EXTENDED CUT! First Impressions: Remnant Ascension. By JT Myst

“Step one: Die. Step two: File paperwork. Step three: Become the world’s only hope.”

Core Premise & Initial Impressions:

Many of us reading this now would say we’d die to have superpowers. But let’s face it—we all know that’s just a figure of speech. Some of us may have taken small leaps from low walls to see if we could fly.

Others might extend an arm toward the telly’s remote from time to time, just in case we’re secretly Jedi. Though if you’re reading on Bardic Planet, let’s be honest—you’re definitely Sith.

Others still—and I’m not saying who—may have clamped electrodes to my… ahem—our… ‘the royal our’ nipples, plugged them into a car battery, and bitten down on a wooden spoon in the hopes of gaining dominion over lightning.

Despite enjoying it slightly more than you expected—and struggling to make your paramour understand this new fixation before they leave you—you didn’t awaken your secret Kryptonian legacy. But neither did you die in the effort.

All of which is to say—most of us are just talk.

Erik Fried—pronounced freed, as the story would have us know—is not one for idle fantasies. He dies for his power…and then keeps going.

He’s the protagonist of Remnant Ascension. A dead man returned to life as a Titan. The world’s only hope for survival. And for the sake of decency—and avoiding a Rated-R label—he should be kept far, far away from branches and twigs.

That last point will make more sense later.

The end has come for the human race—we finished third. Right behind the hell-hounds now stalking the streets of this novel’s low-fantasy, magical-progression world, and behind Erik and Jessie, who shed their mortal flesh to be reborn as Titan and Witch respectively—the only two known beings capable of wounding and killing the monsters that have supposedly upended civilisation.

I say supposedly because this apocalypse is rather tame.

Unkillable monsters now ravage the land, yet somehow the jewellery shops remain open, the internet is still running, and while it might not be a five-star experience, Erik and Co. encounter no real difficulty checking into a hotel.

In fairness to the novel, the catastrophe is framed less as an ending and more as a war. A losing war, certainly—but one fiercely fought.

For some readers, this approach may even be a positive. I’ll return to why shortly.

For me, it raised a brow—but not for long. It’s a reasonable narrative choice, and in the thirty chapters I read for this review—particularly in the deeper threads already being foreshadowed—it may well prove to be the most sensible one.

So then, dear reader—did I enjoy Remnant Ascension?

I did.

But scarcely more than I expected from reading the premise.

It is highly competent in both structure and craft. Deeply bingeable. The characters are charming and engaging; the magic system is intriguing and creative. There’s even a layer of depth within the narrative—just enough to keep the story from tipping entirely into covert power fantasy.

Make no mistake—Remnant Ascension is a power fantasy. I enjoy a good face-slapping romp as much as the next man. But if that’s all a story offers, I can appreciate it for what it is, set it down, and think of it no more.

For a moment during my reading, I worried that might be all this story was.

Erik awakens his power. He kills monsters. He inspires hope and fear in equal measure, and attracts powerful women into his orbit faster than paid medical testing draws one Bard-In-Chief into the lab—provided, of course, there are electrodes involved.

However, there is more to Remnant Ascension than power fantasy. There are genuinely warm character and romantic beats woven into the narrative. For some readers, those moments will breathe life into the story. For others, they may feel like a drag on the pacing.

Beyond that, though, the story hints at something more unfolding behind the scenes.

We’ll return to that. But first…

What Works?

Charming and Consequential Characters:

More than any great hook or premise, for me, character is always paramount. This becomes even more crucial the closer the narrative perspective sits to that character.

Remnant Ascension employs a third-person limited perspective, primarily tied to Erik’s point of view. With such direct access to a character’s internality, little will sink a story faster than a bland protagonist.

Erik does not suffer from that problem. He can appear simple-minded at times; at others, calculated. Not inconsistently so. Rather, he feels genuinely amiable and easy-going—but when there’s work to be done, he does not hesitate.

He reads like a boy transformed into a formidable man, ready to shoulder the world for the sake of his goals. He is not heedless of the responsibilities that come with choosing to save civilisation, but he is resolute.

Burdens may pile up, but he has chosen to bear them. Come what may—to the bitter end—even should the whole world turn against him, he will press forward.

It helps that he has a sense of humour.

Petty irritations—such as the common mispronunciation of his name—infuse his character with verisimilitude and relatability.

He is a little cocky. You would be too if you were effectively indestructible and the world required your aid.

All in all, he provides an inviting lens through which to explore a world on the brink.

As a Titan, he is unique. As an engaging character, he is part of a strong ensemble.

Jessie—the Witch—Erik’s strictly platonic, non-romantic, just-friends, no-really-just-friends, sworn-before-the-Cosmic-Tribunal female companion—is arguably even more engaging than he is. Their bond is so profoundly platonic it could be carved into stone tablets and used to smite shipping discourse.

She exudes charm, wit, and warmth, wrapped in an oddly endearing impassivity. She is needlessly ambiguous while somehow being fearlessly direct. Comfortable in herself without veering into conceit.

Her interactions with Erik—her friend. Just friend!—are delightful. The same holds true in her exchanges with her sister, Sophie, and the wider cast.

The non-romantic—and romantic—chemistry between the characters elevates this novel. At least, it did for me.

Intriguing Cosmology & Magic:

Erik and Jessie are Remnants. What does that mean?

They are the surviving inheritors of once-powerful magical bloodlines—rare not only on Earth, but across the cosmos.

In Remnant Ascension, magic is all but extinct throughout the many worlds. Bloodlines have thinned to such a degree that, were their power awakened naturally, it would immediately vaporise the mortal body and feeble soul attempting to contain it.

For that reason, there is only one safe path to becoming a Remnant. Their own power would kill them swiftly—but the universe cannot kill what is already dead.

To awaken their power, they must first die.

For Remnants, death is merely a stop-gap. A temporary resting place complete with Heaven’s bureaucracy—apathetic civil servants, testing protocols, and a forceful eviction back to life once their three-month stay expires.

When they return, they do so transformed. Whatever their lineage, they come to embody it. For most, that means Vampires or Werewolves—or so the story claims. We have already covered what that means for Erik and Jessie.

Beyond the perplexing satisfaction I derive from imagining the afterlife as a paper-shuffling administration, the narrative frames this mechanism as a solution to magic’s decline—which raises questions of its own.

Solutions do not simply arise. Someone—or something—puts them in place.

The magic itself is inventive. Perhaps not in its structural framework, but certainly in its execution. The story borrows heavily from LitRPG in its progressive design.

There are no mana points, but there are spell slots. No stat screen, but a tiered Crest system.

Abilities are varied, and some are delightfully idiosyncratic. Take Erik’s core ability: Unexpected Arsenal. Through it, he can turn a frisbee into a forcefield, screws into explosives, and discharge a quick-hardening, adhesive compound from a branch.

It is a pleasure to watch these unorthodox powers deployed creatively. The early battles feel strategic, exploratory, and genuinely risky.

As Erik and Jessie gain new abilities, the reader experiences the familiar dopamine spike of discovery alongside them. You begin to anticipate how each new tool will be stretched beyond its intended design and repurposed in bold, inventive ways.

The Architects of Apocalypse:

I briefly mentioned my concerns regarding the novel’s central conflict. For an overwhelming threat—immortal hell-hounds tearing through humanity—it struck me as curious that civilisation remains so intact.

That said, as a creative decision, it can be justified—especially once we remember that Erik and Jessie are not the only Remnants.

Without straying into spoiler territory, the novel strongly implies that the monster incursion did not simply happen. It may have been engineered. Instigated. Perhaps even orchestrated by another Remnant flexing their power.

Catastrophe becomes strategy.

Society being strained yet standing makes more sense when the disaster is calculated rather than chaotic.

The story suggests there may be a handful of Remnants living in secrecy across the globe. Perhaps one of them has made their move. Or perhaps some young buck, newly empowered and convinced they stand alone at the top of the food chain, decided to test the limits of their divinity—because who could possibly stop them?

This creates the possibility of a war beneath the war. An impulsive act by someone powerful yet naïve. Or something grander still—an entire hidden order poised to intervene. Unless that order has already been subverted, and this conflict is the consequence.

In the thirty chapters I’ve read, the answer remains unclear. But the possibilities are electric.

And we all know how I feel about things that are electric—particularly when I’ve signed the consent form.

That’s the royal “I”, by the way.

Whatever the truth proves to be, the fact that I’m asking these questions at all is a testament to the story’s intrigue. The author has succeeded in engaging me. They’ve pulled me into speculation. They’ve occupied my imagination and made me, in some small way, a collaborator in the unfolding mystery.

That builds investment.

I am invested.

And I want to see whether my theories survive contact with the truth.

What Might Hold It Back?

A Tad Too Much Tell & Some Inappropriate Word Choices:

I’ll preface this by saying the prose is generally very good. For the most part, it is clear and evocative. The senses are utilised well.

The author can write. There is no question of that.

However, I did notice a handful of clunky sentences and occasionally misplaced word choices—moments where the prose veers unnecessarily technical, where a simpler word would have carried more weight than its technically precise, yet contextually awkward alternative.

It is not immersion-breaking, but it is noticeable.

And I think I understand why.

It’s a trap I’ve fallen into myself. During drafting, a rhythm locks into place. A more appropriate word may disrupt that rhythm, and so the cleaner choice is passed over in favour of one that fits the cadence of the sentence in the moment.

Now, I cannot be certain this is what JT Myst experienced. But if it is, I’ve found the remedy is simple—step away from the page and return with fresh eyes.

That, and shock therapy, heavy bindings, and the occasional ritual sacrifice of a thesaurus. But I digress.

A more consistent issue, however, was the tendency to explain emotion rather than allow it to be experienced. We are often told how characters feel in moments where a glance, a tightening jaw, or a knot in the stomach would have conveyed the same emotion more viscerally.

These are not fatal flaws. Far from it.

But if the author is looking to elevate their craft further, these are the areas I would encourage them to examine.

Character and Romantic Subplot Costs Pacing:

I won’t labour this point—this review has already drifted well past its intended word count. But it is worth noting that while I personally enjoyed the character moments and romantic threads woven throughout the novel, for some readers they may overshadow the central conflict.

At times, it can feel like a deferral. The apocalypse rages, yet the narrative occasionally lingers elsewhere, which risks softening the urgency of the catastrophe the world ostensibly faces.

This is not inherently a flaw. It is a narrative choice.

But choices carry trade-offs—and here the trade-off is one of pacing and tonal weight.

Closing:

Remnant Ascension is a confident, bingeable progression fantasy with genuine charm. Its characters carry emotional weight, its magic system invites creative play, and the deeper cosmological threads suggest a far larger conflict waiting to surface.

At times, it softens its own apocalypse and explains emotions that would be more powerful shown—but these are refinements, not weaknesses in foundation.

If you want inventive abilities, engaging character chemistry, and the sense that someone, somewhere, is moving pieces on a cosmic chessboard, this is well worth your time.

I began expecting a competent power fantasy.

I finished convinced there is more here than spectacle.

And, purely in the interest of public safety, I recommend keeping Erik at least fifty metres away from any hardware store, pastry shop, or moderately suspicious garden gnome.

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