Chapter 1: Chains of a New World
The air was a fist, slamming into Mark Baratheon's lungs with the weight of damp earth and rotting leaves, a forest's decay after endless rain. His eyes snapped open, head throbbing like someone had driven a railroad spike through his temple. Cold stone pressed against his spine, seeping through the thin, frayed tunic clinging to his sweat-damp skin. Iron chains bit his wrists, their rough edges scraping raw flesh, each movement sending a sharp sting racing up his arms. He jerked, testing them. The clink echoed, harsh and final, in the suffocating dark. His last memory—concrete blurring upward, his stomach flipping as he plummeted from a city rooftop—faded like a bad dream. Now, this. A cell. A single torch across the hall, its golden flicker casting jagged shadows on slick stone walls. "Where the hell am I?" he thought, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack his ribs. His throat was dry, coated with the taste of moss and something older, ancient, like the breath of a world that didn't care he existed.
He shifted, chains grinding against stone, their weight dragging like a curse. His fingers, numb from the cold, brushed the raw skin of his wrist, where phantom scars—marks he didn't remember earning—pulsed with a dull ache. "This is real. Too damn real." His voice, shaped by urban streets and late-night gaming, felt alien here, a modern lilt echoing in the stone tomb. The torch's light wavered, shadows twisting like ghosts of his old life. Beyond the bars, a faint creak of leather armor cut through the silence, followed by a whiff of stale ale, sour and sharp. Someone was out there. Watching him. His pulse quickened, a primal instinct kicking in, like a cornered animal sizing up a threat.
A flicker sparked, not from the torch but inside his skull. Blue runes flared, a translucent lattice glowing like starlight woven into code. It was a video game HUD, impossibly vivid, superimposed on the damp stone reality. Words pulsed, sharp and biting, in his vision's center.
[Host: Mark Baratheon. Untouchable Law Engaged. Good luck not screwing this up.]
Sweat beaded on his brow, cold and slick, despite the chill. "A system? Like some RPG bullshit?" The sarcasm was a lifeline, a spark of familiarity in this madness. Rules meant a game. Games, he could play. Win. His eyes darted around the cell: rough-hewn stone, slick with moisture; a rusted bucket in the corner, its stagnant water glinting dully; the torch's light barely reaching the far walls, where faint scratches hinted at forgotten prisoners clawing for freedom. Beyond the bars, the creak grew louder. The elf—Faelar, the system named him—was lean, his sharp eyes glinting under a silver helmet. His leather armor creaked with each step, the ale on his breath a sour cloud in the damp air.
Survival instinct surged, raw and electric. Mark felt a buzz beneath his skin, like static waiting to ignite. He pushed at it, his body lightening, atoms unraveling like threads pulled loose. He was mist, insubstantial. Faelar passed the cell, his hand brushing Mark's arm through the bars. It slid through, like Mark was smoke. The elf flinched, yanking his hand back, eyes wide with awe and dread. His armor creaked, loud in the silence, his breath puffing out in a shaky cloud. He stumbled back, boots scuffing stone, his hand trembling on his sword's hilt.
[Passive Untouchability activated. No cost. You're a ghost now—boo.]
A smirk curled Mark's lips, sharp and defiant. "Ghost, huh? Let's play." He rubbed his wrist, the chain's bite a grounding sting, though the system's runes pulsed faintly at his vision's edge. Faelar's fear was a drug, fueling Mark's nerve. His mind raced, calculating, like Rick Grimes eyeing a walker herd, weighing every move. This power was his edge, but he needed to test it, push it. Curiosity, reckless and bold, burned in his chest, drowning the fear clawing at his gut.
He leaned against the bars, their cold biting his palms, the metal's rough grain scraping his skin. "Hey, elf!" he called, voice hoarse but laced with a modern taunt. "You gonna stand there all day, or what? Got a menu for this place?"
Faelar froze, his sharp eyes narrowing to slits. "Silence, human filth," he spat, voice gruff, dripping with disdain. His hand tightened on his sword, knuckles whitening, the leather creaking. "Your tongue will earn you pain."
"Oh, I'm real scared," Mark shot back, rattling the chains, the clink echoing like a challenge. "What's wrong? Afraid to touch the ghost?"
The elf's face flushed, anger and humiliation twisting his features. He drew his sword, the shing slicing through the hall's silence. "You'll regret that," he growled, lunging, blade aimed at Mark's chest. Mark didn't flinch. He pushed the buzzing outward, a wave of force rippling from his core. The air shimmered, a concussive blast erupting. Faelar hit an invisible wall, his momentum reversed. He flew back, armor clanking as he slammed into the far wall, dust puffing in a cloud. His sword clattered to the stone, and he crumpled, gasping, eyes vacant with shock, drained of strength.
[Push Repulsion Lv. 1 used. Target drained. Nice flex, but don't get cocky.]
Mark's heart pounded, triumph and shock colliding like a storm. "I did that. Holy shit." His fingers tingled, numbed by the cold, but the power's rush was a fire in his veins. He rubbed his wrist, the chain's sting a reminder of his limits. Sweat trickled down his neck, the cell's earthy scent clinging to his skin, a mix of moss and decay. The system's warning echoed—don't get cocky. Too late. He smirked, leaning back against the stone, its chill biting his shoulder blades. His mind spun, calculating survival odds, like Daryl Dixon sizing up a trap. This was his world now, and he'd bend it to his will.
A soft crunch of boots on stone broke the silence. A wiry figure, cloaked and quick—Aeloria, the scout—paused just beyond the torchlight. Her cloak rustled like dry leaves, the faint scent of pine cutting through the dungeon's mildew. Her voice, urgent and clipped, carried through the damp air. "Intruders near the path," she murmured to an unseen figure, her breath quick. "Two of them, moving fast. Strange folk, not of these woods."
Mark pressed his ear to the bars, the metal's chill grazing his cheek, his breath catching. His meta-knowledge sparked, a flood of memories from books and movies. "Thorin's company. They're here already." His mind raced, piecing together the timeline—dwarves, spiders, Thranduil's trap. He was in the thick of it, a pawn in a story he knew by heart. But knowing wasn't enough. One wrong move, and he'd fracture the timeline, like a survivor spilling secrets in a walker camp. He had to stay sharp, keep his knowledge hidden.
[Intuition +0.2. Eavesdropping already? Sneaky.]
"Sneaky's my middle name," he thought, a predatory grin spreading. The scout's pine scent lingered as her boots crunched away, fading into the dark. Mark slid down the wall, the stone's chill seeping into his back, grounding him. The torch flickered, casting shadows that danced like ghosts of his old life. A memory surfaced—sitting on a worn couch, gaming controller slick with pizza grease, his sister's laughter filling the room. The warmth of that moment was a knife, twisting in his chest. He was alone here, a stranger in a world that didn't want him. He rubbed his wrist, the chain's bite sharp, anchoring him to this reality. "Gotta keep moving," he muttered, voice barely a whisper, the system's runes pulsing faintly in his mind, a mocking reminder of his new rules.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ The Hobbit I m Untouchable ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ The Hobbit I m Untouchable ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [Grimm, Teen Wolf ,blacklist,Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!