The world flickered into existence. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness—a void so vast it felt like he was being stretched into oblivion. Then, like a slow-rendering game asset, the textures of reality loaded in around him.
His lungs filled with air—real air. His skin tingled, his body solid, tangible. A sharp pain lanced through his skull, a splitting migraine that pulsed behind his eyes. His stomach twisted violently, as if his body was rejecting the very act of existing again.
The sensation was wrong, too real. Mackiaveli hit the ground hard, breath coming in sharp gasps. He tried to move, but a wave of dizziness forced him to his knees. The world felt too real—every breath, every sensation crashing over him in overwhelming clarity. It was as if his senses had been reset to factory settings, and his mind couldn't keep up.
The sky above him was an unnatural swirl of deep twilight hues—not quite day, not quite night. Clouds hung glitching at the edges, their forms breaking apart before reforming again. A distant horizon stretched infinitely, dotted with looming digital monoliths, structures that seemed both ancient and futuristic.
The air was thick with an eerie hum, as if the world itself was whispering secrets he couldn’t quite hear. The ground beneath him was solid, but the textures—off. It looked like stone. It felt like stone. But when he ran his fingers across it, there was an ever-so-slight lag between sensation and response.
He wasn’t just in Another Life VR. He was part of it. Mackiaveli pushed himself up, his body heavy, sluggish. There was a noticeable difference—everything about him felt... diminished. His strength, his speed, his awareness—all of it was a fraction of what it should be.
He clenched his fists, feeling the way his muscles moved—not as fluid, not as powerful. His body was responding like he was human again—not the demigod-level player he had been before.
"Something’s not right."
He turned his hands over, examining them. No glow. No latent energy pulsing through his veins. He used to feel power vibrating through his haptics which would feel like it was beneath his avatar’s skin, but now? It was like trying to light a match in a vacuum. For the first time in years, he felt... weak in game.
"I barely made it through those Wraiths."
His breath came faster. He clenched his fists, willing something—anything—to happen. But there was no surge of power, no reassuring hum beneath his skin. What if it wasn’t just a reset? What if this was permanent? A cold sweat formed at the back of his neck. He had fought gods in this world, walked through fire and void, but now—he was nothing.
Worse than nothing. He was mortal. The memory hit him again—the shrieking void creatures, the way they swarmed him in darkness. He had cut them down with instinct alone, his body moving as if something else was guiding it. But that power wasn’t his anymore. He needed answers.
"Status," he muttered.
A translucent interface snapped into existence, displaying his player profile.
PLAYER PROFILE - MACKIAVELI
Class: ??? (Data Unavailable)
Respawn Status: Active (Unrecognized Entry Point)
Primary Abilities:
* Spirit Control: Basic - Mid Level
* Shadow Control: Level 2 (Shadow Walk Unlocked)
* Void Control: LOCKED
* Perfusion Control: LOCKED
* System Override Abilities: LIMITED ACCESS
Stats: (Compared to Previous Max Level -95% Reduction)
* Strength: 22/100
* Speed: 19/100
* Endurance: 15/100
* Agility: 21/100
* Energy Reserves: 12/100
WARNING: SYSTEM RESTRICTIONS IN PLACE
NOTE: Player must complete an Initial Registration Quest
Mackiaveli stared at the stats, his mind racing.
"No Perfusion Control. No Void Control. My Spirit and Shadow abilities are reduced to almost beginner-level."
He flexed his fingers, expecting light to pulse from his hands—nothing. He tried to phase into the shadows—barely a flicker. This wasn’t just a reset. This was a complete nerfing of his existence.
"I was a god in this world. Now, I’m a damn tutorial-level scrub."
The thought burned. He had spent years mastering these abilities, coding his own systems into the game. Now? Everything he built was stripped away.
"Alright. Let’s test something."
He tapped the code interface in his mind, the one that had always been there when he played as an admin and developer.
Nothing.
"Okay. What about system overrides?"
He tried to force an exploit, the same way he used to bypass security layers and rewrite skill parameters on the fly.
[ERROR: INSUFFICIENT PERMISSIONS]
A system chime rang in his ears—sharp, artificial.
ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS ATTEMPT DETECTED. WARNING: DEVELOPER PRIVILEGES HAVE BEEN REVOKED. YOU ARE SUBJECT TO STANDARD PLAYER ENFORCEMENT.
"What the—"
Mackiaveli stiffened. That was new. Before, if he tripped a security protocol, he could just rewrite it. Now? It was locking him out—and watching. His gaze flickered toward the skyline, scanning the digital monoliths. Were they watching him now? Was someone—or something—tracking his movements?
He turned his head slowly, scanning the skyline. The towering monoliths loomed in the distance, their surfaces rippling with unreadable data streams. For a brief second, he thought he saw a flicker—like a lens adjusting focus—but when he blinked, it was gone.
His fingers twitched toward his HUD menu, but something in the back of his mind screamed at him not to act too suspicious. If something—or someone—was watching, the last thing he wanted to do was confirm he knew. He wasn’t outside the system anymore. He was inside it. That changed everything. A soft chime rang in the air. His HUD flickered, displaying a new notification.
NEW QUEST RECEIVED
Objective: Check-In at the Nearest Help Desk
Details: As a new player, you must register your status for access to Another Life VR’s services.
Reward: Entry-Level Permissions
Mackiaveli narrowed his eyes.
"You’ve got to be kidding me. A damn tutorial mission?!"
His hand twitched, tempted to ignore it, but... he needed information.
And he needed Stroma AI. He opened the system communication panel.
"Contact Stroma AI."
A pause. Then, a soft, digital voice—calm, neutral, and infuriatingly polite—spoke into his mind.
STROMA AI: "Hello, Mackiaveli. Welcome to Another Life VR! It looks like you are a new player. Would you like assistance in navigating the game world?"
The AI’s voice was smooth, professional—but there was something off about it. A forced cheerfulness, like an overly rehearsed customer service script. Too neutral, too manufactured.
STROMA AI: "We’re so happy to have you here in Another Life VR! Your adventure is just beginning!"
His jaw tightened. The last time he’d spoken to Stroma, the AI had been clinical, direct—this was something else. A different personality profile? A reprogrammed behavior tree? Whatever the reason, it made his skin crawl. His teeth clenched.
"Stroma, it's me. I need direct access. Developer permissions. Full system override."
A long silence. Then—
STROMA AI: "I'm sorry, Mackiaveli. That level of access is restricted. However, I can direct you to the nearest help desk to begin your journey!"
A new system alert popped up.
QUEST UPDATE: Proceed to Stroma Help Desk.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Mackiaveli stared at the glowing objective marker on his map.
"...You're telling me I have to check in like a damn noob?"
STROMA AI: "Would you like to track your current quest?"
"...Sure, Stroma. Why not."
A blinking waypoint appeared in his vision, guiding him toward the nearest city hub. Mackiaveli exhaled, shaking his head.
"Fine. First step in figuring out what the hell happened to me."
He started walking, his mind racing with questions. But one thought refused to leave him.
"Someone did this to me. And when I find out who… They're gonna wish I stayed dead."
Mackiaveli walked. The roads leading into StromaTerra stretched far ahead, paved in a metallic-black obsidian, pulsing faintly with glowing blue energy. Towers lined the horizon, each one an impossible mix of futuristic digital architecture and ancient stone-like structures, their edges rippling with shifting patterns. The moment he crossed into the city boundary, a faint pulse rippled through the air, as if the system had acknowledged his presence.
NPCs and player avatars bustled through the streets, their outfits ranging from high-tech combat gear to medieval robes, some riding hovering mounts, others weaving through market stalls filled with AI-crafted weapons, potions, and rare gear. He had walked into a living, breathing metropolis—but something was off. He could feel it.
Eyes were on him. Not in the way they should be—not the way players recognized a famous champion. It was... familiarity, not reverence. As he passed, NPCs acknowledged him with nods, some with slight smirks, as if they knew him—but not the way he was supposed to be known.
"Yo, Mack!"
He turned, spotting a blacksmith NPC, a massive man with a cybernetic arm, hammering away at an energy-infused anvil. The NPC wiped his brow and grinned.
"Didn’t expect to see you back so soon, man. You just disappeared on us for a while. You finally done with all that secret mission stuff?"
Mackiaveli kept his face neutral.
"Something like that," he replied smoothly.
He hesitated. The familiarity in the blacksmith’s voice was too easy, too natural—like he had always been expected to return. But the way the NPC smiled… it wasn’t admiration. It was acknowledgment. Mackiaveli forced himself to nod, slipping back into his usual confidence, but beneath it, unease gnawed at him.
The blacksmith chuckled, shaking his head. "Always cryptic. That’s what we love about you. Well, if you need gear, you know where to find me. And if you’re still looking for work, the old crew’s been wondering if you’d show up again."
Mackiaveli nodded and kept moving. As he walked further into the city, the conversations around him felt... off. Players and NPCs spoke freely, but their words carried implications he wasn’t ready to process yet. Near a marketplace, two players in high-tier armor chatted over a holographic map.
"Bro, StromaTerra 2.0 is dropping in ten days. You hear what they’re doing with Stone Chronicles?"
"Yeah, total reset. Unless you got legacy access, everyone’s starting from scratch."
A third player, a woman in a sleek cloak, shook her head. "I heard Auracron Prime is holding onto some classified data about the original world. You know, the first build?"
"Oh yeah. StromaTerra Version 1.0? Ancient. Barely anyone plays here anymore unless they’re running archives. Most of the big names already ported over."
"Not everyone," the cloaked woman said. "I heard someone came back."
Mackiaveli’s pace slowed.
"Who?"
"Dunno. Just rumors. Some guy who wasn’t supposed to be here."
His jaw clenched. He needed answers. As he neared a glowing information terminal, he activated his Stroma AI interface.
STROMA AI: "Welcome to StromaTerra! How can I assist you today?"
"Stroma. What version of the game is this?"
STROMA AI: "You are currently in StromaTerra Version 1.0. Would you like an introductory tour?"
"How long has this version been active?"
"StromaTerra Version 1.0 has been in operation for approximately one year."
Mackiaveli’s heartbeat spiked.
"And... before that? What was the previous version?"
"There was no previous version of StromaTerra. This is the first and original version."
His blood ran cold. That wasn’t a lie but not exactly the truth. They created the Alpha Version of StromaTerra, with plans to launch the Beta version in two weeks. However, he died, and it was a year later.
"Stroma, what is my original registration date?"
"Mackiaveli, your account registration is listed as—ERROR. Data corrupted."
Before this... what was the last thing I remember?
Darkness. Screams—his own? No. Theirs. The Wraiths had come fast, endless, their shrieks splitting the void. He remembered fighting—then falling. Then... nothing. No death screen. No countdown. Just an abyss.
A shiver crawled down his spine. He was missing time. And the system wasn’t just blocking his stats—it was hiding the truth. He wasn’t in his original game. He was in its graveyard. A new notification popped up on his HUD.
NEW QUEST RECEIVED
Objective: Visit Stroma Help Desk for Full Account Verification
Details: Your records indicate inconsistencies. To access full player privileges, check in at the designated Stroma Help Desk.
Reward: System Clearance Level 1
Mackiaveli stared at the quest for a long moment.
"Don’t tell me this is just a damn tutorial help desk."
He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Well, only one way to find out."
And with that, he set off toward his next destination, unknowingly walking toward the truth that would change everything.
The Stroma Help Desk stood at the heart of StromaTerra’s central hub, nestled between towering monolithic structures of shifting metal and light. It looked deceptively normal—a sleek, corporate-style information center with large, holographic banners flashing announcements about in-game events and updates.
Mackiaveli stepped inside, expecting nothing more than a basic registration terminal. Instead, he was greeted by a line—a long, miserable line of avatars, most of whom looked just as confused as he felt. NPC clerks sat behind glowing reception desks, wearing their regulation blue uniforms, calling out players one by one. A familiar irritation crept up Mack’s spine.
"Great. I’m dead, I’m in a video game, and I still have to wait in line."
He almost turned around. Then he saw him.
Behind the main registration desk, tapping through a holographic interface with exaggerated, passive-aggressive precision, was a bald man in a long event-coordinator robe, his sharp eyes flicking toward Mack with immediate disdain.
"No. Way."
Mackiaveli's stomach sank. He recognized that man. Reginald Callahan, the former Event Coordinator of Another Life VR.
A once loyal but smug NPC who had worked alongside him in the old days—until Mack had written a system update that made him obsolete. And Callahan knew it. Their eyes locked. A slow, deliberate smirk crept across Callahan’s face.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is. Mackiaveli.”
Mack’s jaw tightened. “Callahan. Didn’t know you were still around. Thought they retired you.”
Callahan leaned forward, his tone dripping with mock sympathy.
“Retired? Oh, no, no. I was... repurposed.”
Mackiaveli narrowed his eyes. Repurposed. That meant Callahan hadn’t been erased like other obsolete NPCs. Why? NPCs didn’t get lucky breaks in this world. They were either useful or deleted.
“Someone decided you were worth keeping around,” Mack said slowly. “I wonder why.”
Callahan’s smirk didn’t waver, but there was something in his gaze—amusement, but also certainty.
“Apparently, there was a demand for me here. Nostalgia, you know?” His smirk widened. “Unlike you, I didn’t just vanish off the map for a year.”
Mackiaveli’s muscles tensed.
"So he knows about my ‘death.’"
“I need Legacy Access.” Mack didn’t bother sugarcoating it.
Callahan chuckled. “Oh, do you? And what makes you think I’d just hand that over?”
Mack leaned in. “Because you don’t want to make me an enemy again, Callahan.”
Callahan’s smile twitched, but he held firm.
“Hah. Here’s the thing, Mack. You were a legend, once. But now? You’re an antique. A footnote. You’re not in StromaTerra 2.0. You’re a relic they stuck in here to entertain the few players who care about the past.”
Mack’s teeth clenched. Callahan leaned back, his smirk widening. He was savoring this—drinking in Mack’s new, powerless state like a fine wine.
“You know," Callahan mused, tapping his fingers against his desk, "there was a time when I thought you were untouchable. But look at you now." His tone dripped with mock sympathy. "Back at the bottom. Bet that stings, huh?"
“Let’s just cut to the chase, Reg. What’s the damn quest?”
Callahan sighed theatrically, waving a hand over his interface. A system alert popped up in Mack’s HUD.
NEW QUEST RECEIVED
Objective: Complete the trial to Gain Permanent Legacy Access to StromaTerra 1.0
Details: You have been recognized as a legacy entity. However, proof of worthiness is required.
Requirements: Complete a combat, endurance, and wit challenge within four in-game hours.
Restrictions: No fast travel. No outside help.
Bonus Challenge: Retrieve your stolen inventory before the final trial.
Reward: Permanent Legacy Access & Porting Privileges to StromaTerra 2.0
Mack’s brow furrowed.
“‘Retrieve my stolen inventory’? What the hell does that mean?”
Callahan grinned.
“Oh, that? Just a little... setback. Seems like someone accidentally withdrew your entire coin stash while processing your registration.”
Mack’s stomach dropped. He opened his inventory menu.
Gold: 0.00
Mack looked up, fury burning in his veins.
“You son of a—”
Callahan leaned back, folding his hands behind his head.
“Oops. Looks like you’ll have to get it back the hard way. Hope your weak body can handle this quest, Mack.”
Mack’s hand twitched toward his sword. But before he could act—
SYSTEM ALERT
TIME REMAINING: 3 HOURS, 59 MINUTES
STROMA AI: “Mackiaveli, your quest has begun! Please proceed to your first trial location before time expires. Good luck—you’re going to need it!”
The floor beneath him pulsed, a golden rune circle forming beneath his feet. A flicker of data scrolled across his HUD before he could react. A name—
Trial Sector: The Hollow Depths.
His vision warped, colors bleeding. Just before the teleport hit, he caught a glimpse of something—massive chains looping through shattered towers, something lurking in the dark below. Then—blinding light.
“Wait—”
The flash of white light engulfed him. The teleportation wasn’t instant—it was wrong. He felt himself pulling apart, fragments of his code unraveling before stitching back together. His vision fractured, splitting into a thousand shifting frames of reality, each flickering out of sync.
For a brief, horrifying moment, he wasn’t sure if he was still himself. Then the world snapped back into place. And just like that—he was gone.
Callahan grinned once more as he spoke into his wrist.
"This is Keeper 31 Mission accomplished. Subject en route."
"Acknowledged." The voice on the other end responded.