Chapter 1

There was no telling where he was or how much time as passed before he came to, but he knew one thing for certain: Earth didn't have two moons.

He woke in the middle of a forest and, with a splitting headache, immediately surveyed his surroundings to the best of his ability. Through the help of a generous amount of moonlight, he quickly deduced that he was, quite frankly, in what he considered the middle of nowhere. It was nature as far as the eye could see; towering trees loomed over him, glistening as it soaked up the moonlight, while the plantlife below radiated a pale magical glow. The sky above was relatively clear, save for a few strips of clouds and... two moons.

He swiftly concluded that he didn't even remotely know where he was. What a great start.

After coming to that conclusion, he sat up and tried to recall whatever had happened prior to how he had landed himself here. The process was surprisingly difficult, even more so with his onset of a splitting headache, but after a few minutes of sifting through fragmented memories, he brought forth whatever he could and consolidated some information to work with.

From what he could gather, he had been a high school freshman somewhere in New York prior to this. Where exactly? He couldn't tell, or more precisely, his memories couldn't. In fact, he had very little clear memories, most of which were about his former classes, hobbies, allergies (he was somewhat thankful for this), and his birthdate and name, which was apparently...

Sirius?

He frowned. Something about that didn't feel right. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it, but his mind told him that his name didn't start with any letter remotely close to the latter half of the alphabet. It didn't feel like a name that he'd reflexively respond to either. And his birthdate, April 20th... 1969? Yeah, someone had definitely screwed with his memories. He temporarily disregarded those thoughts, as he had significantly more pressing issues at hand.

Aside from what were likely fabricated memories, he could recall only one other clear memory, being what he assumed had happened prior to finding himself here.

The event took place on a Wednesday afternoon (or perhaps it was Thursday, he couldn't remember), the day after summer break had officially began. He and two other friends had gathered at his house to binge-watch a series of anime parodies for shits and giggles, and the rest was history: they spent the rest of the day cracking up at the copious amount of humor it had to offer, and at some point, he must've passed out, because that was where the memory ended.

All memories from that point onward was his latest ones: waking up, head pounding, at the dead of night, unbeknownst to where the hell he was.

He stared up at the pair of moons that slowly crept across the sky. One glowed a light shade of yellow, while the other glowed azure blue.

"Yep, definitely not Earth," he told himself, "Should've realized sooner."

He couldn't quite blame himself though. It wasn't everyday that he'd find himself in a stereotypical scenario, and he sure wasn't preparing for it, but if this was the correct scenario, he had a few ideas as to what he could do.

He took a deep breath and hoped for the best, "Status window."

And before his eyes appeared a bright blue panel, hovering inches away from his face, filled to the brim with rare skills and cheats and–

Nothing actually happened.

He would have to be a fool to think it was that easy, but he'd been half expecting at least something to happen. Instead, he was met with awkward slience followed by the chirping of crickets.

Of course, it didn't end there. After the first attempt failed, he proceeded to try everything. From inspect to appraise to whatever other nonsensical synonyms or phrases he could find, he recited these word for roughly five minutes straight until he heard a deep and undoubtedly agressive growling sound from nearby and took it as his cue to shut up.

Then panic began to set in.

Thanks to the "warning" from whatever creature it had been, his situation had become much more real. He was no longer in the comfort of his home, but rather the wilderness in a place completely unknown to him, and on top of that, he was only an average fourteen year old. Hell, if that creature felt like it, it could probably maul him to death with much issue. He didn't even have anything to defend himself with.

He patted the area around him for anything that he could potentially use as a means of defense, like a stick or a sharp stone, and quickly felt the touch of cold metal. Feeling slightly less panicked, he shifted his hand slightly more to right and came into contact with leather, then picked up the item.

Held in his right hand was a genuine sword. Weighing at about two pounds with a length of around seventy centimeters, he was pretty certain it was an arming sword. Finely crafted yet visibly worn, the sword had likely belonged to someone else before it fell into his hands, but whoever had previously owned it must have maintained it well because it still looked glossy and razor sharp. Though it might have just been the moonlight reflecting off the slivery blade, the sword seemed to give off a faint white glow.

He sliently thanked whoever or whatever had left the weapon there. It made starting off without much of anything slightly more bearable.

He slowly got up, as to not get lightheaded, and examined himself thoroughly. Black sneakers, navy blue pants, a black shirt, and a hooded, gray zip-up sweater layered over the shirt; it was quite a bit of clothing, but he figured it beats freezing to death. His pockets held nothing but tufts of lint and a strange pendant with what was supposedly his name inscribed onto it, though he was still reluctant to call himself Sirius. There was no currency, no written note (he felt that he was entitled to at least an explanation), or a map of any sort, not that he could even read one, but he supposed that the lint could be used as a firestarter, if only he had a lighter or something. A few feet from where he stood was the sword's sheath, an ornate darkwood scabbard with a silver metal casing and a belt attached onto it. He picked up the scabbard and managed to fasten it around his waist after a dozen or so tries, then, with caution, slid the sword into its sheath.

He didn't feel thirsty, and his headache was fading, but hunger was starting to get to him. He scanned his perimeters and almost immediately locked onto a thicket of berry bushes about a stones throw away. Each held dozens of berries that glowed slightly blue like some kind of tangible Magic Missile, which likely wouldn't bode well should he consume it. On the other hand, Earth's rules probably didn't completely apply here, so...

He stared at the bushes for a good moment before making up his mind.

"Screw it," he muttered, "I'll just carry a few on me just in case."

He walked over to the bushes and stuffed a few handful of berries into his sweater pocket. To his surprise, they didn't feel much like berries. Unlike most fruits, which were firm, but slightly squishy, these berries felt rather solid, as if it were actually a piece of candy.

He refrained from immediately popping one into his mouth and began to walk in a single direction, a direction opposite where he had heard that growl from earlier. He figured that he'd have to come across a worn path of some sort at a certain point, but boy did he hope that it'd happen soon.

After a twenty minute's walk and no road of any sort in sight, he chanced across what was probably the best case scenario: flames. Flames meant the likelihood of a campfire, and a campfire meant people, hopefully helpful people that... understood English.

"Shit..."

He had been so preoccupied that he didn't even consider the probability of a language barrier, but at that point, he no longer cared. He was either going to have to share a campfire with complete strangers or consume a sketchy berry and risk going on an LSD trip.

He braced himself and stepped into the clearing, and half a dozen red, beady eyes locked onto him.

Turns out he didn't need to worry about a language barrier. Not when he was face to face with three goblins, all of which were armed and none of which were chill. As if the solidify his point, one immediately screamed, then pulled out a worn dagger and jumped at him, effectively triggering his fight or flight response.

He promptly chose the former.

As adrenaline flowed through his veins and tension permeated the air, he fumbled with his sword and, seeing as he wouldn't make it in time, quickly dove off to his side, barely dodging the lunge by a good inch or two. The first goblin, now preoccupied with pulling its dagger out of the ground, let out a frustrated screech, and his two buddies hopped into battle.

Between the dive and the screech, Sirius had had managed to draw his sword and moved himself into a somewhat sturdy stance; eyes straight, and feet shoulder-width apart, with his right foot forward and the left slightly bent. It was some half-assed stance he thought off the top of his head based on exercise and sport forms, but he figured it was better than nothing. He'd much rather look sturdy while wielding a sword like a seasoned weeb rather than just wielding a sword like a seasoned weeb.

Seeing as Goblin One still hadn't recovered its dagger, Goblin Two decided to take the initiative and lashed out at Sirius, this time with an overhead slash.

Witnessing a three feet tall gremlin of a creature charging at him with murderous intent wasn't the most inspiring thing in the word, but it helped with resurfacing some memories. Some objectively useless memories.

As he focused on the dagger and time seemingly slowed to a crawl, a certain age-old phrase echoed in his mind: He who strikes first, wins.

Had he not been in a life-threatening situation, he would have considered smacking himself on the spot.

"Wait a second," he thought, "Strike first..."

Sirius temporarily reassessed the situation. There was a goblin charging at him with a dagger. He had a sword. A sword has more reach than a dagger.

He quickly thanked himself for not dismissing the thought too soon.

As Goblin Two closed the distance, Sirius readied his sword and thrusted it at the goblin. Just as the tip of the blade was about to impale it's green head...

It dodged.

It tilted its head slightly towards the left and swiped at Sirius's left foot. Thankfully, Sirius had managed to sidestep last second and narrowly avoided losing his foot in exchange for a slight cut to his pants, then took a wide swing at the goblin, only to miss by a marginal amount.

He made a two mental note to himself: Don't assume that things are stupid by default, and to slap the shit out of whoever came up with that proverb.

While he was busy focusing on Goblin Two, Goblin One had managed to retrieve its dagger, while Goblin Three had disappeared, which was mildly concerning, until he heard light footsteps approaching from behind him.

He instinctively ducked and felt a blade rush past where his neck had been, then narrowly parried a dagger from Goblin Two out of the corner of his eye before pushing it away and cutting it across the chest. It collapsed onto the ground, groaning and twitching, before falling silent for good.

He wasn't too fond of the sensation that followed. Between the resistance of flesh and the spurting of dark red blood, he was feeling terribly squeamish and on the verge of vomiting.

Unfortunately, the remaining goblins took advantage of that.

Seeing that his momentum had been broken, Goblin One swiftly threw its dagger at Sirius, landing a cut across his left cheek and snapping him back to attention. However, that was not its plan. Goblin Three caught the dagger midair and swung wildly at his backside. Sirius had barely reacted in time, roughly dodging the first attack. He wasn't as fortunate with the second, which cut into the right side of his lower back.

Sirius immediately staggered from the pain. Despite it being only a shallow cut, the pain felt surreal. His lower back throbbed with pain as he felt it began to swell and bleed, the blood trickling down his back and soaking into the waistband of his pants.

Seeing yet another opportunity to strike, the goblin quickly readied its arms for a finishing blow, only to notice that its vision had reversed.

Knowing that the goblins would take his staggering as an opportunity, Sirius took the risk and revealed an opening, then while it prepared its attack, he quickly spun around and took its head off.

It probably wasn't the best plan, but it had worked. Now he had only one more goblin to worry about.

He quickly spotted the remaining goblin and resisted another urge to vomit. It knelt beside the corpse of the Goblin Two and, one by one, tore off its limbs and consumed it, then dug a dark red crystal out of its body and consumed that as well.

Immediately, it began to change. Its limbs grew longer, thicker, and sturdier, the torso expanded and became bulkier, and its expression grew much more murderous. Dark red lines now ran across its body like visible veins that pulsed with power. It picked up Goblin Two's dagger and brandished it menacingly.

Sirius gritted his teeth and readied his sword, "Guess I'll fucking die today."

Of all the things he had been expecting upon waking up, fighting a steroid goblin was definitely not on the list. And now that he was up against a steroid goblin, winning seemed to be off the list as well.

Throughout the fight, he had more or less exhausted himself. His arms were heavy, his andenaline had run dry, and his needs were quickly getting to him. Between that and what he should now probably refer to as Hobgoblin One, his chances of winning was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

With an enraged roar and renewed vigor, the now-hobgoblin charged Sirius down at what was probably fifteen miles per hour, and swung its dagger. Sirius barely managed to parry the blow and was sent stumbling a few steps backwards. Compared its goblin form, Hobgoblin One hits at least three times harder now. Whatever crystal it consumed earlier was likely the result.

If only he had something to even the odds.

Sirius glanced at the corpse of Goblin Three and quickly shook off the thought. He was all for taking risks, but he wasn't willing to reject his humanity and potentially become a villain. With one option promptly eliminated, his mind drifted to the only other option available: the berries in his pockets.

Perhaps it was because of the gradual blood loss, but Sirius had given up on thinking rationally. His thought process went something like: they feel like crystals, and they glow like crystals, so they probably act the same way as crystals. A part of him still wanted to convince himself that eating random berries with a potential side effect of "acid trip" wasn't the brightest of ideas, but he had long since tossed that part out the window equivalent of his consciousness. Besides, he was thirsty and famished, he probably would have eaten it anyway.

Sirius's left hand drifted to his pockets and pulled out one of those glowing, marble-sized berries. The instant Hobgoblin One caught sight of it, its eyes widened and it immediately lashed out at Sirius, its dagger flourishing in a spur of urgency.

Sirius smiled and popped the berry into his mouth. That was a reaction he want to see.

He chomped down on the berry and swallowed the mildly sweet juices that flowed from within and immediately felt its effects.

In a single pump of his heart, his body coursed with power and pain. His field of view increased as time slowed to a trickle. Thanks to the berry, his felt that his senses had been heightened, but all power came with an equal, if not worse, price. He could feel his entire body straining, joints creaking and tendons snapping as it attempted to save itself from caving in under the sheer power he was experiencing. He felt so conscious. Conscious of everything little thing around him; the light breeze, the rustling of leaves, the purring of sleeping creatures from within the forest, and even the flow of time by the miliseconds. He felt so conscious that he was bordering on clairvoyance, but his brain could barely handle it as it pushed itself to the utmost limit. He felt so fast, yet so slow. So free yet so restrained.

He felt like a certain failed knight who had overcome his own limits, except unlike the failed knight, he was actually about to die.

Hobgoblin One, who had previously looked like an arrow, now approached at the speed of smell. Its swings had never been any more visible; left side diagonal, right side swipe, vertical slash, each motion was played ahead of time at one-twelfths speed.

Although Sirius could perceive its attacks beforehand, his body hadn't changed. He was still the same fourteen year old with a slightly above average body thanks to seventh period fitness class. Each time he tried to command his body, he found himself internally screaming "MOVE!!" as it maneuvered at snail speed. It was barely bearable, but probably enough to take down Hobgoblin One.

As the hobgoblin closed the distance at a record speed of one centimeter per second, Sirius began to input commands into his body beforehand like a sweating gamer with two thousand ping and hoped for the best.

He managed to dodge Hobgoblin One's first attack to his neck by an inch and was slightly grazed by its second swipe to his gut. He clenched his teeth as pain flared up throughout his body, but continued with his plan. The third blow, like he had anticipated, fell downwards as a vertical slash. He held the sword in an icepick grip and tilted it at an angle, diverting the blow to the side. After completely diverting the blow, he spun his sword upright and thrusted it through its neck, then, just as the berry's effect came to an end, gave it a strong pull, leaving a horrific, gaping wound in its neck.

He watched as Hobgoblin One dropped its knife and clutched its neck while desperately wheezing before falling onto its knees, then delivered the final blow to its neck.

After confirming that all of the goblins in the vicinity were dead and that nothing was approaching, Sirius moved to the campfire the goblins had created and allowed his knees to give way and his consciousness to fade.

He didn't feel like he'd accomplished much, but at least he was still alive. Everyone had to start somewhere, and some have a rougher start than others.