Mike swallowed hard, fear coursing through him. He knew this was no ordinary game event. This was something else entirely—something that had already crossed the boundaries of virtual reality into the unknown.
Time seemed to stretch. The translucent creature above floated silently, its presence a constant reminder of the power they were facing. Mike's hands clenched into fists. He had played countless hours of Godslayer, faced powerful bosses, slain dragons, and conquered the most dangerous quests. But nothing in the game had prepared him for this.
He noticed other players attempting to speak, forming groups, whispering theories, but the creature's silent dominance made their words hollow. Then, almost imperceptibly, the creature tilted its head. Its form shimmered, stretching and condensing, like waves across a pond.
"You will have four minutes and thirty-four seconds to decide. Yes or No," the voice resonated in every mind simultaneously. "Choose wisely. Your decision will determine your fate."
Mike looked around. Some players frantically tapped their menus, trying to interact, only to have them shatter into pieces like the boy's. Panic rippled across the cloud. A few younger players were crying, hiding behind larger avatars, while some of the strongest players tried to maintain composure.
Mike focused on the dragon-man. His body lay still, but there was a faint shimmer around him—he wasn't just dead; something was happening, something unnatural.
"I… I can't just let this happen," Mike muttered to himself. He tightened his grip on his swords, even though they existed in the game—they felt like anchors to reality.
From the corner of his vision, he noticed movement. Players were starting to make their choices. Some hesitated, others clicked Yes, perhaps out of fear, hope, or desperation. The cloud seemed to shift beneath their feet as more votes were cast, numbers flickering above the heads of those who had made a choice.
Mike's gaze returned to the dragon-man. He couldn't just leave him like that—not while the creature watched. Mike's instincts screamed at him to act.
"There has to be a way to fight this… to survive," he whispered.
He scanned the cloud. Around him, other high-level players began to gather, their experience apparent in their calm, controlled movements. NPCs, those who had been summoned or controlled by advanced players, hovered in anticipation, almost as if sensing the tension in the air.
Mike realized something crucial: the simulation wasn't just testing their choices—it was testing them, their instincts, their ability to act under impossible conditions.
Time ticked down. Four minutes, twenty seconds. The creature remained still, a towering reminder of the incomprehensible power governing this world. Mike's mind raced.
"I don't even know what Yes or No means… but I can't just sit here!"
He glanced at the younger players again—the ones who had cried or screamed. He had to protect them, somehow. Even in a virtual world, he could feel responsibility pressing on him.
Mike's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flash. The creature moved its hand slightly, a gentle wave, and a force rippled through the cloud. Players staggered, some losing their balance, others screaming. It was a warning—a reminder that this wasn't a normal game.
Mike's breathing quickened. He activated his abilities almost instinctively. Blade Storm, Sword Dance, Armor Break—icons flashed above his head as he prepared, not knowing what he was preparing for.
Then, the cloud shook violently. A wave of energy swept over the players. Some disappeared into pixels, vanishing entirely. The rest clung desperately to the cloud, their fear tangible. Mike's hands gripped his swords, his heart hammering in his chest.
And then—the timer blinked. 4:00 remaining.
Mike knew he had to act. He couldn't let fear control him. Not now. Not with the lives of players like the dragon-man and the smaller boy at stake.
He inhaled, his mind clearing. "Whatever this is… I'll face it. I'll survive."
Mike's pulse was racing, but he forced himself to stay calm. The cloud stretched endlessly, and beneath him, players scattered like ants, some frozen in fear, others attempting to rally their courage. The dragon-man's lifeless body lay a few meters away, a grim reminder of the stakes. Mike could almost feel the residual pain radiating from it, like the game itself was sending a warning.
Around him, the atmosphere seemed to thrum with energy. The creature above barely moved, yet every ripple of its presence caused waves across the cloud. Players tried to communicate, but their voices came out as panicked shouts, echoing against the infinite sky.
"What the hell is going on?" someone yelled. A female elf, her bow strapped across her back, shook with terror. "Is this… part of the test?"
Mike clenched his fists. "This isn't just a test of choice," he muttered under his breath. "This is a test of survival."
He scanned the crowd, looking for allies, or at least someone calm enough to strategize with. His eyes locked on a towering warrior—a heavily armored player who exuded confidence, even in the face of the incomprehensible. The warrior's axe gleamed in the strange light, and a faint aura surrounded him.
Mike approached cautiously. "Hey, warrior," he called out. "Do you have any idea what's happening?"
The warrior turned, his expression stoic. "It doesn't matter what's happening. It only matters what you do now. Choose, act, survive. That's all this simulation respects."
Mike nodded slowly. The words were simple, yet chilling. It confirmed his fear: the game—no, the simulation—was testing them, but not for explanation. It was testing instincts, reaction, and willpower.
He turned his gaze back to the timer. 3:30 remaining. Less than four minutes. Panic surged through some of the younger players, but Mike felt something else—clarity. For the first time, he understood what he had to do: focus, protect, and think strategically.
Nearby, a small boy—the same one who had tried to log out—was trembling violently. Mike knelt beside him. "Listen to me," he said firmly. "You can't panic. We need to stay calm, stay together. Follow my lead."
The boy nodded hesitantly, wiping his tears. Mike glanced at the other players. Some had already started marking Yes or No. The ones who had clicked Yes were glowing faintly, a soft aura surrounding their forms. Those who had clicked No—including the dragon-man—were in pain, writhing or collapsing. Mike realized with a cold shock: the choice wasn't just symbolic. It had consequences. Real consequences.
"So, we have to figure this out," Mike whispered to himself. "Before more people… die."
He stood, scanning the cloud. The creature above was silent now, its translucent form motionless but omnipresent. Mike could feel its attention on him, as though it were aware of every movement, every heartbeat.
"We need information," he muttered, almost reflexively. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his senses expand. Years of playing Godslayer had trained him to notice details others missed—enemy patterns, hidden signals, environmental clues. He focused on the cloud itself.
The surface beneath him shimmered slightly, reacting to the collective fear and energy of the players. The cloud wasn't just a platform—it was part of the simulation, responsive, adaptive, and aware. Mike felt a surge of adrenaline. "I can use this," he thought. "I just need to understand how it works."
A sudden ripple across the cloud caught his attention. Players were being drawn toward one edge, a subtle gravitational pull that was almost imperceptible but undeniable. Mike ran toward the pull, the small boy at his side, dodging players who were frozen in panic.
At the edge of the cloud, he saw it: a faint distortion in the air, like heat waves rising from the surface of a sunlit road. The rift that had appeared in the sky earlier was still there, faint but visible, its edges trembling like liquid. And from within the rift, he could feel a presence—intense, cold, and powerful.
"That's the source," Mike whispered. "Everything is coming from there."
Other players began to notice it too. A group of high-level warriors, mages, and archers gathered near the edge, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. They looked to Mike as he moved forward, his level, experience, and calm demeanor giving them a strange confidence.
"We can't fight it directly," Mike said, his voice steady despite the chaos. "But we can observe, learn its patterns, and prepare. The rift—it's the key."
A mage stepped forward, her staff glowing faintly. "How? It's… enormous. Too powerful to confront. If we touch it, we'll be destroyed."
Mike nodded. "Then we don't touch it. We watch. We analyze. And we survive."
The creature above stirred slightly, sensing their movement. A faint tremor passed through the cloud, making several players stumble. Mike steadied the small boy beside him. "Focus. Keep your feet on the cloud. Don't panic."
Suddenly, a pulse of light radiated from the creature, sweeping across the cloud like a wave. Players screamed as the aura interacted with them—some glowed brighter, others shrieked and collapsed. Mike felt a tingling sensation in his own body, the interface of the game and simulation intertwining in an almost painful harmony.
"It's testing us," he muttered. "Every reaction, every thought—it knows."
He scanned the players around him. Those who had clicked Yes earlier seemed more resilient. Those who had refused—No—were suffering visibly, as if their choice had triggered some feedback from the simulation. Mike clenched his fists. The dragon-man… he hadn't survived. He couldn't let others suffer the same fate.
"We have to organize," he said aloud. "Not just survive individually. Together. Strategically."
A warrior stepped forward, his massive axe gleaming. "I agree," he said. "We form squads. Cover the cloud. Protect the weaker players. Learn what this creature wants."
Mike nodded, feeling a spark of hope. "Exactly. Let's start by observing the rift and the creature's patterns. Everyone stay calm, and don't act rashly. This is a test of intelligence, not just strength."