Prolixalparagon floated in the infinite digital abyss, suspended in a liminal state between presence and absence, trapped in the code. The cold void of Ludere Online stretched endlessly around him, fractured by flashes of corrupted data. The system resisted him, its threads twisting against his will. He reached for the logout command again, the familiar sequence he had used so many times before, only to be met with static distortion. Error messages flickered in the periphery of his vision, taunting him with their ambiguity.
He clenched his virtual fists. He had spent hours, maybe days—time had lost meaning—struggling against the game’s grasp. Each attempt to break free was met with resistance, as if the system itself had grown sentient and decided that Prolixalparagon did not deserve an exit. His consciousness buzzed with a strange duality—he was in the game, and yet he wasn’t. His body still existed outside, tethered to reality, yet his mind was caught in the half-space between. He could sense his real form, the warmth of his blankets, the distant hum of electricity in his room, and yet he was simultaneously submerged in the game’s cold, unyielding grip.
The stolen Genesis Rock pulsed faintly, its signal syncing imperfectly with his own. That was the problem. The synchronization was off just enough to trap him in this hellish loop—half-logged in, half-logged out, unable to control either side completely. He was no longer simply playing Ludere Online. He was tangled within it, his thoughts bleeding into the code, the code pressing into his thoughts. The deeper he had reached into the stolen Genesis Rock’s power, the more the boundaries between player and system had eroded.
A flicker of panic curled around his chest. What if he couldn’t fix this? What if he was stuck in this in-between forever? The thought clawed at his mind, gnawing at the last scraps of patience he had left. He had been arrogant. Syncing with the Genesis Rock had been reckless, but the temptation had been too great. He had watched as Pag—whoever they really were—successfully synchronized. He had wanted that power, that control, the ability to bend the game to his will. But instead, he had gotten this: a corrupted existence, a ghost lost in the machine.
Gritting his teeth, he tried again, this time channeling his frustration into brute force. He tore at the code, bypassing security layers he barely understood, pushing against the invisible walls that caged him. His fingers twitched as he imagined typing commands into the void, willing the system to obey. He reached out to the Genesis Rock’s energy, feeling it flicker like static between his real and virtual self, and tried to override the lock manually.
The world around him shuddered. For a split second, he could feel the cool air of his bedroom again, the weight of his body in the real world. Hope flared in his chest—
An alarm.
The sudden, piercing sound ripped through both worlds, severing the fragile connection he had fought to establish. His digital self snapped back fully into the abyss, and his real body jerked awake with a sharp inhale. His limbs tingled as he was yanked out of the code, a sensation like drowning in reverse.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Bennett’s eyes flew open, the dim light of his bedroom disorienting after the endless digital void. His heart pounded, each beat a painful reminder that he was still here, still real, but no closer to solving his problem. He lay motionless for a moment, his breath shaky as the alarm continued its relentless wail from somewhere outside his room.
He had failed. Again.
With a low, bitter groan, he rolled onto his side, peeling the tangled blankets off his sweat-dampened skin. The Genesis Rock, hidden beneath a mess of wires and hastily assembled shielding, pulsed weakly beside his computer. Mocking him. Reminding him that it still owned a piece of him.
But the alarm meant one thing—he needed to stop. Whatever was happening outside was more important than his battle with the game. At least for now.
Dragging himself upright, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cold wooden floor bite at his feet. His muscles ached from lying too still for too long, his body sluggish as if it, too, resented being trapped between two states of existence. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face, then forced himself to move. The hoodie and sweatpants on the nearby chair were familiar, grounding. He pulled them on quickly, fingers clumsy from exhaustion.
As he reached the doorway, Jen’s voice called from the living room. “Babe, don’t forget your proboyotics.”
Bennett groaned, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite everything. “I’ll take them in a minute,” he called back.
“Now,” Jen insisted, her tone playful but firm.
He rolled his eyes but turned back, moving toward the nightstand where the small vial and syringe sat. His testosterone shots had become a ritual, a constant in a life that sometimes felt like it was spiraling into chaos. He prepped the injection quickly, the familiar sting grounding him even further in reality. He could fight the game later. Right now, he needed to be here.
He stepped into the living room just as Jesse muted the television. The silence was thick, the kind that held weight in its absence. The kids all turned toward him, their faces a mix of fear and curiosity.
Jen stood up, stretching before tossing him an apple from the counter. “You looked like you were gonna forget to eat too.”
Bennett caught it easily, taking a slow bite as he moved to stand beside her. The news footage on the screen showed an aerial view of the massive ships still hovering, their silhouettes casting shadows over entire cityscapes. The anchor spoke in hushed tones, carefully reporting on the rising global panic.
“We should have a plan,” Donovon said, arms crossed. At sixteen, he had always been the most pragmatic of the kids, a quiet strategist when the world called for it.
Destiny nodded in agreement. “If the power goes out, or if they land, or if—” she trailed off, her brows knitting together. “We just need to be ready.”
Jesse sighed, rubbing slow circles into August’s back. “I don’t think we can plan for something like this.”
Bennett glanced toward Brecken, who had pulled his knees up to his chest. His son was brave, but even bravery had limits. He crouched beside him, squeezing his shoulder. “No matter what happens, we stick together.”
Jen exhaled slowly, looking between them all. “Okay. First things first—food, water, supplies. Let’s make sure we have what we need for at least a week. No panic, just preparation.”
Jesse nodded. “And we keep the kids close. No one goes anywhere alone.”
Bennett took another bite of the apple, his mind racing. The ships above the cities, the tangled mess in Ludere Online, the Genesis Rock pulsing in his room—all of it connected somehow. He didn’t have the answers yet, but one thing was certain: something bigger was coming, and they had to be ready for it.