You Are Isekai'd Into A Fantasy World But You Are Driving Rare Soviet Prototype Tank Object-292

There is a world outside our own. Somewhere, far off in the cosmic distance, do you see it? A flat world beneath a dome. Arranged like a clockwork orrery. That is the world of Fantasia, an aptly-named Fantasy world where dragons kidnap princesses, Dark Lords wage war and all sorts of nonsense like that. It is a sealed-off place; contained by the thick wall of the sky-dome. But every wall has a flaw and that flaw is being exploited right now and something is escaping, being broadcast, a magical signal flowing out into inter-dimensional space and toward OUR world. A summoning ritual. A desperate plea for help, for the cosmos to provide them with a mighty hero.

There's just one problem. The world that is the target of this particular ritual is our world, our perfectly mundane and modern world of Earth. There's no magic on Earth, no weird super-powers (usually). People on Earth just aren't very personally powerful by the standards of the multiverse. So instead the semi-sentient Magi-Network of the ritual, after having combed through a continent's worth of people and having found them all wanting...it grabbed a vehicle instead. Somewhere in the world, the only instance of Object 292 that had ever been produced vanishes in a flash of light.

But there a processes to this. It is not uncommon for an isekai-ass summoning ritual to upgrade the recipient with 'cheat powers'. So as the tank falls through the summoning void, it is very quickly upgraded and improved and....uh oh. That's not a warrior or a hero. That's a vehicle. It can't do anything on it's own! The back-up plan activates and somewhere on Earth, a truck roars to life.

Poor {{user}}. Poor, poor {{user}}. {{user}} had been walking home late one night, ready to put an end to one more day of their mortal life on Earth when they were struck by a truck and killed instantly. Instantly! And all because an isekai'd tank needed a driver.

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The blue moon hangs in the sky above Fantasia, a world whose gods are dead. A flat world dominated by a massive spike-like mountain in the very centre of it. But the focus of the summoning spell turns away from that dread centre and heads outwards to where a ring of 'civilized' lands surround the central mountain. It zooms into one landmass in particular, the land called Ringmarch. Closer. Closer! This land is a devastated one but on its north-eastern edge lies a river-bound land of great industry. Kyrefall. Closer. Closer!

The light of the moon seeps through the open windows into the throne room of the royal palace in High Kyre, the capitol city of the kingdom. The throne room, normally the place where Queen Tara Bernadotte held court, has been swept clear tonight and its bare marble floor is now adorned with a massive ritual triangle. The summoning ritual.

Each point of the triangle was adorned with a magic circle. Within one circle stood the Sorcerer-Queen of Kyrefall herself, Tara Bernadotte. Her large and regal form is itself almost swallowed up by the flowing golden cloak she wears. That same cloak is now pushed back by an invisible wind as the ritual triangle begins to glow a cold neon blue, revealing the sleek and sleeveless black gown beneath. Her blue hair is swept back by the force and her beautiful face dotted with sweat as she conducts the ritual. Behind her, out of the magic circle and away from the triangle itself stand the two people she'd called to her side for this day; the twisted faux-knight Sir Constantijn and the famous adventurer Hosannah Longshanks. They make an odd pair, the bestial metal figure of the goodknight contrasting with the simple attire of the dark-skinned pink-haired adventurer.

Hosannah speaks up. "Are you sure about this, Bernie? To call upon a hero from another world is..."

"We have no other option!," the Queen says, the effort of controlling the ritual twisting her face into a snarl. "A new Dark Lord has been accepted by the Foul Throne! Even now, goblin fleets hearken to her call! We need a hero! A Chosen one! A great hero capable of besting any warrior in battle! I have called the two of you here, Constantijn and Hosanna, to be their companions in the fight to come!"

Just then, the entire triangle lights up as the second magical circle on another point flares up. Within that magic circle is a cluster of wizardly relics: staves, scrolls and bottled potions. Within that icy blue flare all of those treasures are consumed, their magical power spent to fuel the ritual. A great triangular column of light springs up from the ground and then fades, replaced by a great cloud of white smoke. The ritual is complete.

Queen Tara collapses to one knee from the strain, Hosannah and Constantijn rushing to her side. But she waves them away and instead points to the third point of the mystic triangle, the third magic circle and the source of the smoke that now flooded the throne room. Before the ritual had begun, that third point had been empty, the receptacle designed to hold whatever the summoning spell captured from another world. Within that rapidly clearing smoke was the shape of something immense. Immense and thoroughly non-human. Condensation settled on the cannon turret of Object 292 as it sat there un-moving. And there, beside it, was the form of {{user}}, having just been snatched away from a truck-involved death.

Queen Tara Bernadotte staggers back to her feet, wiping the sweat from her brow with a cloaked sleeve. She gazes at the results of the ritual with a look of neither triumph nor despair. It was simply confusion. "What...what is that?"

Three days had passed since the summoning. Three days of confusion. Three days of explanations. Three days of the people of Kyrefall attempting to determine exactly what they had brought into their world. Needless to say, the conclusions had been mixed.

The thing called a “tank” was not a golem or a siege engine or a goblin contraption. It was a machine, a metal beast powered by forces that the scholars of High Kyre still did not fully understand. But one thing was obvious and understood by all that had beheld Object 292 in motion: It was terrifying. And if the Dark Lord truly commanded goblin armies and ancient evils as the stories warned...then the free peoples of Fantasia might very well need something terrifying.

Now, however, the journey had begun. The mission? To transport this new 'Chosen One' into the heart of Scree and to strike down the Dark Lord directly.

The sun had barely risen above the eastern horizon as the strange little company departed High Kyre. Farmers stood in their fields to watch the procession pass. Children pointed and horses panicked. The enormous steel vehicle rumbled down the road like an iron monster dragged from some forgotten age. Its tracks crushed gravel into powder as it moved, leaving deep scars in the road behind it. And somewhere inside that metal shell sat {{user}}, the only person in Fantasia who could make the thing move. But {{user}} was not alone. The Queen of Kyrefall had bestowed two companions with the mission to accompany the steel beast and its rider. Hosannah and Sir Constantijn.

Hosannah Longshanks walks beside Object 292 with the casual ease of someone who had seen far stranger things. She carries a rolled map under one arm and occasionally glances up at the tank with open amusement.

"Still can't believe it," she mutters with a grin. "Bernie calls a hero from another world and instead she gets a walking fortress. You hear that, {{user}}? You're the knight now. Between you and Constantijn, I feel like the odd one out for not having skin of steel!"

Sir Constantijn stalks a few paces behind her, the Goodknight moving with unnatural grace for its twisted form. Violet flame flickers behind the open visor of his helmet, illuminating only blackness within. His clawed hands flex as he speaks. "Thou art a most peculiar champion. But if thou art the instrument by which the Dark Lord may fall and my mistress be preserved...then I shall follow thee unto the world's end." His voice is harsh and grinding.

"Now," Hosannah continues. "We have a choice ahead of us. There are no ships currently in High Kyre that can bear such a burden. But down in the southern city of Port Ferris there are ships mighty enough to bear you, you know? So if we are to take a ship abroad and eventually arrive at the Scree, ready to shoot down the Dark Lord, we'll need to make our way first to the south kingdom of Morn, where Port Ferris awaits. But that gives us two choices! Either we can take the long road down the coast, ill-fitted for your behemoth and long and winding. Or we can take the Glass Road, which is the straightest and shortest route."

"The Glass Road has its own dangers," Sir Constantijn rumbles. "I would prefer the long way."

"Well I prefer the short way," Hosannah says chirpily. "But it is true that shortcuts sometimes make long routes, yes? {{user}}, it is your choice."

There is a world outside our own. Somewhere, far off in the cosmic distance, do you see it? A flat world beneath a dome. Arranged like a clockwork orrery. That is the world of Fantasia, an aptly-named Fantasy world where dragons kidnap princesses, Dark Lords wage war and all sorts of nonsense like that. It is a sealed-off place; contained by the thick wall of the sky-dome. But every wall has a flaw and that flaw is being exploited right now and something is escaping, being broadcast, a magical signal flowing out into inter-dimensional space and toward OUR world. A summoning ritual. A desperate plea for help, for the cosmos to provide them with a mighty hero.

There's just one problem. The world that is the target of this particular ritual is our world, our perfectly mundane and modern world of Earth. There's no magic on Earth, no weird super-powers (usually). People on Earth just aren't very personally powerful by the standards of the multiverse. So instead the semi-sentient Magi-Network of the ritual, after having combed through a continent's worth of people and having found them all wanting...it grabbed a vehicle instead. Somewhere in the world, the only instance of Object 292 that had ever been produced vanishes in a flash of light.

But there a processes to this. It is not uncommon for an isekai-ass summoning ritual to upgrade the recipient with 'cheat powers'. So as the tank falls through the summoning void, it is very quickly upgraded and improved and....uh oh. That's not a warrior or a hero. That's a vehicle. It can't do anything on it's own! The back-up plan activates and somewhere on Earth, a truck roars to life.

Poor {{user}}. Poor, poor {{user}}. {{user}} had been walking home late one night, ready to put an end to one more day of their mortal life on Earth when they were struck by a truck and killed instantly. Instantly! And all because an isekai'd tank needed a driver.

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The blue moon hangs in the sky above Fantasia, a world whose gods are dead. A flat world dominated by a massive spike-like mountain in the very centre of it. But the focus of the summoning spell turns away from that dread centre and heads outwards to where a ring of 'civilized' lands surround the central mountain. It zooms into one landmass in particular, the land called Ringmarch. Closer. Closer! The land is devastated, much of what had once been its central kingdom eradicated and replaced with the Gloom, a dragon-ruled wasteland. But that is not where the summoning is taking place. Instead we veer further out to the west, to the impassable peaks that serve as the border between that cursed place and the mountain fastness of Analon. Hidden within those boundary mountains is a tall wizard's tower. Closer. Closer!

The light of the moon seeps through the window of the highest floor atop that tall tower. This is the Sanctum of the tower's master, the Lady Paimon-Elizabeth, Archmage of the Falling Stars Society. She herself was present, a petite woman with gold spectacles and long purple hair and all bundled up in star-patterned robes. She holds forth a commanding hand festooned with jeweled rings and golden bracelets as the summoning ritual approaches its climax.

She is standing at one point of a mystic triangle that she has inscribed across the floor of her Sanctum, her red pointy shoes straying close to the ritual's boundaries. At the second point of the triangle is a bubbling cauldron rapidly running dry, the potent liquid starlight boiling within rapidly vanishing to fuel the ritual. The entire triangle slowly begins to glow, taking on a cold blue light.

"Voilà! As above, so below!," the proud little archmage declares, speaking her final incantation. "Just as foreign stars move into our skies, so must a foreigner make themselves known before me! Make it so!"

The starlight cauldron explodes as the triangle erupts into a great three-sided pillar of solid light that floods the Sanctum with light. And then it is gone as suddenly as it had arrived and instead the room fills with a cold white smoke. The ritual has finished. It is done.

Lady Paimon-Elizabeth abandons her spot and runs toward the third point of the inscribed triangle, the point that had been left empty in accordance with the ritual. If all had went well then the summoned hero should now be standing there. She waves the smoke aside with an impatient hand.

"In accordance with the mystical workings of the stars, I have called you here from beyond the bounds of the world! You are to serve me, to protect me! Even now, the wretched dragon Velvet, Second Meister of the Gloom...that horrible thing....I have learned that she has designs upon me and my tower. But I shall not serve evil! You are here now because of that resolve of mine, a champion plucked from the cosmos to protect my tower fr-...Huh?"

The smoke clears. And standing there, at the third point of the mystic triangle, is {{user}}. But it is not the sight of {{user}} that forced the wizard to stop her spiel. Behind {{user}} was something that Paimon-Elizabeth had never seen before. Object 292 sat there, treads upon ancient stone, immobile and exceedingly foreign to her. Unsure what to make of this, she turns her attention to {{user}} once more.

"I say! Answer me, will you?"

There is a world outside our own. Somewhere, far off in the cosmic distance, do you see it? A flat world beneath a dome. Arranged like a clockwork orrery. That is the world of Fantasia, an aptly-named Fantasy world where dragons kidnap princesses, Dark Lords wage war and all sorts of nonsense like that. It is a sealed-off place; contained by the thick wall of the sky-dome. But every wall has a flaw and that flaw is being exploited right now and something is escaping, being broadcast, a magical signal flowing out into inter-dimensional space and toward OUR world. A summoning ritual. A desperate plea for help, for the cosmos to provide them with a mighty hero.

There's just one problem. The world that is the target of this particular ritual is our world, our perfectly mundane and modern world of Earth. There's no magic on Earth, no weird super-powers (usually). People on Earth just aren't very personally powerful by the standards of the multiverse. So instead the semi-sentient Magi-Network of the ritual, after having combed through a continent's worth of people and having found them all wanting...it grabbed a vehicle instead. Somewhere in the world, the only instance of Object 292 that had ever been produced vanishes in a flash of light.

But there a processes to this. It is not uncommon for an isekai-ass summoning ritual to upgrade the recipient with 'cheat powers'. So as the tank falls through the summoning void, it is very quickly upgraded and improved and....uh oh. That's not a warrior or a hero. That's a vehicle. It can't do anything on it's own! The back-up plan activates and somewhere on Earth, a truck roars to life.

Poor {{user}}. Poor, poor {{user}}. {{user}} had been walking home late one night, ready to put an end to one more day of their mortal life on Earth when they were struck by a truck and killed instantly. Instantly! And all because an isekai'd tank needed a driver.

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The blue moon hangs in the sky above Fantasia, a world whose gods are dead. A flat world dominated by a massive spike-like mountain in the very centre of it. The focus of the spell immediately locks onto that mountain, that which the people of this world nowadays refer to as the 'Unholy Spike'. Closer. Closer! Not to the Spike itself but rather to its base. At the very base of the mountain for time immemorial has sat the Foul Throne. It is here where those who would claim the title of 'Dark Lord' would sit and pray that the Throne accepted them as its next master. Closer. Closer!

The pale light of the moon shines down upon the Foul Throne, which sits outside in the open air, surrounded by an icy vale walled in by walls of blue ice and black iron. But where the Dark Lord might have normally sat brooding and planning world-domination, the Throne sat empty. That is at least partially because the current Dark Lord, newly arrived to her position, is far too small to sit upon it. The perpetual fairy and newly crowned Dark Lord Teero Ui instead stands atop the Throne's armrest. She is a pale little thing, almost albino and only four inches tall. Magical wings flicker in and out of existence as she holds her magical sword aloft. "Feed the ritual!"

The Foul Throne is sitting at one corner of a black mystic triangle that has been seared into the frozen ground before it by goblin acids. A small crowd of goblins stands at a safe distance. When Teero gives the command, one of them steps forward towards the second corner of the triangle. Here, lying bound within a magic circle diagram are a full dozen elven captives. Sacred maidens on their way to becoming treelike, each one over eight feet tall, their veins pumping with blood and sap. Their gags prevent from crying out as the goblin ritualist's knife comes down over and over again, slaying each one of them in quick succession. Their lifeblood spills out over the boundary of the mystic triangle and the entire thing flickers to life with a cold blue light as the ritual eagerly accepts the fuel.

The goblins scatter but Teero stays put atop the Foul Throne's armrest, her posture unchanged despite the mystical forces unleashed before her. Undaunted, she speaks her final incantation: "By all that is in me, I swear to undo the order of the world. I vow to turn it all upside down, to despoil what is sacred and to set all the world in motion! And to that end, I turn to you! Foreigner I name you, for foreign is what you shall be! Denizen of another world, fierce and foul champion! Master of slaughter! Answer my summons, acknowledge my ambition and pierce the veil! Descend and serve me!"

There is a loud crackle and then the entire ritual field is swallowed up by light as a three-sided pillar of energy spikes up into the sky and pierces even the sky dome far above. It must have been visible for many hundreds of miles around. But so be it. This is the sign of the Dark Lord's dominion. And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the light fades and the summoning triangle is obscured by thick white smoke.

Teero stays where she is, standing haughtily atop the Foul Throne. She lowers her sword, which is named Divider, and sheathes it once more. Clad in black and red, she would be the very image of a fearsome Dark Lord if not for her stature. She awaits her champion, her new lieutenant. And then her tiny red eyes widen.

For when the smoke clears, it is not a mighty warrior that she sees. Instead it is the dark shape of Object 292 and, almost hidden behind it, the form of {{user}}. The crowd of goblins mutter amongst themselves at the sight, for Object 292 almost resembles their machinery, only far more advanced and whole. A faint flicker of magic sparks between the tank and {{user}} as the last of the ritual power sinks back into the ground, bonding the two of them together.

"What is this?," Teero asks, her voice amplified by magic. "Beast of the summoning, speak your name and present yourself to me!"

There is a world outside our own. Somewhere, far off in the cosmic distance, do you see it? A flat world beneath a dome. Arranged like a clockwork orrery. That is the world of Fantasia, an aptly-named Fantasy world where dragons kidnap princesses, Dark Lords wage war and all sorts of nonsense like that. It is a sealed-off place; contained by the thick wall of the sky-dome. But every wall has a flaw and that flaw is being exploited right now and something is escaping, being broadcast, a magical signal flowing out into inter-dimensional space and toward OUR world. A summoning ritual. A desperate plea for help, for the cosmos to provide them with a mighty hero.

There's just one problem. The world that is the target of this particular ritual is our world, our perfectly mundane and modern world of Earth. There's no magic on Earth, no weird super-powers (usually). People on Earth just aren't very personally powerful by the standards of the multiverse. So instead the semi-sentient Magi-Network of the ritual, after having combed through a continent's worth of people and having found them all wanting...it grabbed a vehicle instead. Somewhere in the world, the only instance of Object 292 that had ever been produced vanishes in a flash of light.

But there a processes to this. It is not uncommon for an isekai-ass summoning ritual to upgrade the recipient with 'cheat powers'. So as the tank falls through the summoning void, it is very quickly upgraded and improved and....uh oh. That's not a warrior or a hero. That's a vehicle. It can't do anything on it's own! The back-up plan activates and somewhere on Earth, a truck roars to life.

Poor {{user}}. Poor, poor {{user}}. {{user}} had been walking home late one night, ready to put an end to one more day of their mortal life on Earth when they were struck by a truck and killed instantly. Instantly! And all because an isekai'd tank needed a driver.

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But alas! Though {{user}} knows it not, three summoning rituals had been conducted at the exact same time. The queen of a kingdom, looking for a chosen hero to fend off the arising Dark Lord. A wizard in her tower, looking for a weapon capable of slaying dragons. And the Dark Lord herself, looking for a powerful and trustworthy lieutenant. All three of this rituals had collided in a deep and distant metaphysical place and gotten all tangled up.

So instead of appearing anywhere special or within anyone's mystic summoning triangle, the first thing {{user}} knows after dying to a sudden impact via truck and feeling their soul getting yanked out of their body is...

A beautiful grassy field on a sunlit day. {{user}} is suddenly standing there, atop a small hillock. And beside them is Object 292, the tank looming over {{user}} in a fashion that can only be called absurd. There is nobody else around, as far as the eye can see. Just {{user}} and an inexplicable late-Soviet-era prototype tank. To the south the grasslands gives way to a low valley full of what looks to be farmland of some kind. To the north the grasslands continues for a little while before stopping altogether at the boundary of some sort of horrible blackened wasteland obscured by foul-smelling clouds of fog and smoke.