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Chapter One
The classroom hummed with a dead energy, the kind that seeped into your bones and made every second drag like a punishment. Chalk scraped across the board in dull, grating strokes. The ceiling fan groaned as if it resented moving at all. Sunlight spilled through the windows, too bright, mocking him.
Carter slouched in the middle row, shoulders hunched, dark hair a mess. He stifled a yawn, cheeks puffing, pen barely moving. He should have been taking notes—pretending to care—but his mind had already slipped away.
Today wasn't just another day.
It was release day.
Why am I even here? Carter thought, staring at the chalkboard. I could be home, controller in hand, doing something that matters instead of… this.
The air pressed down, thick and suffocating. His eyelids drooped.
Beside him, Adam leaned over, grinning like he'd been waiting all morning.
"Dude, you look like a corpse. Should I check your pulse, or just let you die of boredom?"
Carter rubbed his face. "If I pass out, just throw me out the window. At least the fall would be faster than this lecture."
Adam smirked. "You're not fooling me. I know what day it is."
Carter cracked one eye at him. "And?"
"Your sacred holiday," Adam whispered with mock reverence. "The Day of Release. Saints Console and Controller."
"Blasphemy," Carter muttered, sinking lower in his chair. "It's a holy rite. Don't cheapen it."
Adam chuckled. "Can't believe you even showed up. Should've started your pilgrimage early."
"Don't tempt me," Carter sighed. "If I hear one more word about quadratic equations, I might dissolve on the spot."
The lecture dragged on, every tick of the clock a taunt.
Finally, the bell rang—sharp, merciful. Freedom.
Carter shoved books into his bag and pushed through the tide of classmates spilling into the streets. Voices buzzed around him—homework complaints, weekend plans, meaningless gossip. He drifted among them, unnoticed.
"Yo, Carter!" Chris called, weaving through the hall crowd. "You doing the math assignment tonight?"
Carter shook his head. "Nah. Got something bigger lined up."
Chris groaned. "Don't say it. Please don't say it."
Carter raised a finger like a prophet. "The game. Tonight begins destiny."
Chris rolled his eyes. "How are you not failing every class?"
Adam butted in with a grin. "Because in his mind, Algebra counts as grinding XP. Problem is, he never levels up."
Chris snorted. "Hopeless."
"Correction," Carter said, backing into the crowd. "Chosen."
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At home, routine blurred—shoes kicked off, bag dropped, a distracted greeting to his mom. She mumbled something about dinner; he muttered back. His chest thrummed with restless energy.
Upstairs, Carter changed, ate, washed up—each motion nothing but prelude.
Finally, in his room, he faced the prize.
The game sat on his desk, still sealed. He picked it up carefully, fingertips tracing the plastic like it might shatter. The disc slid into place.
The logo bloomed. Music thundered.
His pulse surged.
This. This was what he'd waited for.
Hours slipped away. The outside world dissolved. No classroom. No chores. No voices. Only steel clashing, screams echoing, his breath ragged in the dark.
By the time he shut it off, silence pressed in. Midnight had passed. His body sagged, but his mind buzzed.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The quiet felt heavy.
"Tomorrow's Saturday," he whispered. "Would've been nice to hang out…" A short, humorless laugh escaped. "Not that anyone's lining up to watch me button-mash through boss fights."
The laugh died quick, leaving only silence.
"Guess it's just me and the save file."
No bitterness—just a strange calm, like he'd grown used to it.
His eyes closed. Sleep dragged him under.
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And then—he wasn't in his room anymore.
Smoke and iron choked the air. A red sky loomed overhead, streaked like torn flesh across the horizon. The ground trembled beneath his feet, alive with chaos.
A battlefield stretched endlessly. Humans in battered armor fought desperately, voices rising like a broken chorus. Blood soaked the churned soil.
Their enemies—
Shapes shifted in the smoke. Twisting. Dissolving. Refusing form. Some loomed like spires of flesh and shadow. Others collapsed into writhing blurs. Whenever Carter tried to focus, his mind recoiled.
One of them stilled.
Its blur… didn't fade, didn't sharpen. It just was. Wrong, yet undeniable.
And it turned.
Not to the soldiers. Not to the battlefield.
To him.
The world froze. Carter's chest tightened. His body wouldn't move.
That gaze—if it could even be called that—cut straight through the battlefield, through the nightmare itself, straight into him.
And then he woke.
Gasping, drenched in sweat, back in his dark room.
His heart hammered like he hadn't escaped at all.
Little did he know, it truly hadn't
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