NOVEL NEXT 1. The Invasion, Dungeon Apocalypse Part 1 (Jack)
Jack sipped at the hot cup of coffee, gingerly holding it to his mouth as he let the dark aroma fill his senses. His eyes closed, nostrils flared, he inhaled the hints of chocolate and cinnamon woven into the rich, roasted fragrance. Satisfied, he reached over to add a teaspoon of organic turbinado sugar and a splash of thick, raw cream, stirring the mixture until it turned a warm, earthy shade.
This was what he missed - the taste of food that hadn't been overprocessed to the point of barely resembling food at all. The Farm, a diner that doubled as a grocery for local organic produce, was a rare gem in a landscape that had otherwise been hollowed out by factory farming and synthetic ingredients. Coming back to Earth, Jack had found that the meals he remembered with fondness were now bitter echoes of the past, twisted and tainted by artificial additives and preservatives. Even the so-called "natural" options were far from the real deal.
A small sigh escaped him as he took another sip, letting the warmth sink in. At least the coffee's still decent, he thought.
But that wasn't the only change he'd noticed since his return. Wars had been fought and forgotten; riots, hurricanes, and wildfires had left scars on the land. The legends of his childhood were buried beneath new icons, while the superstars he once knew were little more than hazy memories. And yet, somehow, the biggest change was a revolution he hadn't seen coming - the internet. Jack shook his head. It had taken him weeks to catch up on even the basics of the online world, to wrap his mind around everything he'd missed while he was trapped in a place no one on Earth could imagine.
Still, the internet had nothing on the lessons he'd learned in the Otherworld. It had been the crucible that shaped him, from the reckless kid who was yanked from one world to another, to a hardened Dungeon Master, capable of taking down horrors most people here couldn't even dream up. He'd always been curious, a trait his father had said would get him in trouble someday. Jack smiled at the memory, recalling his father's voice, "Curiosity killed the cat, Jack. But you're not a cat, are you?"
Setting down his mug, Jack absently reached for the deck of cards spread out on the table in front of him. These weren't just any cards - they were his life's work, a blend of nostalgia and hard-earned power. He ran his fingers over the illustrations, pausing at the Lance of Shadows, a creation of his own design. The lance paired perfectly with his Knights of Nordlund creature card, another custom piece he'd crafted after a brutal clash in the dark caverns of the Otherworld. Each card held a memory, each stroke of ink a reminder of a battle fought, a friend lost, or a lesson learned.
In his hand, the Lance of Shadows pulsed with a familiar weight, as though echoing the countless encounters it had seen. Simple as it looked, it was far from amateur - a tool he'd forged out of necessity, crafted in the fires of survival. He glanced down at the dice lying beside the deck, crafted from bone and dragon glass, smooth and cold under his fingertips. They were his Dice of Chaos, and though he was tempted to roll them, he held back. Experience had taught him that these dice could be as treacherous as they were useful, and he wasn't quite ready to tempt fate.
Instead, he picked up another card - Mark of the Fool, a Prismana card with its own ironic wisdom. He turned it over, reading the flavor text aloud: "What is the difference between a Hero and a Fool? Only the destination, for the journey, is the same."
Jack chuckled, thinking back to his mentor's words. "A fool is just a hero who doesn't know it yet," the old man used to say, usually while nudging Jack into another harebrained quest. Or maybe it was the other way around, Jack couldn't remember. Either way, it felt appropriate now, here in a world that seemed to have lost its heroes.
He glanced down at the next card - Leviathan's Curse, another Prismana card he'd painstakingly designed. Each card was more than a mere game piece; it was a part of his history, of everything he'd been through. When he'd first started creating these cards, it had been a way to remember the things he'd lost, the adventures he'd survived. He'd crafted new cards to replace the ones that hadn't made it back with him, each card holding a sliver of the creatures, people, and places that had defined his years in the Otherworld.
Jack had never quite given up on the idea of sharing this game with others. Even in the Otherworld, he'd tried to recreate enough of it to entertain his companions during their downtime, crafting rules that mirrored the very magic they wielded. Eventually, a merchant had asked him about developing the game for others to play, offering to spread it across the kingdom in exchange for a few duplicates of Jack's cards.
"It's called Prismata, Order versus Chaos, the game," Jack had told him, watching the merchant's eyes light up. Prismata was more than just a name; it was the system that had governed Jack's life, his HUD, the very magic he wielded. He hadn't known why he, out of all the people he'd met, was the only one with a HUD, a system to track his stats, skills, and inventory. But without it, he wouldn't have survived.
Prismatrix for items and artifacts, Prismateria for creatures and people, and Prismana for spells and enchantments - these were the foundations of his existence there, now translated into something as simple as a deck of cards. He had left the Otherworld before he saw whether the merchant had ever put his designs into circulation. Now, he supposed he'd never know.
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When he first returned to Earth, disoriented and still half-primed for battle, Jack hadn't expected to be floored by something as simple as a game shop. He'd stumbled into one out of sheer curiosity, thinking maybe he'd find a few familiar cards or pick up something that would ground him in this new reality. But what he found left him speechless. The original game - his game - had not only survived but had flourished, expanding across a wall of the shop like a museum exhibit. Decks, spinoffs, and competitors lined the shelves, more than he could count. New artwork adorned the cards, and the rules had grown more complex. The world he'd left behind had changed, yes, but his game had thrived.
Jack had pulled a few of his old, tattered cards from his jacket, hoping the shopkeeper might recognize them. Just two or three, really - the barest peek into the deck he carried. But the shopkeeper's reaction had been…intense. The man's eyes had gone wide as if Jack had just handed him the Holy Grail wrapped in rare collector's plastic. Jack could practically see the dollar signs gleaming in the shopkeeper's pupils as he offered obscene amounts of cash for the cards.
"First editions like these?" The shopkeeper's hands hovered over the cards as if afraid they'd vanish. "These are practically priceless. They don't make them like this anymore."
Jack had only nodded, tucking the cards safely back into his pocket. It was enough to know they were valuable, perhaps even treasured, but he had no intention of selling them. These cards were irreplaceable fragments of his life, each one holding memories that only he could decode. The cards stayed with him.
Now, back at the diner, Jack's attention drifted from his deck as the flickering images on the TV mounted over the drink station began to draw his eye. The pie he'd been about to eat hovered in midair, forgotten, as he watched the news ticker flash a stark headline across the screen.
STRANGE APPEARANCES ACROSS COUNTRIES AROUND THE WORLD. GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS DECLARE INTERNATIONAL STATE OF EMERGENCY. SOURCE OF CREATURES UNKNOWN.
A giant, lumbering creature filled the screen, a grotesque salamander-like beast crammed into the bed of a beat-up Chevy, its thick body hanging over the sides. The creature's milky, lifeless eyes reflected the lights of the camera as a reporter with a polished smile attempted to interview a camo-clad hunter standing beside it. The hunter's face was a mixture of disbelief and pride, his words a southern drawl as he explained he'd been out hunting elk when he "got blindsided by this big mother over here."
"Hey, miss? Can you turn that up?" Jack called to the waitress as she passed, gesturing toward the TV.
"Sure thing, hon." She pulled her phone from her apron pocket, aiming it at the screen, and with a quick tap, the sound filled the diner, muffling the quiet conversations and the clinking of plates.
Jack couldn't help but marvel at how much things had changed. The last time he'd been in this small Northern California town, TVs had clunky knobs, and "remote control" meant a long stretch of your arm. He was hit with a flash of nostalgia, remembering how he'd climbed atop the big, boxy TV in his grandparents' living room to pretend he was Superman, hopping from surface to surface to avoid the "lava" on the floor. Now, the world was controlled with the flick of a button on a pocket device.
The news report grew louder, and Jack tuned in as the anchor's expression became tense.
"Reports are coming in from all over the world as more strange creatures are appearing." She raised a well-manicured hand to her earpiece, pausing mid-sentence. "This just in - breaking news."
The screen shifted to a new scene, and Jack's heart skipped as the image of a massive sinkhole filled the screen, faintly glowing along its rim with a light he'd recognize anywhere. Eldritch light.
"Damn it," he muttered, pushing his now-warm coffee and pie aside as he stared at the screen. His hands clenched at the sight, his pulse quickening with a mix of dread and resignation. That light, that sickly, otherworldly glow, sent a chill through him. It was the same light he'd seen around the portals, the same glow that preceded disaster.
"The footage you just saw was provided by a local independent source. Authorities are unsure of the cause of the massive sinkholes, but locals are claiming that the strange creatures might be connected. Stay tuned as we bring you updates on this developing story."
Jack's mind raced, the implications swirling like storm clouds. It was impossible. Or at least, it should have been. Yet here it was - first the creatures, then the sinkholes, just like before. The sequence was all too familiar. The Otherworld was invading Earth.
"Well shit," Jack said as his mind raced, running over what he had seen.
It's impossible, he thought. There's just no way.
But what he saw couldn't be denied. First comes the portals, then the monsters as the magical radiation spreads, corrupting the areas around the dungeons.
"It's an invasion," he muttered under his breath.
"What's that, hun? An invasion?" the waitress asked, a look of concern on her face. Nearby diners turned, curious and uneasy, their expressions shifting as they took in Jack's grim face.
He realized too late that he'd spoken aloud. "Yeah," he said, choosing his words carefully. "It's…an invasion."
"Like Aliens?" she ventured, a nervous laugh in her voice.
"Something like that…" Jack replied, but he offered no further explanation, letting the words just hang, heavy as a laden sky. He could feel the weight of their stares, the uncomfortable silence that followed as people processed what he'd said. Their eyes searched his face, looking for the joke, for reassurance, for something that might dull the fear growing behind their eyes.
Jack held their gaze for a moment, giving them a look that said more than words. "Take care," he advised, his voice quiet. "And don't travel alone, if you can help it."
With that, he turned away, grabbing his well-worn deck of collector cards and pocketing them. From his wallet, he pulled a thick stack of bills, leaving it on the table beside his untouched pie. He wasn't going to need it where he was going.
As he reached the door, Jack glanced back, and a pang of regret shot through him as he noticed his uneaten pie and half-finished coffee.
Jack stepped into the cool night air, the diner's neon sign casting a harsh multihued glow across the emptying parking lot. He tugged his jacket tighter against the chill as he made his way to his Mustang, keys already in hand. The weight of the deck in his pocket felt heavier than it should, a reminder of memories he wasn't ready to revisit.