Chapter 1: Reincarnated by Vending Machine Malfunction

The vending machine killed Elliot Vale exactly three seconds after refusing to give him his barbecue chips.

There were many ways Elliot had imagined dying during his eleven years in technical support. A stress-induced aneurysm while explaining for the ninth time that yes, the monitor needed to be plugged in. A coffee-fueled heart attack during a quarterly incident review conducted by a man who used the word synergy as punctuation. Perhaps, in his darker fantasies, he would simply evaporate into a fine gray powder beneath the fluorescent lights of Helix Solutions’ basement office, leaving behind only a headset, a half-finished ticket, and a sticky note reading: Have you tried turning it off and on again?

He had never, not once, pictured himself being assassinated by a snack machine named BITE-MATE 3000.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Elliot said.

The vending machine stared back at him through its scratched plexiglass window. Rows of chips, candy bars, and chocolate-coated regret sat under sterile white bulbs. The bag of barbecue chips he had paid two dollars and seventy-five cents for dangled from its spiral coil like a hostage over a cliff, caught by one corner, unwilling to fall.

Outside the break room windows, midnight rain washed silver rivers down the glass. The city beyond was a smeared painting of traffic lights and lonely office towers. Inside, the only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator, the buzz of cheap fluorescents, and the distant, ever-present whir of servers behind locked doors.

Elliot stood barefoot in the stale carpet of Helix Solutions’ seventh-floor break room because at 12:47 a.m., dignity was one of the many things he had left at his desk. His tie hung loose. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes burned from sixteen hours of escalation calls, three emergency deployments, and one executive who had managed to delete an entire shared drive by “cleaning up clutter.”

He pressed his forehead against the vending machine’s cool glass.

“Listen,” he whispered, because bargaining with machines had become instinct. “I have had a very long day. I am not proud of how much emotional stability I have invested in those chips. But if you release them, I will walk away. No incident report. No angry email. No passive-aggressive Slack message in facilities. Just you, me, and a clean resolution.”

The barbecue chips swayed mockingly.

Elliot took a step back, rolled his shoulders, and examined the machine’s side panel. A taped sign read: PLEASE DO NOT SHAKE MACHINE. MANAGEMENT IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURY.

“Management is never responsible for anything,” Elliot muttered.

He glanced down the hallway. Empty. The office at midnight belonged to ghosts, janitors, and middle managers too dead inside to go home.

He placed both hands on the machine and gave it a careful shove.

The chips wobbled.

“Come on.”

Another shove.

The coil twitched. The bag leaned, hesitated, then stubbornly settled back into place.

Elliot laughed once, a cracked sound that belonged in a haunted house. “You’re really going to make me do this.”

He braced his shoulder against the side of the machine and pushed harder.

Something inside the vending machine clicked.

Not the satisfying click of a snack dropping. Not the comforting clunk of success. This was a deep, structural, corporate-budget-maintenance-was-denied sort of click.

Elliot froze.

The machine tilted toward him.

For a heartbeat, the universe became extremely clear.

He saw the fluorescent light reflected in the machine’s glass like a white spear. He smelled old coffee, dust, and artificial barbecue seasoning. He noticed, with absurd intensity, that someone had left a mug in the sink reading WORLD’S OKAYEST BOSS.

Then BITE-MATE 3000 descended.

There was a thunderous crash, a flash of white pain, and the wet crunch of a life ending without fanfare.

As darkness rushed in, Elliot’s final thought was not profound. It was not a regret about love, family, or the state of his 401(k).

I should’ve picked pretzels.

Oblivion should have been quieter.

Instead, Elliot heard chanting.

It began as a distant hum beneath the blackness, low and rhythmic, like a server room full of monks. The sound vibrated through him, though he could not feel his body. Voices rose and fell in a language he did not understand, syllables ringing like struck crystal.

Warmth touched his skin.

Skin. That was new.

Elliot inhaled sharply.

Air slammed into his lungs, carrying scents so intense they seemed designed by someone overcompensating for reality: melted wax, crushed flowers, incense sharp enough to qualify as a workplace hazard, and underneath it all the mineral bite of stone after rain.

He opened his eyes.

Gold light exploded across his vision.

He lay on his back beneath a ceiling impossibly high and bright. Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows in sheets of ruby, sapphire, emerald, and honey. Angels—or possibly very dramatic humans with wings—curled across the glass in battle poses. Silver bells rang from somewhere overhead, shimmering through the air.

Elliot blinked.

There were no ceiling tiles. No vending machine. No break room carpet digging into his socks.

He sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it as the world lurched sideways.

“Easy, summoned one,” said a voice near his ear.

A woman in white robes knelt beside him, her face half-hidden behind a veil embroidered with tiny golden stars. She held a silver staff topped by a floating ring of light. Her eyes were the serene blue of people who had never worked customer-facing jobs.

“You have crossed the veil by divine providence,” she said.

Elliot stared at her.

“Is this urgent care?”

The woman’s serene expression wavered.

“You are in the Grand Cathedral of Lumeria.”

“So… out of network.”

Before she could answer, a cheer erupted.

Elliot looked around.

He sat within a summoning circle engraved into a vast marble floor. The circle glowed with lines of blue-white fire that crawled along intricate runes like animated circuitry. Around it stood dozens of robed priests, armored knights, nobles in jewel-bright clothing, and servants clutching trays of wine as if this entire affair required catering.

At the far end of the hall, on a dais beneath a canopy of silk, sat a king with a polished crown, a silver beard, and the practiced stiffness of a man who had spent decades being painted heroically. Beside him perched a queen elegant enough to make swans insecure. Behind them fluttered banners showing a golden sun over a white tower.

None of that concerned Elliot as much as the three people standing in the summoning circle with him.

The first was a young man in a letterman jacket, tall and handsome in the aggressively symmetrical way of people cast as protagonists in shampoo commercials. He had blond hair, a square jaw, and the wide-eyed excitement of someone who had just discovered reality came with cheat codes.

The second was a girl with glossy black hair, expensive headphones around her neck, and a school uniform that looked too fashionable to be regulation anywhere. She was already holding up one hand, where tiny sparks of violet lightning danced between her fingers. Her grin suggested she had found this development acceptable.

The third was a broad-shouldered man wearing gym shorts, a tank top, and the expression of someone who had punched his way out of confusion before and was considering doing it again. He flexed one arm experimentally. The muscles shifted under his skin like hydraulic cables.

Elliot glanced down at himself.

He still wore his work shirt, loosened tie, slacks, and one sock. The other foot was bare.

“Fantastic,” he said. “I got hit by a vending machine and woke up in a Renaissance fair onboarding session.”

The blond guy turned toward him. “Wait, you died too?”

“I’m inferring.” Elliot rubbed his face. “Either that, or facilities finally upgraded the break room.”

A fanfare blasted from a row of trumpets along the wall.

The sound speared directly through Elliot’s skull.

A herald in red and gold stepped forward and unfurled a scroll long enough to qualify as carpeting.

“Behold!” the herald cried. “By the Sacred Covenant of the First Dawn, in this, the nine hundred and eighty-seventh year of Lumeria’s radiant crown, under the shadow of the Demon Lord’s resurgence and the trembling of the seven seals, have we called forth champions from beyond the world!”

The crowd murmured reverently.

“The prophecy is fulfilled!” the herald continued. “Four heroes from the Starless Realm shall descend upon Lumeria. Blessed by the gods, marked by destiny, they shall wield powers unknown and stand against the darkness!”

The blond young man straightened, practically glowing. The girl with the lightning smirked. The muscular man cracked his knuckles.

Elliot raised a hand.

The herald faltered. “Yes, summoned champion?”

“Quick clarification,” Elliot said. “Is participation mandatory?”

A ripple of confused whispers spread through the cathedral.

The veiled priestess beside him leaned close. “You have been chosen by the gods.”

“That doesn’t answer the question. I’ve been chosen for jury duty too.”

The priestess blinked.

On the dais, the king rose. The room fell silent at once.

“Heroes from another realm,” he declared, voice rolling through the cathedral with polished authority, “I am King Aldric Valenroth of Lumeria. Though your arrival must seem strange, know this: you stand in a land besieged by evil. The Demon Lord gathers armies in the Ashen Marches. Monsters grow bold. Ancient wards weaken. Our people cry out for salvation.”

Elliot had heard executives announce system migrations with the same tone.

“Yet hope shines anew,” King Aldric said. “Each of you bears within your soul a divine class, bestowed by the celestial system. These classes shall reveal your destiny.”

At the words celestial system, the air in front of Elliot shimmered.

A translucent blue rectangle appeared.

He flinched backward.

WELCOME, OUTWORLD SOUL.
Initializing Divine Interface…
Please remain calm while your existence is configured.

Elliot stared.

“No,” he said softly.

The box flickered.

Loading identity…
Importing memories…
Reconciling trauma… WARNING: Trauma volume exceeds recommended threshold.
Applying reincarnation patch…

“Absolutely not.”

The blond guy waved a hand through the space in front of his own face. “Whoa. Do you guys see menus?”

“Yes,” said the girl, eyes glittering. “This is incredible.”

The muscular man squinted. “Mine’s asking if I accept terms.”

Elliot’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t accept terms without reading them.”

The muscular man tapped the air. “Too late.”

Elliot closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

The herald stepped aside as four crystal pillars rose from the summoning circle, each one clear as ice and filled with swirling light. The nearest priestess lifted her staff.

“Place your hand upon the Pillar of Revelation,” she said. “Your divine class shall be proclaimed before crown, church, and heaven.”

The blond hero bounded forward first.

“Guess I’ll go,” he said, with the easy confidence of someone who had never been asked to troubleshoot a printer over the phone.

He pressed his palm to the crystal.

Light erupted.

Golden wings of radiance unfurled behind him, towering high enough to brush the stained glass. Invisible choirs sang. The air smelled suddenly of sunlight and steel.

HERO IDENTIFIED: Jason Hart
DIVINE CLASS: Holy Sword Champion
PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES: Valor, Strength, Radiance
UNIQUE SKILL: Blade of Dawn

The cathedral detonated into applause.

“Holy Sword Champion!” cried the herald, barely containing tears. “The blade destined to cleave the dark!”

A sword materialized in Jason’s hands. It was long, gleaming, and blatantly impractical, with a golden hilt shaped like wings and a blade that emitted its own heroic breeze. Jason lifted it overhead, and the crowd roared louder.

“Okay,” Jason said, laughing. “This is awesome.”

The lightning girl stepped forward next, chin raised. She placed her hand on the pillar as if granting it permission to impress her.

The crystal flashed violet.

Thunder cracked indoors. Every candle flame bent toward her. Sparks swarmed over her body, weaving into a mantle of electric light.

HERO IDENTIFIED: Mina Kurose
DIVINE CLASS: Storm Archmage
PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES: Intelligence, Mana, Control
UNIQUE SKILL: Tempest Dominion

Somewhere in the crowd, a noble gasped, “An archmage…”

Mina smiled with dangerous sweetness. “I can work with this.”

The muscular man approached after her. He rolled his shoulders, then slapped his palm against the pillar hard enough to make several priests flinch.

Red light burst across the hall. A phantom beast roared. The marble beneath his feet cracked in a spiderweb pattern.

HERO IDENTIFIED: Brock Mason
DIVINE CLASS: Titan Berserker
PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES: Endurance, Strength, Fury
UNIQUE SKILL: Mountain Breaker

Brock grinned. “So I hit stuff?”

“You shall shatter fortresses,” breathed the priestess.

“Nice.”

The crowd surged with excitement. Nobles leaned toward one another, whispering feverishly. Priests wept openly. Knights pounded armored fists against breastplates. It was a very impressive reception, and Elliot had the sudden, nauseating certainty that he was about to become the software update after three blockbuster features.

All eyes turned to him.

The fourth pillar waited.

It looked, to Elliot, suspiciously judgmental.

He stood slowly, brushing marble dust from his slacks. His bare foot stuck slightly to the glowing floor. The priests watched him with reverent expectation. The king’s gaze sharpened. Jason offered an encouraging thumbs-up. Mina looked curious. Brock looked like he hoped Elliot also got something smash-related.

Elliot approached the pillar.

“For the record,” he said, “I did not consent to any of this.”

The priestess smiled tightly. “The gods consented on your behalf.”

“That sounds legally troubling.”

He placed his hand on the crystal.

Nothing happened.

A long second passed.

Then another.

Somewhere, a candle popped.

The crystal flickered faintly, like a dying office monitor.

Elliot felt a tiny static shock in his palm.

The blue message box in front of him stuttered.

HERO IDENTIFIED: Elliot Vale
DIVINE CLASS: …
Retrieving…
Retrieving…
ERROR: Class table desynchronization detected.
Attempting fallback assignment…

Elliot’s eye twitched.

“Oh, I know that screen.”

The pillar gave a miserable little chime.

DIVINE CLASS: Support
PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES: Patience, Diagnostics, Documentation
UNIQUE SKILL: Customer Support

The cathedral went silent.

Not reverent silent. Not awed silent.

The kind of silence that happened after someone dropped a tray in a fancy restaurant and everyone pretended not to look while absolutely looking.

Then someone near the back snorted.

The sound was tiny. A spark in dry grass.

A noblewoman covered her mouth. A knight coughed into his gauntlet. One of the younger priests made a strangled noise that might have been prayer but was definitely laughter.

Jason lowered his holy sword slightly. “Support?”

Mina’s brows rose. “Like… healing?”

The pillar helpfully chimed again.

Support Class Description: Provides assistance, troubleshooting, user guidance, issue tracking, complaint resolution, and service continuity for authorized entities.

Brock stared. “So he’s a help desk?”

The room lost the battle.

Laughter rolled through the cathedral in waves. Nobles hid smiles behind silk sleeves. Knights grinned openly. Priests attempted dignity and failed. Even the trumpeters looked like they were biting their instruments to keep from cackling.

Elliot stood with his hand on the crystal pillar, bathed in weak blue light, wearing one sock, and felt the final scraps of his previous life rise from the dead just long enough to kick him.

“Wonderful,” he said. “I got reincarnated as myself.”

King Aldric did not laugh. That somehow made it worse.

The king descended the dais with grave steps, his robe whispering over marble. His advisors trailed behind him like anxious birds. Up close, Aldric smelled of cedar oil and expensive certainty.

“Hero Elliot,” the king said carefully.

“Please,” Elliot said. “My friends call me Elliot. My enemies call me after ignoring three reminder emails.”