The smell of molten metal and desperation hung thick in my cramped city apartment like a toxic fog of bad life choices. My dual monitors cast an eerie blue glow across the chaos that had become my existence, empty energy drink cans forming a fortress around my gaming chair, real forge tools scattered between takeout containers, and steam rising from the electric furnace I'd somehow convinced my landlord was "essential for my art."
Art. Right. More like evidence of a complete mental breakdown.
"Alright, degenerates," I muttered into my headset, pushing the protective goggles up onto my sweat-dampened forehead. "Welcome back to another episode of 'Ren the Forge Goblin Slowly Loses His Mind.'
Today marks attempt number seven hundred of trying to unlock the most ridiculous hidden class in gaming history."
The chat immediately exploded with their usual brand of loving toxicity:
💬 DarkBunni69: Bro got dumped by society and married a hammer
💬 MisoSoupGod: 700? Just uninstall, man
💬 ThirstPaladin: Still can't believe you melted your sink to make a fantasy dagger
💬 UwU_Furnace: FORGE GOBLIN SUPREMACY 🔥🔥🔥
I couldn't help but grin despite myself. These lunatics had been following my descent into madness for almost a year now, watching me transform from a semi-normal programmer into... whatever this was. Shirtless, covered in soot, talking to a computer screen at 3 AM while attempting to forge mythical weapons in both virtual reality and actual reality.
"For the newcomers just tuning in," I continued, wiping sweat from my face with a towel that had definitely seen better days, "your boy discovered an obscure Reddit post buried deeper than government secrets. Some anonymous user claimed there was a hidden class in Throne of Embers called the Godsmith, or Godforger, depending on who you ask, that could only be unlocked by forging exactly 777 unique tools and weapons."
The game's interface flickered on my primary monitor, showing my current crafting menu.
Throne of Embers wasn't exactly a mainstream title, it was one of those indie RPGs that attracted the kind of players who memorized damage formulas and argued about lore inconsistencies on forums at 4 AM.
But something about its crafting system had hooked me like a fish with abandonment issues.
💬 CringeLord2000: Imagine explaining this to your parents
💬 MetalDaddy: "Mom, I can't come to dinner, I'm forging fake swords for internet points"
"Listen here, you beautiful disasters," I shot back, "my parents stopped asking questions after I explained I was making more money streaming myself slowly going insane than I ever did debugging corporate software. Capitalism is weird, but I'm not complaining."
That wasn't entirely true. The streaming revenue barely covered my increasingly expensive metal-working hobby, but pride was a luxury I'd abandoned somewhere around attempt 400.
Besides, there was something oddly therapeutic about the entire process. The weight of real metal in my hands, the heat of the forge, the satisfaction of creating something tangible in a world that felt increasingly digital and meaningless.
"The thing is," I continued, selecting materials from my in-game inventory, "this isn't just about clicking buttons and watching progress bars. The game's AI has some kind of authenticity verification system. It can tell when you're just going through the motions versus when you actually understand the craft."
💬 ForgeSimp: That's why you learned actual blacksmithing?
💬 RevengeOfTheNerds: Dedication or insanity? You decide!
"Both!" I laughed, a slightly manic edge creeping into my voice. "Definitely both. I've spent more on metallurgy courses than most people spend on their cars. My neighbors think I'm either a serial killer or the world's most committed cosplayer."
The truth was more complicated than I let on. What had started as a gaming challenge had evolved into something resembling a spiritual quest. Every failed attempt taught me something new about the delicate balance between fire and metal, between patience and aggression. The game's crafting system was sophisticated enough to recognize subtle differences in technique, timing, and even emotional investment.
It was also slowly driving me completely insane, but that was beside the point.
"Today's attempt," I announced dramatically, pulling up the design interface, "is based on a piece of lore I found buried in the game's ancient texts. Apparently, there was once a fallen god whose fang was forged into a dagger of such dark beauty that it could cut through divine flesh itself."
I began selecting materials, obsidian from the deepest volcanic chambers, silver blessed by moon sprites, and a core of crystallised shadow that had cost me three weeks of grinding to obtain. The real-world equivalent involved actual obsidian I'd ordered from a geological supply company, silver wire I'd learned to work with through countless YouTube tutorials, and a level of creative interpretation that would make my college professors weep.
💬 EdgeLordMaximus: Going full anime villain, I see
💬 SoullessGamer: That's some chunibyo energy right there
💬 DarkBunni69: Next he'll be declaring himself the demon king
"Mock me all you want," I replied, beginning the intricate forging process, "but when I'm wielding god-tier weapons and you're still farming goblins for copper coins, we'll see who's laughing."
The familiar rhythm took over, hammer strikes synchronized between the physical forge on my balcony and the virtual one on my screen. Steam rose from both, creating an almost mystical atmosphere that my viewers loved to screenshot and turn into memes. The chat scrolled by in a blur of emoji and commentary, but I was entering that focused state where everything else faded away.
Strike. Fold. Heat. Cool. Repeat.
This was meditation disguised as gaming, zen through the pursuit of impossible perfection. Each attempt brought me closer to understanding not just the game's mechanics, but something deeper about the relationship between creation and destruction, between the digital and the physical.
"The key," I explained, my voice taking on the tone of a professor delivering a lecture on applied insanity, "is to approach each creation as if it's the only one that matters. The AI can detect when you're rushing, when you're not fully invested. It's like it can sense your soul through the screen."
💬 MetaphysicalMetal: That's either profound or terrifying
💬 ExistentialCrisis: Why not both?
💬 ThirstPaladin: Ren's about to transcend reality through weaponsmithing
The dagger was taking shape, both virtually and physically. The obsidian edge gleamed with an inner darkness that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. I'd managed to incorporate the silver into the hilt in a way that created intricate patterns resembling falling tears, a detail that had taken me six attempts to get right.
"You know what the funny thing is?" I mused, making final adjustments to the balance and weight. "I used to be a normal person. Had a job, an apartment that didn't smell like a forge, friends who didn't exclusively communicate through Twitch emotes. But then I found this stupid game, and this stupid quest, and now..."
I gestured broadly at my transformed living space, where gaming equipment coexisted with blacksmithing tools in a harmony that defied all logic and several fire safety regulations.
"Now I'm here, talking to strangers on the internet while trying to convince an AI that I understand the cosmic significance of properly tempered steel."
💬 LifeChoices: No regrets though, right?
💬 MilfGoonerSupreme: This is peak human evolution
💬 SadButTrue: At least you're passionate about something
The completion notification chimed in the game, and I held my breath. This was always the moment of truth, when the AI would evaluate my creation and decide whether it met the mysterious standards of the Godforger class unlock.
[Craft Complete – Evaluating...]
The progress bar crawled across my screen with agonizing slowness. In the background, my chat was going wild with anticipation and increasingly creative ways to express their investment in my digital breakdown.
[God-Tier Recognition Level: 99%]
"Ninety-nine percent," I whispered, hardly daring to believe it. Previous attempts had never broken past 87%. "Holy shit, chat, we might actually—"
[Hidden Class Prerequisite Met]
The world stopped.
My chat exploded into a wall of caps lock and fire emojis, but I could barely process what I was seeing. A new window had appeared, something I'd never seen before in over a year of playing this game.
["Congratulations, you masochist."]
["Do you accept the Godforger's Legacy?"]
💬 ThirstPaladin: WHAT THE ACTUAL—
💬 UwU_Furnace: BRO, CLICK IT. CLICK IT.
💬 DarkBunni69: Ain't no way
💬 MetalDaddy: HOLY FUCKING SHIT
💬 TiTYSimp: YEARS OF ACADEMY TRAINING WEREN'T WASTED