Dewy Lawson could handle spiders.
He could handle public speaking, finals week, and even eating microwave lasagna five nights a week.
But blood?
Absolutely not.
The mere idea of blood made his palms clammy. A paper cut might as well be a mortal wound. He once passed out in health class when someone said the word "hemorrhage."
His mom told him it was just a phase. His dad suggested boxing. His therapist called it "a severe vasovagal response triggered by hematophobia."
Dewy just called it hell.
At nineteen, Dewy had learned to avoid most situations involving even the possibility of blood. No action movies. No horror games. He couldn’t even look at raw steak without feeling woozy.
He’d carved out a life that worked for him: online classes, part-time at a bookstore, and enough LitRPG novels to build a fortress out of paperbacks. That was his world. One where stats, skills, and sword fights existed safely behind a screen.
In those stories, he wasn’t a kid who passed out from a nosebleed.
He was a spellblade, or a shadow rogue, or a crazy man with an axe who controlled a port town.
And yeah, maybe he sometimes wished the real world worked like that. Maybe he hoped for something to shake up the boring, bloodless monotony of his existence.
But he never expected the sky to crack open during his walk to Gamestop.
One moment, he was checking his phone and dodging a goose on the quad.
The next, the world froze. The air shimmered. Time itself hiccuped.
Then a chime rang out, clear and bell-like, followed by a translucent blue screen hanging in front of his face.
[APOCALYPSE PROTOCOL INITIATED]
Welcome, Player. You have been chosen by the Divine System.
Class Assignment in Progress…
Name: Dewy Lawson
Class: Blood Mage
Deity Patron: Varnak, God of Crimson Ends
Dewy blinked.
He read the words again.
“Blood… Mage?”
At first, he thought it was a joke. Some weird AR ad.
But when he looked down and saw glowing red runes circling his hands, the goose exploded into a mist of feathers two feet away, and something wet splattered across his face…
He fainted.
______
Dewy came to with the taste of iron in his mouth and the vague memory of a goose detonating.
His head throbbed. His fingers tingled. Something sticky was on his shirt.
Please be soda. Please be soda. Please be soda.
He cracked one eye open.
Nope. Definitely not soda.
Blood.
Feathers.
A single goose foot, still twitching on the grass beside him.
He whimpered. “Oh no.”
Then the notification popped again, hovering politely over the carnage like a helpful customer service rep in hell.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Welcome, Dewy Lawson. You have successfully been bonded to the Class: Blood Mage.
Divine Patron: Varnak, God of Crimson Ends
Soul Binding: Complete.
Note: The system acknowledges a clerical misallocation involving two individuals named 'Dewy Lawson.'
Compensation Issued:
- Fear of Blood: Reduced (partially)
- Identity Error Report: Redacted (for your safety)
Please do not inform your assigned deity of this error.
Varnak would likely unmake you in a display both ironic and excessive.
Thank you for your understanding.
Dewy sat up slowly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie — a hoodie that was now wet and red and probably permanently ruined.
His breathing hitched, but he didn’t pass out this time.
Progress?
“What do you mean don’t tell him?” he croaked. “How is this my problem?”
The screen pulsed, as if clearing its throat.
Further Compensation Unlocked:
- Hemophobia Adjustment: 63% desensitization completed.
- Remaining fear categorized as ‘low-grade existential dread.’
- Full emotional recalibration requires Premium Emotional Stability Package? (unavailable).
“Oh, great,” Dewy muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “I get the budget trauma patch. Does it come with a side of therapy or just more exploding animals?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The screen didn’t answer, but a new prompt appeared:
Earth is entering Stage One of System Assimilation.
All intelligent lifeforms will be evaluated and converted into System-Compatible Players.
Deities may claim sponsorship of newly integrated worlds.
Primary Sponsor for Earth: Varnak, God of Crimson Ends.
Dewy squinted at the sky, where red, flickering runes formed for a second, then dissolved like ash.
“Blood Trials of Varnak”
The Crimson God has claimed dominion over this world.
Five individuals have already received his initial blessing.
Five additional slots remain open.
Prove yourself worthy. Bleed, survive, kill — or be forgotten.
Reward:
- Class Blessing (Blood-Based)
- Divine Favor
- Immunity from the first Culling Wave
Warning:
Failure to progress will result in Termination or Conversion.
Good luck.
A second later, a much smaller message blinked just in front of Dewy's face:
Hello again, Dewy.
Just to clarify, your selection was… not intentional.
But, as per Divine Protocol, the bond cannot be broken once it’s established.
You are now officially one of Varnak’s Chosen. Congratulations, we suppose.
Your journey will require proving your worth in the Trials. You will need to survive, adapt, and—hopefully—not die.
By the way, don't tell Varnak. He’s… sensitive about these things. Last time an error occurred, it resulted in an uncomfortably creative form of retribution. We do not want to repeat that.
Good luck.
(You’ll need it.)
Dewy slowly lowered his hands and stared blankly at nothing.
The world had gone full LitRPG.
Gods were real.
One of them had accidentally picked him.
And now the entire planet was in a survival game sponsored by the fantasy equivalent of a blood-obsessed murder influencer.
“…I need a nap,” he said.
_________
Dewy was still trying to process everything when a bright, searing flash erupted from the rift in the sky.
It was like staring at the sun, but worse—because it wasn’t a sun. It was something else.
Dewy squinted, threw up his arm to shield his face, and tried to steady his breathing.
When the flash died down, his vision was hazy, and he rubbed his eyes to clear the spots. And that’s when he saw them.
Lights—no, not lights—specks of light, floating in the air. They were small, like tiny stars, and they moved together, forming into something… something solid.
A sound like cracking bones echoed through the air, followed by a low growl that made Dewy’s skin crawl.
His heart skipped.
And then they appeared. Monsters.
A roar echoed as a grotesque, goblin-like creature stumbled through the newly-formed rift. It had green skin, yellow eyes that gleamed with malice, and jagged teeth that looked like they could rip through steel. As it stepped forward, Dewy noticed a small name tag above its head.
Goblin Grunt
Level 1
Dewy’s heart thudded in his chest. His stomach twisted. He was seeing this wrong, right? This was just some weird illusion.
But the screams around him told a different story.
He looked up to see people running in every direction, panicked, some tripping over their feet, others scrambling for cover. Their faces twisted in terror, and Dewy could hear their cries of pure, unfiltered panic.
But there, amidst the chaos, was a kid. Maybe seventeen, with a baseball cap and an odd calmness about him. His thumbs moved quickly across the air, scrolling through those system
notifications like they were a regular part of his day.
"What the hell is going on?" Dewy murmured, his voice trembling.
The kid glanced over at him. "You a player?" he asked, voice flat.
Dewy blinked. "I—what?"
The kid sighed. "System didn’t tell you? Welcome to the apocalypse, man."
Before Dewy could respond, the goblin lurched toward him with a sickening screech.
Dewy froze.
It was like his mind just went blank. He should move, right? Fight back, maybe? But he couldn't—his legs wouldn't obey. His body was paralyzed.
Then, in a blur of motion, the goblin swiped at Dewy with claws that looked like razors. Dewy screamed, instinctively throwing his hands up to shield his face.
But that didn’t matter. The goblin’s claws connected with his side, and Dewy felt a sickening wetness spread across his hoodie.
The fear. The blood.
It felt like everything was crashing in on him. His head was spinning, and his breath caught in his throat.
No. Not again. Not like this.
But then something snapped. The blood wasn’t the overwhelming terror it used to be—not like it was supposed to be. A cold numbness spread through him, like his system was buffering the panic. He could feel the fear trying to crawl its way into his chest, but something inside him resisted it.
I’m not going to die like this.
With a grunt of exertion, Dewy pushed the panic down, trying to center himself.
His hands—it was his hands. His hands were glowing again, streaks of red running through his fingers like fire.
“Blood Mage,” he whispered to himself, repeating the words like a mantra. "I can do this."
The goblin screeched again, charging.
Dewy’s fist collided with the creature's face. There was a sickening crunch, and blood splattered across his hand, but he didn’t flinch.
He didn't flinch.
He struck again, and again, each punch landing harder than the last, feeling like the world was slowing down around him. The fear was still there, lurking, but it didn’t matter. He had to fight. He had to survive.
The goblin tried to slash at him again, but Dewy ducked, his knee crashing into the creature’s gut. It wheezed, stumbling back, and Dewy lashed out, using his fist, his knee—anything to make it stop moving.
With a final, brutal blow, Dewy brought his elbow down on the goblin’s skull, and it crumpled to the ground, twitching, its body limp and lifeless.
Dewy stood there, panting, covered in the thing's blood. His heartbeat roared in his ears. His breath came in shallow gasps.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then, his vision flashed, and the system's notifications flickered in front of him:
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Congratulations!
You have completed your first battle.
You have gained experience.
Quest Update:
"Survive the first 24 hours"
Progress: 15%
Spell Selection Available