Jean Bernard stood at the edge of the newly appeared silver rift, the battlefield behind him still echoing with the cheers of his victorious but entirely too enthusiastic legions. The air around the portal hummed with an ancient, almost melodic energy that made his borrowed skin prickle. It wasn't the chaotic, blood-red tears he was getting used to. This one felt… deliberate. Like something old and hungry had decided to take a peek at the current multiversal mess and found it amusing.
Great. Just what my rapidly deteriorating mental health needed. Mysterious ancient portal number two. At this rate, I'm going to need a spreadsheet just to track all the ways I can accidentally doom realities.
Varak loomed nearby, his obsidian horns catching the eerie silver light.
"The scouts report stable readings, my Lord. No immediate hostiles, but the signatures suggest a realm untouched by modern conquest. Possibly predating even the First Cataclysm. Shall I assemble the vanguard?"
Lirael materialized from the shadows like she'd been born in them, twirling one of her rune-etched daggers.
"I could slip through first. Gather intelligence. Poison a few wells if the opportunity arises. Standard reconnaissance."
Elara, still under loose guard but no longer actively restrained, crossed her arms and shot Jean a sharp look. She had healed a few minor wounds on both sides during the earlier skirmish, professional habit, apparently, and now seemed torn between demanding answers and plotting her escape.
"You're hesitating. The Jan Harris I've heard stories about would already be marching through with fire and despair."
Jean forced a low chuckle that he hoped sounded calculated rather than nervous. It came out sounding like distant thunder. "Hesitation builds anticipation. Rushing in gets you killed… or worse, bored."
Varak nodded sagely, as if Jean had just dropped the wisdom of the ages. "Of course. The Warmonger toys with fate itself. We await your command."
Jean rubbed his temples, feeling the faint throb of an incoming headache that this superhuman body somehow made feel epic. The memories of Jan Harris were still trickling in at the worst moments, flashes of ruthless campaigns, brilliant but cruel strategies, and a loneliness so profound it made Jean's own failed writing career feel cozy by comparison. He pushed them down. Not now. I'm not him. I refuse to be him.
"Fine," he said aloud. "We scout. Small team. Me, Varak, Lirael, and…"
He glanced at Elara. Bringing the enemy healer along was risky, but leaving her behind felt worse. At least this way he could keep an eye on her.
"And Elara. Consider it a… diplomatic exchange."
Elara's eyebrows shot up. "You trust me not to stab you in the back the moment we cross over?"
Jean shrugged, the motion making his armored shoulders look imposingly casual.
"If you do, make it quick. I've had a long week."
The joke fell flat. Or rather, it landed like a threat. Lirael actually smiled, a small, predatory thing and Varak chuckled deeply. Elara just stared, clearly recalculating her assumptions about the infamous warmonger.
They stepped through the silver rift together.
The transition was smoother than the chaotic portals Jean had seen so far. No spinning nausea or reality-warping screams. One moment they were on the blood-soaked battlefield; the next, they stood in a vast, ruined atrium beneath a sky filled with floating crystalline shards. Massive pillars, cracked but still majestic, stretched upward like the bones of some long-forgotten giant.
Vines with glowing silver leaves twisted around everything, pulsing with faint magic. The air smelled of ozone and old books.
"Origin Realm indeed," Lirael whispered, eyes scanning for threats.
"These runes predate any known empire. Dangerous."
Varak hefted his massive axe.
"Dangerous is our specialty."
Jean took a cautious step forward. His boot disturbed a layer of crystalline dust, and suddenly the air shimmered. Holographic echoes, ghostly images of ancient beings flickered into existence around them. Tall, ethereal figures in flowing robes, arguing in a language that somehow translated directly into his mind.
"The Convergence must be prevented…"
"The Warmonger's shadow stretches across all threads…"
"He who wears the Crimson Mantle will either save or unmake us all…"
The echoes faded as quickly as they appeared, but the words lingered like bad aftertaste.
Elara's face paled. "They mentioned a Warmonger. You?"
Jean laughed weakly, which turned into another cough. A small spray of blood hit the crystalline ground and hissed, reacting with the magic there. The ground around it bloomed with dark, beautiful flowers that looked like they could eat souls.
Perfect. Even my bodily fluids are aesthetic villains.
"Coincidence," he muttered. "Lots of warmongers in the multiverse. Probably."
Varak dropped to one knee again, pressing his forehead to the ground near the blood-flowers.
"Even the realm itself honors your presence. These blooms… they sing of conquest."
Lirael was already examining a nearby wall carving. "This depicts a figure matching your description, my Lord. Leading armies across shattered worlds. But there's more branches where the figure chooses different paths. Some end in peace. Most end in oblivion."
Jean felt a chill. Memory fragments or actual prophecy? Either way, no pressure.
They pressed deeper into the ruins. The further they went, the more the realm seemed to react to Jean's presence.
Floating crystals aligned themselves like arrows pointing the way. Ancient traps deactivated with soft chimes instead of deadly spikes. At one point, a massive guardian construct a golem of silver stone and crystal rose from the floor, eyes glowing menacingly.
Elara tensed, ready to cast a barrier. Varak raised his axe with a grin.
Jean, operating on pure panic and zero strategy, stepped forward and said the first thing that came to mind:
"We're just visiting. No need for the whole 'eternal guardian' routine."
The golem paused. Its eyes flickered, scanning him. Then, to everyone's shock, it bowed deeply and stepped aside, a pathway of light opening behind it. Varak's jaw dropped.
"It recognized your authority instantly. The legends were true, the Origin Realm bends to the strongest will."
Lirael's eyes sparkled with dangerous curiosity. "Or it recognizes something deeper within you."
Elara said nothing, but her gaze on Jean had shifted again. Not quite fear anymore. Something closer to wary fascination.
They reached a central chamber after what felt like hours of careful exploration (and several more accidental "miracles" where Jean's presence neutralized ancient curses or unlocked sealed knowledge repositories). In the center floated a massive crystalline orb, pulsing with images of countless realities some thriving, some in ruins, many caught in endless wars.
As Jean approached, the orb flared. A vision engulfed him.
He saw Jan Harris, not as the monster but as a younger man, brilliant and broken, making a pact with something vast and ancient for the power to protect what little he had left. He saw the slow corruption, the way fear became the only tool that worked. He saw branching paths: one where Jan found redemption, another where he became the Devourer.
The vision ended with a whisper in his mind: "The mantle is heavy, traveler from beyond. Choose wisely or the multiverse will choose for you."
Jean staggered back, coughing hard. Blood flowed freely this time, but the orb absorbed it, glowing brighter.
When he recovered, his team was staring at him with something approaching awe.
"You communed with the Origin Heart," Lirael breathed. "No one has done that in millennia."
Varak actually looked emotional. "The Warmonger converses with the source of all realms…"
Elara helped steady him without thinking, her healer magic soothing the cough. "That wasn't normal. Even for you."
Jean wiped his mouth, mind racing. The vision had given him fragments knowledge of portal stabilization, hints of Jan's true origins, and a warning that the multiverse was fraying at the edges because of the constant wars.
He straightened, trying to project confidence. "We take what we learned and leave. No conquest today. This place… it's not ready."
The words were meant to be cautious. They landed like a strategic masterstroke.
"Of course," Varak said. "You claim the realm's knowledge without spilling unnecessary blood. The long game."
As they exited back through the silver rift, Jean felt the weight of everything pressing down. The Pantheon would regroup. More portals would open. And now this Origin Realm seemed to think he was some kind of chosen figure, traveler from beyond and what not.
Back on the main battlefield, the legions had prepared a makeshift camp. Reports were already flooding in: more surrenders, whispers of the "Tuesday Miracle," and rumors that the Warmonger had communed with ancient powers.
Jean sat on a simple camp stool (the throne had been left behind), staring at the stars visible through lingering rifts.
Elara approached quietly, sitting across from him. "You're hiding something. I can feel it in the way the magic reacts to you. But… you're not the monster the stories say. Not entirely."
Jean met her eyes. For the first time, he didn't try to sound ominous. "Let's just say I'm new at this. And I'd rather not end up as the villain of everyone's story."
She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she offered a small, tentative smile. "Then maybe stop making it so easy for them to believe you are."
Before Jean could respond, a scout burst into the camp. "My Lord! The Pantheon has allied with remnants from the 7th Realm.
They're opening a massive combined portal. They mean to strike at your heartlands!"
Jean stood slowly, the familiar panic rising.
Round two already? I need a vacation. Or at least a better sword manual.
"Prepare the defenses," he ordered, voice steady despite everything. "But hold aggression. Let's see if they're willing to talk after their little field trip."
Varak grinned. Lirael vanished to prepare contingencies. Elara lingered a moment longer, then moved to help with healing preparations.
As the camp buzzed with activity, Jean looked toward the new threat on the horizon and whispered to himself, "Just keep trying to be the guy who got hit by a truck. Not the guy who causes them."
The multiverse, it seemed, had other plans.