The roar of the crowd washed over Jason Miller like a wave of pure energy. Eighty thousand fans were on their feet, the scoreboard showing three seconds left in the fourth quarter, his team down by four points. One final play to make or break the championship. Jason settled under center, his breathing steady despite the thunder of his heartbeat. His sweat felt cold in the winter air that had descended upon the southern states.
This was the moment he lived for.
"Blue 42! Blue 42! Hut, HUT!"
The ball slapped into his hands, his center's accuracy placing it perfectly as always. Jason dropped back, scanning downfield as the pocket collapsed around him. A defender broke through, but Jason sidestepped with the fluid grace that had NFL scouts filling the stands. He scrambled right, buying time as his receivers fought to get open.
There—a flash of his team's colors breaking free in the end zone. Jason planted his feet and launched a perfect spiral that arced high against the stadium lights. Time seemed to slow as the ball descended, finding his receiver's outstretched hands just before he was pushed out of bounds.
Touchdown.
The stadium erupted. Teammates mobbed him, lifting him onto their shoulders as cheerleaders rushed onto the field, shooting confetti that rained down on the entire team. Trent, who had caught the winning pass, was hoisted up by other teammates nearby. Coach Wilson, never one for sentimentality, had tears in his eyes as he pushed through the celebration to shake both Jason's and Trent's hands.
"I knew you'd make the perfect team, boys," Coach Wilson yelled over the cacophony of cheers.
Jason grinned, soaking in the moment. State champions. All the years of dawn practices, weight training, film study—all worth it for this single, perfect moment. He searched the stands until he found his parents and younger sister, their faces beaming with pride. His father, who hadn't missed a single game since Jason started playing Pop Warner football at age seven, gave him a thumbs up.
In the locker room afterward, amid the champagne spray and wild celebration, his phone buzzed constantly with congratulatory texts and social media notifications. His agent had already fielded three calls from major brands wanting endorsement deals. The NFL draft was five months away, and Jason was projected as a first-round pick. Life couldn't get any better than this.
"Bro, Jason, you talkin' to your girl?" One of his teammates, Donta, asked teasingly.
Jason smiled and rolled his blue eyes. "Ha ha, very funny." He tucked his phone away and continued dressing after his quick shower. He made a mental note to avoid champagne celebrations in the future—now his shoes squeaked with every step like he was walking on glue.
"But for real, I'm just getting a lot of congratulatory texts. Annnddd, my agent keeps calling." Jason sighed at the last part. His agent was a nice guy, but called way too much.
"Dude, you're lucky to even have an agent. Stop bragging," Donta shot back. Anyone who didn't know Donta might think he was being mean, but he was actually the sweetest guy who genuinely celebrated everyone around him. His sarcastic way of talking was just his style—when you needed someone, Donta was your first call.
"Okay, you're right," Jason said with a chuckle. He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Hey, everyone still going to The End Zone tonight?"
"Yep, and I'm ridin' with ya," Donta said quickly, turning to Jason already packed and ready to go.
Jason shook his head but smiled. "Alright, let's go see the families, then head out. I'm sure my family is going to want to hug both of us for no reason."
"Bro, not for no reason—we just won! That's a damn good reason," Donta said as they walked outside to where all the families typically waited for their players to emerge.
Three hours later, Jason sat at a table in The End Zone, the popular sports bar near campus where the team always celebrated their victories. His teammates were scattered around, some dancing, others retelling key moments from the game with increasingly dramatic embellishments. A continuous stream of well-wishers approached their table, offering congratulations, handshakes, and free drinks.
"Quite a throw, J-Mill," said Trent, his roommate and the team's star receiver who had caught the winning pass. Trent rubbed harder an necessary on Jason's short platinum blonde hair before sitting around from Jason.
"Though I made you look good with that catch," Jason said as he tried to fix his short hair. With his hair being so short, it likes to stick up in places and Trent, very well, knows this and knows it bothers Jason.
Jason laughed, clinking his water glass against Trent's beer. Unlike most of his teammates, Jason rarely drank. His father, a former college player whose own career had been derailed by injury and subsequent alcoholism, had made sure Jason understood the value of discipline.
Jason scanned the big room and saw Donta, once again, drinking it up and singing his heart out to his own song as everyone sang or laughed along with him. Jason laughed a bit before drinking some of his water.
"We make each other look good," Jason replied. "That's the whole point."
His phone buzzed again. His agent, with news about a potential Nike deal. Jason rolled his eyes again for all the calls, but he might as well just get it over with. Jason excused himself and stepped outside to take the call, the cool night air a relief after the bar's stuffy warmth.
As he listened to his agent's excited pitch about signing bonuses and contract terms, Jason noticed something strange. The street lights around him began to flicker, an odd pattern that seemed almost... deliberate. A prickling sensation crawled up his spine.
"Can I call you back tomorrow?" he interrupted, suddenly uneasy. "Something's—"
The world around him lurched sideways. The street, the buildings, even the sounds of the bar faded like a radio losing signal. Jason stumbled, his phone clattering to the pavement as light—impossibly bright, impossibly pure—enveloped him.
Unlike Jin-ho's violent summoning, Jason's arrival had been gentle—a soft transition from his college celebration to a temple of white marble and gold. No blood, no pain, no disembodied consciousness.
The Goddess had spared no expense, using the last of her power in this world to bring forth the perfect champion—athletic, charismatic, confident, and pure of heart. Everything Jin-ho was not.
"Jason Miller," she said, her voice like wind chimes and distant bells. "Champion of Earth, welcome."
The Jason stared in wonder at the luminous being before him, her beauty beyond human comprehension. Unlike the Demon God's amorphous darkness, she appeared as radiant light given humanoid form.
For some reason, She didn't have a face or body, it was all light, but it looked so beautiful. Jason could tell that if this was a normal human, men and women would fall over each other to get Her to even look at them. She is so beautiful that Jason felt his eyes watering at her beauty. She didn't have a face but at the same time, it looked like she had a face that you could see eyes, lips, nose, and everything. It was the most weird and beautiful thing he has ever seen.
"I am the Goddess of this realm," she explained, her tone warm but somehow rehearsed. Her gaze kept drifting to a distant doorway glowing with golden light. "My world faces a crisis. Demons threaten humanity. Their king died centuries ago, but his followers remain numerous and dangerous. I need a champion to keep them contained."
As she spoke, she circled Jason impatiently, her form occasionally flickering as if holding her appearance required effort she was increasingly unwilling to expend.
"I would handle this myself, but unfortunately..." She waved a hand dismissively. "Ancient pacts. Rules of non-interference. Tedious cosmic regulations."
Unlike Jin-ho, Jason did not question or resist. His whole life had prepared him for a moment of destiny, for a chance to be truly special. Jason has been raised with love and tons of things he could do or become. His dream was to become and policeman after he played in the NFL. This is even better. To save a whole world is perfect for him. Finally a place he is needed and a place that needs help.
Jason had always wanted to help everyone and everything, no matter what. At five years old, he broke his arm trying to save what he thought was a distressed bird in a tree. His parents gently explained that the baby bird didn't need rescuing—it was simply in its nest calling for its mother. Jason had then dissolved into tears, devastated that the baby bird's mother had left it alone. It had been a long day for Jason and his loving parents.
Over the years, his compassion only grew. He volunteered wherever he could, driven by an unwavering passion to help others. This instinct to protect and serve was as natural to him as breathing.
"I accept," he said without hesitation, his voice strong and clear.
The Goddess smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She placed a hand upon his forehead, bestowing a blessing that filled him with warmth and power.
"Excellent," she said, already stepping away, moving subtly toward the glowing doorway. "I bestow upon you my blessing. Strength beyond mortal men. Speed that rivals the wind. Senses to perceive evil. Power to counter demonic magic."
"Then rise, Hero of Humanity," she proclaimed with practiced grandeur. "Your quest begins."
With a wave of her hand, she revealed a doorway that appeared to lead to an ancient temple. Jason peered inside, taking in the sight of weathered stone and flickering torchlight.
As Jason stood tall and proud, accepting his divine mission without question, the Goddess was already drifting toward the golden doorway on the opposite side of the chamber, her attention clearly elsewhere.
"Remember," she called, now halfway to her exit, "good and evil in this world are clearly defined. Demons bad, humans good. No moral gray areas to worry about!" She gave a final, distracted wave. "Best of luck!"
As she reached the threshold of the golden doorway, her entire demeanor changed. The forced smile fell away, replaced by genuine excitement. Her form straightened, becoming more vibrant, more real.
"Finally," she whispered to herself. "That old fool will never expect this. Let him deal with these creatures on his own. I'm done with this world."
With her final duty to humanity complete, the Goddess stepped through the golden doorway, which closed behind her with a flash of light. She had abandoned the world she had helped create, pursuing new horizons with her new divine partner.
At the same time, Jason drew a deep breath and turned toward his own doorway. With resolute steps, he entered the Temple of Light, ready to begin his hero's journey.
The game was set in motion. The pieces were on the board.
And somewhere in the north, an hour later, the unlikeliest Demon King in history—Jin-ho—was about to awaken to his new existence.
-----
When Jason stepped through the doorway, the temple unfolded before him like something from a history book—ancient stone architecture reminiscent of classical civilizations. The only modern deviation was the magnificent domed glass ceiling spanning the entire structure, allowing sunlight to pour in from above.
Massive stone pillars lined both sides, each as broad as Donta's formidable frame—which said a lot, considering his teammate was a lineman who never let anyone past. The sheer scale of the temple was breathtaking. A vibrant red carpet ran down the center aisle between rows of polished wooden benches, its crimson hue the most vivid color in the otherwise austere space.
Jason surveyed the elaborate artwork adorning the walls between pillars, though the details were difficult to discern from his position on what appeared to be an elevated platform meant for clergy.
Thud
The sharp noise drew Jason's attention toward the entrance. A young boy in acolyte's robes stood frozen, having dropped several books. He stared at Jason with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Jason offered an awkward wave. "Um, hi."
The boy bolted away, shouting frantically for someone. Jason remained where he was, uncertain what else to do.
Less than a minute later, an elderly man—clearly a high-ranking priest—came hurrying through the doorway, his gait betraying a slight limp despite his urgency.
"It's true," the man breathed as he slowed his approach but continued toward Jason.
Some cinematic instinct from all the medieval films Jason had watched prompted him to drop to one knee in deference. The moment his knee touched the floor, he felt a twinge of regret—he was supposed to be the hero, after all. But it was too late to reconsider.
The elderly man stopped just a few feet away, his eyes filled with wonder. "My good sir, is it true that the Goddess sent you?" His voice quavered with barely contained emotion.
"Yes... sir," Jason replied, unsure of the proper address. He might be this world's champion, but his parents had raised him to show respect to elders.
"My hero, you need not address me by title. I am High Priest Alaric—you may call me Alaric." The older man's face softened. "You must be confused. Allow me to explain where you are."
Alaric moved closer to Jason, who remained kneeling. "This is the Temple of Light, which stands at the heart of Lumina, the human capital. The Champion has arrived at last—the Goddess's chosen one, humanity's salvation against the demon threat." His voice rose with reverence. "Rise, Chosen One. Let the people see their champion."
Jason stood, now able to properly observe Alaric. The priest had flowing white hair but a clean-shaven face. His vestments resembled traditional Catholic clerical garb, though more reminiscent of robes than cassocks. Multiple ornate necklaces and bracelets of various colors adorned his neck and wrists—symbols of office or faith, Jason assumed.
"Come," Alaric gestured toward a small door on the side of the temple, "I will show you to your chambers where you may refresh yourself and prepare your address to the people. I shall gather everyone within the hour for your speech."
As Jason followed closely behind, he thought, Speech? No one mentioned public speaking. Still, he wasn't concerned. I have an hour to prepare. That's plenty of time. In his twenty-two years, Jason had delivered more than his share of addresses—from locker room rallies to award acceptance speeches. This would be just another moment to rise to the occasion.