Morning broke, and the birds outside were at it again, their chirping oddly sweet yet grating enough to drag me toward consciousness. Then came the alarm—a blaring reminder that life doesn’t care if you want five more minutes. With a groan, I slapped it silent and stared at the ceiling. Another day. Another grind.

Dragging myself out of bed felt like clearing a boss fight on low health. I stumbled into the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and went through the motions of looking presentable—or at least human. By the time I finished, I had a few minutes to spare. Naturally, I ended up in my gaming chair, the console already humming to life.

The screen flickered to my MMO world, and for a moment, everything else faded. There, I wasn’t just Hector Flynn, a high school nobody. I was HellBringer, leader of a top-tier faction. Unstoppable. Respected. The thrill of victory after victory grounded me in a way reality never could. Thirty minutes vanished in what felt like seconds.

The real world pulled me back with a pang of dread. I grabbed my backpack, headed downstairs, and braced myself for the void. The house was silent—too silent. Like a scene in a horror movie just before the killer shows up. But there was no killer. Just an empty house, the kind of quiet that felt deliberate. I shook it off, made a quick breakfast, and stepped outside.

The sun hit like a punch to the face, forcing me to squint until the world came into focus. The neighborhood buzzed with life—kids playing, parents doting, teens laughing too loudly, some hand-in-hand like a rom-com cliché. I should’ve felt something—maybe envy, maybe joy—but all I felt was apart. Like I was watching a life I wasn’t part of through glass.

At school, the chaos of the crowd melted into background noise as I found my usual spot. Rodrick and Ivan were already there, huddled over a table. Rodrick was “borrowing” Ivan’s homework again, muttering under his breath as his pen scratched furiously. His mess of brown hair, tinged with an odd red, always looked like it needed a wash.

Ivan, in contrast, sat with the precision of someone who planned five moves ahead. His blonde hair was neatly combed, his glasses catching the morning light as he quietly endured Rodrick’s shameless antics.

“Morning,” Ivan said, not looking up. “You’re tired.”

I slumped into the seat across from him. “You’re observant.”

“It’s in my nature,” he replied, tapping his pen against his notebook. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Maybe,” I muttered. “What about you? Anything new?”

Ivan straightened, his eyes flickering with something close to excitement. “Yes, actually. Something peculiar.”

“Have you heard about A Warrior’s Kingdom?” he asked.

Before I could answer, Rodrick broke in. “Oh, dude! That’s the game that sucks you into the TV, right?”

Ivan nodded. “Precisely. I received a copy yesterday.”

Rodrick abandoned his homework entirely, leaning in like Ivan had revealed buried treasure. “No way! I got it this morning. That thing’s wild, man. You’re not just playing—you’re in it.”

I blinked. “Wait, what? A game that sucks you in?”

Ivan adjusted his glasses, giving me a how-are-you-this-uninformed look. “It’s been all over the news. The game appears in mailboxes without explanation, compatible with any device. When you start it, you’re transported to another world.”

“That’s impossible,” I said, though my voice wavered. Ivan didn’t exaggerate. He didn’t joke, either.

Rodrick grinned. “Dude, it’s real. I played ten minutes this morning. Felt like I was actually swinging a sword.”

Ivan’s tone sharpened. “It’s beyond VR—a technological anomaly.”

“Or a trap,” I muttered. It sounded more like the setup for a bad horror movie than a dream come true.

Rodrick stretched dramatically. “Man, this sucks. Why do teachers even bother giving us homework?”

“It’s school,” I replied.

“Yeah, but this is high school, man. Our golden age! I’m telling you, I’m getting a girlfriend by senior year.”

“Good luck with that,” I said.

Rodrick shot me a devilish grin. “What about you, Hector? Don’t you want someone?”

The question hit harder than it should’ve. I shrugged. “Not really. I’m just me. Awkward, average, invisible. Girls don’t notice me unless they need a pencil or gaming help.”

Rodrick’s grin faltered. “You’re too hard on yourself, dude.”

The morning bell rang before I could respond. Rodrick dashed off with Ivan’s folder, leaving me to replay his words.

---

The day dragged on. Without Rodrick or Ivan in most classes, school felt like a slog. But my thoughts kept drifting to A Warrior’s Kingdom. Could something like that exist? My phone buzzed—a group chat notification. Ivan wanted to play tonight and asked if I’d checked my mailbox. I hadn’t. He urged me to look as soon as I got home.

---

P.E. was my last class, and I dreaded it. The uniform highlighted my scrawny frame, making me an easy target for ridicule. Rodrick, thankfully, was always there to have my back. He stuck close, his presence enough to keep the bullies at bay.

“All right, class! Today’s the mile,” the coach announced, blowing his whistle.

The athletes bolted, while I barely made it thirty seconds before my legs burned and my breath came in gasps. Rodrick jogged effortlessly beside me, like he had all the time in the world.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“You don’t have to stick with me,” I panted, embarrassed by how out of shape I was.

“Of course I do,” he replied with a grin, not even winded.

Then his grin widened as his gaze fixed on a group of girls running ahead of us. “Man, physics is amazing.”

I followed his eyes and immediately regretted it, my face flushing. “Rodrick, you perv!” I hissed, forcing myself to look away.

“What? It’s a great view,” he teased, unbothered by my reaction.

Despite his antics, Rodrick hadn’t changed much since middle school. He still found ways to get into trouble, earning the nickname “P.E. pervert” back then. But beneath his flaws, he had a good heart.

And as much as I hated to admit it, I admired him. Rodrick was everything I wasn’t—confident, brave, and unashamed of who he was. He didn’t care what people thought, and that made him strong. One day, I wanted to be like him—to stand strong and protect the people who mattered to me.

---

Walking home, spring wrapped the neighborhood in warmth and vibrant colors. The breeze tugged at my hair, birds chirped, and memories of camping with Dad crept in. I missed those trips—the connection we used to have.

At the mailbox, my heart raced. I flung it open.

Empty.

The excitement I’d carried all day deflated. Dragging my feet, I went inside to the usual silence. My parents were workaholics; family dinners were a distant memory. I made a quick meal, muttering a quiet “thanks for the food” before retreating to my room.

The console hummed to life. “The king has returned,” I muttered, diving into my game to escape the emptiness. Hours blurred into victories and digital glory.

My phone buzzed again. Ivan asked, “Did you get the game?”

“Nope. You guys go ahead,” I replied, forcing nonchalance.

I stared at the empty corner of my desk where the game could’ve been. In another world, maybe I’d already be there—a hero, somebody. But here? Just Hector.

And that would have to be enough. For now.

.

.

.

Looming across the ashen sky, a dark swarm began to coalesce, writhing like a living shadow. Shrieks erupted from the clouds—sharp, grating, and inhuman—as the sun dipped toward the horizon, its dying light casting jagged silhouettes over the desolate city below.

Above the ruins, the scavengers circled with a manic rhythm. Crimson eyes burned with ravenous lust, piercing the blood-soaked streets below. Their harsh cries shredded the silence, each scream raw with desperation. The wind grew violent, spiraling into chaos as the creatures turned on each other, claws tearing and wings flailing in a savage brawl for dominance. Hunger ruled them, each shriek a declaration of frenzied madness.

Below, the city lay in silent ruin.

Once-vibrant streets were now graveyards, fragments of a proud civilization strewn among the wreckage. Elegant, rustic buildings—emblems of life and culture—were now broken husks. Inns and taverns that had once welcomed adventurers with roaring hearths and open arms stood as lifeless monuments to the past.

The streets were a crimson sea, waves of blood lapping against the remnants of what once was. Bodies littered the ground, strewn like discarded dolls. Warriors lay in the embrace of death, their weapons still clenched in lifeless hands. They had fought bravely, spilling their blood in a desperate bid to defend their home.

But it was not enough.

This was no battle. It had never been.

It was a massacre.

Among the floating bodies and shattered armor, something darker moved. Hulking figures prowled the blood-soaked streets, their grotesque forms illuminated in brief flashes of fading sunlight. They feasted with an insatiable hunger, their massive jaws crunching through bone and sinew. Rows of jagged teeth, too numerous to count, worked tirelessly, their pitch-black flesh glistening with gore.

They towered over their prey, elongated claws rending through flesh as if it were parchment. Bones cracked, muscles tore, and blood seeped between their gums. They swallowed their victims whole, the corpses sliding down their throats into an abyss of hunger.

There were hundreds of them, and no two were alike. Each creature bore its own monstrous deformities, yet they shared the same sunken, soulless eyes—voids devoid of light or humanity. Their bipedal forms resembled twisted parodies of human figures, their distorted proportions seeming like nightmares given flesh.

Among the chaos, one figure stood apart.

Shrouded in shadow, he was neither as large nor as monstrous as the rest, yet his mere presence sent an unnatural stillness rippling through the horde. Even the scavengers above hesitated, their frenzied cries momentarily silenced.

His form was forged of obsidian hues, layered in jagged, plated armor. Sharp spikes jutted from his elbows, knees, and the crown of his head. As he moved, his footless, blade-like limbs pierced the water, trampling the dead with cold indifference. With a single motion, he wiped blood from his bladed hands, their edges glinting menacingly in the fading light.

The sun’s last rays illuminated him fully. His most striking feature was a radiant, diamond-shaped crystal embedded in his face. It glowed with an ominous purple light, obscuring any trace of emotion.

Amid the sea of corpses, one figure stirred. Against all odds, a lone survivor crawled among the dead. Their breaths were shallow, their movements feeble. Blood and mud clung to their broken form as they dragged themselves forward, desperation etched into their every motion.

The man in black took notice, his gaze unyielding as he closed the distance. With a single, effortless motion, he kicked the survivor onto their back.

Face to face with death, the survivor trembled, tears mixing with the blood that poured from their mouth. The weight of despair crushed them, yet amidst the terror, a spark of defiance remained. With their final breath, they forced trembling lips to form words.

“W-why... why would you do this?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the man in black tilted his head, his crystal face catching the dim light. In an instant, his blade descended, cleaving through the survivor’s skull with surgical precision.

The body fell limp.

No hesitation. No remorse. The strike was perfect, its execution betraying a practiced efficiency that spoke of countless such acts before it.

Wiping his blade clean once more, the man in black uttered two words, his voice resonating from within the crystal.

“Game over.”

The words were swallowed by the silence, a final declaration of victory. Raising an arm to the sky, he surveyed the scene, the groans of the dying fading into the void as shadows consumed the city’s final breath.

Then, a ripple broke the stillness.

A single footstep splashed through the bloodied water behind him.

He turned sharply, his blade-hand raised, scanning the dim horizon. From the shadows emerged a figure clad in pristine white armor, their footsteps measured and deliberate.

“There you are,” the figure said casually, an air of smugness in their tone. “You’re not exactly easy to find.”

The man in black’s blade glinted ominously as his stance shifted.

“Choose your next words carefully,” he growled. “What do you want?”

The armored figure stopped, an eerie grin spreading across their face.

“Let’s make a deal...”