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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DrDoritosMD on 2024-11-15 21:22:02+00:00.

Note:

Hey everyone. I’m DrDoritosMD, the author of the Stargate/GATE inspired portal fantasy, Manifest Fantasy. Arcane Exfil is my next project, which I’ll be updating alongside MF. If AE does well here I’ll probably continue updating it on the subreddit. This post here’s gonna be a little peek, just chapter 1 to edge y’all a bit and build some hype.

The official book launch is scheduled for November 18 on RoyalRoad, just in a few days. Anyway, enough yapping. Hope y’all enjoy the story!

Arcane Exfil

Blurb:

When a fantasy kingdom needs heroes, they skip the high schoolers and summon hardened Delta Force operators.

Lieutenant Cole Mercer and his team are no strangers to sacrifice. After all, what are four men compared to millions of lives saved from a nuclear disaster? But as they make their last stand against insurgents, they’re unexpectedly pulled into another world—one on the brink of a demonic incursion.

Thrust into Tenria’s realm of magic and steam engines, Cole discovers a power beyond anything he’d imagined: magic—a way to finally win without sacrifice, a power fantasy made real by ancient mana and perfected by modern science.

But his new world might not be so different from the old one, and the stakes remain the same: there are people who depend on him more than ever; people he might not be able to save. Cole and his team are but men, facing unimaginable odds. Even so, they may yet prove history’s truth: that, at their core, the greatest heroes are always just human. 

Chapter 1: Exfil

Alexandria, Kingdom of Celdorne

Good news or bad news? King Armonde Celdor had weighed such matters more times than he could reckon, yet at some point during his long reign, their import had withered. For truly, had there ever been a choice? Always a bitter draught, with scarce a drop of sweetness to ease its way down a regent’s throat.

Armonde kept his gaze out over his kingdom, his reflection faintly visible on the window. There was little left to stir his spirit. The world had long since lost its color, as had the hope that his reign might be marked by aught but hardship. His Prime Minister stood behind him, though Armonde scarcely took note. With a final glance at the overcast heavens, he steeled himself to choose.

“The bad first. Get it over with, Alrick.”

Alrick sighed, new lines forming on his already weathered face. “Sire, the Aurelian Empire… refuses our call for aid.”

Of course they did. They had no reason to lift a finger for Celdorne – no reason that wouldn’t serve their precious borderlands. He had expected as much, but hearing it aloud still left a taste as bitter as Marneleaf. 

“And the others?”

Alrick’s next words came out barely above a whisper, though still deafening upon impact. “The Khagarian Empire simply ignored our envoy, and the Elnoir Republic…” he paused, clearly wrestling with decorum.

Armonde sighed. “What did they say?”

“That the matter of our ‘localized skirmish’ hardly merited the disturbance of their resources. They claim it is a threat we can manage.”

What could Armonde do but laugh? A localized skirmish? As if the forces of hell itself could be dismissed as a border dispute. And ‘Manage!’ What did they know of such matters? Their vast resources, their summoned champions who held the strength of entire armies in one hand – they could afford such carelessness. 

But Celdorne? No, they were the first line, and they would bear the brunt of it alone.

“They languish in comfort while the storm gathers on our doorstep.” How many would die for the arrogance – the complacency – of these distant superpowers? The thought seethed within Armonde. 

The king drew a slow breath, willing his frustration into something more manageable. Losing his composure now would serve no purpose, save to prove that the burden was already too great. There, he had his draught. Now, would the honey be sweet enough to erase the bitter taste? “Well then. What good news have you to offer?”

His trusted minister swallowed, lips tight as he stepped forward. “Sir Fotham’s Office reports that they’ve located suitable heroes for us to summon, though we can afford only one ritual.”

Summoning magic – their final refuge. But what meager candidates might they have summoned forth, given Celdorne’s barren coffers? Had they but the wealth of Aurelia or Khagaria! Oh, such fancies would serve him naught. Armonde held his peace, bidding Alrick to continue.

“They hold power, though not what the great empires would call heroes,” Alrick began, treading carefully. “One is… a ‘high schooler.’ From the nation of Japan, as summons so oft deliver. But the others – a group of soldiers, well-trained. An elite force of ‘delta’, from a land called the United States. It, too, is a nation upon Earth, yet we know but scant of it.”

Armonde rested his arms on his knees, leaning forward. “A child, and soldiers. Who else?”

Alrick’s hesitation was slight, but noticeable. “A scholar and a farmer, though neither are suited for the struggle we face.” He paused, drawing a breath. “The child, however… the high schooler – he possesses a skill. A power to manipulate time. Not in some grand, world-altering manner, but sufficient to slow or hasten moments as need dictates. We would need to train him, certainly. We can’t gauge its limits, but the potential remains present.”

The king leaned back, shaking his head. “Time… That is dangerous, Alrick. More perilous than the boy can comprehend. And… soldiers? Not knights?”

The minister’s hesitation was no longer present, words coming fluidly out of his mouth. “They are skilled warriors, sire, knights of their own realm sans noble birth. Though they lack the natural magical prowess we oft ascribe to the summons of legend, their mana reserves are remarkable – far surpassing that of most within Celdorne. Our scrying has determined that their skills in combat are commendable. They may not shatter mountains, but their mastery of tactics and familiarity with firearms is formidable. Paired with magic, it just may render them into the aid we need.”

Armonde took a breath. “A child who may bend time, though ignorant of its scope. And soldiers – capable, yet unremarkable compared to the legends of Tenria. The soldiers have no extraordinary gifts… No divine intervention…”

Common soldiers and a mere child. Armonde felt the weight of it settle upon him, doubts clouding the clarity he so often forced upon himself. It was preferable to naught, but what hope could such beings offer in the face of a demonic tide?

And yet – he had seen desperate men achieve the impossible before. Even under Alexander Celdor’s legendary command, it had been ordinary men who held the line, bleeding for a kingdom yet unbuilt, dying for a humanity yet unsaved. Perhaps that was the true nature of Celdorne: not heroes, but those who stood against the dark, armed with nothing but faith and steel, knowing they were all that held the world back from oblivion.

“Soldiers,” he repeated softly. He felt his decisions shifting like the sands of the demon-infested Istrayn wastelands, solidifying the more he pondered. “Not heroes, but still, men of war.”

Alrick nodded, as if they’d already earned his approval. “Indeed, sire. To summon four heroes with but one ritual – it is the most prudent of our options. They may not be legends, but in this great struggle, perhaps these men are precisely who we need.”

Truly, there was no grandeur in this – no tales of gods and legends. Yet he understood: tales mattered little when the time for blood came.

“Very well. Soldiers, then,” Armonde said at last. “When will they be summoned?”

“Ere afternoon on the morrow, sire. We shall have them then.”

– – – –

Khaldat, Al-Jadira

October 7, 2025

Accurate intel was the cornerstone of every operation, but it never made the truth any easier to swallow when it pointed to something ugly. And now, standing before the final door, Lieutenant Cole Mercer couldn’t shake the nagging hope that – for once – the intel might be wrong. 

Moving the body of an insurgent aside, he took a slow breath and readied his AK-74M as he stacked up on the wall to the left. Mack fell in behind him, while Miles and Ethan mirrored the move on the right.

Cole nodded to Miles. 

The team’s breacher aimed his shotgun at the doorknob, angling the barrel almost straight down before squeezing the trigger. Letting the shotgun hang from its sling, Miles swapped to his AKS-74U and kicked the door open before pulling back to the concealment offered by the wall.

The flashbang followed, right on cue. Mack tossed it right over Cole’s shoulder, the small explosive rolling across the floor inside before detonating with a sharp crack. Any JNI fighters inside would be disoriented, yeah, but not completely incapacitated. Flashbangs weren’t the magic wands Hollywood peddled, but then again, the dipshits inside had probably never tasted one before.

Somewhere back home, there was probably a PowerPoint ranger getting a hard-on over their ‘successful implementation of entry protocols’ – textbook Open, Grenade, and Clear. As if blowing shit up was ever that complicated. Being careful not to blow the wrong shit up, on the other hand, was a different story.

Miles flowed through the doorway like water finding its level, Cole and the others following close behind. By the time Cole made two steps past the entryway, six suppressed shots ra…

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