Chapter Text
There were many people in this world who deserved to be the “main character”. Stories of underdogs, movie stars, people who changed the world through science— they all surely led interesting lives that people would want to read about.
Some people would have their names and lives immortalized in paper, their accomplishments written down to be remembered forever.
For 19-year old Samuel Archer, that was decidedly not the case. He lazed about in bed most of the time, gamed until the sun rose, and didn’t even consider himself that smart. He certainly wouldn't be making any life-changing discoveries anytime soon.
Average in looks, smarts, and personality; less than stellar in athletics. He would be like the masses: a blip of existence among many, who never changed the world or brought joy to the public, whose death would surely be mourned only by a few close loved ones.
Well sure… He’s nineteen. He has his whole life ahead of him. Unfortunately, Sam was plagued with laziness and contentment with being obscure. He had already accepted his place in the universe, and was at peace with his role as a background character. He didn't strive for more. He liked staying quietly in the shadows and letting others shine, even if his daydreams were filled with greatness and glory.
Hell, he made jokes about being an NPC with his plain looks and average demeanor: short black hair, brown eyes, round face, and a grey jacket he wore everywhere.
At least he wasn't that busy now. After all, he only had two of his exams left to finish and hopefully fate didn't have it out for him specifically.
Currently, he stood outside, hands shoved in his jacket pockets as he waited for the small bus that ferried him to college to arrive. The cons of living in such a small town was that the bus only showed up once an hour— such was the price to pay for semi-affordable housing, he supposed.
Sam yawned sleepily, the early mornings and lack of previous night’s sleep getting to him. His usually-pale skin held an even sicklier pallor than usual, and his cheap earphones leaked out loud breakcore in order to keep him at least awake enough to stand upright.
He hardly even noticed as the bus rolled to a stop in front of him. His brain worked on half-awake autopilot to pay the fare and get him seated in his usual spot near the back. A spark of irritation was the only thing he felt— the song he was listening to had come to an end and an ad had started playing instead of the next song.
Curse Spotify.
The next ten minutes was spent with Sam staring dully out the window, watching the scenery roll by and vaguely paying attention to the only other passenger getting off at the local grocery store. He wondered, then, if he'd really accomplish anything— early morning existentialism kicking in to make him doubt himself once more.
These thoughts were common for him, and every time that happened Sam tried his best to think about anything else. His original characters. The newest game he was hooked on. A funny joke his friend had told him the other day. It worked well enough as he sank into a daydream about going on an adventure, set to the upbeat music playing in his headphones.
Glancing out the window again, he noticed the area under construction. If he recalled correctly, the place used to be a strip mall before it had been torn down last year. He supposed they were rebuilding it to be better.
Good riddance, honestly. He’d forever considered the whole place to be a hazard, especially since the original strip mall used to have an actual sagging ceiling due to a load-bearing wall being half-crumbled. That place was a ticking time bomb.
Eyeing the construction site, he wondered what the pay was like for a second before dismissing the thought. He needed to get a job, after all, but Sam knew a construction job would definitely kill him, and he likely wasn't qualified anyway.
Samuel frowned— why was the bus taking so long to move? Surely the red light has turned green by now. But a quick glance at the intersection light proved that no, the light was still red, and flickering at that. Now that he noticed it, could hear the honking of car horns through his earphones as well.
He removed the earphones, frowning at the stoplight. The bus usually turned right here, and the hold-up would surely make him late for his first class. Fuck, he was half-failing that class too, and needed a good grade in that exam so he could squeak by with a passing grade.
Eventually, thank everything in existence, a worker showed up to start manually directing the flow of traffic. The bus slowly started moving forward, then, likely to turn right as the bus driver said something into a walkie-talkie. He wouldn't know. He wasn't paying attention. But at least he'd get to class on time.
The screeching of tires and a honking horn snapped him back into awareness, looking to the left and backwards to see a rapidly approaching sports car. His heart skipped a beat in fear as he watched the car careen right into the back corner of the bus, sending it skidding through the fence into the construction site he'd been eyeing before.
The bus tilted with a groan, the impact on its small frame too much for it. It tilted, Sam watching in slow-motion the approaching impact of an unfinished wall.
The last things he heard and saw were the sound of shattering glass, and the piece of metal rebar headed straight for his eye.
Sam woke up with a start.
The immediate, throbbing pain in his head had him wincing, clutching at his eye as if it was to blame for his pain. It was as though something had been driven straight through his skull—
Oh. The rebar.
His vision was blurry; the most he could tell was that a bright light shone above him. Was the afterlife real? Was he going to heaven or hell? Could it be that he was already there? A jolt of panic shot through him.
Fuck, what about his exams? What about his friends, his family? His parents and sister, what would they think? He was dead. God, he was dead, that was the only explanation for him being here and not in a hospital.
Sam blinked rapidly, trying to get his right eye to work. Eventually, his swimming vision focused and he stared at his surroundings.
It was a waiting room. He sat on a plush and soft chair, its dark fabric a smooth and soothing texture under his fingers. Sam looked upward, noting the circular light that was directly overhead— that was likely the source of the brightness when he first woke up.
The walls were painted a calm beige, making it feel almost homey, but there were no windows to look out of. Tables occasionally broke up the line of chairs, small potted plants tastefully laid on top of them. At the end of the room, to his right, was a door.
He gave another cursory glance around, realizing that other than the wall with the door, there didn't seem to be an exit. Hell, he couldn't see an end to the room. There were three walls, but the wall to his left simply didn't exist. The room went on forever.
Other people, or what he assumed were people, slept in their chairs, features blurred so that Sam couldn't see them clearly. There were many ‘people’ though, dotted along the never-ending room, all snoozing or otherwise occupied with something he couldn’t see.
Sam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and stood up. His joints screamed at him, much more than he would’ve expected considering he was likely dead, and Sam wobbled as he got to his feet. Something compelled him to walk to the door, and with each robotic step he took towards it he started panicking more.
He shouldn't. He really shouldn't, but he felt like he had to. What if there were horrors in there? But he still did, one step at a time approaching the door that suddenly felt like it was looming above him.
Sam’s hand gripped the doorknob, turning it with a quiet click and pushing it open.
… It was an office. A normal office, with brown carpet flooring and a desk in it. He was reminded of a principal’s office, with the two chairs on one side of the desk. The other side of the desk was shrouded in darkness— a misty, writhing thing that seemed and felt alive. Sam shivered.
“Ah, hello. Please, have a seat. I apologise for forcing you to walk in at such a short time after you died, but all people who wake up are compelled to come in, regardless of what they wish to do.” A voice reverberated around him, shaking him to his core and making him flinch.
He tried to talk, but all that came out was a strangled noise. Sam, suddenly fearful, closed the door behind him and stiffly walked to one of the chairs. Best to do what the thing of shadows said.
“Thank you. Your name is…?” The void asked, and Sam blinked back at it.
It seemed to take that as an answer, giving what felt inexplicably like the impression of a nod. “Samuel Archer, I see. I see. Ah, I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” He felt it frown, or… Something along those lines. A faint scent of mint wafted around him suddenly, prompting him to look around to see what the source was. There was nothing.
“How do you know my name? I didn’t respond.” Sam managed to squeak out, half hysterical from the myriad of emotions clouding his brain. “What even are you?”
“I asked the question, and your soul answered.” It responded unhelpfully, electing to ignore his second question. “Let’s see… S… S-A-M… Ah.” A thin file flopped onto the desk, manifesting suddenly from thin air. The sound of pages turning echoed throughout the room, and Sam swore he started smelling the scent of ink as waves of displeasure rolled from the void.
“A car crash, hm. My condolences. Those deaths are often rather awful to wake from. If it helps, your death was instantaneous.” The file was slid towards him, the writhing void moving in on itself before steadying once more. Sam didn’t take the file.
He didn’t want it.
“Really, who are you? What are you?” He asked again, gripping the sides of his seat as a grounding measure. The void in front of him gave the impression of a mirthful smile, the scent of blueberries and vanilla cloying his nostrils for a split second before it gave its reply. “I suppose, in your language… The thing I am most analogous to is ‘fate’.”
Sam stared in shock, half-unable to process what he was hearing. “What do you want from me?” Fate itself, in front of him. And he was having a conversation with it.
“Well. As you can probably tell, I am in charge of overseeing how people’s lives play out. Those who live fulfilling lives are able to move on into the afterlife, you see. But those who are taken too soon… Before they are able to experience the world…” It trailed off, the faint echoes of funeral bells tolling.
“Not even I am able to work around the curveballs that life throws at you humans. But I can give you a second chance.”
“You’re letting me come back to life?” He asked, eyes widening. He could see his family again. They must be worried sick, maybe even grieving already. His friends. Oh, that meant he’d have to do his exams too, but who cares? He’d see his loved ones once again.
“... Not quite.” Fate responded, an apologetic tone in its voice. Sam visibly withered.
It gave the impression of a sad smile before continuing. “I can send you back to your world. But… You will have to go through a purgatory, of sorts. An alternate universe where you’re reborn, starting from scratch, where you cleanse yourself of your flaws and forge new relationships. Once you have proven your character growth, then will you be given the option to permanently move back into your world. Call it a test, to make sure you will not misuse your second life with the knowledge that you can come back from the dead. After all, I cannot erase memories.”
Sam felt his heart sink, worrying at his lip. He wasn’t prepared for any of this. He was spiralling. His heart beat rapidly within his chest, which was ridiculous considering he was dead he was dead his heart shouldn’t beat he shouldn’t even be conscious why was he even here—
“Samuel.” Fate’s voice cut through his panicked thoughts, causing him to look back up at the roiling void with wide eyes. “You are panicking. I want you to know that this is entirely optional. Many simply choose to move on into the afterlife, with their mortal lives unfinished.”
He shifted in his seat, several beats passing before he asked, “Why?”
The vague feeling of curiosity rolled off of Fate, so he continued. “Why give us— me this option? I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?"
“... There are a myriad of reasons why I do what I do. Partly because I feel bad for the candles whose flames went out too soon. Partially because it is entertaining, watching people struggle to confront their flaws. And partially because I hate when my plans for your lives are thwarted.” It spoke the last part with a tinge of irritation. “That is why I give you the option for a second chance.”
Sam considered this. Fate was cruel, but it seemed it wasn’t that cruel. But wasn’t it still fate? What kind of thing was it planning? His head swam again, unexpectedly, and he closed his eyes to ground himself.
With a final breath, he came to a decision.
“I’ll take the offer. I want to see my friends and family again, and I’ll work for it.”
It smiled, then, the void swelling and writhing for a moment before settling down. “Splendid. I already have an idea as to where you will go, so all I need is one more thing from you.”
A catalog plopped itself in front of Sam, blipping into existence and causing him to startle. “Choose one.”
Opening up the catalog, Sam opened his mouth slightly in recognition. This was a catalog of Gears from the Roblox marketplace. Was this going where he thought this was going…?
Fate chuckled slightly, the scent of burnt wood and marshmallows filling the air. “Yes, Sam, it is as you suspect. I figured I would not be so cruel as to put you in a world where you have no knowledge of what is going on. You will be going to ‘The Inpherno’. It is a rather, hm, popular purgatory destination, actually. Though most are more dedicated to causing havoc due to the nature of the 'sponsor' beings they deal with.”
He skimmed through the gears, staring at their pictures and descriptions. There were much more than he thought there would be, hundreds lined up and tempting him. The bows and guns he immediately ruled out— His aim was garbage.
Nothing really caught Sam’s eye as he skimmed through the catalog, jumping from A to B, and then to C. A few swords and support items stood out to him, so he put his finger on those pages, saving them as he flipped through the rest of the catalog. At D, though, he paused.
Darkheart.
Was that even an option? Sam looked up at the void-mass in front of him, then down at the catalog. It was in there for a reason, no? But wasn’t he going to ‘the Inpherno’? Darkheart already existed there. Gear duplicates of the Sword Fights on the Heights swords didn’t exist, either.
But he’d try anyway. “Can I have this one?” He asked, placing his finger on the Darkheart. Fate peered over at it, or at least he thought it did, and gave another impression of a grin. “Well, it’s not usually something I allow. But, it would be very amusing, I believe.”
Sam lit up, not believing his ears. “For real?”
“In exchange, I will not be able to grant you any other boons before you go. Is that alright?” Fate asked. Sam considered it, carefully weighing his options.
He could get a boon, something to help him when he was in a pinch, possibly life-saving. But on the other hand, the Darkheart was such a cool sword…
“I agree.” Sam said, finally, giving a small grin in anticipation. Fate smiled, the snapping of fingers echoing throughout the room. “It is done. You will gain the melee gear known as the Darkheart.”
The Darkheart, a pitch-black recolor of the Linked Sword, fell into his hands, replacing the Catalog that he was holding. It thrummed with power, with pure darkness, as it sucked in the light around it.
“However, you will have to, as you said, ‘work for it’ in order to truly make use of it.” The smile dropped from Sam’s face. What did it mean by that?
Before he could ask, the shimmering cloud of void surged upwards towards him. He nearly toppled over his chair as the suffocating clutch of Fate swallowed him, binding his limbs and causing him to choke from its all-consuming presence. He felt something begin weighing him down, but couldn’t see what it was due to the blinding effect of the void he was encased in. Thrashing did nothing, screaming fell on deaf ears and all around him was pitch dark.
As he began to black out, he heard Fate whisper joyously, “Enjoy your stay, Samuel.”
It was then that Sam decided he hated Fate.
Nineteen years ago, but also just now…
Darkheart stood by a river in a shaded, mostly unpopulated area of Thieves’ Den, a fishing rod clasped in their hands as he relaxed. Another day of shirking duties and lazing about, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Unfortunately, they’d had a bit of a problem lately, that being the constant itching in the back of his throat. Really, it was like several days’ worth of sneeze was built up in him, which was ridiculous. Gods don’t sneeze… Probably. There is a first time for everything, after all. It had helped more than hindered, really, giving him inspiration for a hilarious prank with sneezing powder.
It may have had something to do with the eclipse that Darkheart had heard was coming up— They didn’t often pay attention to the goings-on of mortals, but sometimes they overheard some neat stuff.
Eclipses were supposedly rare, though all of the swords had seen a few in their lifetime. Darkheart didn’t consider it too special of an event. Losing the wonder and joy in these sorts of phenomena was just another consequence of long life.
All that these sorts of celestial events really did was occasionally cause one of the Swords’ powers to spazz slightly. Who knew why, it just did. It didn’t even affect them that bad. Last time a comet passed overhead about eighty years ago, Firebrand had caught a minor cold and that was it.
Speaking of, the eclipse was beginning— The sky was beginning to darken. He wondered how it would affect the fish he was trying to catch. Would they be easier to bait out?
Darkheart stared intently at the surface of the water as the light around them dimmed, the world around them falling into shadow.
Then, they felt it again. The itching, prickling feeling that had incessantly plagued him for days on end. Except this time, it was stronger.
A greenish lightning crackled around him, the air supercharging with a thick tension as Darkheart leaned backwards. The fishing rod that he’d been holding snapped as they tightened their grip too hard, splinters raining into the water below and washing away with the river’s flow.
And at the apex of the eclipse, the darkest point, where the sun’s warmth was swallowed by the moon…
Darkheart sneezed.
Neon-green lightning crashed somewhere behind them. This was demeaning. They sniffled a little, rubbing… where a nose would be if he was human.
Sniffling one more time as the world slowly lightened again, he stared mournfully at the broken remnants of the fishing rod in their hands. That had been his eighth favorite fishing rod.
With a frustrated mutter, he turned around to leave, not even paying attention to the smoking area where his lightning had hit.
If he had paid attention, though, he would notice they’d accidentally hit the structure built around the Thieves’ Den Spawn, piercing through it and striking the Spawnpoint directly. Far off in the distance, Inphernals panicked and ran about, trying to figure out what was going on with the glowing spawn.
There would be consequences for this nineteen years later.