The screen vibrated with a scarlet flash, then the words appeared in gothic letters:
VICTORY!
NÉPHÉLIUM RESURRECTS.
No matter the pieces moved across the world, no matter the kings or the empires…The one pulling the strings behind the curtain… was you.
I froze for a moment, breath caught, fingers clenched around my mouse. The silence of my apartment suddenly felt too heavy. Then chat exploded into a cascade of white lines.
[xX_BaguetteSlayer_Xx]: gg broooooo
[MomsBasementKing]: cheater build lol
[ElfHater42]: NÉPHÉLIUM TOO HARD BRO WTF
[PantinPhobe]: nah but fr you got a weird doll kink
A laugh escaped me despite the fatigue. I rubbed my eyes and leaned closer to the mic.
— "Now you understand why I love this nation."
Chat flared up again.
[EasyEmpireMain]: bro real talk since I follow you you NEVER wanted to play a simple nation like the Empire? Aren't you tired?
I raised my brows, smile already tugging at my lips.
— "The Empire? Too easy. You play that when you want a free win, not when you want to sweat."
[OrcDaddy69]: Horde's cooler bro, full pvp.
— "Yeah, full pvp, full brain-dead too. No thanks."
[PixieSlut]: and the Sylvan?? elves are such waifus bg
I rolled my eyes.
— "The Sylvan are like drinking lukewarm tea. Pretty, but no flavor."
[DarkQueen69]: so why Néphélium then?
I leaned forward, hands clasped as if about to reveal a secret.
— "Because Néphélium is the art of despair. You lose a hundred times, you fail a thousand games… but when you win? You make the whole world dance on your strings. And no other kingdom gives you that."
A brief silence followed. Then chat exploded, faster than before.
[HolyPaladinMain]: this guy's possessed
[TittyGoblin]: bro you got issues I love you
[GameAddict92]: ok you just sold Néphélium to everyone here
I snorted through my nose, amused despite the fatigue weighing down my arms.
— "Alright guys, I've been sweating like a pig on this game for three hours. Thanks for watching, you're the best. I'm gonna crash before I die on my keyboard."
Chat flooded the screen one last time:
[UwUMaster]: goodnight sensei
[DeadInside42]: sleep well puppet man
[HotStepSis]: come on Discord after ;)
I raised a tired hand to the camera in a kind of salute.
— "Alright, ciao everyone. Sweet dreams, and don't let anyone pull your strings."
I clicked End Stream. The screen went black.
I lingered a few seconds before the dark screen. My reflection stared back from the glass, red eyes, messy hair, a tired grin glued to my face. Damn, I really look like a guy who sold his soul to a video game.
I stretched, bones cracking like worn-out keys. A sigh escaped me, half relief, half emptiness.
That's when a small icon lit up in the corner of my screen.
A notification. An email.
— "Seriously? At this hour?"
I clicked, convinced it was another dumb RGB keyboard promo or shady spam. But no.
The game's logo. God Game. Official, stylized, the one plastered on every trailer and event.
My brow furrowed. I opened it.
'Dear player,Your performance and loyalty to the Néphélium faction have not gone unnoticed.You are invited to join a unique partnership: become the official God of Néphélium.Click below to accept your role.'
I stood there, eyes wide, rereading the same line three times.
— "Huh?"
My own echo in the empty apartment sounded ridiculous. I burst out laughing, nervous, almost embarrassed.
— "What is this crap? Some fucking RP sponsorship?"
I reread it, lips pressed tight.
Official God… damn, they know how to talk to weaklings like me.
A stupid warmth rose in my chest. I could already picture myself streaming in official partnership, chat spamming "OMG, you signed with God Game!"
— "It's gotta be a marketing stunt. Some weird PR. Not the first time a studio tries to reel in hardcore players."
My fingers hovered over the mouse.
A half-ironic, half-guilty smile stretched across my face.
— "Alright. What do I have to lose?"
I clicked Accept.
The screen turned black. Not black like a bug or a shutdown screen, no. Black like a gaping maw opening in my room.
I frowned, hand still on my mouse. When I tried to pull back, my fingers sank through the keyboard. Not above it, not under it: through it, as if it didn't exist anymore.
A brutal shiver shot down my spine.
— "What the hell…?"
That's when I saw them. Threads. Dozens of black threads, thin as hair, slipping out of the screen, clinging to my fingers, then my wrists. Cold, glistening, alive.
I pulled, dumb reflex. Bad idea. The more I struggled, the tighter they drew, cutting into my skin. My breath grew ragged.
Fuck, I'm dreaming. This is a visual bug. A fucking VR glitch. No way this is real.
The chair tipped, and I went down with it. I braced for the thud of the floor, the pain in my shoulders. But nothing came.
Instead, my body was swallowed by the void. Like falling through a curtain. Like my whole room had vanished behind me.
I crashed onto cold, damp stone. My palms slapped against icy rock. I opened my eyes in the darkness.
A smell of dust and extinguished wax filled the air. Around me, immense columns held up an invisible ceiling. And from that ceiling hung… hundreds of threads. The same that had dragged me here. Descending slowly, like infinite spiderwebs, gleaming with an oily shimmer in the dark.
I pushed myself up, breath shallow, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs.
— "No… no, wait… this isn't real…"
A light opened before me. Not a torch. Not a flame. A translucent window, floating in the air like a hologram.
Dynasty: Néphélium — Status: Fallen
Population: 0
Army: 0
Heroic Unit: 1
My lips parted on their own.
— "This… isn't possible."
A nervous laugh shook me. Not the kind you let out when you're amused. The kind that bursts out when you panic and aren't sure if you're losing your mind.
I'm inside the game. I'm fucking inside the game.
The threads above shivered, as if they were breathing.
A wingbeat tore through the silence. A heavy gust made the dust tremble on the ground, and I raised my eyes.
She was descending.
Majestic, unreal, her black wings spread like raven sails filling the space, each feather streaked with dark filaments unraveling like torn nerves in the eclipse's red light. Her perfect body was framed in the bloody halo with an insolence that froze me in place.
The black dress, short and slit up to the thighs, revealed the icy pallor of her stockinged legs. Her corset, laced so tight it seemed ready to burst, crushed and lifted an indecent chest, bouncing with each step as though even gravity hesitated to hold it down.
Her pale, smooth throat seemed to invite a bite, while her red lips gleamed like a fresh wound. And above all, those eyes… burning red, hypnotic, crossed by impossible pupils: a circle slashed with a dark cross, as if each gaze was a trap, a promise of damnation and ecstasy entwined.
I knew her. Fuck, I knew her.
— "…Irkalla."
The name slipped from me like a sacred breath.
Regent Commander of Néphélium. First heroic unit of the faction. The one who led puppet armies across the map. How many hours had I spent micromanaging her, sacrificing her, resurrecting her? She was the very soul of the kingdom. And now… she was here, before me.
Her heels brushed the ground. Her dress rippled like a flame. She stepped forward, then halted, still as a statue. Slowly, she bent her knees. Her wings folded on her back, and the black thread from the ceiling quivered above her head, linking her to the darkness like a celestial marionette.
She knelt before me.
— "Lord of Néphélium…" Her voice was a low, melodious breath, charged with frozen fervor. "At last, you have descended. God of puppets. Master of strings and of destiny itself."
I stood frozen, unable to answer.
My brain screamed this isn't possible, but my heart hammered as if I'd come home. Her, here, real… it was more than a gamer's dream. It was the materialization of all that time wasted in front of a screen.
Fuck. It's Irkalla. And she's kneeling before me.