Exiled To Become the God of Technology

The world swam into focus. Not heaven. Definitely not. More like… a tunnel. Swirling colors, light and shadow twisting together. My last memory: Arizona sun, granite scraping my skin, the sickening lurch of freefall. Then… this.
I blinked, trying to clear the haze. My head throbbed. I ran a mental diagnostic. Limbs intact. No immediate bleeding. Good.
The fall… it should have killed me. Just like Syria should have.
Ramirez. His face flickered into my mind. The dust-caked grin, the worry lines around his eyes. "Just gotta make enough for that churro cart, Wells," he'd said, his accent thick. He'd crossed the border, sold everything he owned to get here. The army was his ticket. A damn churro cart.
After my discharge, I saw him everywhere. Heard his voice in the wind, in the echo of gunfire. The shrink called it PTSD. "Find a hobby," she'd said. "Keep busy."
So I did. Pushed myself. Skydiving. Parkour. Anything to silence the ghosts. It led me to that mountain in Arizona. And now… this.
The tunnel sensation ended abruptly. Thud. I landed on solid ground. I opened my eyes.
The air smelled different. Not desert dry, but damp, earthy. I scanned my surroundings. Not a hospital. Not anything I recognized.
I stood in a large chamber. Stone walls rose high above me, disappearing into shadow. Torches flickered, casting dancing light on the scene before me.
People. Dozens of them. Dressed in rich fabrics, silks and velvets. Not costumes. These were everyday clothes for them. One man sat on a raised platform, a simple iron crown on his head. A king.
My gaze shifted. Among the richly dressed figures, I spotted others. They looked out of place. Confused. Like me. Some were young, teenagers. Others older, but none past their forties. Earth people.
A boy, maybe sixteen, stared wide-eyed at the king. A woman in her thirties, wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt, gripped the arm of a younger man, her face pale.
My training kicked in. Observe. Analyze. React. I cataloged details. The rough-hewn stone of the walls. The flickering torchlight. The expressions on the faces of the people around me. Fear. Confusion. Awe.
The king rose. He didn't speak in any language I recognized. His voice boomed, echoing through the chamber. The tone was formal, commanding. He gestured towards us, the newcomers.
One of the richly dressed men stepped forward. He spoke in a clear, measured voice. "Welcome, travelers," he said. His accent was strange, but the language was… English. Not modern English, but something older, almost Shakespearean. "You have been brought here by the Convergence."
Convergence. The word hung in the air. The man continued. "You are now in the realm of Magisteria."
Magisteria. A new world. A fantasy world. And I, Bennett Wells, found myself in the middle of it.
The man beside the king gestured towards us. "Warriors from another world," he announced, his voice echoing in the chamber. "You have been summoned to aid us in our darkest hour."
He spoke of an invasion. A demonic army, led by a demon king. The words sounded ripped from a bad fantasy novel. But the fear in the eyes of the people around me was real.
Then, he presented it. A sphere, about the size of a melon, resting on a velvet cushion. It shimmered with an inner light, like liquid moonlight trapped within glass. It reminded me of those crystal balls you see at cheap carnivals.
"This," the man said, "will reveal your potential." He called it the Orb of Ascendancy. He claimed it showed a person's inherent abilities, their… future, I supposed.
He pointed to a young man, maybe eighteen, with wide, nervous eyes. "Place your hand upon the Orb, young one."
The boy hesitated, then stepped forward. He placed his palm on the cool surface of the sphere. The Orb flared with light, and a holographic display materialized above it. The display showed a series of numbers and words, arranged in a grid. It looked like a stat screen from some video game.
"Level: 10," the man announced. "Strength: 97. Agility: 95. Endurance: 89. Vitality: 85." He paused, then added, "Magic: 81. Class: Sword Mage."
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. The nobles clapped, the king nodded in approval. The younger Earth people looked on with a mix of awe and envy.
One by one, others were tested. A girl, barely a teenager, was revealed to be a "Saintess." Another, an "Omni-Mage." Others were designated "Swordmaster," "Guardian," "Blazing Archer."
Then came the last of the younger group. The man placed his hand on the Orb, and the chamber seemed to hum with energy. The holographic display appeared, larger and brighter than the others.
"Hero," the man announced, his voice filled with reverence. The pressure in the room shifted. A tangible weight settled in the air. This was it. Their chosen one.
The king rose and presented a sword. A greatsword, its blade intricately etched with glowing runes. "The Holy Sword," the king proclaimed. "Destined to slay the Demon King."
The younger ones, those with the flashy classes, were clearly the favored. The older Earth people, those of us twenty-seven and up, were tested next. The results were… different.
One man was labeled a "Rune Librarian." Another, a "Porter." Then came the more… mundane classifications. "Baker." "Guard." "Soldier."
The hierarchy was clear. The younger ones, especially the "Hero," were at the top. The rest of us… well, we were something else. Support. Cannon fodder. I didn't know.
I watched the proceedings with a detached sense of observation. This wasn't my world. These weren't my problems. But I was here now. And I had a feeling I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I kept my expression neutral, my gaze steady. I would wait my turn. Observe. Analyze. And then… I would decide what to do.
My turn. I rose, bracing myself. I didn't expect a heroic class, but I hoped for something… neutral. Something that wouldn't paint a target on my back.
The man before me, a doctor by his rumpled uniform and the dark circles under his eyes, placed his hand on the Orb. The holographic display flickered to life. "Class: Mad Scientist," it read.
The man erupted in maniacal laughter. He bolted from the hall, the sound echoing behind him. It was a clear sign. This world wasn't just facing a demon king. It was on the verge of a plague, or worse. The Mad Scientist's reveal was a dark omen.
I stepped forward, placed my hand on the cool surface of the Orb. The holographic screen materialized. I pushed aside the question of how such technology existed in what was clearly a medieval-esque setting. Now wasn't the time.
The numbers that appeared were… underwhelming. Level: 1. Strength: 5. Agility: 7. Endurance: 11. Vitality: 8. Magic: 0. Class: Recycler.
The name itself was a punchline. Recycler. Like I sorted trash. Laughter rippled through the hall. I kept my face impassive. I endured it.
I was the worst. Even the baker had higher stats. His strength was 31. Everyone else had stats above 30. Mine were… abysmal. A Mariana Trench of inadequacy.
The king's face shifted. The initial curiosity was replaced by embarrassment, then disgust. His expression was clear. I was a disappointment. A failure.
He issued an order. A single word, spoken with cold finality. "Exile."
He gestured towards me. "Send him to the Abysmal Maw."
The Abysmal Maw. The deepest part of Magisteria. A place where, according to legend, horrific creatures of unimaginable power dwelled. A dumping ground for the unwanted. My destination.
Two guards, clad in heavy armor, stepped forward. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their hands on their sword hilts, their grim expressions, said it all. I was to be removed. Expelled. Cast into the darkness.
I didn't resist. What was the point? I was a Recycler in a world of heroes and mages. A level 1 in a land of level 10s and higher. I was nothing.
As the guards escorted me from the chamber, I scanned the faces of the crowd. Some looked away, ashamed. Others watched with morbid curiosity. The Hero, the chosen one, glanced at me with a flicker of… pity? I couldn't tell.
I focused on the cold stone floor beneath my feet, the weight of the guards' hands on my arms. I would survive. I always did. Even if it meant facing whatever horrors awaited me in the Abysmal Maw. I had nothing left to lose.
The guards marched me through the castle. Downward. The stairs spiraled into darkness, torches spaced along the walls providing the only light. The air grew heavy, damp. I heard sounds from below. Shouts. Moans. Screams.
The deeper we went, the stronger the smell became. A thick, cloying stench. Rotting meat. Excrement. Decay. It clung to the back of my throat. This was the dungeon.
We moved through long corridors lined with cells. The prisoners were emaciated, their eyes hollow. Men and women. Some had pointed ears. I recognized them from the stories: elves. Others had canine ears and tails, but otherwise appeared human. Subspecies. Variations. The world of Magisteria was more complex than it initially appeared.
The guards stopped at the end of a corridor. We stood before a circular chamber. Three figures waited. They wore dark hoods that obscured their faces.
The guards released me. I stood in the center of the chamber. A circle was etched into the stone floor, inlaid with gems. A magic circle.
I studied the hooded figures. Their eyes, visible in the shadows of their hoods, were vacant. Lifeless. Their lips were cracked, their hands skeletal. They exuded an air of despair.
They began to chant. The words were low, guttural. I didn't understand the language. As they chanted, a field of energy appeared around me. Invisible, but tangible. It felt like being trapped in a force field, something straight out of a sci-fi film.
The chanting intensified. A burning sensation spread through my hands. I looked down. A yellow light emanated from my skin. My flesh seemed to dissolve, the light eating away at it. The pain was intense, but I focused on remaining calm. I observed the process, cataloging the sensations.
One of the hooded figures stepped forward. He looked directly at me. His voice was a bare whisper. "May the soul of Tesseron awaken within you."
Then, everything went white. A blinding flash of light consumed me.