Zephyr hit the ground with a sickening, wet splat, the impact jarring his bones and sending a dull ache radiating through his ribs.
He groaned, rolling onto his side, his fingers sinking into something slimy and cold.
The stench hit him like a physical blow—burnt oil mingled with the rancid tang of week-old cabbage stew left to fester in a forgotten pot.
The "floor" beneath him wasn't the sterile, polished tiles of the esports locker room he'd just stormed out of.
It was rough-hewn stone, jagged and uneven, slick with a viscous grime he didn't dare inspect too closely.
"What the…?" His voice cracked, raw and half-choked, scraping against the back of his throat.
He pushed himself upright, wincing as his palms slid on the damp cobblestones.
Blinking rapidly to clear the haze from his vision, he took in his surroundings, and his stomach twisted.
The alley was a nightmare carved from a steampunk dystopia, like a set piece ripped from a game designed by a caffeine-addled modder with a grudge.
Iron pipes snaked along crumbling brick walls, hissing clouds of scalding steam at erratic intervals, their rusted joints weeping dark, oily tears.
Cobblestones glistened under the eerie glow of lanterns—not electric, but floating orbs of pale blue flame that bobbed lazily in the air like ghostly fireflies, casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to writhe with a life of their own.
Overhead, the sky was a suffocating blanket of smog, its orange-gray hue choking out any trace of stars or moonlight.
In the distance, a monstrous clock tower loomed, its silhouette jagged against the horizon, belching plumes of thick, acrid smoke that curled upward like the breath of some slumbering beast.
Zephyr rubbed his temple, his fingers trembling as they pressed against the throbbing vein beneath his skin.
"Okay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, "either I'm dreaming… or I've been kidnapped by a low-budget cosplay convention run by lunatics."
He slapped his own cheek, hard enough to make his eyes water.
The sharp sting radiated across his face, grounding him in the moment.
"Not a dream," he growled, his gray eyes narrowing to slits as a cold knot of dread tightened in his chest. "Great. Just freaking great."
Then it came—a sound like a corrupted audio file, a warped pop fused with the distorted chime of a glitched ringtone.
A burst of holographic light erupted in front of his face, so sudden and bright it made him flinch backward, nearly slipping on the slick stone.
[COSMOCORE ONLINE]
A translucent interface materialized, hovering in midair like a spectral gaming HUD ripped straight out of his esports rig.
Its edges flickered erratically, glitching between crisp, pixel-perfect menus and garbled nonsense that looked like a programmer's fever dream.
Strings of text flashed across the display—
[ERROR_404_SKILLS] and [PLEASE_INSERT_DISC]—before a feminine voice cut through the chaos, dripping with biting sarcasm that felt like a slap to the face.
"Congratulations, Player Nobody," the voice drawled, each syllable laced with mocking glee.
"You've been selected as the proud owner of a gloriously broken destiny! Truly, the universe's finest trash-tier prize!"
Zephyr froze, his breath catching in his throat. "…What?"
"Oh, my bad—let's try that again with feeling." The voice cleared its throat with exaggerated flair, then launched into a tone of mock enthusiasm that bordered on theatrical.
"Welcome to CosmoCore, where all your wildest dreams come true—assuming your dreams involve dying in the most spectacularly stupid ways imaginable!"
A tiny sprite flickered into existence on the interface—a punk-rock fairy no bigger than his fist, with jagged neon-purple hair that glitched between vibrant streaks and pixelated static.
She wore a tattered leather jacket studded with glowing pins, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass as she folded her arms and hovered, spinning lazily in midair like a taunting streamer avatar.
"Name's GlitchWitch," she announced, her voice equal parts venom and amusement. "I'll be your guide-slash-commentator-slash-occasional-overlord through this mess. And wow, buddy, you look like you just crawled out of a dumpster fire. Did you spawn with that face, or is that just the default setting for 'washed-up loser'?"
Zephyr stared, his mouth half-open, his brain struggling to process the absurdity of a snarky, glitching fairy mocking him in what looked like a post-apocalyptic alley.
"…This isn't real," he said, more to himself than to her, his voice shaking with a mix of disbelief and creeping panic. "None of this is real."
"Oh, it's real, hotshot," GlitchWitch purred, her sprite zipping closer until her pixelated grin filled half the interface.
"And so is this—your shiny new starting skill, fresh from the cosmic bargain bin!"
A sharp ding echoed through the alley, and a new notification flashed across the interface, its text pulsing with an almost mocking vibrancy.
[SKILL UNLOCKED: CHAOS ECHO]
Mimics enemy abilities with questionable accuracy.
Side effects may include: mild embarrassment, explosive glitter showers, and catastrophic failure.
Use responsibly. Or don't.
I'm not your mom.
Zephyr squinted at the hovering text, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the words.
"Chaos Echo? What the hell does that even—"
Before he could finish, his jacket flickered like a corrupted video file, its familiar black leather warping in a chaotic blur.
One second, it was his trusty esports jacket, scuffed from years of late-night tournaments.
The next, it was plastered with a garish pattern of dancing egg emojis, their cartoonish faces winking at him in unison.
Then, with a glitchy snap, it transformed again into a kaleidoscope of cat memes, complete with rainbow trails and Comic Sans captions screaming "MEOW MEOW MOTHERFU—"
"…Okay," Zephyr said slowly, his voice flat as he stared down at his now-ridiculous attire.
"Either I'm losing my damn mind, or I just got downgraded to a walking meme template."
"Look on the bright side," GlitchWitch chirped, her sprite performing a mocking pirouette in midair. "At least your jacket's got more personality than you do right now."
Zephyr groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his fingers smearing the grime that clung to his skin.
"This has to be a hallucination. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, maybe a concussion from slamming my head against the desk one too many times…"
"Hallucination? Oh, honey, no." GlitchWitch leaned in, her glitching face so close he could almost feel the static crackling off her.
"This is your tutorial, and you're already flunking the vibe check. Step one: Survive. Step two: Try not to cry about it."
The interface pulsed once more, its edges fraying like a corrupted video feed, and GlitchWitch's smirk widened, her neon eyes glinting with something between amusement and menace.
"Welcome to the game, Zephyr Kain. Try not to die before the fun starts."