Sharp, shallow, rapid breaths filled his ears, eyes darting around and constantly blinking, forehead and face tickling from the constant sweat, his body frozen in place, heart pumping blood violently, threatening to burst from his chest and his mouth dry but ready to yell at any threat.
Moments earlier Malcolm was enjoying some well deserved gaming time in his man-cave. The last few days were a living hell of overtime in the workshop, but now it was all finally over and he had a whole weekend of free time ahead of him. When he got home, he went to the shower to freshen up, to the kitchen to grab some snacks and then to the cave to finally play some Skyrim.
In that last month, he had downloaded and curated over 300 mods chosen specifically for an immersive and extensive role-playing experience as The Last Dragonborn. He had never done many of those, mostly because he liked to be more of a passive player rather than an immersive one. He wasn't going to lie, he did plenty of runs where he used cheats to get his skills over 2000 and absolutely demolish even the beefiest of enemies in one hit from a simple one handed non-enchanted shiv. That doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a normal playthrough here and there, or that he cheats in all the games he plays, usually. It just meant he just didn't want to spend hours grinding against endless hordes of enemies while turning off his brain.
Regardless, this was one of the rare times he ditched the cheat mods and learned in full role-playing and immersive ones. Frostfall, iNeed, Wintersun, Warzones, Joy of Perspective, Wildcat Combat, Ordinator, Odin… These were a few of the more famous mods he downloaded. He wanted to download more than those 300, but he didn't feel like it after looking at how he wanted to actually play. Also because his computer could only handle so much.
In this playthrough, he went for the classic nord coming back to Skyrim. Nilsten Fenrensen, born in Winterhold, he had lived his childhood in the destroyed town, when he was 12 he and his family went to High Rock until the ripe age of 17, which is when he came back to Skyrim, but his ship crashed in some icebergs.
This was where Malcolm started his adventure in Skyrim. In the past few months, he slowly made his way through the game. The College of Winterhold quest line, with mods to improve and extend the experience, up until the end, with another mod to appoint someone else as archmage, then it was off to Whiterun to play the companion's quest line, also heavily modded, then various miscellaneous quests, dungeons and the some quest mods, all leading up to one of the quests leading him to Helgen and the main quest.
From there, he interchanged it between completing the main quest, doing the imperial legion and random exploration, with Dawnguard and Dragonborn thrown in between them to properly space out and to make time make it seem time was actually passing for his dragonborn.
Right at that moment, in that session, he was pretty sure he was going to end that playthrough. Skyrim was firmly in the imperial grasp, Serana was enjoying her new human life with Nilsten's adoptive children, Miraak's sword was hanging on the walls of the Dragonborn museum, his, mostly, healed Companions were enjoying some mead and probably a brawl at Jorrvaskr, Brelyna was probably conducting yet another experiment on some poor sod and Elisif was sleeping peacefully knowing that Potema was no longer a threat…
Of course, that's what he imagined Nilsten was thinking since he knew those characters were nothing more than code, not sentient human beings, just a bunch of 1s and 0s.
Moving his character forward to engage the downed Alduin. He casted Ebonyflesh, Haste, shout Dragon Aspect and then equipped his favorite sword. It wasn't the most powerful, but he sure did like it. It was the sword from the 'Dovah Nord Weapons'. There was something about the design that appealed to him.
His set was the Nordic Carved set, with a black face mask from Frostfall to cover his mouth and face and a white fur cloak covering his back. He had three rings on his fingers, each with two enchantments. The first one increased the effectiveness of alteration and conjunction spells, the second increased his destruction and illusion, the third restoration and lockpicking.
He also wore a gold jeweled necklace with three enchantments, thanks Ordinator, with increased stamina, magicka and health regens.
The rest of his set was all also enchanted. His helmet with water breathing and fortify archery, his chest with heavy armor and poison resistance, his gauntlets unarmed and one handed, his boots with sneak and carry weight and his shield with resist disease and fortify blocks.
He pulled the little alchemy exploit to make these enchantments go for the 400%, but he never went far and this armor set was the only one where he pulled that off.
Running to Alduin, unleashing a barrage of heavy attacks without ever having to wait for his stamina to regen and absolutely chew through his health bar felt… good. It was almost cathartic, seeing as almost every other boss chewed through his health bar. Granted, he always ran straight at them without a plan like a lunatic, but that was kind of the vanilla Skyrim experience he was used to.
That was the reason why he modded the game. He wanted a more challenging experience, akin to a Dark Souls experience, where he would struggle through the majority of the game and gain actual skill with the game and powerful gear before turning the final boss into his bitch.
The only downside of this approach was one he was experiencing now. It was kinda anti-climatic. Alduin, the eater of worlds, an aspect of Aka, the Nordic god of Time, fucked in the ass like a prison bitch by a speedy boi.
Malcolm kinda felt bad for the guy. Even the Ebony Warrior was tougher than him. Hell, even with his set, Malcolm had a harder time with Karstaag. Technically, Alduin should curbstomp the Frost Giant, but…
Eh, better not go in that direction. Only unhealthy things inhabit that side of the world.
Landing the finishing blow and taking a few steps back to admire Alduin explode and "reset", Malcolm removed his headphones and reached out to his phone to check a few messages he had received and not paying much attention to Tsun's dialog, having heard it a million times, not noticing the last line Tsun said before shouting the dragonborn away.
"Your task is not yet done, Dreamer. Travel beyond to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need"
When Tsun shouted at the Last Dragonborn, the screen turned into a bright white, which was unusual and made him look at the screen with a little bit of confusion. Sure, usually the screen turned white when you were shouted away, but it was never this bright. In fact, he doubted anything should be this bright.
He squinted his eyes and tried to look away, seeing as they were starting to hurt, but right then and there, it was almost as if the Earth itself shook and a loud noise resembling a thunder shook him to his very core as the brightness of the screen suddenly increased and blinded him temporarily. He didn't even notice that he was screaming until he fell onto the hard, white surface of wherever he was.
Sharp, shallow, rapid breaths filled his ears, eyes darting around and constantly blinking, forehead and face tickling from the constant sweat, his body frozen in place, heart pumping blood violently, threatening to burst from his chest and his mouth dry but ready to yell at any threat.
The place he was in was a stark, but not blinding, white. The surface he was on was neither cold, nor hot. It was simply mild to the touch and it was almost impossibly smooth.
Slowly getting back up, Malcolm tried to look around for anything that stood out in this room, but nothing seemed to change, no matter how much he tried to look.
He screamed for help, but his voice only echoed in what seemed like an infinite void. He tried to wait for a few seconds to see if anyone came to him while thinking back on what was going on.
His brain worked a million miles an hour to justify what just happened and remember what happened. He was playing Skyrim, he defeated the final boss and then checked his phone before he was transported here.
Was he abducted by aliens? Why would aliens abduct him, of all people? He was just a face between the masses, a nobody with nothing going for him. He wasn't the smartest guy on the planet, he wasn't the healthiest, he didn't have any particularly deep insight into anything, he wasn't a philosopher, he was… Nothing, in the grand scheme of things.
Was he the test for some new kind of secret project by the government? Why? He lived in the suburbs, among a million other better candidates for that kind of thing. Hell, his neighbor, Lee, was a better subject, seeing as he was a certified badass that survived a North Korean extermination camp with his family in tow with nothing more than a shirt and his wits.
Was he… Did he die? How? Was it a nuclear explosion? That would certainly explain the shaking and the loud sound. Although, he didn't feel anything else before and after falling. Maybe his brain didn't process it? Hopefully it won't. He didn't know what it would do to his psyche, and he didn't want to find out with a first hand experience.
Taking another look around, he started to take deep, slow, breaths to calm himself down. Panicking now wouldn't do him any good. He had to remember what his dad always said. In danger, it's all about flags. White flag, you're sleeping. Green flag, you're chill and relaxed. Yellow flag, you're on alert and careful about your surroundings, but not panicking. Red flag, you're scared and dumb. Never go red. Stay in yellow.
Seeing as nothing changed his surroundings, and slowly trying to calm down, Malcolm decided to take action and try to go by steps and see what's happening.
First and foremost, what he had on him. Just his tracksuit pants, a t-shirt and socks. He dropped his phone when he heard the loud noise, and he couldn't see it around him, so that meant that he didn't have it around. Aside from that, he had nothing else on him. Not even his headphones.
Second, assess his surroundings. He needed to check how big the room was, and seeing as he couldn't see where it began or where it ended, he decided to pick a random direction and start to walk towards it. He had to hit a wall sooner or later, right?
Apparently, the room disagreed as he was starting to get mentally tired. He had walked for the last hour or so and he had yet to reach anything resembling a change in scenery. Now he was feeling more bored than scared. The adrenaline rush ended and he had to force his mind every minute or so to focus on his surroundings, otherwise his mind would start to wander in the other direction.
He also noticed something odd. He wasn't getting tired, or even a little windy. Granted, he wasn't so out of shape that an hour of walking would make him tired, but he knew his body well enough that he knew that he should have been at least a little sweaty. That was a problem with his body mostly, even if he didn't get tired, he got sweaty easily. Hell, he got sweaty even while standing still in the cold. Yet, here, he didn't even have a bead.
That landed more credence to the theory that he was probably dead and this was the afterlife. It was kinda terrifying, honestly. Was this Hell? Was this his punishment for not believing in big G and not dedicating his life to helping others? Boredom for eternity? If it was, congrats for the designer of his personal torture, it was effective.
Despite all that, however, he kept walking, even if he had to do it for eternity. It was a better alternative than to simply stop and whine and bitch about his current condition.
After what felt like another hour however, he finally saw something other than a complete void. It was small and, at first, he thought he was imagining, but the more he looked at it, the clearer it became that those small dots were real.
At this realization, Malcolm sprinted at full strength to those dots, which soon he was able to make out were all people. He started to yell at the top of his lungs, trying to catch their attention, maybe they knew something, maybe they were like him, maybe they-
As he got closer, he frowned more and more as he slowly stopped to yell. Those people were not moving, in fact, they were simply standing around, their backs turned to him. Another thing he noticed was how almost all of them had weird clothes, or had weird characteristics about them.
A few of them had armors, others simply had fur pants, others yet had clothes that wouldn't have looked out of place in a convention. There were about a hundred or so people and, by the time he got close enough to examine them, he had stopped running and was simply walking.
Going up to the one closest to him, he noticed how the guy had plate armor and a claymore mounted on his back. He was looking ahead, not moving to breath, look at Malcolm or even blink. It was like he was a statue. In fact, looking around, they were all like that. Some were guys, some were girls, others he had a difficult time telling which of was which and a few didn't seem human.
Turning to the guy in plated armor, he looked at the guys face and he had to admit that he was quite the handsome guy, the perfect image of masculinity… The perfected image of Malcolm's face. Black hair, dark brown eyes, square chin, slight stubble.
That, however, wasn't what surprised and even scared Malcolm a little bit. It was what he was carrying on his belt. It was a set of stones. 5 of them. Each one with a different and unique, blue glowing rune upon it. He recognized those runes and the stones upon which they were inscribed. They were almost identical to the teleportation stones from a hentai game he was quite fond of. Strive for power. A game where you collect slaves of any race you desire, defeat the baddies and make your own harem. He enjoyed it because of certain mechanics and it was quite a fair bit challenging. The character in front of his was probably one of the many he made in his various playthroughs.
Turning to a random person, he walked up to them to inspect them. This person was a gentle faced elf with light brown skin, dirty blonde hair and green eyes. He was wearing the Warden Commander set, with Starfang on his back. His Warden, from Dragon Age Origins, Halloran Blackfang. Next to him was Talene Hawke and Krags the Inquisitor dwarf.
Turning his head again, he looked at each and every single person he could see. Now that he knew what to look for in my memories, he immediately knew that each and every one here was a character he played at some point or a character he's created.
Geralt of Rivia, V, Venom Snake, Future Warriors 1 and 2, Chosen undead, Bearer of the curse, Ashen One, Good Hunter, Artyom, Cereza, Fisk…
His eyes slowly widened as he saw a single person that had turned and was looking at him, between the myriad of people. He was standing at 190 centimeters, or 6'2" in confusion units. His armor was the Nordic Carved set, a shield strapped onto his left arm, with the nord dovah sword hanging on his side. His face and black hair hidden by a black, skin tight mask and a helmet that resembled a bear, leaving only his glistening blue, cold eyes left for Malcolm to stare at.
These eyes were blank, as if there was nothing inside of them. As if his body was simply commanded like a puppet.
Malcolm didn't know how to describe what he was feeling at that moment, but somehow he knew that had to get closer, which he did.
He slowly made his way to the Last Dragonborn… No… Nilsten, slowly weaving his way through the various characters that only a few hours ago he had only thought to be nothing more than paper cut outs, toys in the playground, lines of code…
Figments of his imagination.
Once in front of Nilsten, Malcolm's breath was shaky and labored. Not because he was tired, but because he was scared, but also curious, intrigued…
Excited.
Nilsten kept his eyes glued to Malcolm's, looking down at the average man, before he slowly extended his arm for Malcolm to take, his palm upwards. Offering something for the young man that lived a million lives in his own head. Submissive towards his oldest master. Requesting for one last adventure.
The others around them, all now maneuvering the same way as Nilsten, looked at the two of them, waiting for the response of their master, their creator, their puppeteer.
Malcolm was about to take Nilsten's hand, impose his will upon the man he created and use him one last time. However, something in his head screamed at him to stop. To stop and think. The part of his mind that still did not understand what was going on. That wished for an explanation.
He couldn't provide one, he just had a feeling that overtook him, but because of that rational part of his brain, he now stopped before he did something irreversible. He started to think about his own actions in the last few seconds.
Why did he understand what Nilsten wanted him to do? How did he know that the others turned when he hadn't moved his eyes away from the towering man? What was happening?
He didn't have a solid answer for any of those questions, especially the last one. He just had a feeling, a sickening feeling of control, of dark thoughts, of boredom. He wanted something to do? Here was his chance. His chance to be the people he had controlled for all this time, to fight off the boredom that plagued his life, to satiate his deepest and darkest depravities, to be a god among men.
He wasn't going to lie, the deal was sweet and alluring, but so was a trap, a never ending pit, the void in which many fell and never came back from.
Malcolm removed his eyes and looked around at those that he once controlled, the characters… No, people. Each one was looking at him, with those dark, cold eyes, with no life behind them, no emotions, no thoughts.
No control.
At that moment, he didn't know how, but he knew that, these weren't simple lines of code. These were people with lives, with family, with friends, with likes and hates. They were people, just like him.
Could he seriously, in good conscience, take away their lives like he once did, just for his own entertainment?
Looking back at Nilsten's extended hand, he noticed how it was still there, expecting him to make the jump and take command.
Malcolm stayed silent as he extended his hand to grasp Nilsten's before he jerked it forward, grasping his forearm instead and turning that hand where neither was on top or at the bottom. Both hands, both people, both equals.
Malcolm looked up to Nilsten's eyes just in time to see them gleam to life, gratefulness and relief emerging from them before a searing pain racked both of them. They both screamed at the top of their lungs, but neither was letting go of the other as foreign memories flood each other's minds.
Unbeknownst to both, the others' eyes gleamed with the same light as Nilsten's.