An Ordinary Evening
Jonathan Colt sat curled up in a old armchair by the window, a thick paperback novel resting in his hands. Outside, the Baltimore evening was calm, a quiet, cool hush before nightfall. Beyond the New World read the title on the cover, embossed in silver. It was the first book of his Uncle Jasen's famous, mythology, sci-fi fantasy series.
Jonathan's fingers traced over the title thoughtfully. His uncle had published six books in the series over a decade, gaining a modest cult following. A seventh book was a long rumored finale that fans eagerly awaited, but it never came. Uncle Jasen had vanished without a trace about seven years ago, leaving family and readers alike with unanswered questions.
Jonathan wasn't especially close to his uncle in those days, but he had always loved the man's writing. Growing up, Jonathan devoured each installment of Beyond the New World, losing himself in its blend of futuristic adventure and ancient mythology. He could still hear his uncle's playful voice saying, "They're based on true stories, you know." Jasen would wink as he said it, making young Jonathan laugh. Of course, that was just a joke... or so Jonathan had assumed.
He turned a page, eyes scanning a vivid description of a distant galaxy at war. His Uncle's story imagined a far-future where gods of old had revealed themselves again. In the late 2500s, as Earth was on the verge of ecological collapse, the old pantheons returned, the text explained. Deities from every culture.
Greek, Norse, Egyptian, Chinese, and more. They all emerged and resurface to guide humanity or claim dominion over Earth. Their appearance ignited a catastrophic conflict on Earth, a war of the religions of each pantheon that raged among mortal and divine alike. Jonathan murmured the line under his breath. He recalled that in the novel, desperate survivors had fled Earth to escape the devastation.
With the help of benevolent gods, pockets of humanity had spread to the stars, founding new civilizations in distant galaxies. Each colony system named their new homes after the deities who guided them, Zeus, Odin, Ra, and others a tribute, and a promise of protection.
As Jonathan read on, the familiar thrill tingled in his chest. He could still picture it as clear as day.
Intergalactic war erupting as pantheons vied for supremacy across space. For five hundred years, battles raged between worshippers of different faiths, amplified by the power of their gods. The Greek gods clashed with the Norse Aesir.
Egyptian deities faced off against Hindu divinities; even the Christian God followers entered the fray. They were said to be the most vicious and hated of the bunch. With many different orders working together to defeat the religion, who held so much power over others for centuries, and for the massacres and other atrocities they committed in the name of their god.
The war only got worse when the titans, angels, devils, demons, fable's, magic users, and primordial's joined the conflict. Each faction were more separated then before. Hybrids came into existence and new orders rose and fell just as quickly.
The war only ended when a union of deities from multiple pantheons. Tired of the endless bloodshed, brokered a truce. According to Jasen's lore, the gods collectively agreed to withdraw from direct involvement in the mortal realm once more, sealing themselves away. They would only manifest in the future to train chosen champions, or have children who would carry on their legacy.
In their absence, mortals formed great houses and clans. Families who claimed descent from gods or heroes of legend, each guarding a fragment of their deity's power.
Jonathan smiled to himself. It was a sprawling, imaginative setting. Part epic fantasy, part sci-fi, and deeply rooted in mythology, exactly his favorite blend of genres. And at the heart of it, a classic "weak-to-strong" journey of a hero rising from nothing to challenge gods and monsters on behalf of humanity. It was even better because it was a story that had a mix of characters from different backgrounds. So the world was flushed out greatly.
Tonight, he was revisiting Book One, reminding himself of the story's beginning. The protagonist of the series (at least as far as he'd read) was a young clanless warrior from the slums, fated for greatness. Jonathan couldn't help feeling a pang of envy and excitement; His uncle's hero had all the adventure Jonathan's own life lacked.
He stretched his legs and glanced around his living room. It was a modest space in a modest home. quiet, a little lonely. At twenty-three, Jonathan's life was unremarkable: he worked a decent but dull job, hung out with a few close friends, and spent a lot of time alone with books and video games. Not that he minded solitude; it gave him time to dream.
Still, part of him yearned for something more, the kind of purposeful life his uncle's characters found. Careful what you wish for, he thought with a self-deprecating chuckle, and returned to reading.
Jonathan read a passage describing the House of Blud, a fierce warrior clan blessed by Ares, the Greek god of war. They lived on a planet called New Sparta in the Ares Galaxy, and were said to be descendants of Ares himself. He vaguely remembered that detail;
The Blud Clan had been mentioned as a minor ally to the hero's later in the series. In Uncle's lore, Ares was indeed the ancient Greek god of war and courage, one of Olympus's most violent and valorous deities. The thought of a whole clan carrying Ares's blood and temperament was intimidating.
Jonathan flipped the page, engrossed.
But his uncle never went into much detail about them besides their family politics, and the characters that the MC met.
Suddenly, the floor beneath him trembled. At first it was subtle, a low vibration he almost mistook for a truck passing by, but within seconds it grew into a rumble that rattled his furniture. The lamp on the side table flickered as the entire house began to shake.
Startled, Jonathan set the book down. Earthquakes were rare in Maryland; was this an earthquake? The tremors intensified. Picture frames fell from the walls with a crash of glass. The lights flickered again and then died, plunging the room into darkness.
Heart pounding, Jonathan stood on unsteady feet. A deep, thrumming sound filled the air, a bass resonance that he felt in his bones more than heard. Books slid off shelves. The rumbling grew so fierce he struggled to keep his balance. He heard car alarms blaring outside, triggered by the vibrations. This is no ordinary earthquake, he realized, dread creeping into his mind.
A brilliant white light suddenly seared through the front window, blinding in its intensity. Jonathan threw up an arm to shield his eyes. It was as if a miniature sun had ignited just outside his house. The light was so pure and white that it obscured everything beyond the window. The street, the neighbor's house, all lost in incandescent glare. Through squinted eyes, Jonathan stumbled toward the window, curiosity and alarm warring within him.
"What on Earth—?" he mumbled.
He only managed a few steps. The light flared even brighter, engulfing his vision completely. It was like staring into the heart of a star; his eyes burned and tears streamed down his face as he instinctively shut them tight. In that blinding moment, a strange sensation washed over him – a weightless, dizzying feeling as if the ground had dropped away beneath him. Jonathan's stomach lurched. He wasn't falling exactly; it felt more like being pulled, drawn by an unseen hook behind his navel, yanked out of reality itself.
Sound faded. For an instant, he knew nothing but blinding white and a terrifying sense of dislocation. He couldn't tell if he was upright or upside down, floating or flying. The world was gone. Am I dying? Is this a gas explosion? His mind raced even as his body felt numb. He tried to scream, but no voice came out. Everything was light and emptiness.
Then, just as abruptly as it began, the light vanished and darkness swallowed him.
The Blinding Light
Silence.
For a long moment, Jonathan felt nothing but an immense stillness around him. He wasn't sure if he was conscious or lost in some void. Gradually, sensation crept back: the roughness of stone under his cheek, the taste of dust and blood on his tongue, the ache of every muscle in his body. With a low groan, he opened his eyes.
Sunlight
It was harsh and unrelenting, it beat down upon him. Jonathan winced and blinked rapidly. He was lying face-down on scorching hot stone ground. The air was arid and so stiflingly hot it hurt to breathe. As his vision cleared, he made out a reddish sky above and two brilliant suns glaring from the heavens. Two suns? He blinked again, convinced he was hallucinating from the aftereffects of whatever happened. But the twin suns remained, their combined heat already making sweat bead on his skin.
Bewildered, Jonathan pushed himself up to hands and knees. Sand and gravel scraped his palms and knees. Where am I? he thought frantically. This wasn't his house. The landscape around him looked like a desert arena. He knelt at the center of a wide circular training yard paved in flat white stones and surrounded by high walls of sandstone. Beyond the walls, he glimpsed dunes of copper-colored sand stretching out under the double suns' sky. The air wavered with heat distortion.
It felt real. The heat, the pain, the gritty dust, all unmistakably real. Panic fluttered in his chest as he struggled to process how he'd gone from his living room to... wherever the hell this was.
Before he could gather his wits, a sharp voice cut through the haze: "Adonis! Get up, NOW!"
The voice barked the words with an authoritative fury that sent a spike of adrenaline through Jonathan. He whipped his head around towards the sound.
A tall, powerfully built man loomed over him, silhouetted against the glare. The man's skin was a deep bronze, and long dreadlocks were tied back behind his head. He wore only a simple loincloth of sorts and leather sandals, revealing a body chiseled with muscle and gleaming with sweat. In one hand, the man held a wooden training sword. His other hand was clenched at his side, knuckles white with irritation. A fierce scowl twisted his face. He looked to be in his thirties, and every bit of him radiated the aura of a hardened warrior.
"Adonis Blud, can you hear me... RESPOND!" the dreadlocked man snapped, stepping closer. Jonathan stared, still on all fours on the ground, utterly confused. Adonis Blud? That was the name he'd just read in his uncle's book.
The name Adonis. Wasn't he supposed to be the runt of the house of Blud of the clan. The youngest son of House Blud on the planet New Sparta. Why was this loud guy calling me by that name?
"I..." Jonathan croaked, but the word died in his throat. His voice sounded strange to his own ears: higher, lighter. He cleared his throat and tried again, struggling to articulate anything. "There must be some mis—"
The man's scowl deepened. "Quit babbling and stand up! Do you think the enemy will show you mercy because you're delirious? On your feet, now!" He punctuated this by slamming the wooden sword against a nearby stone with a loud CRACK that made Jonathan flinch.
Heart pounding, Jonathan somehow staggered to his feet. His legs felt wobbly. As he stood upright, a dizzy spell nearly toppled him again, his body was strangely weak and aching, as if he'd just done hours of strenuous exercise. He realized he was drenched in sweat and his breathing was ragged.
Was I running or training before I... arrived?
Jonathan glanced down at himself and nearly gasped aloud. This was not his body. Instead of his usual lanky frame and dark brown skin, he saw a younger, more muscular body with lighter bronze skin, as if tanned deeply by a harsh sun. His street clothes were gone; he wore nothing but a pair of coarse linen shorts.
His arms and chest were corded with more lean muscle he knew he never had before, and were marked with a few small scars. In shock, Jonathan raised a hand to his head and felt hair, short, slightly curly hair matted with sweat. His long braids were gone. He lifted a lock in front of his eyes, it was a dark brown color, not the black hair he used to have.
This was impossible. What the hell is going on? Am I... in someone else's body? he thought wildly. Adonis Blud. The name echoed in his mind. Could it be that he had become Adonis?
The idea was beyond crazy, and yet everything pointed to it. The environment, the two suns, the way this man addressed him, it all fit the world of Jasen's novel.
A surge of disbelief and denial rose in Jonathan's chest. There was no way he could actually be inside the book's universe. People didn't just fall into novels. But then, people didn't get blasted by blinding white light out of their living rooms either. As outlandish as it seemed, the evidence was right before his eyes, literally, given that even his own body wasn't his anymore.
The dreadlocked man, possibly a trainer or warrior of the Blud clan, was still glaring at him. Around the training yard, Jonathan now noticed, there were others watching. A dozen or so young men and women stood in loosely formed lines, all dressed similarly in minimal training garb, their skin glistening with sweat. They ranged in age from early to maybe early twenties.
Some had wooden practice weapons in hand. Most were stealing glances at Jonathan with expressions that ranged from irritation to confusion. They all looked physically formidable, clearly seasoned by rigorous training under the unforgiving sun. Jonathan realized he must have been training with them until moments ago, until his consciousness replaced this Adonis's.
This is insane, Jonathan thought. His heart hammered in his chest. He struggled to recall details about Adonis Blud from the book. In the first novel, Adonis was a minor mention, something about the youngest son of Ares's clan who was overshadowed by stronger siblings. If he remembered right, Adonis wasn't a main character at all, just one of many background figures in the universe.
The story definitely didn't follow Adonis's perspective. If Jonathan truly was in the world of Beyond the New World, he hadn't even taken over the protagonist's role, he was a side character.
His mouth felt dry as sand. He had about a million questions, but this was neither the time nor place. The instructor (Jonathan assumed the dreadlocked man must be a drill instructor) was clearly losing patience. The man stomped over and grabbed Jonathan, Adonis's, arm with a rough yank.
"Stand up, boy! The exercise isn't done. You think the heat's an excuse to collapse? Hah! A true Spartan warrior endures far worse." He practically dragged Jonathan a few steps.
Jonathan's mind was racing too much to fully register the man's words, but instinct made him comply and start moving his feet. For the moment, he realized, he had to play along until he could gather more information. If he openly panicked or revealed he wasn't Adonis, who knew what these people would do? He doubted "I'm actually a stranger from another world inhabiting Adonis" would go over smoothly.
He swallowed hard and steadied himself, trying to imitate the posture of a warrior in training. The instructor gave him a once-over and grunted. "Hmph. Now get back in formation and resume your swings. 200 repetitions, blade up! Perhaps the exertion will knock the sense back into you." The man's tone was scathing, but at least he released Jonathan's arm.
Jonathan nodded mutely and shuffled to where the other trainees stood. A few smirked at him as he took his place. On the ground near his feet, he saw a wooden training sword like the others had. He picked it up, the wood warm from the sun. It felt awkward in his grip, he had never held a sword in his life, not even a fake one. Adonis probably knows sword basics, he fretted. Without Adonis's memories or muscle memory, how was he supposed to blend in?
"Begin!" shouted the instructor. In near-unison, the trainees raised their wooden swords and started a drill, swinging in coordinated movements.
Jonathan hurried to follow, lifting his sword and copying the swing of the person to his right a half-second behind. Up, then down, step forward, thrust... He tried to synchronize, but his form was sloppy and hesitant. His muscles burned instantly—apparently Adonis's body was already exhausted from earlier, and Jonathan wasn't used to this kind of strain at all.
Within minutes, his breaths came ragged and his shoulders ached. Others were grunting with effort too, but they maintained rhythm. The instructor paced along the line, correcting stances with a whack of his own sword or barking out sharp criticisms. Jonathan did his best, but after maybe thirty repetitions, his body rebelled.
His vision swam, whether from heatstroke or sheer overwhelm, and the wooden sword slipped from his sweaty grip, clattering to the ground.
It didn't go unnoticed. The instructor was at his side in an instant, fury contorting his features.
"Adonis! Pick up your damn weapon! If you drop it again, you'll run one hundred laps around the compound while the hounds chase you!" he roared. Jonathan flinched and scrambled to grab the sword, his heart pounding. He could feel the eyes of the other clan trainees on him, some sneering, some pitying.
Clearly, Adonis Blud had a reputation here, and it wasn't a good one. He's the weakest link, Jonathan realized, recalling how Adonis was described as having no aptitude. No wonder everyone's irritated; they must be used to Adonis lagging behind.
"I-I'm fine," Jonathan managed to gasp out, mostly to himself. He clenched the training sword and forced himself to rejoin the drill. His pride smarted at being yelled at like this, he was a grown man being treated like an inept kid. But in this world, he literally was a kid again, perhaps 13 or 14 years old, if he remembered Adonis's age correctly from the book's timeline. He had to endure it, at least for now.
They continued the exercise under the merciless suns. By the time it finally ended, Jonathan's limbs felt like lead and he was sure he'd collapse again. The trainees were dismissed with orders to rehydrate and rest before afternoon sparring. As the group dispersed, Jonathan staggered toward a shaded corner of the yard, where a crude stone basin held water. He plunged his hands in and splashed his face, gulping a few mouthfuls greedily. The water was lukewarm and a bit sour, but in that moment it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.
As he caught his breath, reality sank in fully: I am inside my uncle's story. This is real. He clenched the basin edge as a wave of emotion swept through him. Fear, disbelief, confusion, all rolled together. How had this happened? The white light, the shaking. Was it some kind of portal? Or something to do with his uncle?
The coincidence was too great that he'd land in the world of his uncle's books. Jonathan's thoughts swirled. Uncle Jasen had always joked the stories were true. Could he have somehow traveled here too? Is that why he disappeared? The thought was crazy, but here Jonathan was, living proof that crossing worlds was possible.
He looked down at the rippling water in the basin, seeing his reflection for the first time. A young face stared back, lean, sharp, with high cheekbones and sun-bronzed skin. There was a faint scar across the bridge of the nose. The hair was indeed short and damp, with a slight wave. The eyes looking back were a lavender color, unlike Jonathan's old brown eyes. Jonathan pressed a hand to his cheek, and the reflection did the same. It sent a shiver through him. This face… this is Adonis Blud.
He remembered that in the novel, House Blud's members often had a certain look, bronze or brown Sunkissed skin, and black or dark brown hair. Some members were born with lavender or amber eyes like burning ember, due to Ares's blood. Some members after unlocking their godly abilities would have their eyes turn golden amber.
Ares himself was often depicted as a bronze-armored warrior with a fierce gaze, and his descendants carried a spark of that intensity. Jonathan could see it now in these eyes, a stubborn, fiery glint, though at the moment muddled with fatigue and confusion.
Swallowing, Jonathan realized that if he was truly Adonis now, he had to survive as Adonis. This world was not safe; it was one of warriors, demigods, monsters, and cosmic battles. A far cry from the safety of Earth. And he was stuck right in the middle of a warrior clan known for brutality and strength. How was he, a normal guy with no combat skills, supposed to keep up?
He wiped his face and sat back against the wall in the shade. The other trainees paid him no mind now, some laughing amongst themselves or heading off. None of them approached him. Perhaps Adonis had no close friends here. Jonathan felt a pang of loneliness. What do I do? he thought despairingly.
There was no obvious way back home. For now, he needed information and to avoid drawing too much suspicion. He decided his best course was to lie low, pretend to have recovered from a "dizzy spell" or something, and learn as much as he could about the current situation.
Jonathan's mind drifted to the novel's narrative. The first book covered the introduction of the main hero and the various clans. If memory served, the main hero wouldn't cross paths with Ares's clan until much later. That meant, as Adonis, Jonathan might be off the main plot's radar for a while. I'm effectively a nobody here, he mused.
Maybe that's a good thing; I can figure things out without the pressure of plot events. On the other hand, being a nobody in a warrior clan could be dangerous in its own way. He could already tell that Adonis was considered an embarrassment. In a clan that valued strength, and being part of the main line a weak link like him might be killed off.
The afternoon wore on. Jonathan managed to avoid much conversation, nodding or giving one-word answers when others barked something at him. He gleaned that the drill instructor's name was Garrick, and he was indeed a lower-ranking clan officer charged with training youths. Garrick's temper and cruelty seemed well-known. Adonis had been a frequent target for his ridicule.
Jonathan endured the remaining training by gritting his teeth and trying his best to mimic others. His body was at least youthful and resilient, but the apparent lack of talent was real. Despite his efforts, he lagged behind in sparring matches, getting soundly thrashed by even younger trainees.
By evening, his body was battered and bruised. As the suns set (an awe-inspiring double sunset of crimson and gold), Jonathan collapsed onto a cot in what appeared to be a communal barracks for young clan members. He was utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. The other youths gave him space, some out of disdain, others perhaps out of simple indifference.
Lying there staring up at the wooden rafters, Jonathan allowed himself a moment to process everything. Just this morning, he'd been a normal guy reading a book. Now he was stranded in that book's universe, inhabiting the body of a teenager who was notoriously weak in a clan that had no patience for weakness. He had no idea how to get home or even if it was possible. And Uncle Jasen… Could his uncle also be in this world somewhere? The hope flickered in Jonathan's chest.
The possibility that his uncle's disappearance was tied to this gave him a strange comfort, at least it meant Jasen might be alive.
Eventually, under the weight of exhaustion, Jonathan drifted into a troubled sleep.