The first light of dawn crept through the thin curtains, casting a pale glow over Ash's cramped bedroom. He stirred awake, his back already screaming from the night shift at the gas station—a job he hated but couldn't escape. At just seventeen, life had already ground him into dust. No one cared about him; no one ever would. The thought gnawed at him as he dragged himself out of bed, his joints stiff and his stomach hollow.
He shuffled toward the cracked mirror on the wall, staring at the ghost staring back. Skinny. Pale. Hollow-eyed. His dark circles were like bruises around sunken pits, evidence of sleepless nights spent either gaming or crying—not that there was much difference these days. His hair stuck up in greasy spikes, unkempt and unwashed for days. Pathetic. That's what everyone called him behind his back—and sometimes right to his face.
Ash clenched his fists, his reflection mocking him. "You're nothing," he whispered hoarsely, echoing the voices that haunted him daily.
But then his gaze shifted to the corner of the room where his pride sat—an immaculate gaming PC, glowing RGB lights pulsing softly against the dreary morning. It was the only thing he loved, the only thing he poured any care into. Even if it meant skipping meals, even if it meant sacrificing everything else, he'd spared no expense building that machine. To him, it wasn't just hardware—it was salvation. A portal to another world where he could be someone better, someone stronger.
He plopped down in front of the desk and booted up Steam, refreshing the page compulsively. Still nothing. No downloads. No notifications. Just silence. The rage bubbled inside him, hot and acidic. Six fucking years. Six goddamn years he'd poured into this project—his magnum opus, an Isekai game unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Dungeons, guilds, magic systems ripped straight from the best anime and manga he adored. And yet…nothing. Not a single sale. Not a single review. It was as if the universe itself had conspired to make sure he failed.
"Why?!" he screamed, slamming his fist onto the desk hard enough to rattle the keyboard. "What the fuck is wrong with me?! Why can't I do anything right?"
His tirade was cut short by the sharp ring of the doorbell. For a moment, he froze, heart pounding wildly. Then he bolted to the door, yanking it open to reveal a small cardboard box sitting innocently on the doorstep. This was it—the thing he'd ordered weeks ago, the thing that promised release from all this pain. Revenge. Justice. Whatever you wanted to call it.
He picked up the package, trembling hands tearing at the tape. Inside lay a sleek metal suitcase. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the latch. Was he really going to go through with this? Doubt flickered across his mind, but before he could act, his phone buzzed in his pocket. School. He glanced between the case and his phone, dread coiling in his gut. But then memories flooded back—Alan laughing behind his back, Emma pretending not to notice him, teachers sneering at his failing grades, classmates whispering cruel jokes whenever he walked past. Alan. Fucking. Emma. In the locker room. Her moans still echoed in his ears, taunting him.
With a snarl, he flipped open the case. Two cold, gleaming pistols stared back at him. His breath hitched as he attached the silencers, loading magazines with shaking hands. Each click felt heavier than the last, each movement pulling him further away from hesitation and closer to inevitability.
By the time he arrived at school, every step carried the weight of finality. Behind the building, James—the old janitor and former gang member—was waiting. When he saw Ash approach, a grin split his weathered face.
"Well, well," James drawled, lighting a cigarette. "Look who decided to show up. Didn't think you had the balls, pretty boy."
Ash glared at him, eyes blazing with fury. "Fuck off."
James chuckled, unfazed. "Relax, kid. I did my part. Locked the main doors, cleared out all the safety guns. Now it's your turn." He tossed a keychain toward Ash, who caught it reflexively. "That'll get you into most places here. Don't screw this up, though. If you break anything expensive or ruin my shit, I'll kill you myself."
Without a word, Ash shoved past him, storming into the building. The halls were eerily quiet, the calm before the storm. He moved quickly, heading straight for the source of his torment. They were together, of course—Emma clinging to Alan like she always did, her golden hair cascading over his shoulder as they whispered sweet nothings.
When they saw him, their expressions morphed into shock. Alan stepped forward, raising his hands placatingly. "Ash, man, you're going insane right now. Clam down, okay? I didn't know you knew about me and Emma, and I didn't think it would drive you this crazy. I'm so fucking sorry, please don't kill us. I love her, just like you do. I'll do anything—make you watch, or even join us. Please. Or I'll even leave her to you. Just put the gun down."
Something inside Ash snapped. Watch? Join? Leave her to him? The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Before he could think, he swung the gun, cracking it against Alan's temple. Blood sprayed as Alan crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Emma shrieked, stumbling backward, but Ash didn't stop. He raised the pistol, firing round after round until the magazine clicked empty.
By the time the SWAT team burst in through the windows, guns drawn, Ash was standing amidst the carnage, breathing heavily, his pockets empty of ammunition.
"No!" he screamed as they tackled him to the ground, forcing his arms behind his back. "No, please! God, no!"
They shoved him into the back of a SWAT vehicle, slamming the door shut. Panic surged through him as reality crashed down. Prison. Death. Endless suffering. He thrashed against the restraints, hyperventilating, when suddenly—
A loud truck bell pierced the air, ringing for a few deafening seconds. Then flames erupted, consuming everything. The fire engulfed the SWAT car, searing heat pressing against his skin. Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
When Ash opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on soft grass under a clear blue sky. Confusion clouded his mind as he sat up, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Trees stretched high above him, their leaves shimmering with an ethereal glow. Birds chirped melodiously, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers.
And then he saw it—a holographic interface floating before him, glowing brightly against the serene backdrop.
**Welcome, new user,** the voice intoned smoothly. **To the world of Eldarion. Please select a name for yourself, and let's begin your journey.**
Ash stared at the screen, disbelief washing over him. "Can't…be…" he murmured, recognizing the design instantly. This was his game. His creation. Somehow, impossibly, he was inside it.
For the first time in years, a spark of hope ignited within him. Maybe this was fate. Maybe this was redemption. Or maybe…just maybe…it was revenge reborn.