Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Firefighter's Fate

Sam Witleck was no stranger to danger. At twenty-four, he had spent nearly six years as a firefighter, running headlong into infernos most people would flee from. Fires were unpredictable, ruthless, and unrelenting, but Sam faced them with a calm resolve that bordered on defiance. He had always been one to act, to push back against the chaos, to be the hand that pulled someone out of the flames.

Tonight, however, something felt different. A gut-deep foreboding clawed at his insides, a sense that this fire would be unlike the rest. He ignored it. Firefighters didn't have the luxury of doubt or hesitation.

The blaze had erupted in an old, dilapidated apartment building on the east side of town. By the time Sam and his crew arrived, the flames were already clawing at the night sky, their roar so loud that it drowned out the sirens. Orange tongues of fire licked at the windows and roof, and smoke billowed like a dark cloud, obscuring the stars. Sam felt a shiver run down his spine as they approached. This wasn't a simple fire—it felt alive, almost malevolent, as if the flames had their own sinister purpose.

"Focus," Sam muttered to himself as he donned his helmet and mask, his gear clinking in the cold air. He turned to his team, shouting through the noise. "Same routine as always—clear the lower floors first. Be fast, be careful."

With practiced precision, they broke through the entrance and entered the burning building. The heat hit them like a physical force, oppressive and suffocating, but Sam pushed forward, his breathing steady beneath his mask. Flames licked at the walls, eating away at everything in sight, and the building groaned under the weight of its own collapse.

The first floor was already partially consumed, but there were still people trapped inside. Sam found a young mother clutching her infant in a corner, her face streaked with soot and terror. Guiding her to the staircase, Sam passed her to his fellow firefighters before turning back into the inferno.

As he navigated the smoke-filled corridors, sweat dripped down his back despite the protective gear, and the roar of the fire was deafening. Each step forward felt like a battle, the fire pushing back with a relentless fury. His lungs burned with every breath, but he pressed on. People were counting on him.

Suddenly, the building shook with a deafening explosion. The force threw Sam against the wall, his vision blurring as debris rained down around him. His ears rang, the world tilting dangerously as he struggled to regain his footing. Somewhere nearby, an elderly man was coughing violently, gasping for air in the smoky haze.

"Come on, old man, we're almost there," Sam grunted, pulling the man to his feet.

They were so close to the exit. Just a few more steps and they'd be safe. But the fire wasn't done. Above them, the ceiling groaned ominously, and before Sam could react, it collapsed in a cascade of flaming beams and rubble.

Sam's last thought was of his family—his mother's smiling face, the pride he felt in his work, the life he hadn't finished living. Then, everything went dark.

When Sam opened his eyes, he expected to find himself buried under debris or worse—surrounded by fire. But instead, he lay on a cold, smooth surface. His firefighting gear was gone, replaced by a simple white tunic, and the oppressive heat had been replaced by a cool, fragrant breeze. Groaning, Sam sat up, his body stiff, but the pain from the fire was gone. His head throbbed with confusion as he looked around, his surroundings utterly foreign.

He was no longer in the burning building. He was somewhere else entirely.

Sam blinked, his vision adjusting to the eerie grandeur around him. He was in an enormous throne room, the kind you'd expect to see in some ancient myth. The walls were polished marble, towering high above and adorned with intricate mosaics depicting scenes of wild revelry—dancing figures, drunken feasts, and creatures of legend. Giant braziers lit the room, their flames flickering with an unnatural glow that shimmered across the golden pillars.

And then there was the throne itself.

At the far end of the room sat the most enormous chair Sam had ever seen, carved from polished wood and draped in rich, velvet cushions. Lounging on it was a giant of a man—or, at least, Sam assumed it was a man. His massive form was covered in thick, dark hair, and his body, loosely draped in a toga, exuded a wild, untamed energy. His face was rugged, almost handsome in a feral way, and his eyes twinkled with a mischievous gleam as he held a golden goblet in one hand.

The other hand gripped a large staff, crowned with a cluster of grapes. He looked as though he had just stumbled out of an all-night party—his toga askew, his hair wild, and his eyes glazed with a sort of casual amusement. Sam could almost smell the wine on him from across the room.

The man took a long swig from his goblet before noticing Sam, his grin widening.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to wake up!" His voice was deep, booming, and laced with a carefree arrogance that made Sam's skin crawl. "Welcome, Sam Witleck! Welcome to the afterlife!"

Sam blinked, struggling to keep up. "The... what now?"

"The afterlife, my boy! You didn't think that little fire was the end of you, did you?" The man let out a thunderous laugh. "No, no, no. Fate has other plans for you!"

Sam stared at him, his mind racing to make sense of everything. The fire...the building...he had been dying, hadn't he? And now he was here, in some ancient, magical throne room, with a god—because that's what this man had to be—laughing at him.

Before Sam could speak, the man leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "I should probably introduce myself. I'm Dionysus, god of wine, revelry, madness, and...well, lots of other things. You've earned yourself a bit of favor, it seems, by being a good little hero in your short life."

Sam frowned, his head pounding. "What does that even mean?"

Dionysus waved a dismissive hand. "Doesn't really matter. Sometimes, I just pick people at random for a little fun." He chuckled. "Think of it as a game! You, my brave little firefighter, are now in for quite an adventure. You can either move on to the real afterlife—boring, by the way—or you can be reborn in another world."

Sam's jaw tightened. "Reborn? What, like...I get a second chance at life?"

"Exactly! Well, kind of. You won't be reborn as a baby, no time for that. But I'll throw you into a whole new world, give you some gifts to help you out, and see what happens!" Dionysus wiggled his eyebrows, as though this was all a grand joke. "Could be fun, right?"

Fun? Sam stared at him in disbelief. He had been a firefighter. A hero. And now this drunken god was giving him a choice between an eternal afterlife or some kind of twisted game?

"You're serious," Sam muttered, his voice low.

"Deadly serious," Dionysus said, smirking. "Now, what do you say we let fate decide where you're headed, eh? I've got just the thing for that."

Before Sam could protest, Dionysus clapped his hands, and the room seemed to ripple and shift. A massive wheel appeared in the center of the throne room, divided into countless sections. Names of worlds Sam recognized—Marvel, DC, Middle-Earth, Westeros—blurred together in a kaleidoscope of colors.

Dionysus gestured grandly. "Give it a spin! Wherever it lands, that's where you're going. And don't worry—I'll make sure you're well-equipped for whatever world you end up in."

Sam's heart pounded. He didn't have a choice, did he? With a shaky hand, he reached out and gave the wheel a hard spin.

The wheel spun rapidly, the names flashing by too fast to follow. Sam held his breath, his mind racing with the absurdity of it all. The wheel slowed gradually, the sections becoming clear: Star Wars… Middle-Earth… Game of Thrones…

Finally, the wheel clicked to a stop.

The Vampire Diaries.

Sam stared at the name, blinking in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."

Dionysus roared with laughter. "Oh, this is going to be fun! But wait, there's more!"

With another clap of his hands, a second, smaller wheel appeared, filled with symbols Sam vaguely recognized. Mjolnir. Green Lantern Ring. Asgardian Blood. The Omnitrix.

Dionysus wiggled his fingers. "One more spin, my boy! Let's see what kind of powers you'll get for your new life."

Sam sighed, the surreal nature of the moment almost numbing him to the absurdity. With a resigned breath, he spun the second wheel. It whirled around, and after what felt like an eternity, it clicked to a stop.

Red Hood System.

Sam stared at the result. Not exactly the most comforting of boons.

Dionysus grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, you're going to have quite the adventure in your new world, Sam Witleck. Welcome to the Vampire Diaries...and the Red Hood."

Before Sam could react, the floor beneath him began to ripple and dissolve. The last thing he saw was Dionysus waving cheerfully as the world spun into darkness.

When Sam woke again, he was lying in a bed. His surroundings were cozy, the scent of fresh linen and old wood filling the air. He groaned, his muscles aching as if he had been through a war.

As he sat up, his mind swirled with new memories—two lives merging into one. He was no longer just Sam Witleck, firefighter. He was Sam Gilbert now, a part of Mystic Falls, a town he knew all too well.

And his new journey was just beginning.