Author's note: This is a story I started a while ago as a sort of experimental piece, one which I can freely write in the hopes of increasing my skill. I'll admit right now that the main character is a pretty blatant and shameless self-insert; this is for many reasons, but mostly for simplicity's sake on my part. The fewer variables you have to juggle in an experiment, the better.

I should also give fair warning that things might get a little complicated. I've taken many liberties with the plot of this thing. For instance, there are a lot more crossovers involved than the two this story is filed under. None of which I own, of course. That counts as my legal disclaimer, too! (Though there are elements of my own design here and there.)

Finally, if you notice a sharp decline in quality a few chapters in, that's probably because I'm currently reworking a lot of the earlier chapters a bit so that they are consistent with the more recent ones. Don't worry, the plot will remain the same, I'm just rewording and elaborating on things. This project has been going on for upwards of 2 years now, after all, and I believe I have improved quite a bit since it first began.

So, if you feel like helping me out, don't be afraid to drop me a review at any time and tell me how well (or how poorly) I'm doing. Please be as constructive as possible! I accept and welcome criticism, but posting something like "this story sucks you should go kill yourself" doesn't help anybody. If you don't like it, I would appreciate knowing why you don't like it so that I may consider your opinion and work towards becoming a better writer. Or if you do like it, you could inform me what you like best about it and where I can improve. I'm not the type to beg for feedback, so I promise I won't bother you all by bringing up the subject in future chapters very often, if at all. I'm just getting this out of the way now as a formality.

Alrighty, sorry about the long intro - let's get to the actual story!

CHAPTER 1: Terrariblah

The morning sun rose sleepily over the vast, lush fields, its resident grove of trees greeting the giver of heat and life with a gentle sway of their branches. The hills were fresh and alive, grass rolling under the shadows of carefree birds, a natural canvas for some future visitor to admire, or perhaps leave their mark.

"Yes, this is all very pretty, but... it's not my house."

The young man spoke aloud to nobody in particular, perhaps hoping that someone would hear him and kindly inform him where he is, as well as where one might find breakfast around wherever that was.

He crossed his arms, letting his loose locks of brown hair blow in the breeze as he scanned the horizon for any familiar landmarks. He certainly would have remembered going to sleep in a field like this with little more than the clothes on his back. He was at least grateful that he still had his glasses.

"How the heck did I get here?" he asked himself once again, his arms ascending into a bemused shrug. He knew his memory wasn't perfect, but this was possibly the worst time for it to fail.

In the midst of deciding what to do from there, he heard a curious noise from behind him - a plopping noise, like a wet towel dropping to the ground. He turned around and rested his eyes on a quivering gelatinous mass of green goo.

All he could do was stare at it for a while, wondering where it came from. This kind of indiscernible material doesn't just fall from the sky, does it? He looked upward, searching for anything that could have dropped it.

The noise sounded again, drawing his gaze back to the mass of slime, which had somehow moved closer to his position.

The man backed away cautiously, keeping his unblinking eyes trained on the goop. Sure enough, right before him, the slime threw its weight upward, sending it airborne and landing itself near his feet.

"Get away from me!" shouted the man, backing away further. He took a moment to register what he was seeing - some kind of green sentient pudding hopping at him with unknown intentions, but he could only assume it was trying to inflict harm. He didn't want to risk finding out.

The only sensible thing at that point was to turn around and run, but an unseen obstacle stood in the way of his foot, sending him to the ground. His heart racing, he rolled onto his back, witnessing the slime perform another determined leap to catch up to him.

He sat up, and was immediately met with the glare of a metallic object gleaming in the sun. The thing he had tripped over was a good-sized leather backpack, and he had kicked it over, spilling one of the contents: one copper pickaxe.

'This is too convenient,' the man thought as he snatched the pickaxe in both hands. He waited for the slime to hop within range, and with all of his desperate might, he brought the pickaxe down. The pick pierced the goo, disturbing its consistency and causing some of it to fly off in separate droplets. The ooze quivered violently, damaged but apparently still alive.

As he lifted the pickaxe to swing again, he noticed that the blade had lodged itself in the target. Lifting the pick brought the slime with it.

"...Alrighty then," he gave in and swung the pickaxe at the ground anyway, sticking the pickaxe further into the helpless gelatin. He repeated the process several times, gradually driving in the tool until it pierced all the way through the mass. The result was instant. The slime exploded, losing most of its viscosity, and the gel settled into a green pool on the ground in front of him.

Exhausted, the man wiped the combination of sweat and slime off of his forehead and sat down, leaning back on his arms and catching his breath. His gaze drifted to the puddle of sludge. "So now I'm in a world full of slimes, apparently," he observed. "No signs of civilization anywhere, no idea as to how I got here, and no clue what I-"

The sound of his stomach rumbling interrupted his monologue. "...should have for breakfast." He glanced at the puddle again. The thought of ingesting the slime crossed his mind. "No way," he denied. "I would have to be really desperate to try something like-"

His stomach growled at him, as if informing him that he is, in fact, desperate. He pondered the thought for a moment. "On the other hand, no sense letting this stuff go to waste, I guess." Cupping some of the thick substance with his hands before he could tell himself otherwise again, he brought it to his mouth and took a sip. To his relief, and astonishment, it was not acidic or toxic in any way - in fact, it was actually rather sweet, like candy. The taste of it convinced him to take another drink, and before long, he had his fill.

"Whew..." He sighed, laying back on the grass and staring at the clouds. "That actually wasn't the worst breakfast I ever had."

"Really? I'd hate to see what you had that could possibly be worse."

The new voice startled the gel guzzler, springing him to his feet in seconds. Another male around his age had arrived at some point during his unconventional meal, glaring at him with sharp eyes and a playful smirk. "You seem to be new here," the red-headed man spoke in an annoyingly condescending tone. "What's your name, traveler?"

The traveler brushed himself off. He knew beggars couldn't be choosers, but he had hoped to find someone a little more amicable. "My name is..." he began, pausing as nothing came to mind. Forgetting how he got there was one thing, but how could one forget one's own name? He closed his eyes momentarily, attempting to disguise his recollection as a blink. A string of syllables came to mind, which he dictated without hesitation, for fear that he might come off as totally scatterbrained. "Blahsadfeguie."

The other man chuckled. "'Blahsadfeguie'?" he repeated in mocking disbelief. "That's a real mouthful... more so than that slime you just ate!" The two shared a laugh, one of them far less enthusiastic than the other. "Can I just call you Blah for short?"

The person now going by Blahsadfeguie nodded nonchalantly. "That's what most people call me," he lied, although by this point he was willing to go with it. Any name was better than none, even if it barely made sense, though he hoped that he might remember his original name before long. 'I might even have trouble remembering THIS name,' he worried internally. "And who are you, to be walking around in the middle of nowhere poking fun at people who dare to try anything new?"

"The name's Cody," replied the other man. "I'm just a guide, sent here to make sure newcomers know what they're doing. And believe me, what you just tried is not really new. Still gets me every time, though."

"Alrighty then, Cody," Blah spitefully addressed, "Where exactly is 'here', anyway?"

"Why, this is none other than the world of Terraria, of course!" Cody answered, his arms widely presenting the world behind him.

"Terraria." Blah scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Terraria... I feel like I've heard that name before."

"I would hope so," Cody remarked. "This isn't your first visit, after all. And since this isn't your first visit, you should know by now that your first goal will be to build a shelter. You do not want to be caught out in the open at night, not with your current equipment."

Blah picked up the backpack and looked inside of it for the first time. In addition to the pickaxe, the pack contained a woodcutting axe and a small blade resembling a dagger, both made of the same metal as the pickaxe. Copper. He glanced at the cluster of trees in front of him, which practically begged to be cut down and converted into housing.

"Just to be clear," Blah spoke, mostly to stall himself from performing the inevitable menial labor, "I'm in an entirely new world now?"

"That's right," Cody confirmed.

"No chance of returning to my house anytime soon?"

"You can't exactly return to a house that isn't built!"

"Ha ha," Blah laughed sarcastically, pulling out the axe and reluctantly making his way over to the nearest tree.

'So here I am,' assessed Blah, gripping his copper axe in both hands. 'Standing in front of a tree, getting ready to chop it down and build a house out of it... in a world called Terraria...'

The fragments of knowledge converged into a single synapse in Blah's brain. A memory surfaced, one of him in the exact same situation, but with one major difference: it was a computer game, a sandbox adventure. One in which he had spent countless hours mining, building, fighting. Blah had somehow been physically transported to the world in that game.

Which meant he was back in his comfort zone.

Blah took a deep breath and drew his arms back. The axe swung once, twice, three times. Sure, this sudden recovery of memory left much to be desired, but it was a solid start. Four, five, six. At the very least, he could use his experience to survive long enough to figure out everything else he needed to know. Seven, eight, nine. It might even be an enjoyable experience. Ten, eleven, twelve. It'd be even more enjoyable if the trees were any easier to chop down.

Finally, after the fifteenth taxing swing, the trunk cracked and gravity claimed the tree. The wooden structure collapsed, breaking into many bite-sized logs upon hitting the ground, all of which Blah was miraculously able to cram into his backpack. "I'm glad this universe still has the game's physics..." Blah panted, leaning on his knees. He stood up, staring at the rest of the grove and its massive reserve of wood. "One down, ten million to go..."

Several hours of work later, Blah found himself sitting on a stump, evaluating the fruit of all his grueling labor - a shoddy wooden box, barely taller than him and roughly a dozen feet wide. A few small windows lined the walls, and a misshapen door sat in the misshapen doorway. Hanging next to the door was a dimly-lit torch, which Blah had fashioned from a stick and a glob of the surprisingly flammable gel.

"Yep," sighed Blah, "That is just about the worst house I have ever seen. But as long as it keeps the zombies out, I'll take it."

The exhausted builder sprawled across the stump, inhaling a sizable breath of air as he watched the sun set upside down. Cody leaned against the wall of the shack, sharing the view, albeit right side up.

"Welp, guess I better head inside before the horde rears its ugly brainless head."

Blah rolled onto his feet, stretching his arms. He opened the door and prepared another torch for the interior lighting. Cody did not budge.

"Well?" the bespectacled man asked impatiently. "Aren't you coming in with me?"

"Nah." Cody crossed his arms rebelliously, wearing his perpetual unconcerned smirk. "There's nowhere to sit."

Blah frowned. A normal person, who was visiting Terraria for the first time, might query the guide's sanity for preferring being mauled by zombies to sitting on the floor of a closed-up wooden box. But Blah knew better. NPCs were just idiots.

Taking a few spare logs from his pack, he fashioned them into a clumsy yet solid workbench, which he placed against the wall between two windows. Setting his torch on the wall above, he went to work converting a few more logs into the shape of a chair, which he unhappily placed down facing the opposite corner.

"There," grunted Blah as Cody walked nonchalantly into the building, "Is Your Royal Highness satisfied now?"

"No," stated the guide as he took his seat, his legs straddling the back of the chair. "But it'll do."

Blah sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "Whatever, progress is progress," he surrendered. "But the least you could do is close the door behind you."

The sun had disappeared, making way for darkness to consume the fields. Drawn out of the ground by the moon, shining full and bright in the clear sky, legions of undead shambled about in search of living flesh.

Far from the safety of the shack, a lone, winged figure flew high above them, terrified of the walking dead that watched them hungrily from below.

"I should have gone back when the sun was setting..." the flier lamented. "But no, I just had to keep flying... and now these... things won't let me land to rest... I can't keep going like this all night..."

While the figure's gaze was fixated on the ground below, seeking some form of shelter, a smaller figure joined them in the sky, hidden from view.

"On top of that, I have no idea where I am... I don't even remember the way back. I could try landing in a tree or- GAH!"

Pain surged through the lost soul's side, causing them to lose their balance and descend. Looking left, they could barely make out a floating, bloodshot eyeball. The sight of the disembodied ocular organ induced a shriek from the already panicking pilot as they rapidly plummeted, their injured wing unable to stabilize their flight.

With a loud thud, the figure crashed into the ground. Zombies eagerly approached from all sides. A second eyeball joined the first, and both of them were swooping down to finish off their pray.

Desperate, the grounded victim scrambled to their feet, legging it in the opposite direction. The night was only just beginning...