The bluish glow of the monitor was the only sun in Ren's universe.
Beyond the thin door of his room, the real world murmured—a grating static he had long since learned to ignore. His parents' laughter from the TV, the sound of passing cars, the ghostly echoes of voices in the school hallway calling him "Pixel Ghost"—all of it dissolved before the portal to Asphodel Online.
Here, he wasn't Ren, the skinny, invisible seventeen-year-old Asian kid whose shoulders curved as if apologizing for existing.
Here, he was Zephyr. The Blade Master. Rank 7 globally. A god forged in code and pixels.
On the screen, his avatar was everything he wasn't. Tall, broad-shouldered, clad in the Twilight Draconic Armor—black plates that seemed to swallow light, etched with glowing arcane runes. In his hands, the twin swords Storm's Whisper and Void's Silence pulsed with power. Legendary artifacts. The reward for an eighteen-hour raid that had cost him a week of grounding and his father's disappointed stare.
Worth it.
Tonight, the Twilight Vanguard, his guild, was at the climax of an epic hunt. The World Devourer—an annual event boss—roared across the screen, a nightmare of tentacles and chaos energy that filled half the field of view. The virtual air crackled with spell explosions, steel clashing against chitin, and the frantic shouting of his guildmates over voice chat—muted.
Ren didn't need their voices. He knew the dance.
Devourer is channeling Annihilation Beam. Cast time: three seconds. Dodge left at 2.1.
His fingers were already moving.
Zephyr slid sideways, purple energy grazing past his head.
Tentacle sweep. Pattern: right to left. Blind spot directly under the torso.
His hands flew over the keyboard in a choreography of death. W, Shift, right-click. Zephyr lunged forward, diving beneath the monster's colossal appendage. He activated [Twin Blade Dance]. The swords became a blur of silver light, tearing into exposed flesh. Red damage numbers—criticals—spilled from the wound.
His real body, however, was losing a different fight.
A dull ache in his stomach was the ghost of hunger he had ignored for over thirty hours. His mouth tasted sour and dry—a mix of thirst and the last energy drink he'd downed four hours ago. Sleep pressed physically against his eyes, making the screen's glow almost painful.
He blinked, and for a split second, a bully's face flashed in his mind—the sneer, the hand knocking his books to the floor.
Focus.
He purged the memory. That was the real world.
This was what mattered.
The World Devourer's HP bar hit 1%. The rest of the guild—tanks and healers—were barely holding on.
— NOW, ZEPHYR! FINAL BLOW! — the guild leader's message flashed.
Ren didn't need the command. He was already moving.
The monster reared back for one last desperate attack, exposing the glowing core in its chest. The opening. One second—maybe less.
Ren triggered his ultimate: [Void Eclipse].
Zephyr vanished—then reappeared midair above the monster, both blades pointed downward. He plunged like a meteor clad in black armor.
The impact was silent.
The entire screen shook.
[WORLD ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: THE WORLD DEVOURER HAS BEEN DEFEATED!]
[FIRST TO LAND THE FINAL BLOW: Zephyr]
[EVENT REWARD: Devourer's Eye (Mythic Material)]
Guild chat exploded into a flood of caps and emojis. Zephyr's name burned gold across the server.
He did it.
The top. The glory.
A rare, addictive warmth filled Ren's chest.
This was it. This was why.
This feeling—this victory—was the only thing that made him feel alive.
He leaned back in his chair, body going slack as the adrenaline faded.
That's when the warmth changed.
From a glow of pride to a sharp, icy stab.
An iron claw crushing his heart.
His breath hitched. Air wouldn't come. Black spots danced across his vision, swallowing the image of his victorious character. He tried to lift a hand—call for help—but his limbs felt like lead.
His hand slipped off the mouse.
Hit the floor with a dull thud.
His fading eyes locked onto the screen one last time.
But the victory screen was glitching.
Corrupt.
A single line of purple text—wrong font, wrong system—burned over Zephyr's frozen image.
[SYNC ERROR: SOUL ANCHOR... INCOMPATIBLE.]
[FORCING... VESSEL RECALIBRATION...]
What…?
Darkness.
Not emptiness.
A fall.
Silent. Endless.
No thoughts. No fear. Just absence.
Until—
A smell dragged him back.
Overwhelming.
Cold, damp earth. Mold.
And something else. Metallic. Rotting.
Old blood.
Not a hospital.
Not his room.
Then sound.
Dripping water. Close.
A low, guttural hiss.
The scrape of small claws on stone.
Ren tried to open his eyes.
Heavy. Stuck.
With immense effort—he did.
Not total darkness.
A faint, flickering glow. A distant torch.
The light hurt.
His vision felt… wrong.
Low.
Too low.
He tried to sit up.
His arms moved—but they were too long. Too thin.
His legs—short. Crooked.
Panic crawled up his spine. Cold. Electric.
He looked down.
At his hands.
A shriek tore from his throat.
High-pitched. Animalistic.
Not his.
They weren't hands.
Green claws.
Three knotted fingers with dirty, cracked nails.
Rough skin. Sickly green.
He scrambled backward, terror detonating inside him, feeling his new body—awkward, frail, wrapped in filthy rags.
He crawled across the damp cave until he found a stagnant puddle.
Trembling uncontrollably, he leaned in.
Looked.
The face staring back—
A nightmare ripped straight from a loading screen.
Long, pointed ears. A hooked nose. Yellowed, jagged teeth spilling from a wide mouth.
And the eyes—
Small. Black. Glossy.
Filled with unmistakable human terror.
His terror.
A Goblin.
The weakest, most pathetic monster in Asphodel Online.
Before his mind could fully shatter, a translucent window blinked into existence.
Familiar.
More familiar than his own face.
[Name: N/A]
[Race: Goblin Scout]
[Level: 1]
[HP: 10/10]
[MP: 5/5]
[Attributes]
Strength: 2
Agility: 4
Intelligence: 1 (Anomaly Detected: 12)
Endurance: 1
[Racial Skills]
- Night Vision (Rudimentary)
- Cowardice (Passive): Increases movement speed when fleeing from a higher-level enemy.
Ren stared at the window.
But his focus locked onto a single line.
Intelligence: 1 (Anomaly Detected: 12).
The anomaly.
He was the anomaly.
The mind of the world's 7th-ranked player—
trapped inside a shell worth one experience point.
The irony was crushing.
Perfectly cruel.
The only possible response—
laughter.
A horrible sound. A choked, broken screech echoing through the cave, quickly collapsing into desperate sobs.
Then—
A new sound.
From the cave entrance.
Not dripping water.
Not monsters.
Clear.
Melodic.
Like a small bell.
Followed by a flash of blue light that pushed back the shadows.
A sound he knew instantly.
A player's spell.
[Magic Light].
Someone had arrived.
And for a Level 1 Goblin—
that meant only one thing.
The hunt had begun.