### Chapter 1: The Rift That Swallowed the Ordinary
Jack Harlan was having the kind of Tuesday that felt like every other soul-crushing Tuesday before it. Thirty-two years old, single by choice (or so he told himself), and gainfully employed as a mid-level IT drone in a cubicle farm that smelled faintly of burnt coffee and regret. His apartment in suburban Chicago was a testament to minimalism gone wrong: a sagging couch, a fridge stocked with energy drinks and takeout containers, and a gaming rig that was the only thing in his life with any real horsepower. Tonight, like most nights, he was deep into an all-nighter raid in *Eternal Realms Online*, fingers flying across the keyboard as his character—a rogue archer with a penchant for backstabs—carved through pixelated hordes.
"Come on, you glitchy bastards," he muttered, slamming a Red Bull. The screen flickered oddly, but he chalked it up to the power grid's eternal grudge against his building. His guildmates' voices crackled through Discord: "Jack, flank left! Don't feed again!" He smirked, queuing up a shadowstep. But mid-cast, the world... *tilted*.
It started as a hum, low and vibrating through his bones like the bass from a neighbor's subwoofer. Then the air thickened, turning from stale apartment funk to something metallic, like ozone before a storm. Jack's vision blurred, the glow of his monitors warping into swirling grays. "What the—?" He reached for the mouse, but his hand passed through it like smoke. Panic clawed up his throat as the room dissolved—not into blackness, but into a churning vortex of ash and whispers. Voices, faint and pleading: *Help us... the fog comes... false savior...*
The last thing he felt was weightlessness, a sickening lurch like falling off a cliff in a dream. Then, impact.
Jack hit the ground hard, face-first into mud that reeked of rot and sulfur. He gasped, spitting out a mouthful of gritty soil, his lungs burning as if he'd sprinted a marathon. The air was *wrong*—thick, cloying, like breathing through wet cotton. No city hum, no distant traffic; just an eerie silence broken by distant howls that sounded too wet, too *human*, to be wolves. He pushed himself up on trembling arms, blinking against the dim light filtering through... what? A canopy of twisted, leafless trees? Their branches clawed at a sky the color of bruised steel, and in the distance, a wall of roiling gray mist crept forward like a predator stalking its meal.
"Where the hell...?" His voice cracked, hoarse. He patted himself down—jeans, faded *Eternal Realms* tee, sneakers caked in muck. No phone, no wallet. Just him, dumped in what looked like a post-apocalyptic bog. Heart hammering, he staggered to his feet, scanning the treeline. Ruins peeked through the fog: crumbled stone walls overgrown with thorny vines that pulsed faintly, like veins under skin. And there, shambling from the mist, figures. Humanoid, but not. Their skin hung in gray tatters, eyes milky voids, mouths gaping in silent screams as they dragged themselves forward on decayed limbs.
Zombies. Actual, shambling zombies. Jack's gamer brain kicked in, adrenaline spiking. "No way. This is a prank. VR glitch. Wake up, idiot." But the stench hit him then—rotting flesh mixed with something sweeter, like overripe fruit gone to vinegar. One of the things turned its head toward him, a low moan bubbling from its throat, and it *lurched* faster.
Panic overrode logic. Jack bolted, legs pumping through sucking mud, branches whipping his face. He wasn't built for this—desk-jockey soft, more cardio from scrolling Reddit than running for his life. Behind him, the moans multiplied, a wet chorus gaining ground. His foot caught on a root, sending him sprawling into a shallow ditch. Pain lanced through his knee, but he scrambled up, grabbing a jagged rock the size of his fist. *Fight or die, you noob.*
The lead zombie—once a woman, maybe, rags of a dress clinging to its frame—lunged. Jack swung wildly, the rock connecting with a sickening *crunch* against its jaw. Bone shattered, but it didn't stop; it swiped at him with claw-like nails, tearing his sleeve and scoring bloody lines across his arm. "Get off!" He bashed again, and again, until its skull caved in a spray of black ichor. The body slumped, twitching once before going still.
Jack retched, dropping the rock as his stomach heaved. But more were coming—five, six now, pouring from the fog like it had birthed them. He backed away, breath ragged, mind racing for an exit. *This can't be real. I must've hit my head. Or... summoned? Like in those isekai mangas?*
As if on cue, a chime echoed in his skull—not external, but *inside*, crisp and digital like a game notification. Blue light flared across his vision, unbidden, forming ethereal runes that hovered like a HUD.
**[Soul Ledger Awakened. Welcome, Otherworlder: Jack Harlan.]**
**[Status Initialized. You have been summoned to Harmony via the Veil's Fracture. The Gray Fog encroaches—survive, ascend, or be consumed.]**
**[Level: 1]**
**[Class: Unassigned. Select your Path to Begin Eternal Ascendance.]**
**[Stats (Base Random Roll): STR 8 | DEX 12 | VIT 10 | INT 14 | CHA 9 | LCK 11]**
**[Available Classes (Choose One):]**
- **Peasant (F-Rarity):** Hardy folk of the soil. +1 VIT from honest labor. Evolves to Farmer at Lv. 50. (Balanced start for survivalists.)
- **Farmer (D-Rarity):** Tenders of the earth. Crop-based heals and endurance from tilling. +2 END per harvest quest. (Supportive, growth-focused.)
- **Knight (C-Rarity):** Oath-bound warriors. Sword mastery and +STR in honorable duels. (Defensive melee specialist.)
- **Necromancer (B-Rarity):** Masters of the restless dead. Raise undead minions; risk of Fog corruption affinity. (High-risk, summoner power.)
- **Warrior (B-Rarity):** Raw melee brutes. Focus on weapon versatility and rage bursts. (Aggressive fighter.)
- **Mage (A-Rarity):** Weavers of arcane forces. Elemental spells and INT scaling. (Ranged magical offense.)
- **Rogue (A-Rarity):** Shadows and daggers. Stealth, assassination, and critical strikes. (Agile skirmisher.)
- **Paladin (S-Rarity):** Holy avengers. Vows grant anti-corruption bonuses and divine smites. (Ultimate Fog-counter, but oath-bound.)
- **Berserker (B-Rarity, Orc Affinity):** Unleash primal fury. Rage modes ignore pain; high STR bursts. (Close-combat berserker.)
- **Runesmith (A-Rarity, Dwarf Affinity):** Forge and inscribe power. Craft gear with magical runes. (Artisan warrior.)
- **Shaman (A-Rarity, Beastkin Affinity):** Call spirits and totems. Nature heals and elemental summons. (Versatile caster-healer.)
The runes pulsed, waiting. The zombies closed in, moans turning to guttural snarls. Jack's mind reeled—*this is it? A menu in my head?* But instinct screamed *choose*, because dying here as a level 1 scrub wasn't an option. His LCK was decent; maybe it'd roll lucky.
The nearest zombie lunged, and Jack dodged on pure reflex—DEX kicking in already?—buying seconds. *Pick one. Now.*
*[Reader Choice: Select Jack's starting class from the list above. Your decision shapes his build, skills, and how he fares against the Fog's horrors. Reply with your choice to continue.]*
This work is made with ai