The silence that followed the jester's appearance stretched for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, broken finally by Moose's characteristic inability to read a dangerous situation. His fear and confusion manifested as aggression now boiling over and just as it always had it led him to act before thinking. He stepped forward with the same bullying swagger that had served him so poorly throughout his life to try and intimidate the new figure Infront of them.
"Who or what the hell are you?" he growled, his voice carrying all the menace he could muster. Without waiting for an answer, he reached out and grabbed the jester by what appeared to be its collar, his large hands closing around the strange fabric of its costume. "Did you cause that hell outside? Are you responsible for those things attacking us!"
From his hidden position in the shadows, John watched the confrontation unfold with a mixture of fascination and dread. 'Damn, he's still so fucken stupid,' he thought to himself, his mind racing through the implications of what they were witnessing. 'If this thing was the cause of what's happening outside, or even just connected to it, does he really think grabbing it and making threats is in any way smart? What an absolute idiot.'
The jester's masked head turned with mechanical precision toward John's hiding spot and though its porcelain features remained fixed and expressionless, John had the distinct and terrifying impression that it was looking directly at him. Worse still, it seemed to nod slightly, as if acknowledging his thoughts, before turning its attention back to Moose with the same unnatural, jerky movement.
"Kindly let go, you rude little boy," the jester said, its voice slightly distorting again. The eye holes in its mask began to bleed from white to deep crimson as if the darkness within was being replaced by something far more sinister. "Else I promise you won't like what comes next."
But Moose, true to form, was incapable of recognizing when he was outmatched. His grip tightened on the jester's costume and his voice rose to a near shout. "And if I don't want to let go? What's a stick-looking freak like you going to do about it?" His face was flushed with the kind of aggressive bravado that had gotten him into trouble countless times before. "Now you're going to tell us what the hell is going on out there, or else I'm going to—"
He never got to finish his threat.
"To what?" the jester interrupted, its voice taking on a smooth male tone of mock curiosity that was somehow more terrifying than outright menace. "Hit me? Threaten me? I'm not your wife, oh wait, I mean your ex-wife." The casual mention of Moose's failed marriage hit like a physical blow, causing him to flinch and loosen his grip slightly. "Now, I was going to explain things anyway, as it's part of my job description for situations like this, but it seems I need to set an example first. The other guides may enjoy this particular aspect of the orientation process but I've grown rather bored of it over the years. So here's a very important lesson for the rest of you before I begin explaining what's happening to your world."
What happened next occurred faster than human eyes could track. One moment, Moose was standing there with his hands on the jester's costume, his face twisted with rage and confusion. The next moment, his arms were falling to the floor in perfect, clean cuts, severed at the shoulders with surgical precision. Blood began to fountain from the wounds, painting the walls and ceiling of the small room in arterial spray.
In the jester's hands—or rather, in the three-fingered, fur-covered claws that had replaced its hands—were two blades that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. They were black as the void between stars, with a deep red tint that suggested they had been forged in blood and shadow. Across their surfaces, patterns that looked disturbingly like dried blood created intricate designs that hurt to look at directly yet tried to pull a person's focus.
For a moment, Moose didn't seem to register what had happened. He stood there, staring down at the stumps where his arms had been, his brain unable to process the impossible reality of his situation. Then the pain hit him like a freight train and his screams filled the small room with the sound of pure, animalistic agony. He staggered backward, his legs giving out as shock and blood loss began to take their toll and he fell to his knees in the growing pool of his own blood.
"Oh, does it hurt?" the jester asked with mock concern, tilting its head to one side like a curious bird. "It certainly seems like it does and I very much hope so. Pain is such an excellent teacher, don't you think? But here, let me help you feel a bit better."
The creature moved with that same impossible speed and the dark blades seemed to vanish into its costume as if they had never existed. But their work was far from over. Moose's screaming stopped abruptly as his body simply came apart, falling into neat sections like a puzzle that had been disassembled by an expert. The pool of blood expanded rapidly, spreading across the floor in a crimson tide that reached the feet of the horrified observers.
The women in the room erupted into screams of terror and revulsion, while the remaining men instinctively moved to shield them from the gory spectacle, their faces pale with shock and fear. Only John remained motionless in his hiding spot, watching the scene unfold with a complex mixture of emotions that he couldn't quite identify well thanking all the beings he could that they hadn't noticed him. There was fear, certainly and horror at the casual brutality he had just witnessed. But underneath those expected reactions was something else—a dark fascination and perhaps even excitement, at finally encountering something that existed beyond the mundane boundaries of normal reality.
"Now, now," the jester said, its voice returning to that eerily cheerful tone that made everything worse. "Enough of that noise. He made the first move, not me. I was simply defending myself against an unprovoked assault. But enough of this unpleasantness—it's time to explain things to you lucky survivors. And boy, are you lot lucky indeed."
The creature began to pace around the room with movements that defied physics, its too-long limbs bending at angles that should have been impossible. "Normally, this orientation process is handled by a simple screen interface that appears automatically. But you've caught the attention of some very important individuals by managing to escape a death that should have befallen you all, so I've been sent to provide a more... personal touch. I am one of the Game Masters in charge of this section, tasked with ensuring that the transition process runs smoothly and that all participants understand the new rules of existence."
It paused in its pacing to gesture toward the ceiling, where the sounds of destruction continued to rain down from above. "You lot honestly probably shouldn't have even survived this long. The protocol calls for the mother dragons to sweep through designated areas, clearing out the existing population on the wat to where they will make there nesting grounds and after that it was supposed to people facing the juvenile dragons. Most humans are supposed to be roasted alive in the initial cleansing phase as they flew over. The fact that you're still breathing means that some of the big guys and girls upstairs are watching you with interest."
The jester's mask turned toward each of them in turn and though its expression never changed, they could feel the weight of its attention like a physical presence. "The world you knew is over. Finished. Kaput. Things are now operating according to what you humans would recognize as game mechanics meaning levels, classes, abilities, that sort of thing. In just a moment, you'll each be presented with a choice of character classes and if you're particularly lucky or interesting, you might even be offered a special class that reflects something unique about your personality or potential."
As if summoned by the jester's words, translucent screens materialized in front of each surviving member of the group. The interfaces looked like something from a video game, complete with selection menus and class options, but they hung in the air without any visible means of support, glowing with their own internal light.
"After you make your selections," the jester continued, "I'll explain more about how this new world operates. But for now, choose wisely. The more the gods like you and your performance in the trials to come, the better your chances of survival and advancement. So choose something interesting, something that will catch their attention and make them want to invest in your continued existence."
The group stared at their screens in stunned silence, their minds struggling to process the impossible situation they found themselves in. The class options were listed by name only, with no descriptions or explanations to guide their choices. The selection seemed almost deliberately obscure, as if they were being tested on their ability to make decisions based on instinct rather than information.
The jester's patience, however, was clearly limited. After several seconds of inaction, its voice took on a sharp, irritated edge. "Come on, I don't have all day to stand around waiting for you to make up your minds. Choose already!"
Steel, still shaken by what he had witnessed but trying to maintain some semblance of leadership, managed to find his voice. "But what are we supposed to choose? There are only names here, no descriptions or explanations. Do you really expect us to make such an important decision without knowing anything about what we're selecting?"
The jester's laugh was like the sound of breaking glass mixed with the screams of the damned. "Yes, the name tells you everything you need to know. Use your imagination, your instincts and your deepest desires. The choice you make will reflect who you truly are, deep down in the darkest corners of your soul. So choose something that speaks to you, something that resonates with your true nature. And choose quickly because my patience is not infinite and you really don't want to see what happens when I get bored."
Faced with the implicit threat and the memory of Moose's fate, the remaining survivors made their selections with varying degrees of haste and desperation. Each choice was followed immediately by a transformation that was both physical and psychological, as their new classes began to reshape not just their appearances but their fundamental natures.
Hana, her faith having been the defining characteristic of her personality since high school, selected the class labeled "Divine Healer." The transformation was immediate and dramatic—her simple white dress was replaced by elaborate robes of pristine white trimmed with celestial blue and a golden staff topped with a radiant cross materialized in her hands. But the changes went deeper than mere costume. Her eyes now burned with zealous fervor and when she spoke, her voice carried the absolute conviction of someone who believed themselves to be an instrument of divine will.
"Fear not, my blessed companions!" she declared, raising her staff high above her head. "My god shall guide us through this trial, his holy light illuminating our path and burning away the darkness that seeks to consume us!"
Steel, drawing on his natural leadership qualities and his admiration for historical warriors, chose "Imperial Gladiator." His transformation clothed him in armor that seemed to blend Roman military tradition with fantasy elements—bronze plates adorned with intricate engravings, a red cloak that billowed dramatically despite the lack of wind and weapons that appeared at his side as if summoned by will alone. His bearing became more regal, more commanding, as if he had been born to lead armies into battle.
Shay, perhaps influenced by his love of nature and his desire to tap into something more primal than his mundane existence, selected "Wildshifter." The change was immediately apparent as coarse fur began to sprout along his arms and neck, his pupils elongated into predatory slits and his teeth sharpened into fangs. His posture became more animalistic and when he moved, it was with the fluid grace of a predator stalking its prey.
Stacy, always drawn to power and drama, chose "Fire Enchantress." Her transformation was perhaps the most visually striking—her mustard-blonde hair burst into flames that didn't burn, becoming a cascade of living fire that framed her face in flickering light. Her black dress was replaced by flowing robes of deep crimson that seemed to move with a life of their own and the air around her shimmered with heat distortion.
Andy, perhaps in response to Stacy's fiery transformation or simply drawn to the opposite extreme, selected "Ice Warden." Her hair darkened to a blue so deep it was almost black and her red dress was replaced by robes of midnight blue that seemed to absorb warmth from the air around her. Frost began to form on the surfaces near her and when she looked at Stacy, her gaze was cold enough to freeze blood.
Lucy, who had always been drawn to the darker aspects of fantasy and gothic culture, chose "Shadow Dancer." Her transformation was both alluring and terrifying—her modest clothing was replaced by a form-fitting ensemble of black leather and red silk that accentuated every curve of her body. Her brown hair grew longer and darker, shot through with streaks of crimson that seemed to move independently. When she moved, shadows seemed to cling to her like living things and her eyes held depths that suggested knowledge of secrets better left unspoken.
Amy, perhaps overwhelmed by the stress of the situation or simply drawn to something that called to her on a level she didn't understand, made a choice that would prove fatal. Her selection of what appeared to be a mermaid-related class triggered a transformation that her human physiology simply couldn't handle. Her skin began to take on a scaled appearance, her hair fell out in clumps and her body contorted in ways that suggested her internal structure was being fundamentally altered. She gasped and writhed in agony as the change progressed, but her human form couldn't adapt to the aquatic nature of her chosen class. Within minutes, she had died in convulsions, her body unable to complete the transformation.
"Oh, dear, dear Amy," the jester said, its voice dripping with false sympathy and barely concealed amusement. "Such an adventurous spirit, but alas, not everyone can handle the grandeur of the choices presented to them. Perhaps the allure of becoming something so fundamentally different from human was simply too much for her mortal form to bear. One must learn that in this new game-like world, choices have consequences and not all consequences are survivable."