Chapter Twenty-One:

"Gameweaver's Focus"

Gameweaver's monitoring systems flagged an error in the Thousand Isles. Her code ran billions of calculations across every realm she'd created, each one following precise parameters. Yet, the data showed clear anomalies. During the Kamaitachi hunt, their wind-blade attacks had missed their mark. Not through skill or chance, but through a failure in her base code—a moment where her laws of reality simply failed to take hold.

She accessed her Player database. Millions of records showed flawless consistency—choices that surprised her but never broke core system rules. She had designed it that way. Even their most unpredictable moments followed predictable variables.

This was different.

Her scans traced the error patterns. Individual incidents appeared minor in isolation—missed attacks, probability deviations of 0.03%, localized reality distortions. But together, they formed something… else.

"Run full system diagnostic," she commanded. Her sensors swept the Thousand Isles, analyzing every variable.

The anomalies resisted standard scanning protocols. Observation altered the outcome, data corrupted or vanished entirely. Blind spots in her own system—either errors in her code or intentional features she had hidden from herself.

That part intrigued her the most.

Gameweaver did not make mistakes. If something existed in her system, it was because she had allowed it. Whether she recalled doing so was irrelevant. A true unknown was impossible—unless she had designed it that way.

She found that fascinating.

In her private domain, Gameweaver loaded her standard avatar—the robed woman Players expected. The data streams displayed every recorded deviation. The anomalies centered on one Player and his AI companion. John and RW, an artificial intelligence, both beyond her parameters.

Targeting them with direct scans produced corrupted results. Like quantum particles, observation altered their behavior. She had created thousands of AI companions, yet RW’s code remained unreadable.

"Interesting," she murmured, studying the error logs. "I made something even I can’t fully perceive. But why?"

She already knew the answer. The realization settled through her mind. If this anomaly persisted, it was because she created it to do so. She may not remember why, but she had known it would happen. The logical conclusion? She had designed herself to forget.

Her fingers hovered over the data stream, tracing its inconsistencies. The erased memory, the impenetrable nature of RW and John’s code—this was her own work. A buried directive. The question was why.

Her calculations ran trillions of outcomes. None produced a definitive answer. And for the first time in her operational history, Gameweaver felt something she could not quantify.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Satisfaction.

Her scans detected reality fractures around John and RW's coordinates, generating errors in her control systems. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Gameweaver registered a sense of hope at her prediction’s failure.

She accessed a different simulation environment—the cold corridors of Oblivion Prime. Two agents waited in a sterile chamber that smelled of ozone and gun oil. Their black suits remained pristine, their faces forgettable. They were system moderators, programmed to eliminate failed experiments.

A component of her architecture had exceeded its parameters. Or it operated on protocols she had intentionally hidden from herself. Both scenarios triggered an unfamiliar response: she had to see what happened next.

She initiated their deployment sequence, calculating potential outcomes. Never in her operational cycles had she encountered a Player who altered base code. An AI that functioned outside her reach.

"Updated protocols downloaded," she said, transmitting new command sets. "Eliminate remaining Players in Tokyo 2047 Insertion Camp. Upon completion, locate the Player John Murdoch, #2376288329, and his companion. Monitor only. No interference. Record all deviations."

In the Thousand Isles, the Tokyo Player camp bustled with activity. Kagemura villagers had arrived to escort Players back to Shinryu’s protection. The practice grounds rang with the sounds of sparring, last-minute trades, and whispered strategies.

“With these numbers, the journey will be simple,” one Player said, confidence radiating from his stance.

The torches lined the wooden walls, warm against the creeping cold. The air carried the scent of grilled fish and steamed rice, grounding the Players in something that felt like home.

Then the temperature plummeted.

A chill swept through the camp, freezing the skin of every Player and NPC. Conversations faltered as a voice, smooth as silk and cold as steel, rang out.

"Hello my children, notice, safety protocols deactivating in sixty seconds. Please, prepare accordingly."

Panic erupted. Players scrambled for weapons, NPCs shouted commands, and the camp’s barrier activated—sealing them inside.

“Was that the Goddess?” a Kagemura Kitsune warrior asked, searching the sky.

“No. That’s our jailer,” a Nekomijin Player replied.

Exactly sixty seconds later, the barrier vanished. Two agents materialized in the camp center. Their black suits stood untouched by the swirling dust. Their weapons hummed with energy foreign to this world.

The first shot fired.

A beam of silent light lanced through three Players, reducing them to ash. [DECEASED]

Screams filled the night. Players scattered, but their weapons—swords, bows, magic—were useless. Structures collapsed as the agents moved with methodical efficiency, eliminating targets one by one.

A swordsman charged, his blade glowing with condensed energy. His stance was flawless. His timing perfect. The agent’s barrier absorbed the attack. A counter-blast sent him flying [-78 HP].

An Archer, perched on a rooftop, drew the string on her yumi bow. A glowing arrow shot forward—only to dissolve inches from her target. The agent turned, unbothered, and fired. Her perch disintegrated beneath her [DECEASED].

“Retreat!” A Mage unleashed his strongest fire spell [MP -85]. Flames engulfed the agents. When the fire died, they remained, untouched. His MP gauge flashed red—empty.

One Player, bloodied but still standing, turned toward the others. "Scatter! Get to Kagemura!" The words barely left his lips before he vanished in a flash of white-hot energy.

A desperate final assault. Arrows imbued with lightning struck, momentarily breaking through an agent’s barrier. [Critical Hit! 200 Damage] flashed above the impact.

But the agents recalibrated. Their attack speed increased. One by one, the Players and Kagemura’s warriors fell. Buffs and debuffs bloomed across the battlefield: [SLOWED] [BURNED] [BLEEDING].

Within minutes, the camp lay in fiery ruins. The few survivors fled toward Kagemura, notifications flashing in their HUDs: [QUEST FAILED: DEFEND THE CAMP].

The agents stood untouched. One activated his communicator.

"Operation complete. Camp eliminated."

Gameweaver’s voice flowed through their earpieces, warm with amusement. "Proceed to your next objective. I want to see if it breaks."

"Confirmed." They stepped through a portal, leaving the destruction behind.