I thought I’d get a second chance at life. Y’know... the usual: a fantasy world, a legendary sword, maybe even a cute goddess blessing me with cheat skills.

Instead, I woke up blinking into a blank canvas with a freaking loading sign before me. Because I’d been reincarnated… as a cursor.

Yes. The little arrow on a computer screen. The one humans drag around without a shred of mercy.

Now I’m forced to wander the internet at the whim of clueless users. One moment I’m opening spreadsheets full of numbers that make no sense, the next I’m being shoved into a dungeon of pop-ups offering “Free iPhones” and “Hot Singles in My Area.”

I’ve faced Captcha trials that question my very existence (“Am I a bus… or am I not a bus?”), battled malware goblins in shady download sites, and endured the cursed lands of comment sections.

But this cursor isn’t content to blink in silence. If the gods stuck me here, then fine—I’ll master this glowing body, survive the horrors of the web, and carve out my legend.

This is the story of how I, once human, became the most dangerous pointer in the digital multiverse.

For the first time since my rebirth, there was silence.


No pop-ups. No spreadsheets. No endless autoplay. Just the clean glow of a browser homepage.


"This… this is nice," I whispered. "Maybe my suffering is over. Maybe the human is finally done."


I drifted lazily across the screen as the hand rested on the mouse. A moment of digital serenity. My glowing body relaxed for the first time.


I started to dream. What if I could build a new life here? Maybe become a respectable cursor. Highlight a few words. Copy and paste responsibly. Live quietly, away from the madness.


I was thrown into a dim, archaic landscape. The air smelled of dust and old memes. Strange avatars hovered in the distance, their pixelated faces frozen in eternal debate. Walls of text scrolled endlessly, stacked on top of one another.


"Oh no…" I whispered. "This is… a forum."


Not just any forum. An old one. A place that should have died years ago but somehow kept going.


I tried to back out, but the human dragged me deeper, scrolling past ancient posts. Some threads were abandoned, others locked, but one burned brighter than the rest.


"Console Wars: PlayBox vs. GameStation (2008 Thread, Still Active)."


Inside, two users were still arguing. Still. After more than a decade. Their usernames flickered with fury as they threw the same insults back and forth, over and over, like cursed NPCs.


"PlayBox has better exclusives!" one raged.


"GameStation has more power!" the other shot back.


I covered my nonexistent ears. "Oh god. They never stop."


The human scrolled gleefully, dragging me across the battlefield of outdated arguments. Every time I thought it was over, another wall of text appeared. Caps lock. Typos. Half-baked logic.


I screamed into the void. "End this thread! Let it die!"


And I realized with growing dread that the internet is full of places like this. Eternal arguments. Ancient grudges. Dead memes that refused to stay buried.


Chapter 7 - Peace.exe Has Stopped Working