A lifetime of poor decisions had left Cameron Walker in bad sorts.

He was a wiry man, with a unpassionate gaze and a 5' o-clock shadow that did nothing to hide the slight permanent scowl he wore. He somehow retained an echo of the athletic build he once cultivated, forged through hard marches and fierce combat but left to atrophy; less defined muscles and more smooth uniformity. The man was on his way back from the supermarket, to collect his usual of whatever beer took his fancy, and an overpriced tv dinner with the nutrition of the cardboard it came in. With a quick stride he skulked back home, eyes down and shoulders small. Avoiding whatever shifty denizens were left on the streets at 2 in the morning, he took a right into a dark alleyway that reeked of piss and cigarettes, and approached a busted keypad. He punched a code hastily, fingertips turning white with each deliberate press. Haggardly making his way up the starcase, pulling himself up from the handrails, he passed the arguing couple in Apartment 2, the strange narcotic smell at Apartment 5, and entered his own flat, his home of 2 years.

"Never anything on." he sighed, passing the tv remote over to his side, and picking up the bottle of the day to swill the contents around. His food sat to the side of him, half eaten and unappetizing. A thunderclap echoed, and it's cloud spattered rain on the windowsill, the unclosed window letting the cold air and water buffet the curtain. He lifted himself up from the sofa, and muttered some obscenity and peered outside. A solitary man, stumbling and cursing, racked on the shutters of a closed bakery across the road.

"Open!" The man drawled through his inebriation. "I want - I got kids to feeeeed!"

I hope not. Cameron shuddered at the thought of this man having any other responsibility than himself.

Quietly pulling the window shut, and drawing the curtains together, he stumbled back to his seat. Turning around, he collapsed back expecting to fall into his well worn spot on the ugly green couch.

Except what he found was his head meeting what felt like marble, his skull smacking and bouncing off the ground, and his spine absorbing the impact.

"JESUS!" he angrily exclaimed, wondering how he missed the couch right next to him. The coldness of the floor was foreign to him; He expected to meet an aged dark orange carpet, stained by years of neglect. Instead he found what could have been glass, or ice, incredibly transparent yet only revealing the pitch black beneath. Glancing around, he noticed an absolute abscense of light. Or of anything, really. A deep panic set in as his senses dulled. Suddenly the coldness subsided, a welcome change only if he had not realised that he could not feel his fingers. Then his arms. Then his entire body. He lost the sensation of touch. Then came sound, as his own breath became muted, and faded entirely. Then smell. Then taste. What was happening? Was he dying? Or was he already dead?

"You're not dead, Cameron. Although you would have died in a year, or two if you had seeked a doctor and caught the diagnosis."

The voice was ephemeral; It was cold, and echoing, and deep. The deepest voice he had ever heard, yet androgynous and emotionless. He couldn't tell if the dread he felt came from the voice itself, or the contents.

"What diagnosis? Who are you?" he managed to eke out. At least he thought he did, his senses still taken from him.

"A terminal cancer diagnosis. You've been poisoning yourself. Alcohol, cigarettes and a poor lifestyle, it can't have come as a shock. You wanted destruction, deep down, didn't you?" The interloper's voice pierced the fiber of his being, and his thoughts became unsteady.

"As for who I am? I am known as the Cartographer. A cosmic warden. A shield against the darkness. Let me recreate you. The extraction of a soul before it's time will leave the corporeal form behind. I will reform you. Then we can talk about what you will do for me."

A rush of pain lit up every single neuron, every single cell in Cameron's new body, as he screamed out in agony. Or attempted to. His body was being reconstituted. He gained his head first, which he could only see as a cruelty, as it let him witness with his own eyes the maudlin horror of his organs, and flesh and sinew slowly rematerialise into the shape of his cast away body. He realised his voice was bellowing out in torment when his lungs and vocal cords had reassembled, and his appendages when he clawed at his skull in a futile attempt to stop the pain. His legs, when he fell to them. The pain stopped as if a lie, but it's ghost stayed, leaving Cameron in a shivering ball on the cold floor.

"I removed your impurities. The cancer eating your bowels, and the tar in your lungs. A host of other ailments. You're welcome. You should feel young again. Stand up when you can."

Cameron continued prone in a ball on the floor for a long hour, petrified of the entity silently awaiting him and the rending pain still in his memory. His tremors slowly came to a stop, and he timidly came to a stand after what felt like an eternity. With any courage he could muster, he directed his eyes forward.

What awaited him was beauty itself. An interstellar cloud with brilliant radiance, shining turquoise and pink and orange, with deep browns and reds swirling in the rear. At the center, a white star pulsating with energy, dominating the clouds around it with it's majesty.

"You have been chosen, Cameron. Your imminent death allows me to take your soul and repurpose it for the greater good."

Cameron could barely parse the information given to him.

"I - I thought I had a year left...?"

"A grain of sand on my winds. Infinitesmal on the universal scale. A year you would have squandered in self pity and self destruction." Each word corresponded to a fluctuation on the white star's surface. A glittering wonder every time, but a wonder that punctuated Cameron's own failings. His waste of life.

The seconds after seemed to blare in Cameron's ears. The silence was deafening. Tentatively, he asked:

"Are you god?"

"Gods are a local planetary phenomenon, respective to their own domains, spawned from the mana of the world itself to serve it. I am eternal on the solar winds, and the dark space, and everything inbetween. My dominion is everything bar the inhabited planets, and even then their Gods beg for my interdiction. Anteia's Gods could not solve their own problems, and thus pleaded for my assistance, so I answered. It is my duty."

"So, super God?" He blushed and cursed himself as soon as he said it.

"If you must."

"So... what is this? A second chance?" Hope swelled. Another shot at life. He had killed for money. He would do ANYTHING for this.

"Depending on your capabilities. You will decend on the planet Anteia, and pave way for 10 greater souls to arrive. They must be delivered to Anteia, lest it fall to ruin. Death is coming." Every word corresponded to a flare from the white star, the solar waves twisting and undulating with every vocalisation. The clouds behind glittered with reverence.

"What are my chances?"

"Low. I expect nothing of a manaless human, of all things."

The white star stated with indifference.

"W-what..?"

Cameron's face fell in worry and trepidation.

"You stand next to no chance. Your faded soul is minute, a reflection of your life and it's timely demise. Unplyable. A soul is a very real reflection of a being, moulded by it's actions. I can do nothing to attune you to mana. Your vessel is defective. You will never be able to retain or parse mana. You will be the only existence on Anteia with such an ailment. You will never be able to cast or control the magics that your adversaries will. Even beggars on Anteia will know some offensive magic, and the beasts and monsters of the world will have their own force to employ. Your ultimate adversaries by virtue of your task will be the pinnacle of their craft. Even before that you will be surrounded by some manner of hostile entity upon arrival. I estimate you activate a single Beacon before your death."

Cameron felt sick. A drop in his stomach, and a stress headache flaring across his head. Out of frustration he yelled:

"Then WHY send me? You're telling me how quick I'll die there?! Then why didn't you pick someone BETTER!"

"If I could have, I would have done so. I am restricted by myself. My power would shatter worlds should I force a greater being through whatever meager dimensional pathways exist to connect your worlds together. The Beacons grow the etherial pathways between worlds. They will allow the passage of the monumental souls of a hero. Unaltered, the pathways are barely existant. Your soul is infinitesmal compared to the future heroes. You left no impact on the world. You are withdrawn, stubborn and seldom show compassion or patience. A waste of the opportunity of life, but useful. Disposable. Your pulling from Earth left no ripples. You fit, so you are what I will send. Each Beacon you open, the higher the caliber of being we can send to finish the task."

Rage spiked to a new high. His existence was 'disposable'? He refused to believe it. Who was this fucker to call me expendable?! Why doesn't he live my life! Trodden on at every opportunity, shot at, stabbed, betrayed by anyone who I ever cared the smallest amount about! Thrown from the Legion over a woman, and resigned to shit part time jobs for the rest of my miserable life!

"I'LL BE FUCKED BEFORE I ACTIVATE EVEN A FUCKING FLASHLIGHT FOR YOU AND YOUR PRECIOUS HEROES, YOU BASTARD."

"Don't fight against the inevitable." The Cartographer's voice showed no sign of anger, or frustration. The neutraility was absolute.

"You will arrive on the southeastern continent, home to 3 of the beacons. You will know where the closest beacon is at all times, as it is my will that you do. You will be allowed access to the trifling weapons of your trade. Think of their existence and they will appear. I may not be able to attune you to mana, but metal and gunpowder and other paltry elements are easily fabricated. A soul-bound armory is all I can grant you, and given your familiarity is your best chance of survival."

"What can I achieve with a fucking firearm? THEY HAVE MAGIC! One gun is NOTHING even compared to 5 men with bows, and they have FUCKING MAGIC! I have NO chance!"

Cameron fell to his knees. This was his last chance at a good life, and he would likely perish before he saw any success.

"Then die quickly, so I can send another damned being in your place. The universe is full of them and you are not unique in your imcompleteness."

Everything collapsed in on itself. An implosion of reality itself, fractured to allow passage of the poor man to it's inevitable demise. Blinding lights flashed, and cacophonous sound crashed as an eternity seemed to pass on the soul's journey to Anteia.

The deceptive nature of the Yellow Small Boar was mostly due to it's weak sounding name, but to the beasts of the Cobarlian Forests it was the size, and seeming ineptitude of the animal to percieve anything not in front of it. A strange, dull buttery yellow pack animal, not known for it's aggression, save for a threat to it's packmates or itself. Not easily noticed, however, is that it's muscular back legs, powered by an instinctual knowledge of it's own mana, and it's well proportioned forward pointing tusks make it something of a missile should it become angry enough to fight. A particularly large pack, 20 strong, was perusing a small grassy knoll on a field a mile long in search of whatever ground growth might take their fancy.

Beyond the dull animals comprehension, half of their number vapourised into a blood red mist, erupting into the sky, any matter still solid rolling down into a 10 foot crater formed from the transference of Cameron. Before the man could come to terms with his own arrival however, he exclaimed with disgust at the matter decorating his well worn blue jeans, and plain grey shirt. He gagged. No vomit came. Right, new body. No food to vomit. Wanting to extricate himself from the entrails of whatever his materialisation eviscerated, he pulled his boots out of the earth and feebly crested the crater. Taking a breath, he wiped off the blood from his eyes, to try to see where he ended up. A field? How normal. Isn't this supposed to be another planet?

His gaze fell down to the startled animals in front of him. One of the startled animals' eyes met his. A small bright yellow, the runt of the boar pack started to squeal with an ear piercing shriek, and the rest of the pack trained their eyes onto the bloody man. Their anger flared. They could smell the blood of their kin on this intruder, and they mourned. This really isn't my fault, guys. A larger than average adult boar squealed with anger, running in his direction, then angling back on his hind legs to proper itself forward and skewer the kinslayer before he could react. As the boar shot forward, Cameron's eyes flared in shock. He could only hold his left arm out in front of him to reduce the impact, but it did little. The boar sailed 3 feet into the air and forward, eyes bloodshot with rage and teeth bared. NononNON- A single tusk impaled his forearm, and the furry missile continued forward, the momentum taking both of them over the crater edge. The boar extricated it's tusk, and tumbled in the air over Cameron. They both crashed to the ground, the boar getting the worst of the impact. It fumbled on it's back with pained breaths, bone sticking slightly from the upper vertebrae it landed on. Cameron, getting away with perhaps a slipped disk, kicked his legs in front of him to distance himself. A chorus of animalistic anger sounded. A trickle of boars slowly crested the crater down towards him, squealing and puffing in hatred over their slain and injured kin.

"Shit!" Cameron tries to stand, and a flash of pain goes down his back. Fuck, that's bruised. At least it isn't broken. As he faced the beasts slowly decending the crater's steep banks, he tried to formulate an escape. Fuckfuckfuck theyre coming- He thought. A single boar reached his level, and it's legs glowed a faint white before the boar leaned back on them just like the previous one before him.

That bastard didn't tell me how to get a weapon. Fuck.

Well. All I can do is ask.

"Weapon!"

Nothing happened

"A gun you fucker! Give me a gun!"

Again nothing happened. The boar finished it's preperations and jumped.

"A-A FUCKING PUMP ACTION SHOTGUN, 12 GAUGE SLUG, YOU PEDANTIC FUCK!"

Without fanfare or a signal of any kind, in his right hand appeared what he asked for: a 12 gauge, pump action shotgun loaded with 6 slugs. With immediacy, he swung the gun and leveled the weapon at the flying boar's large head, alligning the front and back posts, and pressed the trigger. The boar's cranium fragmented, and the slug continued on into it's midsection. The boar's carcass limply landed at Cameron's feet, inches from his boots.

His disbelief was overriden by the implication of the Cartographer's words. Ask, and ye shall receive, is it?

"Holy shit. This is fucking awesome."

The others, reached flat ground trepidatiously, treading the loose earth of the crater after learning the lesson of the first boar falling to it's demise. The sound of the shot reached their ears and they flinched at the sound of the discharge. Cameron's arm flared in pain, his forearm complaining being moved after being gored. He glanced at the wound. About an inch wide, and two deep. He flinched. Needs must, he whispered in agony to himself. Enemy comes first. At the unexpected standoff, Cameron took the first move. He braced the shotgun yet again into his shoulder, and directed it at the closest boar. A higher shot this time took the top of the animal's skull off, white flakes of skull tumbling from the impact, and the shell itself landed in the crater wall behind it arresting it's cruel momentum. Picking up the pace, he aimed at another boar starting to glow white on the legs, and fired rapidly at it and 3 of it's friends behind it, racking the gun with a pulsing pain each time. Viscera erupted from their bodies and they fell to their side or slumped on the spot. Cameron realised he was out of ammo.

"Uh, reload?"

Nothing happened.

"6 12 gauge slugs, S'il vous plait?"

In his left hand, appears 6 slugs.

"Nice."

He loaded 4 of them them into the breach on the bottom, a click sounding each time, and racked the slide back once, taking advantage of the standstill of his quarry. They were frozen stiff from fear. The object was foreign, but they understood it's use. He saw the trepidation of his foes. The frustration, panic and fear of his situation, compounded by his pain, turned to immense anger, and the only target to lnflict his rage against was a group of animals.

"Smells like bacon, doesn't it fellas?"

Cameron leveled the gun at his next target with a evil sneer. The beasts trembled.