156 My SI Stash #56 - The Warcrafter by RHJunior (WormXWorldofWarcraft)

-Another SI Multicross fic~ MC starts in Worm with plans of saving Worlds as a druid/werewolf. Next being Azeroth!

Sypnosis: ???

Rated: ???

Words: 270K

Posted on: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/the-warcrafter.54360/ (RHJunior)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1

He floated, inert, aware but without any measurable sensation. No sight, sound, scent, texture. He couldn't even feel his own anatomy; his proprioception was completely gone. He couldn't even tell if he had arms or legs anymore. He was an amorphous shape, if that, housing a spark of consciousness.

Hello, Adrian.

"What? Who's there?" he said in alarm. Even as he spoke he felt a surge of satisfaction that he could speak.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am…. The voice paused, as if searching for words. I suppose an approximation of my name is necessary, your language sort of lacks the nuances for my full name. Call me.. hmm… call me Agent.

"Agent… right." That wasn't a comforting nomenclature, all things considered. "Where am I? Why can't I see?"

To answer the latter first, you are in a semi-amorphous state which has, er, left you without sensory apparatus for your environment. You sense nothing because you have nothing at the moment to sense it with. Agent sounded a little embarrassed at this. I apologize, I'm sure it's not comfortable. But you really don't have any sensory approximates for the environment you are currently in; you wouldn't understand what you were "seeing" if you could…

Here, let me adjust a few things. The 'nothingness' faded… or rather Something faded in: a misty, featureless plain under a twilit sky. Adrian found himself looking at/addressing/facing a soft misty cloud of light hovering over that plain; he realized in the next moment that he himself was an identical cloud of light-- though how he could tell he couldn't say; he certainly couldn't crane his neck to look himself over. There, I hope that's better. It's all illusory but at least it gives you an avatar of sorts to communicate with.

"Yeah, great." Why wasn't he panicking? Wait. No adrenal glands, no fight-or-flight response. Of course. Interestingly enough he was still capable of getting agitated at his situation. "Okay. So my first question? Where the heck AM I? And let me throw in "WHY" while I'm at it?"

You are in my native environment. An existential plane. Call it the Between.

"Between what?"

Everything.

That gave him pause, for sure.

As to what or who I am, I am an extradimensional hyper-advanced… though "advanced" isn't quite the right term… well, you'd call me a "cosmic entity." And I have brought you here because I wish to make a deal.

"A… deal?"

An agreement, yes, an exchange of services.

And that kicked Adrian's bump of skepticism right in. Cosmic beings snapping up random individuals and offering them deals… superhuman powers, or magic green rings, for example… it was a cliche' in ninety percent of the fanfics he'd read. And more than a couple he'd written.

Yes, you are familiar with the concept.

Adrian squinted suspiciously, or at least thought really hard about squinting suspiciously at the amorphous cloud of light before him. "Okay, why me?"

Why not you? Agent pointed out reasonably. You are well within acceptable averages for the necessary attributes. At the very least, you are familiar with the concept, and seemed agreeably inclined to the idea. Missing fight-or-flight glands or no, you would be surprised at the percentage of three-dimensional entities such as yourself who would go into either screaming hysterics or a catatonic fugue by this point.

Adrian gave a mental snort. At least it wasn't trying to pass him off as "the Chosen One" or the like. If this was a dream or a hallucination it wasn't offending his literary sensibilities yet, at least. Of course if he was lying in a hospital drugged to the hairline then all this was coming from his own mind, so it wouldn't seem excessively ridiculous then either would it? "SO… this deal?"

Let me begin at the beginning. As you can guess I am not the only one of my kind. We live in the interstices between the universes and planes of reality. We're timeless, eternal, immortal, vastly powerful… and rather BORED.

Ah, here it comes, Adrian thought. The old Bored Cosmic Entity Wants to Play routine. Poker Night of the Gods. Oh well, there were worse cliches.

To alleviate our ennui, we organized a series of contests and games. Each round, every participant-- each Agent-- chooses an Avatar from the more finite races, such as yourself, from one of the three dimensional universes. We spend… I'm picking up the word "quatloos" from your mind?… ah, no, a better word there off to the side in your vocabulary, "chips." Yes, a limited pool of points or "chips" on empowering and equipping the Avatar. Then we place them in a different universe, with a stated mission. If they succeed, they are rewarded, and their Agent moves up in the next round and chooses a new Avatar.

"And if they fail?"

Then the Agent is moved down in ranking.

"And the Avatar?"

Agent seemed reticent. There is no punishment for failure. We do not work like that. But the missions assigned are often… hazardous. The consequences for failure are... self-explanatory.

"Uh… huh." So it was pass or fail, with a probably lethal "fail" option.

You must understand something, Adrian. Our "game" is about creating and endowing HEROES. The quests they are set on are consequent… to save a person, a family, a tribe, a nation, a world, from some imminent catastrophe. To battle an evil empire, or an overlord, or an alien horde… or just to fight for a humble cause. Any and all of those are dangerous pursuits in places of crisis, even for those endowed with extraordinary gifts they are dangerous. Failure is often fatal.

"Kind of high stakes for a GAME," Adrian said.

We wish to make the universes a better place, Agent replied. You can't do that playing tiddly winks.

"Well, why don't you go into these, these places in crisis and intervene yourself?"

Agent gave what had to be the approximation of a heaving sigh. Adrian, we are a race of super-advanced cosmic entities. We number in the trillions. Does it not follow that we have powers, governances, authorities, laws, codes of conduct that restrain us as well? Our civilization is so complex and intricate it makes the operation of your own world's governments look like the internal politicking of an aboriginal tribe over who gets the biggest share of animal pelts. It would take years to explain the codes of conduct that restrict our behavior interacting with the baryonic, euclidean universes, and most of it still wouldn't make sense to you. He grumbled a bit. They often don't make sense to US.

The Game is, for reasons too complex for you to fathom, one of the few legal, safe, legitimate ways in which we can intervene with the fates of other worlds, even for their own good. Because in part it places the power in the hands of mere mortals to determine their fates themselves . It's THE RULES.

There's a world out there where somebody's in trouble. I am asking you to help me, to help them, and to help yourself. Will you accept?

"My reward?" he asked.

Your primary choice of reward will be: You will be returned home… or allowed to make your home in your new universe… or even pick a third… in any regard, with all your powers intact. There are other, lesser options, but those are the prime rate ones.

Adrian thought it over. Great power. Be a hero. But risking it all… maybe even his life. No guarantee of success, and who knows how much suffering and hardship.

But wasn't that what made the effort worthwhile.

"I accept."

He could feel Agent practically beaming with satisfaction. Excellent. The contract is sealed, let us begin. The planescape swirled dizzyingly, and Adrian found himself hovering before a massive, and very familiar opening screen.

WORLD OF WARCRAFT

Begin Character Creation

"I'm going to AZEROTH?" He yelped. No way in hell… it was his favorite online game ever, but that world and its lore were messed up three ways from Sunday, and it had at least a dozen Doomsday scenarios waiting in the wings to do it in at any given moment, with Lovecraftian Old Gods being the LOWEST ranked world-ending threats. If the literal armies of superhuman wizards, warriors, paladins and whatnot couldn't handle it, adding one more dink with a plus-one sword to the mess would do nothing. Agent would just end up with his Avatar a greasy stain on an ogre's foot.

No, absolutely not.

Adrian sighed in relief.

You're getting your power set from there.

"What?" Okay, that was better. A guy with a World of Warcraft character's powers and skills could hold up fairly well in most "fictional" universes he could think of…. "Wait. Where AM I going? That's sort of an important question before I pick my powers."

There was a sound of shuffling papers. I'm not really supposed to tell you your destination, if at all, until AFTER you have selected your powerset.

Of all the… "But that's not remotely fair!" Adrian sputtered.

This is really not how we normally proceed, Agent said.

"Oh, don't try that. That's a load and you know it! A choice made without any information isn't a choice at all. It might as well be made with a flip of a coin!"

Agent's body language-- it really was adapting quickly to having a humanoid form-- was hesitant, so Adrian pressed his argument. "Look, you talked about your society having law, and an entertainment industry, and, and mediums of exchange. That implies a marketplace of some sort. And one of the fundamentals of a marketplace is that there are certain ethical principles that have to be observed for it to function. The real biggie is that all exchanges have to be voluntary and informed to be legitimate. Making me make an irrevocable choice while denying me the information needed to make that choice? Not what I would call 'super-advanced,' or even moral."

Agent said nothing; he simply contracted into a ball of swirling, pulsing motes. Adrian somehow got the impression that he'd been put on hold while Agent argued with someone else over his metaphorical shoulder. After a moment Agent reformed into a human-shaped cloud and addressed him. You argue persuasively, he said. It's been agreed that it would be unethical to not give you SOME information about your destination. I've been informed that I may disclose a BIT more than I have.

"Like my destination?" Adrian said.

...Um.... I can at least let you know beforehand that the Earth we are sending you to is a Superhero world.

"A superhero world?" Adrian repeated. "Anything else?"

Agent mumbled a bit and shrugged expressively. Sorry.

There was an awkward silence. "Not your fault I suppose," Adrian finally muttered. "Better than nothing I suppose... " Superhero world. Adrian chewed his lip nervously. That was still a lot of variability. It could mean anything from Justice League to Watchmen.

Agent made a staticky noise that might have passed for a sigh. For the record, we are not in the habit of forcing people to make utterly blind choices. It's just that most of the entities we negotiate with are normally brought here in the midst of... a cataclysmic moment of some sort. Usually something that would or should have resulted in their deaths. They tend to arrive here... disoriented. In a fugue, or dreamlike state, or other state of not-quite-compos-mentis. It's often rather like trying to get someone in an ER after a gruesome traffic accident to fill out hospital paperwork. Some form of assent is needed, so we resort to broad brushstrokes and vague entreaties and explanations... and our procedures have evolved accordingly.

Adrian nodded. He could understand, somewhat. He had a mental image of the scene in Disney's Aladdin where the Genie was desperately trying to get an official wish from Aladdin even as Aladdin was drowning. The Entity gave a Gallic shrug. I apologize for my earlier reticence. I'm not some Jerkass Genie, Adrian. I'm not going to trick you into becoming a woman, or turning into a black man and drop you into the middle of a Nazi rally. I want to win this as badly as you do, so I'm going to do everything to make sure you get the best deal possible. I will try to... be more forthcoming from here on out. Forgive an old Being his bad habits.

"...Right. Sorry," Adrian apologized. "I do get that there has to be some element of chance or risk. I just want to know what lotto ticket I was writing the numbers on." He looked the Entity over. "You know, you're sounding a lot more human than when this conversation started."

A cosmic entity with nigh infinite resources and control over time and space, learning things quickly. Imagine that.

"Touche`." Chastened, Adrian turned back to the screen and proceeded with his dicey choice. He flipped through the options-- he had hands!--- and watched as the screen flickered between races, classes, appearances…

If it helps, Agent hinted, most of the… limitations, I'd suppose you'd call them… on the various races, classes and such you recall from the game are not in effect. Those are the products of gameplay-- programmers putting in things for the sake of design and balance, not the actuality of how such powers work in Azeroth.

"Really."

Yes. Think, do you think in real life that a gnome would run as fast as human? Or a human would be as physically strong as an orc? Or that a worgen, after the cutscreen, is suddenly unable to claw or bite anymore? Many of the limitations found in gameplay, you can disregard.

"Well you'd better baby-walk me through it then. I don't want to miss an advantage I overlooked because some programming doink in Blizzard thought it wouldn't make for good 'game balance.' "

Very well. Oh, and you'll be starting out at maximum level, so to speak. So don't worry about learning curves for skills or talents. Thanks to the implanted memories, though you may need to practice a bit with your skills and abilities, your knowledge base will be fully updated from the start, so it will be more akin to brushing the dust off old skills than struggling to learn new ones. Also, you will be in peak physical condition, akin to your species' version of an Olympiad. And you'll find that maintaining that state will be nearly effortless.

"Seems overly generous..."

Fair's fair. You're getting dumped into a superhero 'verse, where a ridiculous percentage of the natives have the physique of Greek gods.

Adrian mulled over the screen. He hemmed and hawed, but the choice was inevitable. "Species: Worgen." he clicked.

May I ask your reasoning why? Agent was looking more and more humanoid; he tipped his ersatz eyeglasses in Adrian's direction.

"Innate abilites. Stronger than human, faster, presumably accelerated recuperation and healing from the metamorphic ability, both bipedal and quadrupedal locomotion, natural weapons, and going by the cut scenes, incredible leaping and climbing ability. The ability to change back and forth to a human form means an instant disguise option, too. Even a baseline worgen will be pretty kickass." Adrian shrugged his ghostly shoulders. "Plus werewolves are cool."

A good choice, and good reasoning. Two notes: contrary to game lore, your worgen "curse" is not contagious. It is innately genetic. As if the night elves would be so foolish as to leave INTELLIGENT werewolves with a contagious curse, he muttered in an aside. All it would take is one contagious sociopath and Azeroth would end up like the final reel of the Omega Man...

Anyhow, this does however mean that your Worgen form is your default form, the human one is essentially a shapeshifted disguise. If you violently lose consciousness -- say you are drugged or concussed-- you will revert to your 'natural,' that is your Worgen, form. Try to avoid such circumstances when among hostile entities.

"Yeah, important safety note. Thanks."

Agent waved his hand. The screen filled with a side-by-side image: to the left, a young, dark haired, athletic man, caucasian with some hints of something exotic, about sixteen or so if Adrian judged correctly. To the right, a black-furred wolf-man, powerfully built, sleek and deadly. "So that's me?" Adrian asked.

Yes. Acceptable?

"Better believe it. I haven't had abs like that since never."

And now… class?

Adrian browsed the options. "No warlocks or Demonhunters, I see."

Certainly not. Agent's voice had a shudder of profound revulsion in it. One of the differences between the gameplay version of Azeroth and the real one is that you will find no collaborators with demons or demonic powers among those of the Good. Warlocks are hunted like the vile traitors they are, and absolutely noone outside of the most desperate or depraved is mad enough to think they can use a Demon's powers against him... those that were fool enough to try did not become some dark charismatic antihero with diabolic powers-- instead they almost instantly ended up as some Demon's lickspittle. Trying to use a Demon's power for anything other than what the DEMON wants is the equivalent of trying to beat mice to death with a live cobra. It's not going to end well.

Adrian shuddered. "Kind of glad to hear that, actually. I get kind of sick of the edgelord 'evil is kewl' kiddies." Adrian looked over the screen. "Druid." He clicked. The two figures were now carrying staves and wearing Celtic-looking robes… an odd change from the original game's raven-wing-pauldron "druid look," but he could roll with it.

Ah. And again, why this and not any of the others?

Adrian had the strangest suspicion that Agent already knew why, and that it pleased him. "Flexibility. Dunno where I'm going or how I'm going to arrive, so I'd better pick the powerset with the most options. Azeroth druids have that in spades. Multiple forms for land, sea and air, and they can opt for melee, ranged attack, defensive, stealth or support. I figure whatever you hit me with, a Warcraft druid will have an option that can cope with it."

Agent nodded. Definitely pleased. Coincidentally, you get full access to your classes' specializations, including all the druid forms. Another little plus I spent chips on.

"Even the owl and the treant?"

Even the owl and the treant. And now for skills-- or crafts, professions, however you might call it. Coincidentally, you get all the gathering skills as a freebie, regardless. Along with fishing, cooking, first aid, and archaeology. He peered at the screen, seeming to squint. What an odd amalgamation of skills, he noted.

"Engineer," Adrian said without hesitation, clicking the appropriate box. "And Enchanting."

Be warned, the skills won't work like they do in the game, Agent said. You won't be able to take a handful of copper bolts and some sheepskin and make a helicopter. And some of the materials needed, while they do exist-- you will find creating or finding the more exotic ones to be difficult.

"I didn't figure they'd have bars of Adamantine down at the corner drugstore," Adrian said. "But I figure that at the very worst most of the skills and knowledge in Engineering would apply in the real world-- er, my real world-- as to be useful anyway."

And enchanting?

Adrian grinned. "You basically admitted that it worked just fine on Azeroth. I figure wherever I'm going has to be similar enough to both Azeroth and my own reality to make it work and for me to be functional."

Agent cocked an eyebrow. Yes, his appearance was coming right along. Clever boy. It is true: all three universes operate under the same thirteen cosmic forces as every other. Still, you may find it difficult to obtain ingredients like Strange Dust and Astral Essence, even with your Disenchanting ability.

"And ain't it interesting how many Engineering projects can be 'disenchanted' for ingredients?" Adrian grinned even wider. He paused. "Thirteen forces? I thought there were only four."

Agent's head was still only a blank white shape, but Adrian got the distinct impression of a knowing smirk. So young and so much to learn.

Adrian shrugged that off. "Anyway, Alchemy would be even dicier about ingredients… I mean, when the nearest source for peacebloom is Azeroth, it's a bad idea to take Alchemy as a profession. Besides which people are antsy about taking "home remedies" someone whipped up with back yard plants. Tailoring is too limited, as is leatherworking… even the toughest armor you can make from those is like tissue paper next to chain or plate. Blacksmithing? You could make a Venn diagram of the "mining" skill-- which includes smelting, making ores and other metallurgy-- and engineering, and the overlap would be Blacksmithing.

"Plus Enchanting and Engineering come with their own salvaging skills, in addition to the three basics."

Agent smiled--- the mouth suddenly appearing on that blank bespectacled face was a touch alarming. Very good. Very very good. You might just stand a chance. He gestured to the screen. And now a name? The blank box blinked, waiting for an answer.

Adrian only hesitated a moment. "Bayleaf." He looked at Agent. "My old World of Warcraft handle." he shrugged. "It's also a healing herb. I considered "WarCrafter," but that sounded too… aggressive. I want people to know I'm not just there to run around getting in fights-- I'm there to help."

Agent nodded. Done and done. The choices on the giant screen vanished, leaving the worgen character standing in a battle ready pose. Below him blinked a single option:

ENTER WORLD

Adrian looked over at Agent. "Well?" he said, a little nervous. "So where's my big debut gonna be?"

A world almost exactly like your own… within 99.9999 percent actually. He grimaced, obviously unhappy to disclose the rest. But that ten thousandth of a percent difference is a doozy. Agent waved. The image on the screen faded, to be replaced by an aerial view of a coastal city. An American one to judge by the flags waving on some of the buildings. This is Brockton Bay.

Adrian felt the nonexistent blood drain from his face. "Worm? You're sending me into Worm??" he floated there, listless with shock. Had he been truly solid he would have hit the ground with a thump.

Yes. Or rather, it is one of a multiplicity of universes in this local brane where this timeline is, has, or will play out. So you are familiar with this particular panverse. Agent cleared his throat nervously.

"Oh yeah, you might say that," Adrian laughed bleakly. "Worm? The Wildbow-verse? One of the most famous superhero genre online fiction worlds, and one of the most notorious? Oh yeah, I know about it. It's a superhero deconstruction-- if you can call someone violently smashing a basket full of puppies with a sledgehammer "deconstruction." The storyline is like a cross between a demolition derby and a head-on train collision stuck on instant repeat, with someone standing off to the side pushing toddlers into the middle. It starts with a teenage girl being tortured into a psychotic breakdown and ends with an APOCALYPSE by a MAD OMNIPOTENT COSMIC SPACE WHALE DEMIGOD. It's so grimdark it shits BATS!

"I'm supposed to fix THIS? Stop SCION from destroying a couple dozen parallel worlds? With nothing but some werewolf druid powers? The entire Justice league backed by the Avengers, Optimus Prime and Chuck Norris couldn't hack this!"

Godlike powers are not what is needed here, Adrian, Agent said gently. You know that in the original timeline, that--

"That Taylor Hebert ends up saving the world? Or what's left of it, anyway?" Adrian said. He scowled in anger and suspicion. "So why not let her do it again?"

Because the price paid, even if she wins—by countless billions of innocents, including one poor innocent girl-- is too terrible.

"If she wins?"

As the unaltered 'verse plays out, the margins between victory and defeat are far narrower even than they look. Agent looked away, his white eyes staring at the endless plain around them. Far more often than not, when the original events are allowed to play out in yet another universe… Taylor Hebert loses.

"...well ain't that just a ray of sunshine," Adrian muttered, his veins ice cold.

Adrian, I am, in Agent terms, normally a "low roller." These are the highest stakes I have ever played for. But every universe in this particular panverse of this particular brane has been labeled as being at high risk. The need is so great that I was able to barter for more intervention-chips than all my previous rounds of the Game combined-- and I have spent nearly all of them just to find a champion, prepare them, and inform them in such great and terrible detail. He hesitated, then placed a spectral hand on a spectral shoulder. Even so, if you wish to withdraw, you can--

Adrian shook his hand off. "No," he muttered. "No, I'm not gonna quit. How can I? If it was one person I was saving, I wouldn't. But with a whole world? A whole multi-world of people in danger? I can't back out… I'd never be able to sleep again.

"It's just… what can I do? Taylor had… has… will have insane-level powers that will put her BARELY on toe-to-toe basis with one of the Space Whales. What can I contribute in the face of that?"

Often the fate of worlds hinges not on the most powerful, but on the least, Adrian said gently. Throwing overwhelming power into the mix won't save the day here. I didn't pick you to save the whole world in one swoop; I picked you because I wanted someone to go there and do the right thing. The little things. Maybe you won't even be in the final battle--- but even the smallest good deed in the right place can change everything.

Adrian sniffed. "Save the girl, save the world?"

Something like that.

He got to his feet. "So let's do this then."

Agent gestured to the screen. "Bayleaf" had reappeared, floating in the foreground over the skyline of Brockton Bay. Just walk through the screen.

"When and where--?"

Somewhere in the Brockton Bay area, I cannot be more precise. And late September, several months before--

"Several months before the locker incident," Adrian-- Bayleaf-- said grimly. He was already imagining what he'd do if he got his hands around Sophia's neck.

I was unable to secure you identity papers, he said regretfully. I did not have sufficient chips for that level of direct involvement. It would have involved either mass memory editing, time travel, or somehow creating a false identity and paper trail sufficient to fool the resident tinkers, hackers, and Dragon herself. I recommend you pass yourself as a refugee from one of the cities destroyed by Endbringer activity or the like. Secure yourself some finances, obtain a residence and submit yourself to the authorities as an emancipated youth to be enrolled in Winslow High… they have streamlined that process due to the number of young people rendered orphaned and homeless by superhuman catastrophe.

"Urgh. Not even a driver's license, maybe?"

I spent all those points on concealing you from more important threats, Agent said drily. While your powers are in no way derived from the Entities or their Shards, you will be imbued with a false Gemma and Corona Pollenta that will trick most medical scans, and even most psions.

"I can see why that's important. A cape without a Gemma or Pollenta? That'll attract attention nobody wants. What about Contessa? Or the Simurgh?"

Agent gave him an evil smile. Due to the combination of your alien powers, your nature as a being from outside their timespace continuity, and the… well think of it as a "holographic" Shard projected by your false Gemma and Pollenta…. you will be a rather large blind spot for the lot of them. In the truest sense of the word; much as your brain 'paints over' the blind spot in your own vision, you will be a blind spot they aren't even aware they have.

"Ohoho. I can see why that cost a lot of chips."

Worth every one. Especially for Contessa and her Cheat Code Mary Sue 'path to victory' power. She's in for a hell of a surprise if your paths cross. If you see her, punch her smug head up into that stupid little hat, would you?

"I sense a backstory."

No, I just despise her existence on principle. Her overriding influence makes things WORSE, by ERASING potential options from the board before they can even be considered. And considering the shitty nature of the 'victory' her Path leads to…

"Not a friend of the Agents, yeah."

Or anyone. Nothing causes more Hells on Earth than people like Contessa or Doctor Mother, who think Mother Knows Best. He closed the folder with a snap, it disappeared in a cloud of sparkles. And that is it for pre-flight checkup , he said with a hint of amusement. Ready?

Adrian nodded. "Let's do this."

Just step forward into the screen, Agent said. Be warned, you're going to get one hell of a download of knowledge and neural information, in addition to having your body dramatically metamorphosed. You're going to get knocked out… and your recollection of your "time" here may be a bit fuzzy for a while. Just remember: your first step is to get into Winslow and help Taylor Hebert. Beyond that… you'll have to improvise.

Adrian nodded and straightened his shoulders. Maybe he couldn't save this world. Or any world. But on the other side of that screen there was a little girl who was going to be kidnapped and enslaved by a supervillain. There was a group of teenagers who were going to be railroaded into villainy. There was a miracle healer who was going to utterly destroy her own life with one terrible mistake. There were countless innocent people who were going to be destroyed in the crossfire between gangsters, drug dealers, and Nazi lunatics. There was one young woman on whom the entire world's fate hinged, who was going to be put through utter Hell on Earth for no good reason.

Maybe he couldn't save them all, but if he could save one, he was going to damned well do it.

Remember, Adrian: you are not as limited as you think.

He stepped through the screen and the world went dark.

In the realm he just left behind, the screen winked out. The endless twilit plain disappeared, and all detail faded away till there was nothing but a vaguely humanoid figure of glowing smoke floating in the void. Agent clung to the shape for a little while longer; he found it-- appealing for some reason.

Another glowing amorphous shape appeared. That seemed to go well.

Indeed it did, Agent agreed. Hello, Oversight.

--for a given value of well. Your stratagem in this round… eludes me, 'Agent.' Most would regard it as incredibly unwise to reveal so much to their Avatar beforehand. Especially of our own inner workings.

Revealing the Game?

Revealing-- or at least hinting-- at just how far you have gone, Oversight said. He knows that you are gambling on his future. What will it do to his chances, I speculate, when he realizes just how reckless a gambler you are?

To win big, one must risk big, Agent retorted. As risky as my past stakes have been, have I not produced victories like any other Agent? Innocents spared, lives rescued, worlds saved, futures changed for the better?

And each time, you have spent more..."chips"…. Than you have gained, Oversight said, his voice heavy with chastisement. You have been running at a loss for cycle after cycle. One more "victory" like that and you will be destitute. And now you spend your last few Quatloos on a desperate gamble-- on not one world, but multiple parallel worlds in peril, and a single lone Avatar to try and stem the tide?

And if he achieves one small good deed, I will weigh it as worth the cost, Agent retorted. You and I have different value judgments on what constitutes a profit, Oversight.

How did a spendthrift like you persuade the Exchequer to even loan you as little as he did? Oversight said scornfully.

Agent indulged himself and let a slow, genuine, visible smirk spread across his illusion of a face. Because I illustrated to him that I am playing a longer game than it looks, he said. I do not intend to save one panverse world… but two.

Oversight's regard-- what a material being would have called a puzzled look-- passed over Agent. Then came a moment of comprehension. Azeroth, he said. You have somehow incorporated Azeroth into your gamble. He "glared" suspiciously. How?

Consider the fate of Azeroth, Agent said. Their technology, their thaumaturgic sciences, have been barely sufficient to save them from catastrophe over and over again. And each cataclysm has been worse than the last...while their sciences have barely progressed a few short, halting steps in thousands of years. Do you know why?

He didn't wait for Oversight to reply. Because they have continually failed to unify their theories. Paladin powers, arcanist abilities, druidic "nature" magic, gnomish and goblin technology--- all of it operates under the same scientific laws; it's all a continuum. Yet their various 'schools' remain divided-- in part by the conspiracy of outside forces but also by politics, by ideology, by terminology, by symbology-- they even use different maths for each; one works in base eight while another works in base ten!

The closest any of them have come in tens of thousands of years to a grand unification theory have been the druids. Their world philosophy is about both diversity and balance, and they subsequently have hodgepodged bits and pieces from all the separate disciplines and have, miraculously, made them work together, discovered which ones were all but identical under the trappings…

And you have just sent out a Druid, Oversight said suddenly.

A druid, and an engineer, and an enchanter, Agent said. From a world whose scholastic philosophy is entirely about unification and finding a single grand underlying theory for Everything and More. Into a world full of artifactors and devisors and ur-scientists. When he starts trying out his new powers, flexing his new skills, if he starts digging deeper, if he begins cooperating with the natives of similar mind-- he will begin discovering parallels and synergies that will be staggering in their implications. Staggering enough to trigger discovery of the true Grand Unification Theory… and a new model of the universe that will give both Earth Bet and Azeroth--- which he shall surely be drawn to visit next-- the tools to overcome.

IF. The single word from Oversight was enough to weigh like mountains.

That is where the risk comes in, Agent agreed . But it is the risk that makes it all worthwhile.

Adrian woke with a start, the icy wind rushing past him snapping him to consciousness. He rattled his head, utterly disoriented. Weird images, some strange dream-- a glowing man, an Agent of some great cause, or … a game contestant/host… offering him the deal of a lifetime… what?

He raised his hand to rub his eyes-- and a massive clawed paw groped at his face. He yelped before he realized the clawed, hairy hand was his own. As was the hairy, muscular arm it was attached to…

"HOLY--!" He felt himself over (not like that, you freaks.) In a mere second he had stock of himself: massive hands with semi-retractable claws; seriously hairy chest rippling with muscle, arms like fur stockings stuffed with footballs, powerful digitigrade legs with padded clawed pawed feet, wolfen skull and muzzle, pointed ears, wet nose-- no tail though-- coal-black fur over everything-- He was clothed in a loose cotton tunic and trousers that hung loose on even his massive form and flapped madly in the upward rushing wind.

"Holy crap, it was real," he said to himself. "Then that means..." He looked up.

Spread out below him was a city-- a city that HAD to be Brockton Bay. It hugged the coastline and curled around an enormous harbor. He could see-- that had to be the PRT building. Or maybe it was Medhall? He couldn't remember a description. But there, that over there had to be the Protectorate base, floating out in the water, oh wow, he could see the glittering dome of the forcefield, wow a real forcefield… He could see everything up here, he was out over the middle of the bay--

He was over the bay--

Over-- the bay--

Slowly, the rusted gears of cognition clunked into alignment.

"HOLY CRAAaaaAAAaaaaAAP!!!" he began flailing wildly, which only started him tumbling, as he suddenly realized he was thousands of feet in the air without a plane. "AGENT, YOU RETARD!"

He indulged in a couple seconds panic (he was really high up) before he realized he'd better get a grip or he was going to say hello to Earth Bet in a really sudden and final way. He gasped for air as he lay out spreadeagled, slowing his plummet. "Okay, breathe breathe breathe, remember, you're a worgen—Worgen can't fly!!- no, but worgen druids can, come on, change into your flight form, bird bird birdbirdbird come on OWL OWL OWL--!!"

He felt a massive, sort of internal twisting and folding, and suddenly where there had been a plummeting, panicking Worgen, there was now a plummeting, panicking, giant owl. It was several long eternities before he managed to right himself and began turning his demented flailing into at least an effort at flapping. Finally, his long dive began to turn into a swooping glide. He leveled out mere feet above the waves and flew, wings spread wide, hooting in victory…

"hooo Hooo HOOOO.."

And plowed into a whitecap a few yards from shore.

A wheezing, waterlogged Worgen sloshed his way to shore a few moments later. Once the waves were no longer lapping at his ankles, he bent over and shook. What had to be a gallon of water sprayed over the sand. He stood up, relieved and feeling a good bit lighter, if not precisely drier. He shook the last of the water out of his ears in time to pick up the high pitched whine of… was that an electric turbine?

Around the end of one of the derelict ships came a low, sleek motorcycle. It looked, Adrian thought, rather like someone had crossbred a lightcycle from Tron with a particularly old school Harley. The rider looked to be wearing a full suit of futuristic armor, with only his bearded chin showing from underneath the visor on his helmet.

Of course, Adrian thought. With disgust. Armsmaster. It would be the egotistical wannabe Iron Man who'd find him first. What were the odds? Of course they probably had all sorts of futuristic radar out on that floating base looking for incoming flying threats. He wondered what radar profile a wolfman plummeting from 10,000 feet left behind…

The armored hero pulled to a halt in a spray of sand a few yards away. He dismounted quickly, pulling out a collapsing rod that folded out into a six foot staff, a shimmering blade snapping into existence at the end. He planted one end in the sand and struck a commanding pose. "Stand where you are, don't-- WHOAAH!"

Apparantly whatever Armsmaster had been expecting to see, it hadn't been a sodden, bedraggled, seven foot tall wolf-man. He actually staggered back a step in surprise at the sight of him. Then, obviously miffed at his faux pas, he whipped his halberd down into the 'armed and ready' pose, the blade pointed at Adrian's chest, his thumb on some button or other on the haft.

"Uh, Hi," Bayleaf said, grinning sheepishly and waving.

In retrospect, smiling at an armed and armored man with a mouthful of fangs was probably a bad idea. But really, the taser dart had been a bit much...