left was the muffled sound of my uncle's wall clock ticking from the living room, and the very persistent, very regal woman waiting right outside the bathroom door.
"Adjutant?" Althea's voice filtered through the wood, calm and laced with a hint of genuine concern. "Are you injured? Did the Boggart inflict a status ailment I failed to intercept?"
"I'm fine!" I croaked, splashing some cold water on my face. "Just… adjusting to the physics of magical teleportation!"
I grabbed a towel, wiped my face, and cracked the door open just an inch. Althea stood there in the hallway, her posture perfectly rigid, her expression stoic. And she was still completely, flawlessly naked.
"Okay, seriously," I snapped, squeezing my eyes shut and gripping the doorframe. "You need to put some clothes on. Right now. Before Jean wakes up, or my uncle magically reappears, or my brain short-circuits. Go into my room—the one on the left—and put on literally anything."
"Armor is unnecessary in a secured safe zone," Althea pointed out logically.
"It's not about armor, it's about the law!" I hissed, my voice cracking into a panicked squeak. "Just put the clothes on, Althea. Please. Consider it your second Script Quest."
I heard a soft sigh, followed by the padding of her bare feet on the hardwood floor.
"Understood, Adjutant. Initiating equipment change."
I waited in the bathroom for another full minute, staring at the ceiling and praying to whatever Mad God was running this simulation that I wouldn't end up on a registry. When I finally stepped out, Althea was sitting on the living room couch, her golden hair cascading over the shoulders of my favorite grey
"Dead by Daylight" hoodie.
It was surreal. The hoodie was swimming on me, but on her, it clung tightly to her chest and left her midriff exposed. She had paired it with a pair of my dark, worn-in jeans. They were definitely a tight fit around her thighs, and she hadn't quite figured out how the zipper worked, leaving it half-undone. My brain screamed at me to look at the ceiling, the floor, the TV—literally anywhere else.
I slumped into the armchair across from her, crossing my arms defensively to keep my hands from shaking. "Okay. Clothes are on. Mostly. Now, talk. What was that? The Pantheon, the monster, the giant wind-sword laser thing… was any of that real?"
Althea shifted, crossing her legs. "It is as real as the chair you are sitting on, Timothy. The Pantheon exists parallel to your reality. It is a domain where Aeons wait to be called, and where the Adjutant must go to claim the resources necessary to survive the coming conflicts."
"Resources. You mean like that whetstone thing?" I asked, pulling up the floating Interface with a hesitant flick of my wrist. The glowing blue screen materialized, displaying my inventory. There it was: Refined Whetstone (Uncommon).
"Exactly," Althea nodded. "Your world operates on a fundamental lack of mana. To increase my strength, to Ascend beyond my current limitations, we cannot rely on passive growth. We must actively farm the Pantheon. The Boggart was a rudimentary trial. A baseline test of your ability to command, and my ability to execute."
"Farming," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "So my life is a gacha game now. I have to farm materials, level up my summons, and deal with RNG drops just so I don't get eaten by a rotting grey nightmare."
"I am unfamiliar with the term 'gacha'," Althea said, her head tilting slightly. "But if it means preparing for an inevitable war against the Void and the Demons that walk your Earth… then yes. You must farm."
I looked at the glowing mark on the back of my hand. The Reach. It wasn't just a title; it was a job description. And apparently, I was severely underleveled.
But there's folks out there who's entire livelihood is hunting Demons. Maybe if I got to one of them…no…probably not a good idea.
I was stumped on what to do next. That is until a knock rang from the door. My immediate guess went to the police. Why? I'm not sure, but I didn't feel very legal so I suspected the police thought so too. The knocking didn't stop. It wasn't the polite, 'delivery guy with a package' knock, either. It was the frantic, rapid-fire pounding of someone who meant business.
"Stay out of sight," I hissed at Althea, waving my hands frantically toward the hallway. "And do not draw your sword! If they ask, you're an exchange student. Or my cousin. Or… just don't say anything!"
Althea merely blinked, her face a mask of royal indifference as she leaned back into the couch cushions. "As you command, Adjutant."
I crept toward the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. I practically glued my eye to the peephole, fully expecting to see a squad of police officers ready to arrest me for harboring an unregistered Aeon, or maybe a truancy officer, or worse—my missing Uncle Joe, returning to find a half-naked mythological warrior in his living room.
Instead, a distorted, extremely pimply nose filled the fisheye lens.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open just a crack. Standing in the hallway, looking completely out of breath and still wearing his crumpled school blazer, was Matthew. He was my classmate, my designated group-project partner, and easily the most anxious kid in the entire eighth grade.
"Reach!" Matthew gasped, shoving his weight against the door to pry it open wider. "Dude, you're alive!"
I blinked, the name 'Reach' still sending a weird jolt down my spine. The reality rewrite didn't just affect Jean; it had apparently reached all the way to my school records. "Uh, yeah? Why wouldn't I be alive?"
"Because you no-showed!" Matthew whisper-yelled, adjusting his glasses. "The final! Mr. Harrison was furious. He literally marked a zero on your paper in red ink right in front of the whole class. I thought you got eaten by a Demon or something!"
My stomach, which had only just recovered from its violent rebellion, plummeted straight into my shoes. "The final…" I muttered, the words tasting like lead.
"The History of the Rapture exam!" Matthew continued, waving his hands. "The one with the First Lady? The one you spent all week complaining about? Dude, you missed it. It's Monday afternoon. Where have you been?!"
Monday afternoon? My brain skidded to a complete halt. I stared at Matthew, then slowly turned my head to look at the wall clock in the kitchen. 15:00. Three o'clock in the afternoon.
But that was impossible. Jean had left for work on Sunday morning. I touched the mark on my hand, fell into the Pantheon, fought the Boggart, and threw up. That couldn't have taken more than an hour or two.
Unless… the Pantheon didn't just operate on different physics. It operated on a different time scale. It was like some twisted, inverse version of a hyperbolic time chamber. While I was busy playing a 3D action RPG with a rotting grey nightmare, an entire day and a half had vanished in the real world.
"I… I overslept," I lied smoothly, though my voice cracked right down the middle.
"For two days?!" Matthew peered past my shoulder, trying to see into the apartment. "Man, you look terrible. You're pale as a ghost. Are you sick? Wait… who is that?"
I froze. I hadn't opened the door wide enough for him to see the living room, but Matthew had a line of sight straight to the hallway mirror. And reflected in that mirror was Althea, sitting on the couch, wearing my oversized hoodie and unzipped jeans, watching the front door with the silent, piercing intensity of a predator.
Matthew's jaw dropped. He looked at the reflection, then back at me, his eyes wide enough to fall out of his skull. "Reach… is that… a girl?"
"No!" I blurted out, panic entirely overriding my common sense. "It's a… a highly realistic floor lamp! I gotta go, man, I'm super contagious! Tell Harrison I have the plague!"
I slammed the door in his face, clicking the deadbolt back into place before leaning against the wood and sliding down until I hit the floor.
I had missed the biggest exam of the year. My reality was rewritten. I had an overpowered, underleveled Aeon lounging on my uncle's couch. And now, the biggest gossip in the eighth grade thought I was harboring a secret girlfriend.
"Adjutant," Althea's voice drifted over from the couch. "Is the plague a status ailment I need to be concerned about?"
"Just… give me a minute to process," I groaned, burying my face in my hands.