They called him cursed. He preferred glitched.
In Myrrus Undone, curses were common enough — whispered in alleys, carved into bones, etched into the ruins of temples. But a glitch was something different. A glitch was rebellion against the rules of reality itself. And Eylin wore that name like armor.
The world had collapsed long before he was born. The strong fed on the weak, the weak clawed back at the strong, and survival was the only law left standing. Morals had rotted, systems had crumbled, and the gods — once worshipped as light and hope — had abandoned humanity to its own ruin.
"What caused this?" people asked. No one answered. Only those who could read, interpret, and invoke runes knew the truth.
The magic system had shattered.
The greedy woke the gods.
The beings above tore the foundation apart.
They claimed everything was fine. Everyone knew it wasn't.
Mana was gone, scattered into fragments. But fragments meant freedom. Now anyone could wield glyphs, carve their own path, and rewrite destiny.
Glyphs: the broken programming language of a ruined world. Some called them runes, others magic circles. In truth, humanity was never meant to touch them. But where there is code, there are hackers.
That's us. Hackers of glyphs. They call us mages, but society still clings to its rules — schools, ranks, privileges. Break the rules, and you're branded rogue. Coders versus hackers. Privilege versus scraps.
And me? I'm Eylin.
Eylin Glitch.
The greatest spellcaster in all of Myrrus Undone.
Or so I tell myself.
The forest was alive with shadows. Branches clawed at the sky, twisted and blackened from centuries of mana storms. The air smelled of damp rot and ozone, the kind of place where nightmares felt at home.
Eylin sprinted through the undergrowth, dreadlocks whipping behind him, sweat dripping into his eyes. His boots pounded against the earth in a zigzag rhythm, dodging roots and fallen trunks. Behind him, the ground shook with each thunderous step of the monster giving chase.
"Fuckkkk! I said I was sorryyyyy!" he shouted, voice cracking as he vaulted over a log.
The corrupted mouse — three meters tall, its fur burned away in patches, its eyes glowing with sickly green fire — barreled after him. Its squeal was a shriek of metal grinding against stone, a sound that made his teeth ache.
Eylin ducked behind a tree, chest heaving. He wiped sweat from his forehead and cursed under his breath.
"Damn… it was supposed to bind. Instead, it exploded."
He glanced at the glyph etched faintly into the bark, still smoking from his failed spell. The lines jittered, fractured, refusing to hold their shape. Another glitch. Another failure.
The mouse screeched again, snapping branches as it forced its bulk through the forest. Eylin pressed his back against the tree, heart hammering. He could feel the mana fragments in the air, buzzing like static, mocking him.
He remembered the collapse. Not firsthand — he had been a child then — but through stories, whispers, and scars left on the land. Humanity had tried to reach the gods, to bargain, to demand answers. Instead, they woke them. And the gods, furious at the intrusion, tore the system apart.
The result was ruin. Cities crumbled, mana storms raged, monsters mutated from ordinary beasts into horrors. The world became a graveyard of forgotten rules.
Now, glyphs were all that remained. Fragments of a broken language, scattered like shards of glass. Anyone could wield them, but few understood them. And fewer still could bend them without breaking themselves.
Eylin had tried. Again, and again. Each attempt ended the same way: a glitch. Spells that stuttered, glyphs that fractured, mana that refused to obey.
But he refused to stop.
The mouse lunged, jaws snapping shut inches from his face. Eylin rolled aside, dirt spraying as he scrambled to his feet. He raised his hand, fingers trembling, and began sketching lines into the air. Mana strands stretched from his palm, glowing faintly violet.
"Bind… bind… come on, damn it…"
The glyph flickered into existence, jagged and unstable. Chains of spectral vines erupted, lashing toward the beast. For a heartbeat, hope flared in his chest.
Then the glyph stuttered. Lines fractured. The chains snapped apart mid‑flight, dissolving into sparks.
The mouse roared, charging again.
BOOOOOOM.
The glyph detonated, a burst of violet fire lighting up the forest. The shockwave knocked Eylin off his feet, slamming him into the dirt. His ears rang, his vision blurred.
"Fuckkkk…" he groaned, dragging himself upright. "It was supposed to bind…"
The mouse staggered, singed but still alive. Its eyes locked onto him, fury burning brighter.
Eylin spat blood, wiped his mouth, and grinned.
"Guess we're doing this the hard way."
He sprinted again, weaving through the forest. His mind raced faster than his feet, calculating glyphs, recalling fragments, piecing together broken code. He thought of the academy he never attended, the privileges denied to rogues like him. Mages had libraries, teachers, resources. Rogues had scraps, whispers, stolen notes.
But rogues had freedom.
And freedom meant improvisation.
He sketched another glyph mid‑stride, lines jagged but determined. Mana surged, unstable but potent. He shouted the incantation, voice raw:
"YUN GRAV VESTA!"
The ground cracked. Vines erupted, spectral chains whipping out. They caught the mouse's legs, tangling, pulling. The beast shrieked, thrashing, but the glyph held — barely.
Eylin skidded to a halt, chest heaving. He raised his staff, channeling the last of his mana.
"Let's see you glitch this, bastard."
A fireball burst from the staff, slamming into the mouse's chest. The explosion lit the forest in violet flames. The beast shrieked one final time before collapsing, smoke rising from its charred body.
Silence.
Eylin stood trembling, sweat dripping, mana drained. He stared at the corpse, then laughed weakly.
"Greatest spellcaster in Myrrus Undone… yeah, sure."
The forest fell quiet, save for the crackle of burning vines. Eylin lowered his hand, exhaustion settling into his bones. He glanced at the corpse, then at the fractured glyph still flickering faintly in the air.
Another glitch. Another reminder.
He was cursed. Or glitched. Or both.
But he was alive. And in Myrrus Undone, that was victory enough.