The lights were blinding—white, blue, and gold cutting through the dark like a crown forged from electricity.
Elias barely noticed them anymore.
Seventy thousand people filled the stadium, their voices crashing together into a single, living roar. Above them, holographic banners rippled across the ceiling—RIFTBOUND WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS: GRAND FINALS—the words pulsing with every bass-heavy beat that shook the stage.
At the center of it all sat Obsidian Crown.
Five players. Five silhouettes. Five names etched into esports history.
And at their core—him.
"Fifth Grand Finals appearance," the caster shouted, voice trembling with awe. "Ladies and gentlemen, this isn't just a team. This is a dynasty!"
Elias leaned back in his chair, fingers resting lightly on the edge of his keyboard. His heartbeat was steady. Calm. Almost bored.
On the massive screen behind them, his in-game name burned brighter than the rest.
AETERN
The crowd chanted it like a prayer.
"Ae-tern! Ae-tern! Ae-tern!"
Someone once said his name sounded less like a tag and more like a verdict. Eternal. Unending. Unpatchable.
The Cristiano Ronaldo of MOBA.
The man who broke metas for fun.
The player every patch note feared.
Elias exhaled slowly through his nose and glanced to his left.
"Same plan," said Kael, Obsidian Crown's captain. "They'll try to pressure you early."
"They always do," Elias replied.
On the opposite side of the stage, Iron Howl sat rigid in their booths. Faces tense. Knuckles white. This was their first Grand Finals appearance.
And they were facing a five-peat champion.
"Draft phase is live!" the caster yelled.
Bans flashed across the screen.
Iron Howl wasted no time—three bans instantly locked onto Aetern's signature champions.
The crowd reacted with laughter.
"Oh, they're scared," the analyst chuckled. "They're banning history itself."
Elias smirked.
"They never learn," he murmured.
Even stripped of his comfort picks, he adapted. He always did.
That was the terrifying thing.
---
Game One
Iron Howl came out aggressive. Early jungle invades. Lane pressure. A desperate attempt to shake the king before he settled onto his throne.
At seven minutes, Obsidian Crown was down two kills.
"Is this it?" the caster asked. "Is Iron Howl finally cracking the crown?"
Elias watched the minimap, eyes scanning, calculating.
Now.
"Collapse mid," he said.
They moved as one.
A perfect flank. A perfectly timed crowd control chain.
Triple kill.
The stadium exploded.
"That's Aetern!" the analyst screamed. "That's what no patch can fix!"
By fifteen minutes, Obsidian Crown controlled the map.
By twenty-two, Iron Howl was bleeding objectives.
At twenty-eight minutes—
"NEXUS DESTROYED!"
1–0.
Elias removed his headset, expression unchanged.
---
Game Two
Iron Howl tried something different.
A scaling composition. Late-game insurance.
Smart—but too slow.
Elias punished every mistake. Every missed skill shot. Every half-second of hesitation.
At the thirty-minute mark, he dove three players under turret and walked out alive with ten percent HP.
The crowd lost its mind.
"That's illegal!" someone shouted.
2–0.
---
Game Three
Desperation.
Iron Howl drafted chaos. High-risk, high-reward.
They got nothing.
Elias dismantled them piece by piece, like a machine executing instructions written years ago.
3–0.
Match point.
The chants grew louder.
"Six! Six! Six!"
Kael leaned over. "Let's end it clean."
Elias nodded.
"Always."
---
Game Four
Iron Howl fought like men already drowning.
But drowning men don't topple gods.
At twenty minutes, Obsidian Crown wiped them near Baron.
At twenty-three, the game was over.
4–0. Sweep.
Six-peat World Champions.
Confetti rained from the ceiling.
The trophy gleamed.
And Elias stood up, the weight of history settling invisibly on his shoulders.
The casters were screaming now.
"UNBELIEVABLE! AETERN DOES IT AGAIN!"
"Six championships! Six Grand Finals victories!"
"The greatest of all time—there is no debate anymore!"
Elias lifted the trophy with his team.
Cameras flashed.
Smiles were exchanged.
From the front, it was perfect.
From the front, it was immortal.
---
But greatness has a way of rotting the things it outgrows.
---
The after-party felt like a victory lap stretched too long.
Bass-heavy music thumped through the walls of the penthouse venue, each beat vibrating through Elias's ribs like a second heartbeat he didn't ask for. Gold lights swept across the room in lazy arcs, illuminating champagne towers, sponsor logos, and smiles practiced so often they no longer reached the eyes.
This was the part people didn't see on stream.
Executives clapping just a little too hard. Sponsors laughing just a little too loud. Conversations that sounded warm but smelled like transactions.
Elias stood apart from it all, leaning against the balcony railing, city lights sprawled beneath him like a circuit board. His championship ring felt heavier than usual on his finger.
Someone pressed a drink into his hand.
He didn't remember asking for it.
"Six times," a man in a tailored suit said, grinning wide. "You've made history, Elias."
Elias nodded politely. "Team effort."
The man laughed as if Elias had told a joke.
"That humility is why people love you."
Elias took a sip. The alcohol burned down his throat, sharp and unwelcome. He set the glass aside after one swallow.
Behind him, laughter erupted. Camera flashes. Another sponsor photo.
Then a voice—soft, amused.
"Looks like you're trying to escape your own party."
He turned.
She stood a little too close, as if they already knew each other. Red dress. Confident posture. Eyes sharp enough to notice everything.
"I guess I am," Elias said.
She smiled. "Can't blame you. I'd get tired too, being… well. You."
"Is that so?"
She nodded. "Aetern. Six-time world champion. The guy everyone loves until they lose to him."
That earned a faint smile.
"Name's Mira," she said. "I've followed your career for years."
She knew his plays.
She mentioned matches even hardcore fans forgot.
She knew which champions he favored under pressure. Which lanes he roamed when bored. Which tournaments he dominated while sick.
She knew his schedule.
That should have been the warning.
But Elias was tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of being careful.
They talked. Then drank.
Then drank more.
The music blurred into noise. The lights smeared together. Time lost its edges.
The last thing he remembered clearly was the city lights tilting sideways.
---
The morning didn't arrive with sunlight.
It arrived with noise.
A pounding at the door. Shouts. Heavy footsteps.
Elias opened his eyes to blinding white and a headache that felt like his skull had been split open.
"What—?"
Hands grabbed him.
Cold metal snapped around his wrists.
"ELIAS ROWEN," a voice barked. "YOU ARE UNDER ARREST—"
"For what?" His tongue felt thick. Useless.
"Rape."
The word didn't register at first.
Then it did.
And everything collapsed.
---
The internet killed him before the law ever could.
By the time he was shoved into the back of the police car, his name was already trending.
#AETERNEXPOSED
#MONSTEROFESPORTS
Clips replayed on every platform. Slowed down. Zoomed in. Twisted.
Photos appeared—him entering a room, him leaving it, timestamps rearranged like puzzle pieces forced to fit.
Messages surfaced. Screenshots. Voice notes.
Manufactured. Clean. Professional.
Someone had planned this.
Elias spent seven days in jail.
Seven days stripped of sound except metal doors and distant shouts.
Seven days where his name became a curse.
Other inmates recognized him.
Some laughed.
Some spat.
One asked, "Worth it?" and walked away before Elias could answer.
When the truth came out—when inconsistencies cracked the case, when timelines didn't add up, when the story unraveled—the release was quiet.
Too quiet.
Charges dropped.
Statements issued.
Apologies typed by people who would never read the comments.
But the internet didn't care.
Truth was slower than outrage.
And outrage had already won.
---
Sponsors vanished overnight.
Contracts "paused."
Teams "reconsidered."
Friends stopped replying—not out of hatred, but fear. Fear of association. Fear of being dragged down with him.
The mansion went first.
Then the cars.
Then the invitations stopped entirely.
Elias moved into a studio apartment with peeling paint and thin walls that let in every sound from the outside world.
From god to ghost.
---
He locked the door and didn't open it again for days.
Anime played endlessly on a cracked screen, episodes blurring together. He didn't always watch. Sometimes it was just noise—proof the world hadn't gone silent.
Trash piled up.
Cup noodles stacked in corners like trophies of survival.
Empty cans clinked underfoot.
He stopped checking his phone.
When he finally did, it was only to see his name used as a punchline.
As a warning.
As a joke.
He hated the game.
Hated the scene.
Hated the name Aetern more than anything.
One night, he tried to end it.
The blade slipped from numb fingers.
Another night, pills.
He woke up.
Again.
Again.
Every attempt failed—not dramatically, not heroically. Just… inconveniently.
Like the world refused to let him log out.
Eventually, he stopped trying.
Not because he wanted to live.
But because trying hurt more.
Living felt worse—but it was quieter.
---
Weeks later, hunger forced him outside.
The convenience store's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he grabbed the cheapest cup noodles off the shelf. His reflection in the glass looked wrong—thinner, older, eyes hollowed out.
On the way back, something caught his eye.
A stall.
Dusty. Forgotten.
A VR headset sat on display, its box slightly dented.
REALM SHIFT — FULL DIVE MMORPG
He stared longer than he meant to.
Games had ruined him.
Games had made him.
"…fuck it," he whispered.
He bought it with money he couldn't afford to spend.
---
The headset felt heavier than expected.
When he logged in, muscle memory took over.
Username input.
AETERN
The chat exploded instantly.
Insults. Slurs. Death wishes.
Same as always.
He muted it.
Then he played.
And something felt… different.
The grass bent beneath his feet.
The wind brushed against his skin.
When he swung a sword, his arm tired.
It shouldn't have.
He paused.
Removed the headset.
Put it back on.
Still real.
Still too real.
But for the first time in years—
He smiled.
Because here—
No one knew his face.
No one cared about his past.
And for a little while—
The world stopped judging him.