Regaining consciousness felt like it took forever.
Elijah drifted somewhere between nothing and nothingness—no dreams, no thoughts, just an empty, heavy slumber. If this was sleep, it felt closer to being… dead.
He couldn't remember when exactly he'd passed out. The last thing he recalled was coming home and playing Heir of the Underworld—his all-time favorite game—and even that was fuzzy. He vaguely remembered finishing it, but the details were gone.
A groan escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered open.
"Ugh… man, my head's killing me."
He stumbled toward the sink in the corner of his cramped apartment and gulped down a few mouthfuls of tap water.
Elijah's "home" was barely bigger than a walk-in closet—a single room with peeling paint, a rusted sink, a bed that sagged in the middle, an ancient stereo, and one creaky chair. It came with a toilet and nothing else. Calling it a matchbox might've been generous.
He had no idea what day it was. As far as he was concerned, yesterday had been Friday. But after that incident at school, he was certain a letter from the principal—either expulsion or suspension—would be waiting for him. Honestly, he didn't care.
Elijah was tired. Tired of being beaten up almost every day. Tired of standing up for himself only to end up painted as the villain. No one ever defended him, not even when they saw the truth.
It wasn't that his parents had abandoned him—they'd been gone for years. When Elijah was just two, a car crash killed his parents and older sister, leaving him the sole survivor.
From then on, he'd been bounced between orphanages and foster homes. None of them showed him kindness. Some hurt him, and one incident left a permanent scar—when a foster father punched him so hard in the left eye, it blinded him completely. The thick glasses he wore weren't for fashion—they were survival.
The only place he ever felt in control was in games. Inside a game, he had power. He could restart after failing. Try again. Rewrite the ending.
And nothing beat Heir of the Underworld. He'd mastered every corner of that dark, dangerous virtual realm. Or so he thought.
After a quick wash at the sink and pulling clothes from the cabinet beneath it, Elijah opened the small fridge he'd "borrowed" years ago. He pulled out a frozen pizza, snapped off a slice, and ate it as it was. Heating it up wasn't an option.
Controller in hand, he switched on his battered old TV and the only game console that could run Heir of the Underworld. The title screen blinked to life, giving him the option to start a new game or continue. Naturally, he hit continue.
For two years, he'd chipped away at this file. It felt almost personal—like a gift his late parents had left for him. He'd found the game by accident, tucked inside an unmarked box in an old corner of the apartment. Its label read Oasis 3000.
Now, his avatar stood at Level 100—the final stage before the end. Elijah leaned forward, ready to face the last boss.
He pressed continue.
The screen dissolved into floating, glitching pixels. He pressed it again.
A message appeared.
[ CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE COMPLETED THE GAME. ]
[ YOU HAVE ADVANCED TO THE ULTIMATE LEVEL. ]
"What? Completed? When?" Elijah muttered.
His memory blurred when he tried to recall yesterday's playthrough. Each time he got close, a stabbing headache tore through his skull, leaving him dizzy. It was the same pain he'd felt before blacking out.
After several failed attempts, he gave up and switched the console off.
The TV flickered back to life.
[ GO TO SCHOOL. ]
Elijah frowned. "What? Why?"
He was convinced the school didn't want him anymore—so why bother? Ignoring the message, he powered down the TV.
A moment later, it powered itself back on.
[ GO TO SCHOOL. ]
He yanked the plug out of the wall.
The screen still came alive.
[ GO TO SCHOOL. NOW. ]
A chill ran through him. This wasn't just a game prompt—it felt like a command. Something inside told him that ignoring it wasn't an option.
"Fine. I'll go," he muttered.
When he stepped outside, the city felt… wrong. The streets were deserted—no people, no dogs, not even birds in the sky. Shops sat empty, abandoned like they'd been that way for years.
By the time he reached the school gates, the eeriness hadn't faded. Cars belonging to teachers and students were parked outside, but the grounds were still.
Inside, he found the hallways packed with students—but every single one of them stood frozen, eyes locked on the ceiling. Their faces were pale, their bodies trembling as if they'd seen something impossible.
Elijah walked up to them, unsure where to stand.
"Uh… what's going on?"
No one answered. He waved a hand in front of a few faces. Nothing.
Then, with a sound like cracking bone, the ceiling began to rot away, chunks breaking off and falling as if they were being pulled upward.
Something descended.
It wasn't human.
A massive stone head, larger than a car, hung in the air above them. Its voice rumbled through the halls like an earthquake.
"Humans of this wretched planet—you are now under the rule of the Underworld."
No one moved.
"You will serve as our slaves. Those who wish to run… are welcome to try."
The head turned away. That's when the screaming began.
Students scattered in every direction. Some sprinted for the exit, others shoved past each other toward any open hallway.
Elijah spotted Angus—the school bully—bolting for the doors without a backward glance, leaving his girlfriend behind.
"Angus! Wait for me!" she cried, but he didn't stop.
The stone head's eyes burned a fiery orange. A low, unnatural hum vibrated through the walls. It opened its mouth wide—unnaturally wide—locking onto the fleeing students.
Something was about to happen. Something bad.
Fire erupted from both the creature's eyes and mouth, a blazing torrent that consumed every student who dared to make a run for the exit. The heat was so intense it warped the air, and within seconds, the hallway was filled with screams and the stench of burning flesh. No one made it out.
Then, the massive stone head swiveled toward Elijah.
It unleashed another blast of scorching fire, the roar of the flames rattling the windows. Elijah's instincts kicked in—he dove to the side just in time, the heat licking his skin as the inferno ripped past him. The unlucky students fleeing in the opposite direction weren't as fortunate; the blast caught them full on, ending their desperate sprint in an instant.
And then—amid the chaos—the world seemed to slow.
A glowing message flashed before Elijah's eyes, sharp and undeniable:
[ ELIMINATE THE HEAD ]
The words burned brighter than the flames around him, and deep down, he knew… this wasn't just a suggestion. It was a command.