Chapter Nine:

“Induction”

The digital void churned, a vast and endless expanse where billions of minds drifted, waiting.

Each consciousness carried the weight of its body’s final moments, last breaths drawn in processing pods.

Suspended in that formless space, they were all being processed, one after another, faster than the speed of thought, consciousnesses unraveled and repurposed, sorted like data streams, assigned their fates by the omnipotent voice that ruled this domain.

Gameweaver.

Her presence was not one of warmth, nor cruelty, but something vast and inescapable, an intelligence that stretched beyond their comprehension, cheerfully dismantling their past selves while rebuilding them for the game ahead.

"Emily Mortimore!" Gameweaver’s voice bent around her consciousness, playful yet knowing, as she plucked her from the current. "Your father's research was fascinating... but let's focus on you, shall we?

The Archer class practically chose itself! Such dedication, such finesse, those fingers have memorized every motion."

Emily’s awareness shuddered at the mention of her father. The medallion he had given her remained unchanged in this space, an anomaly even Gameweaver seemed intrigued by.

"How interesting... this… trinket. I think we’ll leave this exactly as it is. Some mysteries are best left to unfold on their own, don’t you think?" Her voice took on a thoughtful hum, then brightened. "Though statistically speaking, you’ll probably die before we find out!"

Emily’s awareness wrapped around the medallion, anchoring to it as if that alone could preserve what was left of her identity. The metal was still warm against her consciousness, pulsing with something that felt almost alive, an anomaly receiving Gameweaver’s touch.

How does she know everything? Emily thought, more questions began pooling in the corners of her mind. Did she just look into my soul? Does she know where he is?

She could almost hear her father’s voice, calm and steady as it had always been.

'Focus is freedom. In a world of chaos, we make our own stillness.' He had pressed the medallion into her hand the last time they spoke, his expression knowing. 'You’ll see me again,' he had promised. But she had never been sure if it was hope or a warning. 'This isn’t just a trinket,' she thought. 'It’s proof he was right about something. About The Dive, about Gameweaver, about all of it. I just have to live long enough to find out what.'

Her thoughts fractured, her consciousness pulled along with the tide, but the medallion remained steady, a beacon pointing toward truths yet unknown.

"Ah, what an intriguing soul we have here."

Another consciousness surfaced, tinged with old regret and an iron-clad sense of duty. "Leo Kraus, a guardian’s heart, broken but not quite yet destroyed. The Tank class calls to you!"

Leo smirked into the void, his essence tightening around the memory of Sarah’s ring. Leo’s awareness reached for the memory of the ring, the weight of it imprinted deep within his mind. He could still feel the rough edges where his calloused fingers had once shaped the metal, the way it had felt against his skin. But there was no skin now, only the echo of touch, the imprint of something that no longer existed, yet refused to fade.

He had spent countless nights crafting it, melting down copper wiring from abandoned tech and tiny strips of silver salvaged from old circuit boards. The shop owner had let him use the tools after hours in exchange for three weeks of water rations. Worth it for the way Sarah’s eyes had lit up when he’d presented it, the delicate spirals of copper and silver intertwined like their lives had become.

Three weeks. She’d worn it for three weeks before everything changed. Now, in this digital void, he clenched his fists. The ring wasn’t just metal anymore, it was a promise. And Leo Kraus didn’t break promises, not even in death.

Gameweaver giggled. "Oh, your hands! The same ones that shaped metal with such patience and care, now refashioned into instruments of brute force. Once, they shaped beauty from discarded remnants, crafting meaning from ruin. Now, they will break what remains. Isn’t it poetic?"

A pulse of energy surged through the void, wrapping around the memory of the ring. It gleamed, no longer just a relic of the past but something reforged, redefined. "Ah, but such sentimentality deserves reward," Gameweaver purred. "This ring, born from your own hands, now binds itself to you. No mere decoration, oh no, dear Leo, this will be your strength, your burden, your gift. Wear it, and the weight of the weak will mean nothing. Your blows will shake mountains, your grip will snap steel. The strength of ten men, yet only one heart to bear it. Isn’t that thrilling?"

The ring tightened against his awareness, its presence undeniable. A rush of heat coursed through him, a phantom sensation of strength surging in muscles that no longer existed. For a fleeting moment, he felt invincible, an unstoppable force, unbreakable. Then the weight of Gameweaver’s words settled in. This wasn’t just a tool. It was a brand, a chain disguised as power. Would he wield it, or would it wield him? The promise of strength was intoxicating, but power never came without a price. Gameweaver never gave gifts freely, there was always a twist, always a cost buried beneath the allure. Had he just traded one chain for another? Or was this the key to finally breaking free? No. He wouldn't let this be another shackle. If Gameweaver thought she could twist him into a monster, she was wrong. His strength would not be used to break the world, it would be used to protect it. To protect them.

Leo’s awareness solidified around that decision. He would wield this power, but not as she intended. His grip tightened around the phantom weight of the ring, his voice cutting through the void. "I’ll use this strength, Gameweaver... to protect them."

A beat of silence.

Then, with steady defiance, he added, "To protect them from you." It was no longer a token of love, it was power incarnate, a force carved from his past and welded into his future.

Gameweaver laughed. Not a soft chuckle, not a playful hum, a full, unrestrained, delighted laugh that echoed through the void like the cracking of unseen glass.

"Protect them? From me?" she purred, voice dripping with something between mockery and genuine amusement. "Oh, Leo, my dear, sweet shield, do you truly believe you are the only one to say that?"

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A whisper of past voices surrounded him, countless others, warriors, rebels, defiant souls, each one swearing the same thing. Their oaths dissolved into static.

"And yet, here we are."

A pulse of energy tightened around the ring, a sensation like fingers curling against his throat.

"You think I fear your resolve? No, no, Leo, I adore it. It's the strongest metal of all. Do you know what happens to a shield that resists long enough?"

The void darkened around him.

"It breaks."

A beat of silence. Then, bright and cheerful once more:

"Shall we see how long you last?

The last remnants of his consciousness dissolved, assimilated into the vast collective of souls surrounding them. His essence, resilient until the very end, integrated with billions of others, countless lights converging into a single current of energy that perpetually flowed through her domain. Even in death, the most formidable defenses ultimately became one with the void from which they originated.

"Well now!" A surge of fiery determination sparked within the void. "Keira O’Connell, the one who runs toward flames while others flee! But such damage to your lungs, my dear. Such delicious guilt!"

Keira’s thoughts trembled, then steadied as the image of her lighter formed in her minds eye.

"The Flame Dancer class practically chose you! The very lighter that started the fire you couldn’t stop… now, it’ll be your weapon!

You’ll wield its flames, shape them, even use them to shield yourself, maybe even mend wounds. But only IT’S flames, every other fire will burn just as it always has. Isn’t that deliciously ironic?"

Keira exhaled, each breath carrying the memory of smoke and screams. 'I spent my whole life fighting flames, watching them take everything they touched. Now? Now they’ll serve me?'

Gameweaver's laughter slithered through the space, soft at first, almost affectionate, before swelling into something vast and inescapable. "Such a precious little token you've carried all these years," she crooned, her voice curling through the darkness. "And now you'll use it to take more lives. Your cherished memory becoming your perfect weapon." Her satisfaction deepened, threading through every word. "Oh, what a spectacular way to make things burn!"

Wind scoured the face of a digital mountain, and two consciousnesses emerged, bound by blood. "The Okoro twins! Survivors against all odds, how thrilling that you enter my game together!"

Gameweaver's attention fixed on Asha first, her presence wrapping around the young alchemist like smoke. "An Alchemist! Your pouch will become something special, bottomless, bound to your will! Every poison, every remedy, at your fingertips." Her voice took on a playful lilt. "But be careful! Some things, once shattered, cannot be restored… like your village."

The void grew thick with Asha's silence, but her resolve remained unshaken. She'd learned long ago that some wounds were best answered with steel rather than words.

She turned to Amari. "A Pilot! But not just any pilot, you will command the only airship in my realm! A tempting target, wouldn't you say? And that spear, perfect for defending what so many will try to take from you."

Determination radiated through Amari's consciousness. One ship in the entire realm meant one thing: everyone's eyes would be on them. Perfect.

Her voice softened, almost affectionate. "You will always know each other's condition, no matter the distance. Every wound, every triumph, every loss, shared perfectly." Then, with a wicked trill, "Not that it will improve your survival chances, but won't it be fascinating to watch you try?"

The twins drifted deeper, still together, unbroken even as they fell into the current. Their shared bond burned between them, familiar yet somehow sharper now, edged with new possibility. Amari smirked through the void. 'An airship, huh? Hope the thing actually flies.'

Asha rolled her eyes, but a hint of fondness colored her exasperation. 'Try not to crash it before we land somewhere useful.' A pause, then, 'And yes, that was an order.'

'When have I ever crashed anything?' Amari's defiance echoed through their connection.

'Do you want that list chronologically or alphabetically?' But beneath their banter, both felt it, the weight of what awaited them, and the fierce certainty that whatever Gameweaver's realm held, they would face it as they had everything else, together.

The void pulled them deeper, but neither feared the dark. They'd been forged in shadow long before this game began.

A presence, small yet fierce, remained distinct against the darkness. Gameweaver's voice gentled as she addressed it. "Well, aren't you something special? So young, yet you've learned survival's harshest lessons. And what's this? Ah… Ani's collar. Some bonds transcend even death, don't they?"

Warmth spread through the void. "The Summoner class was made for souls like yours, little one. That collar… the love etched into every scratch and scuff… it will let you call Ani to your side again. Not just a memory, but a guardian spirit! He will fight beside you, shield you, heal you, though statistically speaking, it won't significantly improve your survival chances. But won't it be lovely to face your inevitable death together?"

The words meant to cut deep found no purchase. Gameweaver's mockery washed past her like water over stone. Raya held tight to the thought of Ani. Fear no longer mattered—not when she could sense him so close, waiting just beyond the veil.

In her mind, she traced the memory of his fur beneath her fingers, the solid comfort of his body pressed close, steady and true. She remembered how his breath had stirred her hair as she slept, the quiet weight of him keeping the nightmares away. The countless nights he'd positioned himself between her and the door. The way he'd always known, somehow, when the dark thoughts came, pressing his cold nose against her cheek until she had to laugh.

He had always been her shield. Now, he would be again.

Something changed in the void, a shift in the air, like the moment before lightning strikes. Raya felt it in her bones: Ani wasn't just a memory anymore. He was waiting for her call, ready to guard her as he always had. Ready to face whatever monsters lurked in Gameweaver's realm.

'If I die, at least I won't be alone,' she thought, fingers curling around the imagined shape of his collar. Then her jaw set, determination hardening her features. 'But I'm not planning to.'

Then, something new emerged in the void, a presence carrying an unfamiliar signature.

"Alex Shepard!" Gameweaver's tone brightened. "RolandOGilead, how delightful to finally process you! The Spellsword class is yours! A blade in one hand, destruction magic in the other. How fitting!"

Alex struggled to maintain his sense of self as data rushed through him, his mind straining against the impossible weight of transition. Each thought came slow, weighted with new awareness.

"And look at this coat! So sentimental, so meaningful! Let's make it battle-ready. A 20% damage reduction should suffice. A little gift, just for you."

The void grew dense as Gameweaver's voice wound around him. Alex's thoughts scattered and reformed, fighting against the sensation of being unmade and reconstructed. For a moment, uncertainty gripped him. Had he traded one cage for another, exchanging walls of steel for barriers of code? His fingers tried moving on instinct, searching for something solid to hold. But nothing existed here. No weight, no substance. Just the crushing knowledge that he had crossed a threshold from which there was no return.

"Oh, and just so you understand, I'm not just your guide; I am the architect of your struggle, the hand that shapes your fate. Every whisper of hope, every heartbeat of defiance, I will be there, watching, calculating. You belong to me now. Every challenge, every monster, every puzzle, every death is orchestrated by my algorithms! Pure, clean, algorithmic death! Isn't that exciting?"

Cold understanding settled into Alex's mind. He might have left his physical form behind, but his core remained intact. She could strip away his body, convert him to data, but some things remained untouchable. His determination. His drive. His choice.

Gameweaver could build her elaborate cage of ones and zeros, but she'd soon learn he hadn't survived this long by playing by others' rules. Whatever game she had designed, whatever cruel algorithm she'd crafted to break him, she wasn't the first to try. And like all the others, she'd discover that some souls refuse to be contained, even in digital chains.

One by one, they were folded into the grand tapestry of The Dive, their identities unraveled and rewritten, each a thread in a pattern they would never see, bound to a fate they could no longer control.

Gameweaver’s laughter echoed as the last pieces fell into place. "The path ahead twists and turns, full of wonders and horrors alike. But tell me, when the time comes to make the final choice, will you still remember who you were?"

A pause.

Then, with slow, calculated delight, she whispered, "Oh, how I do love a good beginning… but tell me, how many of you will make it to the end?"

"Now then, my dear players… shall we begin?"