All in Charisma (A LitRPG/Isekai Adventure)

Justin unleashed a mighty belch, scattering a fine orange dust of Cheetos and a misty cloud of spit. He took a quick whiff of the cheesy exhaust before it could waft too far from his nostrils, then smacked his thin pink lips set below a wispy mustache.

"Disgusting, Justin," Trina said over Discord Voice Chat.

Damn it. He thought he had muted himself.

He tried to cover the slip with a nervous laugh. "Heh, sorry. One too many Monsters."

On the upper walls of the basement, the windows rattled with a peal of thunder. One of the said Monster empties on his desk vibrated and tumbled to the floor.

Justin only had eyes for the raid. His mom had said something about storms earlier, but he didn't care too much at the moment.

He had bigger fish to fry.

"Stay focused," Jorbo said. "He's almost enraged."

Eyes bloodshot and fingers locked on the WASD keys, Justin's focus shifted entirely to the battle at hand. In the digital void of his Nightmare Realm server—a permadeath realm of Aether Quest, his game and drug of choice—his level 60 Barbarian, Kragthar the Unbroken, towered amid the swirling chaos.

Three relentless months of grinding, sleepless nights bleeding into dawn, and a life lived with more intensity in pixels than in the real world had all led to this final stand.

If they could finally take down the boss, Nyxion, Harbinger of Unmaking, bragging rights for life would be theirs. Even with the boss teetering at 1% health, one perfectly timed combo—one chain of devastating blows—could end this nightmare once and for all. Just the thought of the loot that would drop made him salivate.

His character lagged a bit, followed by a notification:

[Server connection is weak.]

"The fuck, Justin," Jorbo said. "Don't tell me you're about to drop."

"A bit rainy here in Oklahoma," he said. "Nothing to worry about."

A boom of thunder cut through the noise-cancelling of his headphones. He knew it wasn't safe to be anywhere near electronics.

But he had come too far to back out now.

"If your connection messes up the raid…"

Jorbo's warning trailed off as thunder once again rattled the windows in the upper part of the basement.

Justin's first real Nightmare Realm raid with the Celestial Vanguards, the server's best guild, was not going according to plan.

But at least here, he knew the rules. He knew how to play the game, how to measure success and failure in numbers and stats.

Social interactions, though? He never knew what people wanted from him in real life. Online, he could just play his role and not have to see anyone face-to-face.

"All right, we got him," Jorbo said. "Burn him! Burn him now!" A pause. "Justin, pop Overpower!"

"I'm on it!" Justin snapped, his in-game avatar already mid-animation for Overpower as he lined up a Titanic Cleave. Every muscle tensed, every finger danced over the keyboard with grace.

Victory shimmered just a keystroke away.

"Tank swap!" Rick screamed, his voice cracking under pressure.

"No cooldowns left!" Trina's voice blared over VC. "I told you—I'm OOM! I'M OUT OF MANA!"

"JUST AUTO ATTACK!" another voice hollered from the chatter.

A heavy, sinking feeling settled in Justin's stomach as the voice chat became a chaos of panicked voices. It was amazing how fast things could go to shit. Thunder rattled the windows again.

Then, from the inky void, the boss let out a guttural, distorted roar. The entire raid froze as the screen flashed a warning red—

[Nyxion casts Final Requiem.]

"Oh fuck!" Jorbo shouted.

In an instant, the boss vanished, plunging the arena into darkness. Justin's stomach dropped. A heartbeat later, a booming, mechanical voice resonated across the battlefield:

[ALL WILL BE UNMADE…]

"PHASE FIVE? WHAT THE ACTUAL—" someone screeched.

"This wasn't in the guide!" Jorbo howled.

"It must be something new with the Nightmare Realms," Trina said. "Did you grab the right guide?"

Her question went unanswered when, out of the blackness, dozens of ghostly apparitions surged forth, chaining each raid member in place. With a cruel flourish, Nyxion reappeared—its health bar reset to 25%.

[DoomBringer has fallen. His journey has ended.]

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Rick howled. "Fucking A!"

[Dawnlight78 has fallen. Her light has been extinguished.]

"Kill adds! Kill the damn adds!" someone pleaded.

"I CAN'T MOVE! I'M ROOTED!" Blitzfang, the rogue, cried out in a panic.

[Blitzfang has fallen. His soul has ascended.]

"Justin, INTERRUPT, damn it!" Jorbo barked.

[Elder_of_Darkness has fallen. His journey ends.]

Desperation surged as Justin slammed his interruption move—but he was lagging again.

One by one, his party crumbled. Soon, only Justin and a couple of stragglers remained standing.

"Jorbo, this is my main," Justin said weakly. "I can't lose him."

"Retreat!" Jorbo shouted. "Just run! Just freaking run! Abort! The portal should still be open."

Kragthar the Unbroken sprinted toward the exit portal. Justin's heart pounded like a drum. One ally tumbled down beside him, then another, their death notifications flashing across his screen. They kept coming until, in the chaos, he found himself alone.

Could he really escape? Could he emerge as the sole survivor of this digital carnage?

A sinister laugh echoed in his headphones.

[HAHAHAHAHA. You cannot escape!]

[Nyxion casts Unmaking Pulse.]

A shockwave blasted through the arena, sending debris and despair flying. Justin wove desperately between the hazards. But there was no escaping the rock about to fall right on top of him.

Then, thanks to the lag, he blipped past the obstacle unscathed.

"HOLY CRAP, HE'S GONNA MAKE IT!" Trina screamed. "Go, Justin, go!"

The exit portal loomed ahead. With only 1% of his health remaining, every second throbbed with the weight of destiny.

If he could pull this off, he would be a legend in the guild, his standing secure.

Then, from the edge of the screen, a tiny, nearly invisible Void Tick mob scuttled up to Kragthar's ankle. Justin tried to swerve, but his avatar wouldn't obey him. Damn lag.

"No!" Justin screamed. "Please, God, no! NOOOOOO!"

It nibbled at Kragthar's ankle.

There was a moment's pause as his connection dropped, then resumed.

[You have died. Your journey has ended…]

Justin blinked at the notification, unbelieving, before rage welled up within him.

And then, from deep within his soul, he screamed—a raw, guttural sound that transcended mere inconvenience, channeling every failure, frustration, and disappointment of his twenty-five years on Earth into a single, unholy:

"REEEEEEEEEEEE!"

He got up and kicked over his stained computer chair and was about to give his monitor the same treatment before he saw in its black reflection his acne-ridden, pale, and pudgy countenance. The image of his greasy auburn hair and acne-ridden face was so offensive and alarming that instead of making him want to rage, it only made him want to cry.

The voices of his guildmates snapped him back to reality.

"Bruh," Rick said.

Jorbo's laughter crackled through VC. "Justin, did you just die to a trash mob?!"

"Dude," Blitz whispered. "You got ticked to death."

The channel erupted into a mix of wheezing laughter and teasing jabs, but Justin barely heard them. His ragged breaths filled the silence between their jokes. His hands hovered over the keyboard, fingers twitching.

One month of grinding, every sleepless night, every job he should have been applying for—all funneled into Kragthar the Unbroken.

And now…

Gone. As were his chances of proving himself to his new guild. That he had gotten this far in one month, not dying even once, proved he could grind harder than anyone.

Jorbo cleared his throat. "Well, uh…that sucked. But hey, that's what alts are for, right? Heh. We'll give it another go tomorrow. Justin, you've got a backup, right?"

Justin swallowed. "This was my only maxed Nightmare character. My main. I have a Level 15 alt."

"Oh."

A pause.

"So, uh…I guess that means you're out for the next run. You'll have to roll a new toon, but—uh—you know the guild rules. No mains under 60 in here. You'll have to grind back up in the Celestial Aspirants before you can apply to join the Celestial Vanguard again."

Justin said nothing, coldness washing over his skin. "You let Trina stay when her main died last time."

"Uh…she told you that?"

"Guess constantly flirting with the raid leader has its perks, huh?" When no one reacted, Justin laughed weakly. "Am I right, guys? Just spitting facts here."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The silence that followed curdled in his stomach. He'd crossed a line—again.

"Come on, man," Jorbo said. "If you'd just be…I don't know, bearable for once, people might be willing to give you a shot. You've gotta learn to win friends and influence people, bro."

Justin felt a flash of anger. "By dating the guild higher-ups? Thanks for the advice, bro. I'm sure that one will come in really handy."

Jorbo cleared his throat awkwardly. "That's not the same. Trina's a healer, and the guild is short on healers. She gets special treatment."

"Yeah, but it proves the rules can be bent a bit. I'll do better next time. I can have my new toon up to speed in a couple of weeks. Promise."

It was a tall order, but Justin was sure he could do it.

The silence stretched awkwardly as Jorbo sighed. "Sorry, man. I guess this is me telling you you're off the team. Maybe…maybe it's best if you find another guild." Another pause. "And take this as a learning opportunity. This isn't the first time you've stuck your foot in it. And you should have told us about your connection issues. It cost a lot of people their characters tonight."

"For real," Rick said.

Justin wanted to protest. He had been the only one who had almost escaped. The only one who had even seen the portal. If not for the storm, they might have even beaten the boss.

But even he knew it was pointless to say all that. He'd made Jorbo look stupid, and even Justin was socially aware enough to know that was unforgivable.

[You have been removed from the Celestial Vanguard.]

"Good luck out there, Justin." Jorbo's voice was insincere, already moving on. "Now, does anyone know another DPS? Shouldn't be hard, right? They're a dime a dozen—"

[You have been banned from the server. Reason: Violation of community conduct.]

His hands shook. The Discord icon winked out, leaving his screen barren.

Just like his résumé. Just like his life.

Justin scoffed. "I'm done with this shit."

He reached down to turn off the computer when it winked off of its own accord.

Justin frowned. Huh. That was weird.

Then the lights went completely out.

Justin removed his headphones, only to hear thunder and pouring rain. Damn, that was way louder than he expected. Even in the basement, he could hear the wind howling outside the basement's upper windows.

He should probably check on his mom. Where was she, anyway? It was a rare thing for her to intrude on his underground sanctuary, except to deposit the odd meal, but this storm had him worried.

"Mom? Mom!"

The wood floor above him vibrated ominously. That definitely wasn't normal.

"Hell, just what I need."

Decision made, Justin headed for the stairs. Though it was nearly pitch black in the basement, he knew his way by heart. He ascended as fast as his heft would allow.

He entered the dining room, where outside the window the sky was terribly dark. The scene was positively apocalyptic, with a sepia sky filled with boiling clouds and violently swaying trees.

And a strange, high whine.

Tornado siren.

He rushed to the television, but of course, there was no power.

"This is what I get for leaving the basement. Mom? Where are you?"

Had she been out at the time the storm rolled through? There could be no other explanation.

Before he could think to check his phone, the wind started pounding the wall something fierce. He realized that the best spot for him was right back where he had come from.

Justin fled, or at least tried to flee, but he tripped over his own feet, taking a tumble on the floor. Before he could get up, at that very moment, the ceiling was pulled out from over him as lightning slashed above.

But the ceiling did not fall, as expected; instead, it went up.

Up, into the funnel of a tornado.

"FUUUUU—"

The din was so loud that he couldn't even hear his own voice. Everything in the room moved, including him. He was being lifted, almost gently, toward the lattice of lightning slashing its way inside the tornado's core.

Faster and faster he flew, until all was chaos and noise. He no longer screamed. There was no point. In fact, it was at this point that a strange sense of calm acceptance overcame him.

If he were going to die, well, the thought had crossed his mind before. It was just happening a little more quickly than he'd originally thought; that was all. He supposed it was the ultimate proof, given the course of his life, that the universe indeed hated him in particular.

But before he could truly make his peace, the darkness deepened. To his surprise, he was still very much alive, with a field of endless black extending in all directions.

That was when a blue light appeared, like a distant star. And that star seemed to pull him closer, an ovoid plane that flashed with potential.

Justin tried to move, but he could do nothing to control his trajectory. He was heading straight for that light, whether he liked it or not.

By fate, or perhaps luck, or even a mixture of both, he was thrown right through.

Justin blinked awake to the faint trill of birdsong. Everything hurt, especially his head. Feeling it with his fingers, there didn't seem to be any external injuries.

It was just the mother of all headaches.

"Mylanta," he breathed. "What the hell happened?"

As his vision returned, he found himself in what appeared to be a forest. A thrill of fear coursed down his spine. He scrambled up, looking every which way, wild-eyed and afraid. Trees...trees everywhere. Where could that tornado have possibly carried him? Oklahoma had its share of forests in the eastern part of the state, but not in Enid, where he lived. That would have meant the twister had carried him a hundred-plus miles.

"Impossible."

The aroma of earth and wild things filled his nostrils, while the cool air touched his skin almost like a kiss. Despite the situation, he felt a strange sense of calm in the surrounding natural beauty.

"Okay. What is going on?"

That was when his eyes focused on something before him in the meadow, something he had completely missed in the confusion. It was a bright, glowing orb that swirled with every color of the rainbow, about the size of a crystal ball.

An ethereal, melodic hum emanated from it, and it rotated slightly on its axis, as if it were a miniature world unto itself.

It was just sitting there, waiting to be picked up.

So, he did exactly that.

He grabbed the orb, gasping as it reacted to his touch. A prismatic rainbow of light entered his body. Justin felt an infusion of power and potential that was equivalent to a rapturous experience on a mind-altering substance.

[Congratulations! You have found a Prismatic Core. Please select any class.]

The Voice echoed through his mind, smooth and resonant, its warmth both comforting and commanding. It didn't come from any direction but seemed to fill the air around him, like a story unfolding in the quiet.

In fact, it reminded him of Burt Reynolds, with an easy, confident drawl that made him want to lean closer, as if every word was a secret just for him.

Justin blinked as a holographic screen projected in front of him.

Six words floated in the air before him: Power, Coordination, Endurance, Intellect, Spirit, and Charisma. Underneath each of these headings were six smaller words. Scanning them, he saw things like Warrior, Thief, Ranger, Wizard, Summoner, Merchant...and the list went on. There seemed to be about thirty or forty choices in all.

Suddenly, realization dawned. Justin had played enough video games to know exactly where he was and what was happening. There had been the tornado, of course, and that tornado had obviously knocked him out, sending him into a medically induced coma.

His brain, therefore, was recreating a video game, which shouldn't have been a surprise. After all, he had spent almost every waking hour playing one.

This, he supposed, was inevitable. All he had to do was play the game and wait for the docs to resuscitate him.

But then again, there had been that strange portal. A common trope to be sure, and arguably a cliché, but how else was an adventure like this supposed to get started? A tornado had worked for Dorothy and Toto, so why not him, Justin Talemaker?

He rubbed his pudgy hands in glee. This could actually be fun!

He noticed his hands were pale and freckled, the same hands he had in the outside world.

He frowned in consternation. Couldn't he be an elf or something? Why was he still the same overweight individual he was in real life? Wasn't the entire point of video games to escape, to be the hero for once instead of the failure staring back at him from the mirror?

Whatever the case, he could worry about it later. Aside from semantic differences, it seemed these "Core Attributes" were quite similar to many other games he had played. Power for smashing, Coordination for sniping, Endurance for tanking, Intellect for outsmarting, Spirit for...magicky stuff?

And Charisma? Well, there was something oddly satisfying about getting people to do what you wanted. But was it good enough for what appeared to be a survival situation?

After thinking about it for a while, there was only one real choice he could think of. He would be a barbarian of sorts wielding a claymore or warhammer. He didn't know why, but he always gravitated to such builds in the RPGs he played. There was something strangely calming about smashing heads in like overripe pumpkins. Although doing so in a game as realistic as this one might prove to be a bit of a different experience.

"Hmm..." he said, stroking his chin. "Decisions, decisions..."

He went back up in the list, his eyes locking on the Barbarian option. Then he scanned back down, finding himself at an impasse.

Did he really want to be a Barbarian? Maybe he could be an Alchemist or an Enchanter. Craft things, make money. That could be a fun direction. It wasn't all about raw power, was it?

Then again, selling things required people skills. Trying to talk to people, in his view, was about as useful as yelling into the wind. People had a knack for disappointing you, or worse, stabbing you in the back after you'd let your guard down.

Then there was magic. A Wizard, a Summoner, or a Druid.

He shook his head. Was a squishy "glass cannon" the way to go?

He needed to pick a class that was good for operating solo. Now, which class had the most solo survivability? Not just combat ability, but the skills to survive, make money, and so on.

As he deliberated, the memory of his disastrous raid surfaced. The panicked voices over Discord. The mocking laughter. Jorbo's dismissive tone as he kicked Justin from the guild. His inability to fight back with words.

"You've gotta learn to win friends and influence people, bro."

That was what it always came down to, wasn't it? People skills. The one thing he'd never mastered. Every job interview that went nowhere. Every conversation that died awkwardly. Every guild that eventually kicked him for "being unbearable."

His eyes drifted to the Charisma column. Bard. Merchant. Cleric. Diplomat. Thespian. All classes that required dealing with people.

A Bard would need to perform for crowds. A Merchant needed to haggle. A Cleric had to tend to a congregation. A Diplomat needed to, well, be diplomatic. And a Thespian? He'd rather die than get on any stage.

But then his gaze settled on "Socialite."

The description read: "Masters of social manipulation and charm, the Socialite excels at making connections, extracting information, and bending others to their will."

Justin snorted. Him? A Socialite? It was the exact opposite of who he was.

But then, wasn't that the point? To become someone different, someone better?

He thought of the countless times he'd fumbled social interactions. The way people's eyes would glaze over when he spoke. The cringe-inducing silence after one of his "jokes." All things that had caused him to retreat into his self-imposed isolation.

What if he could change all that?

He was tired of being the awkward loner. Tired of being kicked from guilds and friend groups. Tired of watching others succeed through connections while he remained isolated.

"In a world where everyone else seems to know the rules of social interaction except me," Justin muttered, "maybe it's time I learned those rules."

He reached out and decisively touched the Socialite option.

[Congratulations! You have chosen: Socialite. Your class excels in social situations, making connections, and gaining favors.]

[You now have a class and can access the Aethereal Interface!]

[Ten points have been added to your Power, Coordination, Endurance, Intellect, Spirit, and Charisma attributes. Level-up to unlock more attribute points!]

[Language stack added: Aranthian.]

Justin did a double take at that last message. The language had...changed to some strange form of runes, and yet he could read it perfectly.

[As a Socialite, you have unlocked your class skill: Poison Barb.]

Poison Barb. That sounded promising. Was it some sort of ranged attack?

He read the description that appeared before him.

Poison Barb: You know precisely what to say to inflict emotional damage on someone, staggering them or forcing them to hesitate, with a chance to stun based on your Charisma attribute. If your barb stuns them for at least three seconds, the cooldown immediately refreshes. The stun chance decreases with repeated use on the same target. (Cooldown: 2 minutes.)

"Wait, what?" Justin's excitement deflated. "So my special ability is...being mean to people?"

This wasn't what he had in mind when selecting a social class. He'd been hoping for charm, persuasion, and razzle-dazzle. Not insults.

"Okay, not the end of the world," he said. "Just the first skill of many, right?"

The mysterious Voice returned to him.

[You are now Level 0. Always remember that a well-placed insult can cut deeper than a blade. Good luck, Brave Adventurer.]

The Voice retreated, leaving him once again alone in the woods.

He was wondering what came next when a hideous screech resounded from behind. He let out a yelp, whirling around to face the sound.

Three short and nasty goblins stood before him, all bearing crude clubs. They had sharp, bat-like ears, oily green skin, and slobbering mouths bristling with jagged yellow teeth that seemed eager to taste him.

"Holy crap," Justin said. "Goblins! Why do these things always start with goblins?"

The reality of his situation hit him like a bucket of ice water. He had chosen a social class in a world where the first encounter was with monsters who probably couldn't even understand him.

"Yep. Should've gone with Barbarian."

He had to make do with his class skill. Justin activated Poison Barb.

It seemed to happen naturally, without having to press any sort of mental button. He directed Poison Barb at the lead goblin advancing toward him.

He felt himself filled with adrenaline, a sort of primal instinct rising within him. Words began flying out of his lips unbidden.

"You guys must have been born on a highway because that's where most accidents happen!"

The goblins looked at each other in confusion. Justin wasn't sure the goblins understood sarcasm, or even if they understood him at all. But it still caused them to pause.

Justin seized the moment and dashed through the trees as fast as he could. The goblins snarled from behind, giving chase.

He had a stride advantage over the goblins for sure, but he was very out of shape. The last time he'd been forced to run was in ninth grade P.E. class, and that was years ago. His breaths came out in pained wheezes. Did this fantasy world have asthma? He sure hoped not.

He swiped at the underbrush, pushing it out of the way, occasionally stealing glances over his shoulder. The goblins let out high ululating cries, their bloodlust driving them as they tore through the underbrush like feral dogs on a hunt.

Justin skidded to a halt, his heart dropping as he found himself teetering on the edge of a small cliff.

With a shriek, he tumbled over the side and began sliding down the steep slope. He cried out in pain, wondering if this would be how he died: fall damage less than twenty minutes in.

At last, he came to a stop on a dusty wagon track, still conscious and hurting from head to toe. The goblins stood on the cliff above, yelping in vexation, seemingly not wanting to follow him down.

Justin didn't understand why. They could easily end him in such an exposed state.

It took a moment for Justin to realize he wasn't alone. A shadow loomed over him, blocking out the sun.

Groaning, he turned his head—and froze. Whatever it was, it didn't look friendly.