God was sitting in a room, eating ethereal popcorn from a paper bucket. She had a propensity for the food ever since mankind started creating it and had proliferated it across the world. Corn, when created by god, was not initially intended to be food for humans. Most of the things weren’t intended to be used as food, in fact. However, in humanity's ever fervent search for new things to shove into their mouth holes, they began to breed and edit God’s careful creations. At first, she didn’t like this very much. 

Then they made popcorn. And God said it was good. 

Another presence entered this immaterial space, whistling a tune. He was, like God, another being of immense power that held domain over reality. In fact, he was one of several who were in control of the domain God had just sent JB to. The mortals of the realms had several names for this specific god, as he was the god of fruit, dragons, trees, liberal media and Tuesdays.

Due to the fact that the names of Gods are just as incomprehensible as their true forms, and that any attempt to put them into speech or writing would inevitably melt the brains of reader and writer, this specific god usually went by the label of Steve. In his current semi-physical form, he appeared to be an average man wearing a black suit and tie. A small pin on his jacket appeared to be that of a golden pen, and his narrow face was adorned with rather bookish dark square glasses, contrasted by his pure white hair which was finely groomed into a manbun. Today, he was apparently leaning more into the liberal media aspect of his godly persona. 

“What’s cooking?” Steve said as he floated in, his feet never even making an attempt to look like they were walking.

God pointed at her facsimile of a screen, which was displaying live feed of her newest pet project. 

“Just checking out on JB. She’s doing better than expected, all things considered.” God threw another piece of popcorn into her mouth before extending out the bucket to Steve.

“Even though she went the wrong direction?” Steve plopped himself down next to her and crossed his legs on top of one another as he leaned back. “Seriously, you need to get better at giving humans directions. It’s literally been forever and you still suck at it.”

God merely shrugged at his suggestion.

“They’ve all gotten to where I needed them to go, one way or another.”

Steve couldn’t help but groan. His boss was fairly egocentric, due to being God and all, which meant suggestions rarely went through to them. This was probably why their previous attempts at reincarnating people into this side project had gone so horribly wrong.

He pulled at a holy notebook and stared down at it, reviewing his information as his eyes darted between it and the live feed of JB’s current lamentations. 

“You sure disconnecting them from the system was a good idea?” Steve tepidly asked. There’d been a murmur about it going around the other deities. While it was only small talk, as was any talk about the small humans, it certainly raised a few metaphysical eyebrows.

God scoffed before taking another handful of popcorn. “She’s going to be fine. I have a preset build for her. Once she starts leveling, she’ll get strong enough to deal with the little idiots I left running around.”

“You can see where it could cause problems though, right?”

“Of course I can see where problems could occur. I’m God. Now Steve, please tell me there’s another reason you're here beyond simply doubting my decisions?”

Steve flipped to another page in his small notebook and immediately bit his lip.

“Delilah wants to start another pandemic.”

 

---

 

JB was, compared to most people of their time, extremely articulate. Their last life included a lot of writing and a lot of talking in support of abolition. This meant that she had a wide retinue of words to use to describe her current anger and frustration. Currently, she had decided that seething was the best word for this occasion. 

Sitting across from the merchant in the cart while he was awkwardly nestled up to his slave just looked and felt wrong. She didn’t look like she was enjoying this man using her lap as a pillow, more that she was just complacent with it and had given up. She might have also looked uncomfortable from the murder stare that JB was giving Eric. With her rifle in hands, it looked as though she was ready to attack at any moment.

JB was currently stopping herself from doing that, out of the simple principle that it would likely cause issues in her overall mission. She would absolutely love to pop this man’s head off with her .44 in the name of God, but she needed the money and needed to get to the other warrior to off him.

The slave was repeatedly darting her eyes between JB and the ‘staff’, and wondering whether or not she was going to start cleaning it or was just doing it to be ready for combat. This was the first day on the road, and her master had stated that she was probably new to this whole protection thing.

Her name was Sarah. This cat girl, as her brain most accurately translated it to, appeared to be the slave this trader used for pleasure and comfort. According to Eric, mostly comfort as she made a good pillow. 

God is testing me, and this is a test I shall pass.

Killing individual slave owners wasn’t going to solve the major issue at hand. The people selling them and proliferating the industry were the bigger problem, as were all of the other warriors of god. The Civil War, or at least the small amount that JB knew of it, proved the theory they had posited before their death- The crimes of the land can only be washed away with blood. 

“So… where do you come from, Miss JB?” Sarah warily asked, hoping to ease the tension in the air.

“The south.” JB responded, still gripping firmly onto her rifle.

Sarah slowly nodded in confirmation and gave JB an awkward smile. “Guess you’re just a person of mystery. That’s not too uncommon for adventurers, I guess.”

Those words caught her attention, and she decided to push forward. 

“Were you once an adventurer?”

Sarah very rapidly shook her head, causing some of her long orange hair to slap into Eric’s face. “No. I’m a beastman. We don’t exactly get lives where we can become adventurers. It’s how the world works.”

Is it the same as my old world?

JB placed her free hand onto her chin in an attempt to rub it thoughtfully, only for Eric’s eyes to flutter open. 

“Lady, did they have beastman slaves where you lived?” Eric inquired, his head still resting on Sarah’s lap. “Beastman such as my adorable Sarah don’t exactly get to live the same as humans. It’s just the way the world works.”

JB’s trigger finger itched at his words. Her unabashed grimace at the information told Eric everything he thought he needed to know.

“I see… you grew up as one of those people? Was it just your family or was the entire village that way?” He said with a rather vindictive tone

JB pondered a bit on how to respond, and how much they should lie. 

“It was just me.”

A cocky grin came to Eric’s face, seeming proud of his pedantic deductive reasoning. “Well, if it bothers you so much, I’ll have you know that I treat Sarah very well. I don’t even have a mark on her.”

“Mark?”

“You don’t know? If you’re such an anti-slave person, I’d assume you’d be aware of it.”

JB shook her head. “It is a new concept to me.”

Eric attempted a shrug from his position, then closed his eyes again. She shifted her gaze up to Sarah to find her fairly complacent on simply ending the conversation at that. This was a problem, as JB was in desperate need of an explanation. Even if she could work off of some basic context clues from how it was discussed, JB would have very much preferred a direct answer. 

Was it like this for the other warriors?

She sighed, repositioning her grip on her rifle and while bouncing along with the very bumpy road. A small part of her once again prayed for another message from above to be given to her, preferably not in a location that wasn’t her cleavage.

 

---

 

Sitting around a crackling fire while eating meat off of a skewer was, compared to the excruciating ride in the wagon, much more comfortable for JB. She was specifically situated next to the other adventurers who had also signed up to be part of this.

There were three of them other than herself. 

First was Elian. He was a self-proclaimed rogue, a title which confused JB. ‘Rogue’ was generally associated less with a job position/set of skills and more of something you would use as an insult for a criminal. However, this title of his apparently denoted his usage of smaller blades, throwing weapons and stealth. His dark black hair fit with the rest of his extremely dark leather outfit, but his short stature and densely packed facial features made it looked as though he’d been put through a metal press.

Second was Jennoa. She was a vanguard, covered in heavy steel plating and walking around with a massive shield that was the same height as JB herself. Her blade, which she had named Stonebreaker, was a longsword which she held in a singular hand. The woman towered over everyone else on the journey. She hadn’t removed her armor, and was eating her food through a small opening in her helmet. Despite this, her voice was quite soft on the ears, even if they spoke very few words.

Last was Bart. His light beige skin, gray hair, lanky and extremely bony limbs, and generally gaunt disposition made him look a lot like an undead. He was not a necromancer, despite all appearances and his rather generic brown robes which covered most of his body, but a priest. When asked about it, he said he was a priest of Zemalo. It was only after JB was informed of this did she realize that the world she had entered was, bizarrely enough, polytheistic. According to Bart, Zemalo was the god of fruit, dragons, trees, liberal media and Tuesdays. 

“So… the staff. You call it the Sharp Rifle?” Bart pointed a skewer at the rifle she currently had slung over her back. He was speaking quietly, as not to alert any creatures of the forest nearby. “What does it do?”

This was a part that JB had been stuck on. It probably fired a bullet, although the actual resulting blast resembled more of a cannon. They didn’t have bullets in this world, and it appeared that staffs tended to be more multipurpose than simply one singular spell.

“It destroys everything in front of it when I fire it.” She said, picking it up and aiming it into the distance, making sure not to put it in the direction of any of her fellow bodyguards. “It is also bound to my soul.”

A collective “Ooooooo….” fell upon the trio, even the stoic Jennoa. 

“Soul bound weapon, huh? Heard of a few, but never seen one myself.” Bart scratched at his stubble. “How did you end up with it?”

Currently, JB was simply working off of the information in God’s letter. It was bound to her soul, which was why it would get stronger when she defeated enemies and completed tasks. This was also why she was apparently the only one who could fire it. Since she had it since she had arrived in this world, she decided that a somewhat honest answer might work.

“I’ve always had it.”

This raised their eyebrows. At least, it raised Elian’s and Bart’s. She had no idea if Jennoa had raised one.

“Since birth… huh. I guess that might make it stronger since it would be more deeply tied to your soul, but parents doing that to their child is quite odd.” Bart seemed rather pensive, although a part of him also looked like he was debating whether or not he should try that with his own offspring.

“You should be careful with that.” Elian said softly. “If it’s tied to your soul, who knows what might happen to you.”

Hmmm… I have not seen what happens when another person holds it. 

“Here.” JB got up and extended out her rifle to Elian, which caught him entirely off guard. 

Elian carefully grabbed it, placing one hand on the barrel and the other on the butt. After a second, he began screaming. 

Something about holding onto the rifle appeared to cause him the most intense pain he might have experienced in his life, and he quickly threw the rifle back at JB. The throw was a lot harder than they had expected, and it knocked them on their butt and onto the dirt. 

The man spent a minute screaming obscenities while Bart ran up to look at his hands. 

“They’re uninjured.” He said. “Guess being tied to your soul means it doesn’t really like anyone touching it.”

As Elian prepared to shout another obscenity, a loud roar echoed out from the forest, shaking all of the trees and even the ground. Birds began to scatter at the sound of it. 

“Oh no… an iron bear.”

The ground quaked as the footsteps drew near, and JB got up. She prepared herself, aiming in the direction of the noise. Without the light of the fire, they couldn’t make sure they had hit their shot.

Taking another deep breath, they steeled themselves for the shot.

The tree line broke, and the most vicious bear head appeared. It looked as though parts of it, specifically the area above the nose, were covered in armored plating. JB couldn’t pay attention to this creature’s design, and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the .44 firing dominated all other noises in the forest, and the blast once again came out like a cannon. The bear only had a second to realize its fate was sealed as the energy of the shot erased its presence along with all of the other trees behind it. The space that was left had been carved out as though the almighty had just taken an eraser to it. 

An awkward silence fell upon everyone nearby. The adventurer trio was entirely flabbergasted. Eric, who had gotten up to check on his bodyguards, had dropped his drink along with his jaw. He stared at her, awestruck before asking the question that was now on all of their minds.

“What level are you again?”