I've Been Summoned to A New World and I Already Hate It

I am not a Hero.

And I wouldn't want to be...

There was this belief I had, the belief that there are slaves and masters, and it is the masters that should rule the slaves. It is this belief that will send me down a spiraling path toward freedom that will indulge itself to its own credence. I am going to be a master, one that would rule over the slaves because it was the right thing to do. After all, we were all summoned to a new world.

This felt like one of those wild fantasies that you'd see on the television but with much more production value, which was nice. We, my classmates and I, stand in the middle of a bombastic medieval castle's grand hall. Everyone in my class poise bewildered by what just transpired. If I recall, there was a godly figure followed by a white light and suddenly we all appeared here.

The architecture of this place, to put it lightly is that it looks gorgeous. It's top notch, mainly due to its architectural design that's opulent yet ambitious, bold yet reserved, brash yet belongs in the trash. I'd give it a five out of ten, at worst, seven out of ten, at best. I have very high standards and I will not compromise them just because I've been summoned to a phantasmal world like this.

After everything settles in, some are horrified while others awe-struck, and a few perplexed. Many of them hold each other in their arms and comfort one another. A portion create small tribes with their friends and discuss what's occurred. Of course, I was to be the odd man out with no group and no friends, so I just stood alone at the back. My classmates' discussions with their loud voices are painfully annoying, so I'm pretty glad I don't have to partake in their nonsensical shenanigans because I'd probably maybe rather kill myself if I had to.

DON! DON! DON!

An aged midget stands beside an extensive throne, one that would be considered overcompensating for insecurities. He slams the staff several more times to gather our attention. Everyone, of course, quiets down to stare at the shortcake.

I've come under the presumption that the man in the throne beside the gnome is the King. One would also add that this great throne is in the middle of this hall we have all found ourselves to be in.

The half-man leaps to action and strikes a pose with a pompous gaze, "Kneel before King Aurvandil, the first of his name, for you are all subjects in his court!" Whomst'd've claimed such nonsense? I never signed up for this! However, everyone ignores the homunculus and talk to their collectives still trying to figure out what the hell happened. From my miniscule knowledge, all anyone really had to do to figure out what's what was to ask the man in the throne what's what. Statistics will most likely say he's the reason as to why we were summoned here. But knowing myself I just don't give a damn.

He, the King, rises and opens his arms with an enormous expression almost greeting us, almost. All our heads turn to him, "Thank you for answering my call!" He states with a deep ceremonious voice, and yes, I was right, he had the answers, I think. However, I never answered the King's call. If I knew he was calling I would've hung up or dodged it, just like my taxes! Honestly, I just want to go home, do nothing, and laze around with my cats. Hell, maybe I could even sit in the bathtub for an hour or two and let the hot shower rain down on me since that's basically the meaning of life.

The King continues, "From what I am hearing, you are all curious as to why you have been called to our world," He is a very evocative man, to say the least. King Aurvandil waves his hands about while talking, gestures on gestures. To put it slightly, he is charismatic as he is cool, and he speaks to us as if we're retarded, which isn't an understatement. "May truth be told, from the bottom of my heart, my world is in trouble and the Gods have answered my call," Weren't we the ones who answered his call? Is he saying we are Gods? What a schmuck. "Now, when I was told my world was in trouble. I called upon you, our new Heroes with the sole duty to save us—"

AHEM!

I cut him off, "Look, I'm not obligated to do jack shit. I'm gonna leave this court and go create my own city or something—a state of my own!"

"Aye, ya' fat fuck," A random shout shoots from the crowd, "Go to Gravesend if you want your own city—it's deserted anyway!" People in the grand hall laugh at that prospect while my class peer confused.

"Deserted...? Wait yeah—I'll go to Gravesend and make that my city!" I proclaim and turn to everyone else, "Y'all coming?" Some of my classmate's shrug and follow. I swing around and jaunt to the exit, which I assume is the big door opposite the King at the backend of the hall.

"Yeah," Another shout emerges from the spectators, "You tell the man!" That cheer emanates from a young cripple in a wheelchair with really cool sunglasses.

Aurvandil convulses, "Callum, while your mother's muffins are delicious, leave the court before I bash your skull in front of the court for your insolence," He motions toward the guards.

Two of the King's men come to push the cripple out. One of the guard's leans on Callum, "You think you can schedule me in with your mother for a 9'o'clock muff sess?"

Callum wags his finger, "That's closing time, ya' shmuck," he states until his brow raises and his teeth click. Callum sways his head, "But I'll see what I can do, Bran. In the meanwhile, why don't you try some of my banana bread? I've got it right here in one my pockets," The men don't care to try his banana bread and push him out the hall and down the stairs... It was quite sadistic if you ask me because that seems to be a long way down. I hope he'll be fine. Thank you for standing up for me, Mr. Cripple.

I try to follow the cripple's path but the King flicks his wrist and the guards hem on me with their spears at my neck. King Aurvandil leers, his cheeks and brows both raised, "Now, as I was going to say, it's time that you 'wake up' from your fantasy as you're in no position to interrupt me nor are you in any position to say what you will and will not do," Again, he speaks directly to me as if I was retarded, which might be an understatement according to my brother, "I am a fair man, so let's make a deal. You can leave right through that door where you'll die in this cruel world or you can come back and rejoin your friends," he motions to the group, "Them is who you're going to choose so let's get on with our lives."

I stroll right back around and ultimately agree with Aurvandil, "Yes, you've got a point on account of all these spears," I squint, "Huh... did I unintentionally make a joke?" The guards still have their spears hoisted with their cool costumes to match. I stare at one of them deeply to absorb the design work which was quite brilliant. My eyes dance down toward their amber gauntlets and garments.

What's it made of...? Who made it...? Does it have parent gauntlets that birthed it...? I wish I could analyze it.

[Analysis]

Gauntlet.

Analysis has leveled up! Level 0 -> Level 1. You can now view some information of an analyzed object, if applicable.

Woah... I—I've got abilities and powers? Just like we were told... Let me try that again.

[Analysis]

This is a gauntlet. It is metallic.

Woah! Kick ass, I better keep this a secret. You never know who might be trying to take advantage...

With a heavy hand Aurvandil strokes his beard while he chuckles under his breath, "Now, may I have your name, boy, or are you just going to keep googling around?" He was being condescending, let's be honest about it.

I point to myself, "Indie—," I pause for no reason, "Indie Baal-Peor," I state like he's retarded. It's what he deserves for looking down on me as if I was a child, which we all, myself included, sort of are.

King Aurvandil signals with his brow, "Well, Indie-Indie Baal-Peor, it's nice of you to stay and let me finish my speech," Again, with the condescension, don't make me look like an idiot otherwise I'll never forgive you. "So Indie-Indie," he grins, "why not—,"

"There's only one Indie," I declare and site a thumb to my chest, "And that's me!" I blurt boldly. I sort of just did that without any rhyme or reason or thought process as to why I'd done that. I fumble my words, "Wa—wai—wait, I mean there's only one Indie in my name—not two but there's still only one Indie and that's me—uhh—shit—I mean—Yeah," I really hope they understand the message I'm trying to convey.

Everyone laughs instead, not with me, which is typical. Whispers in the crowd of my compatriots' surf through the crowds, "he's a bit of loser, isn't he?" They all acknowledge that point quite brazenly, which wouldn't be wrong.

I've come to realize that I'm the one who's now lying on the cold hard floor (figuratively) realizing the joke is on me. I'm the one who made an idiot of myself... But I'll forgive myself because it's me and no one else...

End of Chapter 1