Natalia lingered on the Centaur option—they looked cool, but practical strategy required versatility. She spotted Doppelgänger and read the description: A ghostly double or exact replica of a living person, traditionally seen as an omen of bad luck or impending death.
"Nope. Not on my watch, Satan," she muttered, scrolling past.
She reached an option labeled Human, but the description read: The human body cannot be transported to this realm. Race unavailable.
Meanwhile, back in the real world, chaos was quietly unfolding. Reports flooded local emergency rooms of people collapsing into unresponsiveness. Traffic choked around hospitals. An emergency broadcast interrupted television and radio programming nationwide, the President's voice grim and tightly controlled:
"Citizens, do not panic. We are aware of the situation. It is a global phenomenon. The military has been dispatched to secure affected individuals and transport them to medical facilities for monitoring. Investigations into the source are underway. If you know of a neighbor or relative who has gone unresponsive, report it immediately. We are taking every measure to keep our people safe."
A second voice cut in curtly: "The President is not taking questions at this time. Stand by for further instructions."
Outside, a tall figure in a heavy hoodie walked past a storefront window displaying the broadcast, head ducked low, hands buried deep in his pockets. He watched a convoy of unmarked black vans tear down the street before slipping into a narrow alleyway.
With impossible agility, the hooded man leapt, catching the rungs of a fire escape eighteen feet up. He scaled the ladder with fluid speed, reaching the seventh floor and sliding through an open apartment window. Inside, a television droned on. The apartment was empty.
He strode into the bedroom and found Natalia lying motionless on the floor, her phone resting near her hand, still lit up on the character-selection screen.
The hooded man lifted her effortlessly, placing her gently onto the bed. Because Natalia lived alone, no one had raised an alarm yet; she wasn't due back on shift for two days.
Retrieving her phone, the stranger scrolled through her contacts and drafted a text to her mother: I'm not feeling well. Please come check on me, but under no circumstances call the government or tell anyone else. Keep praying for me.
The man pulled back his hood. From his shoulder blades, a pair of massive, feathered wings unfurled. He tilted his head back, whispering a harsh, foreign syllable. A searing light bloomed from his forehead, washing over his body. His wings shrank, folding inward until they vanished entirely.
Returning to Natalia's phone, he tapped the screen. It still displayed: Travel to your city, complete with the blinking Enter button.
The stranger pressed it. But instead of collapsing into unconsciousness, his form dissolved, sucked directly into the screen.
In the digital realm, Natalia stared at the locked Human option, baffled as to why it was even visible if it couldn't be selected. Suddenly, the interface glitched. The restriction was lifted, and the Human tab unlocked.
Curious, Natalia selected it.
The air in front of her tore open with a sharp ozone hiss. A small, hovering aperture—resembling a floating camera lens of spun silver—peeled out of the rift. It swept a grid of pale blue light over her armor, ticking upward from her boots to her eyes. A soft, approving chime rang out.
In the wake of the light, particles of ash and gold dust coalesced from thin air. Flesh knit together, armor forged itself from nothingness, and in less than a heartbeat, a man stood before her.
He was her exact mirror. Every contour of bone, every shade of her complexion, was reflected back at her in terrifying, perfect fidelity—save for one detail. His eyes burned with an unsettling, molten gold.
"You may rename your guide once," the robotic voice chimed.
Natalia tapped her chin, thinking of her closest confidant. "Uriel," she said with a grin. "I'm naming you Uriel."
"Uriel is now your guide's name," the voice responded. "Do you wish to make any further adjustments? Wardrobe, facial features, gender, skin tone, hair color, or language."
"Change his hair color to dark midnight blue, his eyes to gold, and equip him with an armor set matching mine," Natalia decided, envisioning the ultimate tactical tag-team.
"Changes completed."
With a blink of an eye, Uriel shifted to match her specifications. Natalia smiled, looking past him as she noticed flickering points of light descending through the upper atmosphere from far away.
"What are those?" she asked, pointing upward.
"Those are more arrivals like yourself, pulled from other parts of Earth," Uriel replied smoothly.
Natalia blinked, stunned that her guide could speak without a prompt. "What do you mean? Where are we?"
"You are in a realm called Evansly," Uriel explained. "When you accepted the invitation, your soul was extracted and anchored to a respawning vessel. Your physical attributes here—speed, durability, agility—are heightened, but you are subject to stamina depletion, and yes, you can still feel pain. This was all outlined in the disclosure icon—the gold 'i' in the corner."
Natalia's jaw dropped. "My soul? How is that even possible?"
Uriel met her gaze steadily. "Are you certain you have no framework for this?"
Natalia thought of the theological texts and quantum theories she had read, of out-of-body experiences and spiritual warfare. "You're saying someone engineered a way to harvest and transport human souls? Does that mean I'm dead?"
"I assure you, you are not dead," Uriel said, gesturing toward the descending lights. "Remember your faith. There is a war waiting for you."
Recalling the legal disclaimer she had skimmed past, Natalia asked, "Can I review those terms?"
A glowing digital scroll materialized in Uriel's palm, unfurling before her. It read like standard software terms until Section XXVI: Transportation to external realms occurs upon avatar creation. While avatars appear generic in transit, users manifest in their true likeness upon arrival. To assume a fictional avatar during combat, command your guide to enable anonymous skin mode. Additional skins are available in urban markets. Section XXVII: Time dilation is active; a biological mimic will inhabit the user's physical body on Earth while they reside in Evansly. The mimic will respond to the user's identity, while the user is known by their chosen kingdom name. In the event a mimic requires direct action beyond its programming, a telepathic bridge will connect to the user.
Natalia stared at Uriel, horrified. "Does that mean I'm called Great Eden now? And some... thing has taken my place back home?"
"You are known as Great Eden," Uriel corrected. "And the mimic will maintain your life on Earth undisturbed—provided no one investigates too closely." He tapped a digital passport floating in the air, displaying her face alongside the name Great Eden.
"This passport identifies you for commerce, tournaments, and power-scaling," Uriel noted.
"What about these locked icons?" Natalia asked, flipping through the pages.
"Locked until you meet prerequisites. Tap the key icon to view requirements."
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, more distant portals flashed across the sky.
"What's the end game here?" Natalia asked, her stomach tightening.
"This is a closed ecosystem forged by adversarial powers," Uriel said evenly. "You must complete quests, build an army, and fortify your domain."
"I have an army?" Natalia blinked. "And how do I leave this place?"
"You must meet the primary victory conditions: seize a regional throne, defeat major bosses, forge strategic alliances, and clear portal dungeons," Uriel recited. "Most importantly, you must find the master key to break the cage."
"What about the time difference?" Natalia panicked. "Will my physical body starve while I'm here?"
"Once the server syncs tonight, temporal displacement takes effect. One hour on Earth will equate to roughly one month here."
Natalia shuddered, the reality of her entrapment finally sinking in. Eternity disguised as a game.
Back on Earth, the digital contagion spread.
In a quiet suburban home, a woman laid three Tarot cards across her dining table: The Tower, The Devil, and the Ace of Swords. Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer before downloading Throne War. Seconds after tapping install, she slumped unconscious in her chair.
In another city, a man wept openly in his living room, surrounded by his terrified family. "Are you okay, Father?" his daughter cried.
"Yes," he choked out, standing up. "I need to lie down. Do not wake me, no matter how long it takes. It's necessary." He retreated to his bedroom, laying down with his phone. Within minutes, his breathing slowed to a stop as he crossed the threshold.
By nightfall, makeshift support groups were already organizing online, families desperately searching for answers as thousands fell into unmoving composes. No one understood that this was not a medical anomaly, but the opening salvos of an ancient war—one long forgotten by a secular world that had traded spiritual vigilance for the comfort of modern science.