The familiar grind of the mail truck's engine was a dull soundtrack to Ray Silver's thoughts. At forty-five, his life was a comfortable, if sometimes exhausting, routine: early mornings, long routes fueled by lukewarm coffee, and coming home to the beautiful, chaotic symphony of a wife and six kids. His escape, his sanctuary, wasn't found in a bottle or a hobby shed, but in the pixelated worlds of RPGs and strategy games. In those worlds, he was no longer Ray the mailman, but a hero, a commander, a god-killer named Thorzen. He was mentally cataloging the optimal skill tree path in the latest fantasy epic, Realms of Azeron, when the world exploded.
There was no warning, just a deafening roar of rending metal and shattering glass. A massive semi-truck, a runaway behemoth that had jumped the median, T-boned his frail Long Life Vehicle. The force was apocalyptic, crumpling the vehicle like a soda can and crushing him within its steel embrace. The pain was a supernova, a single, blinding point of agony that consumed his entire being before vanishing as quickly as it came, leaving behind an immense, silent pressure, and then… nothing.
Ray opened his eyes. Or, he thought he did. He had no body to command, no lungs to draw breath. He was a point of consciousness adrift in a formless grey void. The world resolved not through sight, but through a profound sense of knowing. He became aware of faces he knew better than his own, projected like faint holograms on the misty canvas of non-existence. His wife, Sarah, her eyes red-rimmed and full of a grief that shattered the ghost of his soul. His children, their expressions a heart-wrenching mixture of confusion and terror. They were gathered around a white sheet on a gurney. His gurney.
"Am I dead?" The question left him, not as a spoken word, but as a thought that echoed in the void.
A voice, impossibly loud and resonant, answered from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was neither kind nor cruel, simply absolute. "Yes, you died."
The memory of the impact, the screech of tires and the crushing finality, flashed in his mind. "What did I die? Damn, a Semi truck killed me!"
"Yes, it smashed you to death," the voice confirmed, its tone neutral, almost clinical. "Ray Silver, you were not scheduled to die today. The recklessness of another, combined with a minor cosmic fluctuation… it created an anomaly. Your thread was cut prematurely. The damage to your physical vessel was… total. We cannot send you back to it."
A cold dread, different from the physical shock of death, seeped into him. This was it. The final curtain. "So now what? If you can't send me back, what will you do with me? Heaven? Hell? Oblivion?"
"We could send you to a different world," the voice offered, a hint of proposition in its divine timbre. "A second chance, as compensation for our error."
The concept was so ludicrously straight out of his video games that a spark of his old self ignited. This wasn't an ending; it was a New Game Plus. "Wait, who are you? Are you a god?"
"Yes, we are gods of this nexus, and we wish to offer you reincarnation in a world called Azeroc," the voice replied.
Azeroc. The name sounded familiar, reminiscent of Azeron from his game. The spark became a flame. This was a character creation screen, and he was being handed the controller. "Well, what kind of world is it?"
"It is a world of high magic, fierce monsters, and ancient conflicts. A world of swords and sorcery," the god elaborated.
The flame became a fire. "Wait, do I get to pick what I look like? And do I get any special abilities? Cheat skills? Something to give me a fighting chance?" Ray asked, the wheels turning. If this were a game, he would be min-maxing his build from the start.
A pause, as if the cosmic entity was considering the request. "Hmm, yes. As the error was ours, we can accommodate that."
"Then I want to be able to change what I look like. I want to be unique. And I want a system—a leveling system, an interface, menus, skills, attributes—the works." It was everything he'd ever fantasized about, a real-life RPG. He wouldn't be a nameless peasant; he would be the protagonist.
"An interesting request. Very well. It will be done," the voice said, its finality ringing through the void. There was no more discussion, no fine print. The decision was made.
The next thing Ray knew was a light, so brilliant and all-consuming it felt less like illumination and more like being erased. There was no sound, no sensation of movement, just the blinding, antiseptic whiteness scouring away the last remnants of Ray Silver, the mailman. Then, mercifully, unconsciousness claimed him.
Consciousness returned not with a jolt, but with the gentle warmth of a sun on his skin and the soft whisper of a breeze. The scent of damp earth, wildflowers, and something faintly metallic filled his nostrils. He was lying on his back, the ground cool and solid beneath him.
"Where am I?" he mumbled, his voice a unfamiliar, deeper baritone that resonated in his chest. He pushed himself up, the movement feeling strangely fluid and powerful. He looked at his hands and froze. They were longer, thicker, with smooth, unblemished skin the color of fresh cream. His fingers were blunt, and with a jolt of horror, he realized they had no fingernails.
A wave of panic surged. He looked down, patting his torso and legs. He was clad in a simple, grey tunic and trousers of a rough, unknown material. "Yes, I have all my limbs." Relief was short-lived as he rubbed his head, feeling only smooth, hairless skin. "Dang, I'm bald?" he said aloud, the new voice still startling him.
"Yes, you are bald," said a voice. It was soft, melodic, and distinctly feminine, and it seemed to originate not from around him, but inside his own head.
"Wha—? Who's there?" Ray asked, spinning around, his new body moving with a predator's grace he never possessed. He was in a small, grassy clearing surrounded by ancient, towering trees with purple-veined leaves. He was utterly alone.
"I am your system," the voice replied, its tone patient and informative.
"My system?" The gamer in him perked up immediately, the panic receding like a tide, replaced by burgeoning excitement.
"Yes. You asked the gods for a system in this world. I am the manifestation of that request. I am here to guide you, manage your progression, and interface with the mechanics of Azeroc."
"Do I have attributes and skills?" Ray asked, excitement bubbling up. This was real. It was all real.
"Yes, you have attributes, abilities, and skills. You can obtain them through various means, primarily through assimilation and experience," the system confirmed.
"Ohh. Well, how can I see them?" Ray asked, his mind already racing with possibilities. This was better than any Christmas morning.
"Just visualize your status. Picture a screen in your mind, will it to appear. Do you see it?" the system instructed.
Ray focused, picturing the clean, blue-and-silver interface of his favorite MMO. Instantly, a semi-transparent blue screen materialized before his eyes, hovering in the air without obstructing his vision.
Name: ?? Age:16
Level: 1 Hp: 100/100 Mp: 50/50
Race: Changeling (Unique)
Class: None XP: --
Job: None XP: --
XP: 0/300
Skill Points: 2
Attribute Points: 2
Attributes
Strength: 10
Constitution: 10
Dexterity: 10
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 10
Abilities:
Assimilation: Level 1 - Absorbs and integrates matter, energy, skills, spells, and abilities. Max Weight: 2,200 lbs.
Transformation: Locked
Partial Transformation: Locked
Skills:
Strike: Level 1
Spells:
Analyze: Level 1
"System, what is my race? Why am I unique?" Ray asked, his eyes fixed on the screen. Changeling. It sounded mysterious and powerful.
"A Changeling is a rare and often misunderstood race of humanoids on this planet. They are natural shapeshifters, able to alter their appearance at will. Your uniqueness stems from two factors: you possess the Assimilation ability, a power not native to standard Changelings, and you have me, your personalized system. You are the first and only of your kind."
"What is assimilation?" Ray probed, latching onto the ability that sounded most like a "cheat skill."
"Assimilation is a unique skill that allows you to absorb and integrate the physical and metaphysical properties of what you touch. This includes matter, energy, skills, spells, and inherent abilities. Upon assimilation, you will be able to transform into that creature or object. Normally, a Changeling's transformation is a superficial disguise. Yours is a complete physical and spiritual integration."
"Well, what's the difference? It sounds the same," Ray said, wanting to understand the mechanics perfectly.
"The difference is fundamental. A Changeling imitates a wolf. You become the wolf, with all its strengths, instincts, and weaknesses. However, you are not replaced. You add the creature's capabilities to your own. For example, if your Strength is 10 and the wolf's Strength is 10, your Strength in wolf form would be 20. You stack, you do not replace."
"Wow, that's op," Ray breathed, a wide, exhilarated grin spreading across his hairless face. This was beyond anything he'd imagined. Then he noticed the blank space at the top of his status. "Wait! Why don't I have a name?"
"You can pick a new name. Your old identity is tied to a body that no longer exists," the system said.
"Can I pick my old name?" Ray asked. Ray Silver was his past, his Earth life, his family. He wasn't ready to let it go entirely.
"Yes, but it is advised you also choose an appellation for this world. A name you will be known by to its inhabitants," the system suggested gently.
He thought of his gaming handle, the name he'd used for decades across countless digital battlefields. It felt right. It was the name of the hero he always played. "Hmm, okay. I will keep my old name as a part of me, and my other name will be Thorzen. That's the name I used on all my characters."
"Designation: Ray 'Thorzen' Silver. Input confirmed? Yes or No?" the voice asked.
"Yes," Ray said with finality.
The screen shimmered and updated.
Name: Ray "Thorzen" Silver. Age:16
Level: 1 Hp: 100/100 Mp: 50/50
Race: Changeling (Unique)
Class: None XP: --
Job: None XP: --
XP: 0/300
Skill Points: 2
Attribute Points: 2
...Abilities and Skills unchanged...
"Oh, that's better," he said, a sense of solidity settling over him. He was Ray, but he was also Thorzen. He could hold his past close while embracing his future. "The system, from now on, you call me Ray. And everybody I meet in this world can call me Thorzen."
"Affirmative. Preference imputed into my core parameters," the system replied.
A thought occurred to him. This voice, this guide, felt like his only companion in this vast new world. It deserved an identity, a name to make it feel less like a program and more like a partner. "System, can I name you?" Ray asked.
A slight pause, perhaps a flicker of processing. "Yes, you can, Ray," the voice said, and for the first time, he detected a hint of something beyond mere instruction—a sliver of warmth, of anticipation.
He thought of the wisest, most strategic figures he knew from lore and history. The name of the Greek goddess of wisdom, craft, and warfare came to mind. It was a name that commanded respect and promised guidance. "Hmm, I will call you Athena from now on."
"Athena. Designation confirmed. Imputed into my memory and core identity. It is… agreeable," the newly christened Athena said.
"Athena, how do I use assimilation?" Ray asked, eager to test his powers, to feel the mechanics of this new world in his hands.
"To use assimilation, you must make physical contact with the object or creature you wish to assimilate. For inanimate objects, simple touch is sufficient. For living creatures, the target must be deceased or in a critically weakened state, unable to resist. The process will integrate a maximum of 2,200 pounds of mass."
"2,200 pounds?" Ray questioned, already calculating what that meant. That was over a ton.
"Yes. If an object is exactly 2,200 pounds, you can assimilate it entirely, but you will be unable to use the ability again for one hour as your internal energies recalibrate. If an object weighs 3,000 pounds, you can only assimilate 2,200 pounds of it, leaving the remainder."
"Will I be able to assimilate more in the future?"
"Yes. The base mass you can assimilate will double every ten levels you gain. At level 10, it will be 400 pounds. At level 20, 800 pounds, and so on. Furthermore, by spending skill points, you can directly level the Assimilation ability itself. At level 2, you would gain an additional 2,000 pounds to your capacity, for a total of 4,400 pounds."
"Okay, I get it. It's a scaling ability. Now, how do I transform or change my appearance?" Ray asked, moving on to his racial ability.
"As a Changeling, you can alter your appearance at will, as long as you have a clear visual reference. For assimilated creatures or objects, the transformation is innate. You have also unlocked the potential for Partial Transformation."
"Partial transformation? What's that?" Ray's curiosity was piqued. That sounded incredibly versatile.
"Partial Transformation allows you to transform only a part of your body. For example, if you assimilate a sword, you could transform your arm into that specific sword. The quality and properties of the manifested object are directly comparable to the original material you assimilated."
"So if I assimilate high-quality iron, I could transform my arm into a masterwork iron sword?" Ray asked, the implications staggering. He was a walking, talking armory.
"Precisely," Athena confirmed.
"Oh, that's so cool. Let's start assimilation then. Hmm, let's assimilate that rock," Ray said, pointing to a fist-sized, grey river stone nearby.
Ray walked over and picked up the cool, rough stone in his right hand. "Ok, now what?" he asked, his heart thumping with anticipation.
"Visualize your assimilation ability. Feel the potential within you. Then, with intent, command, 'assimilate'," Athena instructed.
Taking a steadying breath, Ray focused on the strange new sense in his core, a pool of dormant energy waiting to be tapped. "Assimilate!" he said firmly.
A bizarre sensation ran through his hand. It didn't tingle; it seemed to lose its solidity, the skin and flesh becoming a shimmering, liquid mercury that flowed over the rock, enveloping it completely before drawing it into his body. There was no pain, only a profound and alien feeling of incorporation. A progress bar appeared in his vision: Rock analysis 10%... 20%... 30%... it climbed steadily until it reached 100%. Assimilation Complete.
"Now you can turn your hand into that rock," Athena said.
"How?" Ray asked, fascinated by the faint, stony sensation now humming just beneath his skin.
"Just visualize your hand and will it to partially transform. The knowledge is within you now."
"Got it. Let's try it," Ray said.
He focused, picturing the skin of his right hand hardening, taking on the rough, grey, granular texture of the stone. Immediately, his body responded. His hand shifted and morphed, the color draining to a flat grey, the texture becoming rough and stony. In seconds, his fist was a perfect, solid stone replica.
"Wow," he whispered, clenching his stony fist. It was heavier, but his changeling body compensated effortlessly. "Can I transform my whole arm into the rock?"
"Yes, but you must only assimilate more rocks to acquire the necessary mass. Your current form has a set mass; to create a larger limb, you need the material to build it."
"Sweet. I'm gonna assimilate that big rock," Ray said, marching toward a larger, moss-covered boulder, about the size of a small chair.
He placed both hands on its cool, rough surface. "Assimilate!" Again, the liquid-metal transformation, this time spreading over a larger area. The boulder seemed to dissolve into his being. 10%... 50%... 100%. Assimilation Completed.
"Now, attempt a larger partial transformation," Athena prompted.
"All right, partial transformation! My arm!" Ray commanded.
His right arm, from the shoulder down, shimmered and expanded. The flesh and bone transmuted in a wave of shimmering energy, transforming into solid, rough-hewn stone. It wasn't just a coating; his entire arm became a massive, formidable club-like appendage. It was immensely heavy, a weight that would have dislocated a normal man's shoulder, but his changeling physiology bore it with stable, grounded ease.
A new notification appeared.
Stone Weapon Acquired.
Stone Club: Bludgeoning Weapon.
Damage: 10.
Ray hefted his new stone club arm, swinging it in a slow, powerful arc. The whoosh of it cutting through the air was immensely satisfying. A wide, exhilarated grin spread across his hairless face. The grief and terror of his death were still there, a dull ache in a corner of his soul, but they were overshadowed by a torrent of pure, unadulterated potential.
He was no longer Ray Silver, the deceased mailman. He was Thorzen, the Changeling. He had a world to explore, powers to master, and a system named Athena as his guide. He looked at his stone arm, then at the dense, mysterious forest around him. His adventure in Azeroc had just begun, and he was ready to write his first stat point on its canvas.