Chapter 3
He wrote not as someone taking notes, but as someone transcribing what had long been engraved in his mind.
Each stroke of the pen felt like a fragment of something greater.
Perhaps a prophecy, perhaps a report, or perhaps a confession he never intended anyone to read.
And with every breath he took, one could see the remnants of a weariness that refused to fade—a fatigue not born of the body, but of something far deeper.
The air around him was calm, yet within that warehouse, time itself felt broken.
Dust falling from the ceiling seemed to drift too slowly, and the light streaming through cracks in the boards moved like drops of water suspended in the air.
Amid the stillness, only the sound of the pen could be heard—soft, metallic clicks like the heartbeat of a dying clock.
Between the fingers that veiled his face, faintly glimmered a pair of dimly burning eyes.
Not lit by flame nor reflection, but by something that grew from within him.
His name, to most, might have been no more than a record in history, but among the shadows of catastrophe, he stood as the writer of a tale that would one day consume the world.
Theo Vkytor.
"This isn't the world I wanted, nor the reality I wished for.
Damn it all, it started with that cursed message.
'The fusion process will complete in less than two seconds'?
Two seconds—enough to erase my life, dissolve my achievements, and blur my identity!
I hope you're proud of yourselves, wretched world!
A ridiculous game world with its absurd magical logic!
You kidnapped me from my quiet life only to turn me into a joke in this alien land?
Is that it, you bastards?!!"
The book and writing tools now in Theo Vkytor's hands did not belong to the world he was standing in.
The realm beneath his feet was not the Earth he once knew, but a magical reality—too grand, too terrifying—to be considered real.
Everything here pulsed with Inti Lu, even the air felt alive, and beneath its majesty lay an absurdity that defied human imagination.
And there Theo was—a writer from an ordinary world—trapped in a realm of super-magic that was meant to exist only as a background for stories or games crafted by others.
Before any of this, Theo had been just a young author living in the solitude of a computer screen and the faint scent of digital ink.
He wrote with passion, carving letters into the night, building worlds he thought would live only within paragraphs and imagination.
The beauty, the detail, and the emotional weight in his novels were so strong that they inspired game creators.
But on what seemed an ordinary night, as his fingers danced across the keyboard and his mind swam in the second volume of his work, the screen suddenly trembled.
A message appeared, its letters glowing red in the darkness of his room.
"Warning! The fusion process will complete in less than two seconds."
In an instant, the world he knew vanished.
White light devoured everything—blinding, freezing time, erasing the borders between fiction and reality.
Theo tried to pull away, but his body was dragged by an unseen force, like a small ship swallowed by a storm.
It wasn't pain he felt, but the strange sensation of a world created by others reaching out to pull him in.
When consciousness returned, he was already here—in a world that once existed only as a game, now reborn as a reality that denied all logic.
From that moment, Theo Vkytor lived between two colliding realms of reason—
The world of the writer and the world created by others.
He had tried more than once to negotiate with reality, pleading for this game world to consume any other existence but his own.
Yet the sky remained silent, the ground foreign, and every time he wrote in his little book, the golden ink seemed to mock the irony of a creator trapped within a creation not his own.
"It's pathetic, I swear.
So ridiculous I could almost laugh—but my throat refuses to move.
And when the message—'Warning! The fusion process will complete in less than two seconds'—disappeared from sight, all I saw was white, a sharp light that tore through my eyes.
Then, when I could see again, I had already washed ashore here—in the middle of the game world, Flo Viva Mythology.
Insane, isn't it? My real world is ninety-nine percent gone.
Everything—my desk, my home, my pens, the city I grew up in—burned away, stolen by the realm of this game.
What's left is just one percent: me. Myself, and the scraps of reality that probably no longer matter."
Whoooosh!
"The most ironic part? Flo Viva Mythology was merely a distraction from writing Last Prayer Volume Two—a horror novel so intense my publisher stayed up nights for its reprint.
I only sought a moment's escape from that dark manuscript.
But now, that distraction has become my prison."
Tsssshhh!
"Flo Viva Mythology… a world where a frail orphan can manipulate Inti Lu—that mysterious energy said to be neither magic nor Qi.
I know every line of its story, have followed the downfall of its ten major female antagonists across six chapters.
But what intrigues me most is this—why were they all women?
Why must every villain be female?
Did the game's creator hold some grudge against women?
Or is there a deeper design, a hidden truth still veiled even from skilled players like me?"
The world had stopped working as it should since that day.
It wasn't Theo Vkytor who stepped into the game world, but the game world that crawled out of the screen and devoured reality without warning.
Everything he once knew—the narrow streets, the café where he wrote, even his modest room filled with the aroma of coffee and ink—was replaced by an absurd yet awe-striking new landscape.
The world surrounding him was no longer Earth, but Flo Viva Mythology, the game he once played merely to pass time between writing sessions.
And worse, it was no dream, no delusion—but an undeniable truth, a fusion of fantasy and reality where the laws of the old world no longer applied.
Of all the planets now reborn into layers of magical catastrophe, only one percent of the original world remained.
Theo was among that fraction—one of the few fragments of humanity forced to live between two realities.
Everything around him had become part of Flo Viva Mythology: buildings turned to temple ruins, cities became sacred plains, oceans transformed into etheric seas, and the sky churned with pulsating light like the heartbeat of a newborn world.
Yet beneath that surreal beauty lay a chilling emptiness.
There was no longer a line between what was created and what was real.
Theo, once the creator, had become nothing more than a fragment of a world written by others—and not by his own hand.
Flo Viva Mythology was never a kind world.
In that game, Theo once followed the journey of a frail orphan known as Human Change—a being capable of accessing the power of Inti Lu, the personification of life energy, a fusion of spirit, magic, and Qi, yet truly none of them.
To be continued….