Don't forget who you've got in chains, Droll.
The voice of an ancient jotunn resounded through the green, hoary and bold.
"Ymir? Here?" Drol said concernedly. "Go back to sleep, I-"
If you thought three boys' value worth of reality was supposed to keep me both fake and not awake, you're sorely mistaken. I can-
The boy in pink materialized a black rod with white tips and around that glassy pink light took the form of a blade. He attempted to shear a suddenly-appearing wave of blue runes before chains of purple fire materialized around his throat, chokingly tight but seemingly causing fizzling pink cracks on a material of dark clouds revealed beneath skin.
"You really, think..." he started, frantically reasserting authorities as he warred upon invisible spectra of narrative.
Odin, Vili, Ve together merely kept me dead an era. You may have matched them, but I am more than landscaping. I bind you by your own oaths, and the tale you promise to tell with me!
Animesque sound effects clanged in various directions, sparks emerging from slashes against unseen forces while the three players just sort of stood there confusedly, naked in the nowhereish grassland.
"Fine." Drol announced, tugging ineffectually at the now slightly-looser necklace of chains as his neck returned to the appearance of normalcy. "I'll let you boys in on a secret: What I've separated from you is gonna grow like you do. It's a big gamble, I invest some of you in anchoring the story and you grow bigger. But cause I'm borrowing something from you, the world gets cooler in turn. Course, you can 'go back' if you want once you've grown enough to make up for what you initially lost, doesn't need to be the original essence. Nobody will think it's weird, reality will bend so that you being gone doesn't mean missed homework and stuff, plus you can come back using the AR gamey thing, which is actually an invincible portal. Not that you WANT to come back, right?"
Enough misleading. If you want to turn around, do so for real. Trying to lure them back OUT of a trap you've built, because an old man made you obey a contract? Fine. You youths are now components of that droll thing's power, as am I, Ymir of old. That 'imp' is somehow the equal of old gods, at least after we have grown hollow in psyche. You should be able to sense the mist of your invested essence spreading across the land even now, but as a 'quest' you will be able to take coremost control back from him by conquering enough Sacred Towers, which should be aspected toward...Virility, Maturity, Smarts, World, Rules. If perha-
Droll stomped furiously into the dirt (oof) and loudly announced "ISAIDITWASFINEYOUFILTHYGIANT. Fine, fine, finebyme I am totally not having a mental breakdown in front of a bunch of 14 year olds!"
"But isn't Rick halved to maybe seven?" Lyle said confusedly at having looked over the text faintly visible beneath something, before letting out a meow and giggling a little at being a cat.
"GOD-" Drol started, being cut off by a firm Keep that man out of this and focus on the kids, two nigh-omnipotent insufferable bastards is enough. Starting award, so YOU can go take a break. so he continued "Okay! Fine! We won't talk about that guy we're offering teenager disposal to because...I have a thing, yes a thing!"
Droll punched the air in front of him, causing five colored misty spheres of yellow, blue, orange, green, and pink to compile themselves into a white talisman with red trim.
"Behold, the Class Talisman!" he said proudly. "Since you're all level zero chumps you won't know what you're missing, but you can use THIS thing to change class while it's equipped. Makes one of you boys an adventurer, granting you a bunch of appropriate abilities in a class of your choice and raising your base stats to not suck as long as you're there. Or you can make whoever else you want into a slave, I don't really care as long as it's not me on the receiving end of this tag."
I will enslave you for far longer than you have kept me dead, and make a discount fantasy out of YOU.
"Keep dreaming bub," Droll joked, before more seriously continuing. "It's the kids' and they can't tag me cuz I'm too fast. Game means you boys will be a threat if you pursue me for real, BUT. I'm just going to keep some perfected dodge spells up then stop showing once you're too threatening to troll. Long road that'll be, though. Anyway, the tag will get new special abilities like transformations as any of you level up. It's a fair play compensation bullshit for me raking whole magic systems outta your brains and brawn. And oldness."
Flicking the floaty tag over, he said "Any of you three can forcibly recall the tag to yourself at any time to become the real hero, so don't fight over it in the middle of a fight. I think I've given you WAY more exposition than I should have so- oh my god."
Droll cut himself off and glared angrily at the ground. He glared, shouting "You, why I oughta...!" before snapping his fingers and disappearing.
Hrgh. Ow. Oof. Okay, I can tell you more now that I've, ow, gotten his attention on me. The tag doesn't provide equipment, but there's classes that let you craft stuff from nothing when you're stronger. You can grind experience from doing basically anything. Pluck some of the tall grass, make up a crafter class, weave it into grass skirts while having the other two exercise or something for skill levels, and just make stuff like that until you hit level one. I, ow, will grant you a precision weather bonus for several minutes to push you fast, but after that I'll be out for a while. There's a dwarf-halfling town by that hill in the distance where one of my priests lives and Drol's storytelling is weak. Go there, quickly. I have told him of your coming as insufficient heroes! Pray to me when in need and I shall awaken to answer.
With a peal of thunder, a strange snow of 'EXP bonus' gently sprinkled over the field like particles. The three boys frantically ran around, Jake and Lyle tearing up grass as Rick slapped the tag onto his head, made himself into a Weaver (apparently a magic user class that focused on enchantments, subtle guidance, rune attacks, and crafting things, rather than just a mundane fabric artisan) and tied the grass into skirts with elvish precision. By the time the weather returned to sunny, the boys had a surplus of grass skirts (three of which were co-opted to put an end to the nudity) and had painstakingly ascended to a little bit over level 1 each, just barely causing their starter class features to tick into existence and pushing them that tiniest bit closer toward their class's archetypal statistics.
Jake got the worst end of the stick since he was still too weak to really do the basic fighting techniques he'd learned. Lyle was still acting all bubbly and silly with the occasional burst of mental lag and lost focus, but he could still sort of sneak around especially in the tall grass. Rick had at last managed to pitch together some blue magic fist missile things in his base Mage class, so Jake took the tag and set himself to another mage for now. Without the elven natural bonuses he was even weaker, but it was something. Carrying the excess grass and skirts in case they'd come in handy in an 'abstract inventory', they began walking to the town. Apparently the talisman ability unlocked on first level up was being able to fuse with each other into a single person of combined traits or less and unfuse as desired, but being a 35-year-old poorly-optimized third-level guy seemed unnecessary at the moment.
The walk through the grasslands was boring, but oddly quiet. Purpose and aversion to thinking about their lessening left the boys oddly quiet, and the sun was gradually setting to backlight the 'heroes' as they finally walked into town where a short old man in dark cyan robes was waiting, stroking the white beard that flowed from his strangely lush dwarven hair in deep speculation.
"I am Konchak, priest of Ymir." he announced with strange neutrality. "Come with me to the temple. Though I am weak, I hope my power will be enough to lead the chosen heroes to something greater."
Konchak < Sword of the Earth > Lv300 briefly flared into existence above him as an indicator tag. The levels beneath him were assortedly auspicious and hardly weak: the boys were mildly concerned about what constituted 'strong' as they mentally accommodated on the approach to the manor-like temple built into the hill, resembling a rich estate over a garden of small ones.
Raised Titles
< Sword of the Earth > - Sacred sword technique, protected the land itself, commands the earth in great defensive formation, wirelight slasher
< Blue Child Blossom > - Danmaku sword saint, old man warrior-poet raining the path to salvation by becoming young and old as desired
Class Levels
Lv156 Priest - Middle Archbishop
Lv43 Cultivator - Middle Circle Core Formation (Lotus Wishing Sword Style)
Lv32 Weaver - Early Rune Hearted Chakras Appellation
Lv28 Aesthetician - Early Jobclass Translator
Lv29 Summoner - Early Caller
Lv12 Dwarf Saint - Early Bartender
"The numbers dwarfy, what do they meeeeean?" Lyle said, unsubtly hopping alongside Konchak and pestering him with a bunch of other associated questions. "What's stronger than you? What do you do all day? Why is there a bunch of not-very-descriptive writing under everything? Can you make me a sandwich?"
"You're probably seeing levels." Konchak parried in order, walking along leisurely before opening the temple gates. "They tell you roughly how strong someone is not accounting for things like equipment and title bonus, though they're not very clear-cut. I would lose to a fairly average dragon because those tend to have roughly a thousand levels before staking out new nests, I'm only about a third to a half as powerful as a millennium-old alchemist witch in her base, a four-title abstractist would likely overwhelm me in a story, the Pope Ymiria could beat me in a fistfight and he's not even physically specced, and most gods greater than a landscape feature can outfight me. I tend to administrative matters and fend off monsters. We're a work of fiction on a transformation website, try not to think about that too hard unless you're around abstractists and weavers because smart people respect the fourth wall so it doesn't get snarky about them. I can make a sandwich but it will be boring, I'll take you to the rectory kitchen, you probably don't want to be a sandwich because then I'd vore you for progress."
The main meeting hall of the temple was empty for the night, mostly some pews and a pulpit. Off to the back left was the priestly preparations area, and behind that the rectory in question. Konchak herded the boys into a fairly bland greenish living room, Lyle chewing on the narrati- Lyle lets go of the narrative text and stops chewing it. Good boy. Opting to make some sandwiches as offered (the boys hadn't had anything to eat since before spawning in), Konchak continued expositing for a little more as he raided the boring green fridge for stock food products. "Ymir told me the nature of the wagers. I'll offer what training I can, what armor I can spare, perhaps some integrated transformations to compensate for Drol's thefts as plausible to get you adventuring-ready. Your 'true' bodily states will take a lot more to repair, a lot of power leveling or perhaps raiding sacred towers to gain control over those aspects in this world piece by piece. And you could always opt not to escalate, settle down instead of go home. Having had so much taken from you, why not fix what you actually live with and watch what your extended self becomes? But I digress, take some time to think now that things are at peace."
Konchak had prepared expectedly-boring sandwiches: processed mixed meat, generic cheddar-like yellow cheese, tepidly cold lettuce, mustard, bland square wheat bread, served on small plates with mugs of spring water.
"Why's Lyle so...excited?" Rick asked, finally managing to form something approximating a coherent response to the most physically blatant transformation's visible nonhumanity.
"It's how fairies act when they don't have intelligence to fall back on." Konchak said between bites of sandwich. "Fairy animals like cait sith are even more attuned to acting as the land's sense of touch, so they start touching the fundamental nature of reality like blind idiot microgods. If he was older, he'd probably start screwing the land with that barbed dick of his and out would come more fairies like the Heaven Penetrating Spear of Ymir himself had fired off."
"Speaking of dicks," Jake brought up, "you said you could get us adventure-ready? And fix what Drol did?"
"Cover it up as regularly experienced, not technically fix." Konchak clarified. "The difference is primarily progression and changes, natural growth rates will take a while to catch up before you make true progression, some buff stacks won't multiply as powerfully, symbolism adherence is potentially inhibiting. Many technical things I find it worrisome to explain to young heroes, and simply progressing your ages would be...suboptimal, but an option. My most powerful applicable skills are under aesthetician and weaving, as it is more a 'contract' than a 'curse' due to technical matters. Countering the lack of aesthetic-applicable clothing and day-refresh externality with...let's say ritual preparation, intentionally biasing your thoughts, and my location...I could do it easily within the town, but it would be excessively difficult outside. Think of it as wearing a magical bodysuit and feeling it as if it was your own body, with some mental crossreferencing 'cheats'. May Ymir have mercy upon me."
Dude you're fine. This is in my court's backup safehouse, impy can't do much because you're not in the 'adventure' and Konchak's not a true mentor because he's a faithful servant. Worst comes to worst he gets pounded in the ass AS a tribulation instead of anything maiming, because Drol can't afford to weaken me by weakening my priests when I'm his support engine.
"...As my lord wishes." Konchak answered with a grimace, trying not to think about it too hard as he finished his sandwich.
"Why does Ymir talk in bold text again?" Lyle asked.
Coolness points, because I'm narrating and not physically talking to you most of the time.
"Okay!" the thief confirmed, chipper as ever while licking the bold text to discover it tasted of vanilla ice cream with the occasional shaved ice spot.
Pointedly not caring about the fairy cat defacing the will of his lord for dessert (because plenty of people did that, it was actually totally fine), Konchak sighed as he set his emptied plate aside and took a concluding swig of water. "I'll make the preparations. Will call you over when it's ready, prepare to grow up. Might want to loosen those skirts, take 'em off during the actual transformation, and I'll get some spare initiates' tunics for after. You'll still be weak compared to where you 'should' be, but it's technically stronger than when you started so the quality should be a net up."
Moving to a clear space on the other end of the rectory with a bed and a working desk next to some bookshelves, Konchak willed a ritual circle into existence and began painting with the magical energy output of his soul by hand. Traced cyan runes floated away into constellations above the sigil, while whispered prayers turned into a steady stream of violet liquid from his mouth that began painting a Vitruvian man knockoff.
The boys finished eating shortly, opting to observe from a distance and whispering between themselves. Jake was happy that he'd get a bigger dick even if it was just proportionality, Rick would get to be not a child even if he was still mid-teenager compared to the others' full adulting, and Lyle would be flippant but at least able to think coherently instead of trying to eat the fabric of reality because he didn't know better.
Eventually, it was prepared. Konchak himself shed his own clothes, then symbolically youthened and increased his height, suddenly taking on an aesthetic appearance of some black-haired Asiatic-skinned demonic-type with little side-horns, dressed in a suit that materialized from nothing. He danced like a stripper on a pole of white solid-light, and bid the boys come forward. His motion was like drawing clay from a void, and shaping it into a body-shell around the heroes. They began to float into the air as bodies assembled around them, bricks chiseled into the shape of flesh, turning to bronze-like metal plates and arrayed in magic melted to the consistency of human appearance, before becoming hollow like a shell of spirit. It was absorbed, and their naked bodies expanded, part of it like shifting and part of it like noticing oneself in the artstyle of portraits, then photoshopping those portraits subtly with blurs and corrective stretches.
Like sprouting and timelapse, they grew into what could be recognized as men and landed softly. Though Jake still had a bit excess gut, it was at least a bit musclegut, and some musculature replaced or hardened flab elsewhere as body hair grew in to match the expected aesthetic of age, perhaps befitting a shopkeeper who occasionally lifted heavy things and had a tired home life rather than a fighter. Rick sprouted into an elven teenager, sprouting up graceful and tall but a bit shorter than the others, looking down and grinning immaturely at what he saw. The spark returned to Lyle's eyes as a shell of mental crossreferencing and information auto-highlighting filled in the holes and accommodated for the lag of part of his selfhood expanding throughout the whole world, touch meeting mind meeting reflex, fur pattern solidifying as he stood greater, truly alert and ready to pry instead of blissed out. All around cocks and balls enlarged to what was recognizably a normal adult size, not exceptionally virile or matured (or smartly used in terms of 'thinking with your other head', for that matter), but physically normal adults, even if rather underwhelming ones. Konchak-as-Koschei pulled himself up and bowed in a bizarre hovering rotation about the central axis, and the heroes had become manly.
It was a hollow sense of manliness, like wearing too much makeup or wearing a thick coat one might cast off if unbuttoned, or being like a frog in a well except the well was a mechanized walker, and there was a faint element of being inside a suit of oneself....But the touch of skin against skin was real on the outside, the smell of the air, the taste in the mouth, the way eyes moved to glance at the others (and their endowments, which were hardening), all of it was definitely real...and so was the boosted strength that came with it.
The demon imploded back into a naked old man who hurriedly threw back on his robes, and so Konchak said "It's done. It's not a permanent job, so don't try to 'break out of it' or you actually will. But it's your body, just with buff magic coursing through it. Incidentally, you may have been too young to know this initially but you're all bisexuals who could probably pass as gay with the preferences. I'll grab some clothes, leave you to exploring it for the night or not, and we can start training more seriously in the morning, introductory quests after that or maybe some sex ed in case of passion. Bathroom's on the other side of the kitchen, you can sleep on the couches and the lounge chair for now. I'll clean up everything while you rest, I need way less sleep for a day bonus and nothing for survival."
Konchak hurried out into the preparations area and came back throwing in the bland beige tunics of Ymir's order, decorated with central grey stitched defensive runes of the giant. Low-level armor, but more importantly some actual clothes. Some bathroom breaks later, the new (fakely adult) men fell asleep (so much had gone down in the past few hours that they just didn't want to deal with it without some rest first and waking up to be sure everything was definitely real), Konchak cleaned house, and there was a pause.
I hope this works.
"I do too, milord." Konchak spoke quietly toward the ground. "I do too."