The world had become a wound of flickering code.
Cities inside the game hung half-formed, their textures bleeding into static. Avatars froze mid-run, faces locked in the same silent scream. The sky above every server shimmered like a broken mirror — reality collapsing in layers.
And yet, somewhere deep within this decaying chaos, a small chamber of light still existed.
A hidden conference room.
The Council of Players.
There were nine of them — the last of the high-rankers who had survived Aiden's ascension.
Their avatars flickered in and out, imperfectly rendered by unstable servers. But despite the lag, their voices carried through the static like ghosts clinging to meaning.
At the center sat Player Zero, a shadowed figure whose ID tag had been erased long ago. His armor bore no emblem, no guild name. Only a faint burn mark across his face remained — a reminder of the day the Infinite Demon had first appeared.
Around him stood legends — each a symbol of an age long gone.
