"Die!"
A boy's voice rang out, sharp and full of excitement. His fingers slammed against the keyboard, tapping furiously as the glow of the monitor lit up his face. On the screen, a pixelated battlefield unfolded. It wasn't the kind of game with fancy graphics—it was rough, blocky, an old-school RPG with chunky characters that moved like puppets on strings.
Three enemy players surrounded his lone avatar. Their swords slashed, their spells flared in bursts of jagged light. But his character danced between every attack, rolling left, striking quick, retreating just in time. The health bars of his enemies dropped bit by bit until—
Slash!
One went down, the body collapsing into blocky fragments. Another screamed in glitchy audio before fading into the pixelated dirt. The last one fought hardest, swinging wildly, but the boy's timing was perfect. With one final strike, his avatar's blade cut across the enemy. The screen froze for half a second, then the last player crumbled.
"How you like that, motherfuckers!" he shouted, pumping his fist at the monitor. His chair creaked as he leaned closer, eyes burning with adrenaline.
Then his gaze slid to another screen beside him. A livestream window was open, filled with scrolling comments and flashing emotes. The announcer's voice blasted through his cheap headset, almost crackling with excitement.
"He killed them! Avend has done it again! He's the winner of the last tournament of Deep Skies RPG!"
The crowd noise from the stream roared in his ears, a digital cheer that felt like thunder inside his small room.
"It's over, huh…" he muttered, slumping deeper into his chair. His body felt heavy, like all the energy he had poured into the match had finally caught up with him.
The announcer's voice still echoed from the second screen, loud and dramatic, but now it sounded almost distant.
"At the end, no one could defeat the final boss of the game! And with this, we thank every single player for supporting us all these years. We will be closing every server soon."
The words sank into the room like a weight. His eyes lingered on the frozen screen of his victory, but it didn't feel like triumph anymore. Slowly, he leaned back until the chair creaked, staring up at the ceiling as silence replaced the adrenaline rush.
After a long pause, he reached for his phone, unlocked it, and started scrolling. The news feed was overflowing with excitement.
/That battle was nuts, bro!\
/Avend won against three level 1000+ players! \
/He's the Final Boss after all, even if he's not official!\
/Well he somehow broke the system and got 2720 level when the max is 2700 so ofc he'll win."
Lines of praise, emojis, and reactions filled his screen. For a moment, his lips curled into a faint smile. Then it vanished. With a careless flick, he tossed the phone aside, letting it land somewhere on the bed.
"So this game is gonna shut down forever, huh…" His voice cracked slightly as he whispered into the empty room. "What should I do after this… with my life?"
The silence pressed harder on him. He let out a hollow laugh.
"Should I die…?"
A beat passed. His chest rose and fell slowly, and he closed his eyes for a moment before shaking his head.
"Maybe not yet…"
His gaze drifted to the wall clock ticking quietly in the corner. The red digits glowed back at him.
"It's already 3 a.m., huh… I haven't slept in three days since I heard the game was gonna shut down."
He forced himself up from the chair. His body felt stiff, bones popping slightly as he stretched. With a heavy sigh, he shuffled toward the bed.
"I should take a quick nap…"
Without another thought, he let himself fall onto the mattress, face-first. The springs groaned under his weight, and for the first time in days, his body gave in.
After a long silence, his eyelids twitched and slowly peeled open, but only a sliver. His vision was hazy, and the first thing he noticed was the soft glow of his monitor bathing the room in pale light. The chair, the desk, even the walls seemed washed in that artificial shine.
On the screen, words appeared, bold and final.
"End of Deep Skies RPG – Thank you for the journey."
Beneath it, a timer ticked away.
0:10s
He blinked, his half-awake mind trying to process it. The numbers continued to fall.
0:09s
0:08s
The beeping countdown seemed louder with every second, echoing in the quiet room. His breath caught, his eyes now fully open, staring without blinking.
0:03s
0:02s
0:01s
Then the screen froze.
0:00s
For an instant, nothing happened. Then—
A blinding flash erupted from the monitor, so sharp and intense that his eyes burned. He threw his arm up on reflex, but it was useless. The light swallowed the entire room, every corner bursting with white brilliance until his vision turned blank.
And then—silence.
Darkness.
The world around him vanished, leaving only emptiness. His body felt weightless, like he was floating in nothingness. His chest tightened with panic.
"What the fuck just happened?!" he cursed, his voice trembling. "Where am I? And why… why can't I feel my body?!"
The silence dragged, pressing against him like a suffocating blanket. A chill ran down his spine as a terrible thought crossed his mind.
"Bitch… don't tell me I've died… what the fuck…"
Just as despair settled in, a sound sliced through the void. A voice—not his own—soft, yet carrying a strange weight. Feminine, calm, but layered with something ancient. It wasn't spoken like normal words. It rang, almost like a chant carried by the wind.
"I ask again… to the Lord who shall pierce the heavens… and break the world apart… awaken."
The incantation echoed, deep and unshakable, as though the void itself was listening.
Then suddenly, a sickly red light flooded his vision, the color thick like fresh blood. Shapes began to move within it—chunks of human flesh hurtling through the air, raw and glistening, sinews snapping and dripping as they collided in grotesque arcs. Bones rattled as they tumbled, skull fragments spinning with a wet, horrifying rhythm. Every impact was accompanied by a sickening squelch. The smell of iron seemed to seep into his mind before he even realized it.
A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through his side. He gasped, clutching at himself.
"What the hell is going on!" he shouted, panic twisting his voice.
The flying meat began to converge, pieces knitting together with wet, tearing sounds, forming shapes that almost—terrifyingly—resembled bodies. Then a deafening bell rang, echoing through the darkness like the world itself had cracked. His eyes shot open, and his vision cleared, blurry at first but sharpening quickly.
The first thing he saw was her. Kneeling before him, a girl—but not entirely human. Her skin had the softness and warmth of flesh, yet a strange iridescence shimmered beneath the surface, like she was made of moonlight and shadows. Her eyes glowed faintly with an otherworldly hue, wide in surprise as she looked up. Her hair cascaded like liquid night, framing her face with curves both delicate and dangerous.
'Huh… where am I…' he thought, confusion knotting his mind.
'And who is this girl… why does she look so familiar…'
His gaze swept the room. It was vast, like the interior of a castle, ancient stone walls engraved with runes that seemed to pulse faintly. Torches burned with colors unnatural and eerie. Figures moved in the shadows—demons of all shapes: goblin-like forms scuttling along the walls, red-skinned giants with gleaming claws, and others whose forms twisted reality itself.
'What the fuck!' he thought, heart hammering.
'Really, where am I…' and these people look like fucking aliens!
The girl suddenly stood, her movements graceful but firm. She smiled, a radiant, almost divine expression.
"L-Lord Avend! You're revived!"
He blinked at her, trying to process the words.
'Huh? I'm revived…' what does she mean?'
A sudden drip echoed, sharp and clear. He turned to his side, startled, and saw a wall of water frozen mid-air. Its surface shimmered like glass, perfectly still. And in it—his reflection.
The image staring back was not entirely human. Silver-white hair fell like threads of moonlight, wild and untamed, framing sharp, angular features that seemed carved from stone. Blood-red lines twisted across his skin like molten veins, glowing faintly in rhythm with some unseen pulse. Every flicker of light made the water ripple, emphasizing the raw power etched into his form.
The jagged seat beneath him was ancient, scarred, yet it seemed insignificant compared to the aura emanating from him. His body was a battlefield of muscle and menace, black and crimson markings wrapping his torso like armor grown from within. Three void-like circles burned across his chest and abdomen, throbbing with a power that made the air tremble.
Behind him, black tendrils unfurled, curving and twisting like bladed wings. In the water's reflection, they looked like the hands of demons, reaching and clawing, ready to strike at anything.
His crimson eyes locked on his own reflection. Every detail—the wild hair, the glowing veins, the tendrils—was real, undeniable. His breath caught.
"What the fuck…" he whispered, voice barely audible, but his mind already racing with terror and awe.