A roar of shattered steel filled the night. Red sparks rained across the skyline of Neo-Eden City as neon lightning danced among crumbling towers. The horizon seemed to rip apart—on one side the gleaming spires of Earth , on the other a jagged forest bathed in emerald fire. He stumbled forward, lungs burning, vision flickering like a corrupted holo-feed.
"Just… two more minutes" he gasped. A searing pain shot through his side and he collapsed against a charred wall. Around him the final battle of Archon's Last Stand played out in slow motion—soldiers of both worlds clashing in metal and magic, titanium blades chewing through flesh and bone. And above it all, the rift pulsed, drawing universes to their doom.
He closed his eyes.
Two years ago, this war began as a VR experiment—a game so immersive players didn't know where reality ended. But after four years it spilled over: Earth and Aether merging, civilization fracturing. Now on this final day, he lay dying beneath the collapse of two worlds.
A shriek cut through the air. He raised his gaze: an armored beast with two molten maws lumbered toward him. He fumbled for his holo-blade—only shards lay at his feet.
"No…" Pain exploded as the creature lunged. One maw clamped on his shoulder, scorching flesh. He screamed, vision red.
Then the world went black.
—
A twitch. A gasp. He woke to darkness. The stink of mildew and old newspapers stung his nostrils. His chest heaved. Memories flooded back—steel dragons, neon blood, collapsing worlds. He probed his side—no burning pain. Only a dull ache.
He cracked open one eye. A single flickering bulb hummed overhead, buzzing like a trapped insect. Pale walls, peeling paint, a mattress stained with who-knows-what. A cracked window showed a ramshackle alley.
"I'm… alive?" His voice sounded foreign. He tried to sit up. His head throbbed, memories flickering. He shook his hand, still twitching from the nightmare. No nano-weave armor now, just tattered pajamas.
He rolled over to the bedside clock: January 7, 2048 — 2:00 AM.
Reality hit him. Six years before the final merger. Two years before the VR servers even opened. He lay in his shabby room, a rusted ceiling fan stirring stale air. His heart pounded—tomorrow the markets opened, and IPOs for Virtual Genesis would debut: ElonTron, BioGrid, MetaCore—names that barely registered today but would shape destinies in decades.
He pulled on a worn T-shirt, old jeans sagging at the waist. He dug out his battered VR-link visor and slid it on. The interface flickered as he tapped through login screens. A simple text-based chatroom—the earliest network—where whisper-traders murmured of a new "metaverse."
Balance: $14,321. He smirked. Child's play compared to what was coming. He typed quick orders:
"Buy 12,000 shares ElonTron @ $2.50"
"Buy 20,000 shares MetaCore @ $1.10"
"Short 5,000 OmniHealth @ $5.00; stop-loss $6.00"
Transactions confirmed. Cash: –$65,000; Holdings: ElonTron, MetaCore. He leaned back, adrenaline humming.
Two years until the game begins. Six years tile worlds merge. He'd turn stock gains into biotech labs, bankroll an Aether mercenary legion, build an empire across both realms. He'd be the richest, most feared player—and he would rewrite fate itself.
A soft knock rattled the door. His pulse jumped. No one knocked in this neighbourhood. Visitors smashed locks or crept in.
He yanked off the visor, wiped the display. Heart thudding, he crept to the door.
It opened to a slender woman in a crisp suit, data-pad in hand. Her eyes, sharp behind oval glasses, flicked over him.
"Mr. Kael Mercer?" she asked. Voice polite but firm.
He froze. Kael Mercer—his own name. He hadn't used it here yet.
"Your onboarding package," she said, offering the pad. "From Global Nexus Bank. Welcome aboard."
Global Nexus—where he'd worked in his past life. The offer arrived today; he'd almost tossed it. Now it was his ladder.
He reached for the pad, fingers trembling. His reflection—sunken cheeks, fever-bright eyes—stared back.
"Thank you," he steadied himself. "I'll start orientation."
She stepped out. He closed the door, tapped the pad:
"Begin orientation module."
The screen glowed. A life of bull runs and margin calls awaited. This time, he held the future in his mind—and he'd make every second count.
Outside, the city pulsed—a neon lifeblood soon to fracture. But tonight it slept whole. The game had not yet begun. And Kael Mercer would be ready.