The alarm blares in my ear, dragging me out of a dreamless sleep. I groaned and slapped the clock off, rolling onto my back as the ceiling of my cramped Birmingham flat greeted me with all the warmth of a punch to the gut. Same routine, same shitty room, same cold air seeping through cracks in the window. Another day, another grind. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stretched. The place was hardly big enough to move around in, but it was mine, the sole thing in this world that's all mine. Every square inch was paid for with money I scraped together working every hour I could since I was a kid. No charity from my foster family, much as I loved them. This was my independence, my proof that I didn’t need to lean on anyone. The mirror doesn't pull any punches either, always the same empty green eyes staring back at me, my dark hair messy from sleep. Handsome? Maybe. Not that it matters when you are living off supermarket-brand noodles and half-dead coffee. I went through the motions—shower, quick brush of the teeth, throw on clothes that were clean enough. No time for breakfast; just the bitter taste of determination as I grab my bag and head out the door. The cold morning air hits me like a slap, but I like it. It kept me sharp and awake. I pulled my coat tighter and started walking toward the university, boots scraping against cracked pavement. The same streets stretch all around me, grey, dull, and lifeless, but they are familiar. At least I can count on that. A quick stop at my usual coffee shop. The barista knows me by now: black, no sugar, and hands it over without the need for small talk. Just the way I like it. Uni drags on. Chronometry isn’t exactly a party starter, but it matters. Time matters. It always has. Every tick of the clock is another second I’ll never get back. Maybe it’s because I never knew why my mother left. Maybe it’s just comforting to understand something that never stops moving. Lectures blur together; time, the very thing I'm studying, seems to slow as my lectures drag on. I pick up my notes, which are scattered across my workstation. Time equations, theories—every second slips through my fingers, making me feel like I'm wasting my time even when I do all I can. By the end of the day, I'm tired; I just want to shower and sleep, maybe play some games. However, I have no time to dwell; my shift is waiting. The restaurant isn’t much to be honest; it’s barely clean most days, but it pays the bills. I work until my muscles ache and the fake smile cramps my face. When I finally drag myself home, exhaustion claws at me. All I want is a shower and maybe five minutes to just... exist. But then I see it. A box. Sitting on the floor. Plain and unmarked except for one detail: DIVR Technologies My heart stumbles. I barely remember signing up for the Divine Conquest beta. It feels like a lifetime ago, a desperate grab for something more than this grind. My hands shake as I tear it open. I've been waiting months for this. The trailers for this game looked insane. When I saw an application for a free closed beta, I had to sign up immediately. Inside: a smooth, obsidian-black headset. An envelope rests on top. I open it, my eyes searching across the words. Congratulations, Ethan Watts. You are one of the chosen few. 1 out of 20,000 granted exclusive access to the Divine Conquest Beta. Please lie down on your bed and wear the headset. The device will begin a full-body scan and synchronise you with the game. I stare at the letter, unease curling in my gut. The words feel... wrong. Too cold. Too clinical. Synchronisation? That doesn’t sound like any game I’ve heard of. But this is Divine Conquest. The trailers were insane. Gods, quests, and power beyond imagination. Against my better judgement, the temptation claws at me. I have to try it. I lie down and adjust the headset. It fits perfectly. A soft hum fills my ears. "Just a body scan," I mutter. "No big deal." The moment the headset powers on. A chill sweeps through me, icy tendrils brushing my skin. The room twists, blurring at the edges. Pressure clamps down on my chest. And then Darkness. Not sleep. Not unconsciousness. Just... void. I’m falling, weightless and endless. White. Infinite. Empty. I snap my eyes open. Blinding whiteness stretches forever. And then I hear it. "Synchronisation commencing. 2%."My breath catches. What the hell?" 7%. I start counting. Time is my only anchor. One... two... three... "23%."Seventy-four seconds." 48%."Two hundred ninety-three seconds. I keep going. I have to." 89%."Eight hundred sixty-five seconds." 100% synchronisation complete. "Nine hundred eighty-seven seconds. Just under seventeen minutes. The voice comes back, colder now. "Subject: Ethan Watts. Age: 19. Height: 6 feet, 3 inches. Weight: 190 pounds. Lineage: Mortal mother's name classified. Divine Father—Chronos, Primordial God of Time." I freeze. Chronos?" Status elevation commencing: Mortal to Demi-God." Energy surges through me: hot, cold, electric, terrifying. My body feels like it’s splitting apart and reforming. What kind of game is this? "You now possess access to a status window—an interface reflecting your existence within this realm." I focus. This has to be a game mechanic. "Open status window!" My voice shakes. Nothing. "Skills! Open skills menu!" Still nothing. Just silence. Crushing, empty silence. "You will now be transported to where you belong." "Wait, belong? What does that mean?!" No response. The white void twists, collapsing inward. It pulls me under. This isn’t a game mechanic. This is real. Too real. I fall. Swallowed by the void. And then Darkness. Again. I fall. Swallowed by the void. And then Darkness. Again. I don’t know how long I drift, trapped in nothingness. Seconds? Minutes? Time means nothing here. And for someone like me, someone who’s obsessed with every tick of the clock, that’s the worst part. Then, suddenly, the void breaks. My eyes snap open. I suck in a sharp breath and sit up fast, heart hammering against my ribs like a jackhammer. I blink, trying to adjust to the harsh light. The darkness is gone. Now, I’m in a plain, white, and sterile room. The air feels too still, too clean. "Welcome to Hellenika, home of the Greek Gods." The words hit me like a punch to the gut. They’re not spoken aloud. No, it’s a system message, clear and emotionless, burnt into my vision like a hologram. A sudden chill coils in my stomach. This isn’t just a game. It feels too real. My hands tremble as I feel my face; amazingly, every single detail is perfect. Skin. Nails. Even the spots on my skin. Everything feels... real. I force myself to stand, my legs shaky under the weight of confusion and fear. This is far too realistic, more than any other game I've ever played. When I move my arms, it feels like I'm moving. When I feel my face, I can't feel the headset, and possibly the scariest part is I can't log out. That’s when I notice I’m not alone. Four others lie scattered around the room, motionless and asleep. Different heights, different builds, but just like me, they’re stuck here. I should check on them, but the part of me that’s wired for logic screams at me to understand what’s happening first. One of them moves. A heavily muscled, tall man with sharp, authoritative features, his eyes opening, electric blue and sharp, nearly piercing. He looks me in the eye before he propels himself upright. "Where…?" His voice is rugged, bewildered. Another one stirs; this time, a woman. She has a finely slender, athletic physique, with cloudy grey eyes that explore the room. Her shiny black hair is pulled back utilitarian, as if she's anticipating a fight to erupt at any second. A third of them groan lean, tanned, sea-green eyes shining with bewilderment. His messy, dark hair sticks to his forehead as if he's emerged from the ocean. The last one rouses a woman whose skin is the color of milk, hair jet-black, eyes liquid silver. She scans the room with unnerving calm, as if she's examining every shadow on the walls. We all stand there, looking at one another, the tension building. I break the silence first. "Uh. I'm Ethan. Ethan Watts." The tall one glances at me, face set. "Alexios Drakos."The keen-eyed woman nods. "Sophia Kastelli." The easy-going guy shoves a hand through his wet hair. "Niko Petros." The white girl's voice is quiet, but it slices through the air like a blade. "Helena Kyriaki." "Yeah," I say deliberately, attempting to make sense of this. "You guys got invited into the Divine Conquest beta, huh?" The words hang in the air, thick with tension. I glance around at the four strangers I'm standing with. No, not strangers anymore. We're all in this together now. Each of us was chosen, drawn into this so-called "game" with no visible way out. I've tried logging out a few times now to no avail. I know this is a beta, but something is certainly fishy. What kind of game even lets a beta not let you log out whenever you want? Alexios Drakos, tall and sculpted like somebody chiselled him from marble, crosses his arms. "Yeah. Signed up months ago; thought it was going to be some next-level VR thing." Sophia Kastelli nods. "Same. Didn't expect. this." Her voice is calm—too calm, as if she's hiding the fear of the unknown. Niko Petros makes a small, embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, thought it'd be a fun way to kill time, not." He waves his hand vaguely at the empty white room we're standing in. "Whatever this is." Helena Kyriaki doesn't say a word, her silver eyes cold and watchful. She nods only once to acknowledge the question was heard. I swallow. "We all saw that. emptiness? With the voice telling us about our heritage?" Everyone goes quiet, and I assume it's a yes. "And did it tell you what your divine parent was?" Alexios bristles. "Zeus." Sophia crosses her arms. "Athena." Niko runs his hand down the nape of his neck. "Poseidon." Helena's voice is low, almost cold. "Hades." I inhale. "Chronos." The name still feels odd in my mouth, unfamiliar to my lips. We cannot absorb any more of it because the door opens in a soft, ominous manner. A woman walks in, statuesque and tall, dressed in flowing ancient Greek clothing. She looks as if she has stepped out of another time, her face serene but commanding. She says nothing but motions for us to follow. We exchange uneasy glances, but none of us protest. What choice do we have? She leads us down a narrow, sterile corridor, the silence pressing on us from all sides. Soon, the hallway opens up into a larger, stone-lined room. The air smells faintly of oil and earth. At the centre are basins filled with water, alongside containers of oil, ashes, and blocks of pumice. Some of the metal instruments lay alongside curved and strange. The woman faces us and begins to speak. It's. nonsense. The words sound musical, but I cannot understand any of it. Beside me, Sophia is equally bewildered. Alexios is furrowing his brow, crouching in a little. "It sounds Greek, but. no. It's too ancient. Ancient Greek, perhaps?" The woman points at the basins and then heads off, leaving us to decide for ourselves. I look around at the others. "I think. Are we supposed to wash ourselves?" Sophia's face sets in a hard line. "You're probably right." The next couple of minutes are. uncomfortable, to put it mildly. We move to the basins, each of us going through the motions of anointing our bodies with oil, rubbing ashes onto our skin, and using pumice to scrub ourselves clean. The air is thick with discomfort. We’re five strangers, all adults, forced into this bizarre cleansing ritual together. The strigil cold, curved metal scrapes along my skin, pulling away the grime and oil. It is raw, intrusive, as if we're peeling off not only dirt but something more. No one says a word. We simply concentrate on getting it done as fast as we can. When we're done, we stand there uncomfortably, holding whatever shreds of dignity we have left. The door opens once more. The same woman comes back with neatly folded clothes, plain, old-fashioned tunics of light material. We scramble to cover ourselves as she strolls in, entirely unbothered by our lack of clothes. She places the clothes down and leaves just as silently. We dress quickly, grateful for any sense of normalcy. The tunics fit well, though they feel strange, like wearing ancient history itself for a time geek like me. This is incredible, but I can't fully enjoy it because of this bizarre game that's feeling less and less like a game. What kind of game allows five of its players to wash together? This just gets weirder. The woman returns and gestures for us to follow again. There's no hesitation now. We're led down another corridor, but this one's different. We can hear the murmur of voices, distant, through the walls. A low, gathering roar of excitement. We step out into sunlight that dazzles. My breath catches. We're in a coliseum. Thousands, at least 2,500, fill the stands, their voices surging in a deafening roar. Every eye in the arena is fixed on us. The woman leads us forward until we’re standing at the front of the crowd. She begins to speak again. Still, the words are indecipherable—melodic and ancient, but utterly meaningless to me. Sophia shakes her head beside me, just as lost. The others, Alexios, Niko, and Helena, exchange uneasy glances. Alexios says under his breath, "I think it's Ancient Greek." The woman holds her hands in prayer. She is surrounded by a warm golden light, which radiates outward. It envelops her first, then us, then the crowd behind us. System Message: The gods of Olympus have heard the priestess and have granted you the ability: Universal Translation. The unintelligible phrases begin to shift, reeling and reshaping in my mind. Slowly, the gibberish resolves. The woman's voice is now clear and commanding. "Can you hear me now?" "Yes," I reply mechanically. A glance at Alexios, Niko, and Helena confirms the same realisation: they're picking up her words just as clearly as I am now. Even Sophia nods in understanding. The woman speaks to the crowd again. "Before you stand brave otherworlders chosen by the gods themselves." The crowd erupts into applause that shakes the earth beneath our feet. She raises her voice again. "These thousands of persons before me have chosen to worship the gods of Olympus." A second peal of applause breaks over us like a wave. Her eyes land on us. "But these five. these five are not ordinary worshippers. They are demi-gods, offspring of gods and mortals both, born to be the heroes of Olympus!" The applause bursts into a cacophony of sound, the crowd's energy almost suffocating. In my mind, my thoughts spin out of control. Log out. Log out. Log out. Nothing occurs. We're taken away from the arena, the cheering of the crowd still ringing in my ears. We're led into a plain hallway with wooden doors, each engraved with a name. The rooms are plain, with plain beds, wooden trunks, and not much else. Stark and inhospitable. Our rooms are next to each other. We're instructed to rest more, that it'll be explained tomorrow. We later have a meal. The food is simple but surprisingly fresh bread dipped in wine and olive oil, vegetables like cucumbers, beans, and garlic. There are figs, grapes, and even sweet desserts drizzled with honey. But none of us are hungry. We sit in silence, strangers bound by fear and the unknown. And in my head, the same thought screams over and over. Log out. Nothing. My bedroom door slowly creaks open as we all press in together: Alexios, Sophia, Niko, and Helena. We are quiet at first, the weight of our reality suffocating us like a heavy blanket. Fear, uncertainty, and the awful prospect that this may become our new reality hang in the air. I break the silence. "We need to talk." Alexios crosses his arms and leans against the wall. "You believe that this is a joke?" Sophia's head shakes back and forth. "No joke, is this real? I believe we all know what this is." Niko takes a deep breath, combing his hands through his hair. "It feels like one of those Isekai tales. Like we've been sent to another world." I nod, the idea getting stuck in my stomach like a boulder. "Yeah. The headsets—they didn't just simulate the game. They brought us here." "Which means," Helena whispers, her tone cold but even, "we can't assume we're safe." "Right," I nod. "If this world is real. Then death might be real too." The room falls silent once more as the implications of that sink in. None of us want to test that theory. After a moment, I glance around. "Does anyone want to go try opening the status window?" Nobody gets up. Alexios squirms, Sophia won't look at me, and Niko clenches his jaw. Helena just ignores me. "Figures," I say. "I guess I'll begin." I focus, thinking the words Status Window. A pop-up appears immediately, but before I can see anything else, another message interrupts: "Magic Power, Divinity, or Qi?" I blink, surprised. A choice? It feels like a preference system—maybe it’s tied to abilities? Without hesitation, I go with the coolest-sounding option to me: Qi. Not that I’d admit it out loud, but I’ve always had a thing for Wuxia novels. The screen materializes before me:
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Status Window
Name: Ethan Watts
Age: 19
Occupation: None
Origin: Hellenika
Class: Undetermined
Fame: 0
Status: Mortal
Title: None
Stats:
Strength: 11
Dexterity: 12
Endurance: 9
Vitality: 14
Qi: 0
Luck: B+
Charm: B+
Charisma: B
I stare at the numbers. Not bad, I guess. Just as I'm about to explain to the others, the window closes on its own. A new message appears: "Applying synchronisation." Another window opens immediately: "Status changed: title given, stats changed, fame awarded." I frown. Without thinking, I blurt out, "Explain all that." The others look at me like I'm crazy—until a complete pop-up appears before me: "Fame was earned by being publicised at the coliseum. Your title makes each stat gain permanently 6. Your status change has corrected your stats to their true value." Startled, I do it again. "Status Window." It shows up again only now; all is changed.
Status Window
Name: Ethan Watts
Age: 19
Occupation: None
Origin: Hellenika
Class: Undetermined
Fame: 10
Status: Demi-God
Title: Son of the Primordial Chronos
Stats:
Strength: 42
Dexterity: 43
Endurance: 40
Vitality: 45
Qi: 31
Luck: A
Charm: A
Charisma: A-
I blink in shock. Each stat has shot through the roof. "I could've sworn each stat would rise by six," I say. "This is far more than that." Another message comes in before I even get a chance to wrap my head around the numbers: "+25 for being the Demi-God of a Primordial and +4 bonus for the same reason." I take a breath and turn to the others. "Alright. You all have to do this." They're apprehensive, but curiosity and perhaps fear of missing out prevail. They each open their status windows one by one. Their eyes expand in the same way mine did. No one speaks the numbers aloud. I don't either. Helena finally speaks up. "We shouldn't reveal our stats. Not yet." Alexios nods unsmiling. "Agreed. We don't know what's going to happen." I sit back, arms crossed. "For all we know, we could be enemies." Nobody argues it. The tension in the room grows as the realisation of what's happening hits us. We're not role-playing; we're living it. And every statistic, every underlying fact, could be the difference between life and death. We sit there silently, each lost in our own thoughts. This isn’t a game anymore. This is real life with real consequences.