By the time I noticed it, I realized I had no idea how I got here.
There was a sloping area covered in green grass. The sun was still high in the sky, so it might still be early afternoon. The wind blew through the grass, giving it the appearance of green water; a wave of grass flowed in my direction as I sat atop a large rock. The smell of moist soil and the grass mixed with the wind, and the fragrance drifted into my nostrils. The wind carried to the forest behind me, rustling the leaves on the trees.
I stood up unintentionally from the rock which I had sat on, and fixed my eyes on the overwhelming expanse of the horizon. A view such as this couldn't easily be seen in little old Midwest America, could it?
Finally, I noticed my own appearance.
The first thing that struck me wasn't my new towering size or the weight of the armor—somehow, it felt lighter than it looked—but the way the wind caught the edge of my cape, snapping it behind me like a banner. I flexed my fingers, the segmented gauntlets responding seamlessly, and realized with a detached fascination that this wasn't some VR rig or cosplay gone wrong. The gold-trimmed obsidian plates moved like a second skin, silent and deadly.
The gear was far apart from my normal appearance, but I knew it well. Even today, before I fell asleep in front of my computer after playing online games, this gear was equipped to my player character.
Am I trapped inside the game?
"What the actual hell?!"
I yelled at the top of my lungs. Even though I knew there is no one here to answer, I couldn't help but cry out my confusion. My voice echoed back, distorted and metallic—this helmet wasn't just for show, then. I took a deep breath, the sound of my own breathing amplified inside the enclosed helm, steady and rhythmic like a blacksmith's bellows. The air tasted filtered, sterile, as if the armor itself was purifying it for me.
My fingers twitched toward the helm's edge, seeking purchase, a seam, *anything* to pry it off.
I finally found it.
With a hiss of pressurized release, the helmet unlocked, and I tore it free. The sudden rush of unfiltered wind hit my face—*real* wind, *real* air, thick with the scent of grass and earth and something faintly metallic beneath it all. The weight of the helm in my hands was undeniable—solid, dense, *real*.
I blinked.
The world didn't waver.
Didn't glitch.
Didn't reset.
This wasn't VR anymore...
I turned the helmet over in my hands, studying the intricate gold filigree along the jawline—too precise for any game engine, too *cold* against my bare fingers. The realization hit like a warhammer: this was real metal. Real craftsmanship. The kind that didn't exist back home unless you were standing in a museum.
I tossed it aside—it bounced once, twice, then rolled downhill without a sound. A mistake, maybe, but I wasn't thinking. Not when the weight of the armor suddenly made sense, when the way my body moved in it felt *right*, like muscle memory I shouldn't have had. My fingers twitched again, and this time, I *felt* something—a pulse, deep in my chest, threading through the armor's joints like a second heartbeat.
With my new towering form everything looked small compared to me.
I hated all of this.
I wanted to go home.
The pulse in my chest surged again, sharper this time, and the armor responded—not like machinery, but like a living thing. The obsidian plates shifted minutely, adjusting to my breath, my stance. Gold filigree flared briefly with an inner light, casting jagged shadows across the grass. I didn't remember this feature from the game. Then again, the game didn't make your ribs ache with every heartbeat like a forge stoked too hot.
I then remembered that my Avatar had twin giant swords in the game.
I slowly move the swords, testing their weight. The first one slides free from its scabbard with a whisper—no dramatic *shing*, just the quiet parting of oiled leather and steel. It's heavier than I expected, but my arms don't tremble. My body knows this. The second sword comes loose just as easily, and now I'm standing there like some kind of apocalyptic statue, twin blades catching the sunlight in dull, hungry gleams.
I lightly swung the unrealistic swords to confirm the weight. Then I swung the swords with one hand each.
While waving the swords around, I called out the name of a skill from the game I was just playing.
"[Malphas' Dual Slash Of The Abyss]!!"
Yeah the game was known for overly long and dramatic names...
Twin beams of pure darkness emit from the swords, and are sent flying into the forest.
Suddenly, a load of trees slowly fell within the forest. The leaves of many other trees rustle, and the of the birds of neighboring trees all fall onto the ground dead. A slightly dull sound echoes through the area as the trees hit the ground.
"Really, what the actual hell is happening anymore…"
Finally, I had the feeling that my thoughts have slightly calmed down. But I still did not understand the situation.
The swords in my hands thrummed with a quiet, predatory energy—like the slow breathing of a beast waiting to be unleashed. They weren't just weapons; they were extensions of something deeper, something coiled inside my ribs, gnawing at the marrow. The game had never explained *this*. There were no tooltips for the way the blades seemed to whisper in a language just beneath hearing, or how the darkness clinging to their edges *licked* at the air like a starving thing.
I wanted to go home...
Sure, we all thought about at least once of how great it would be to go to another world with all of our powers. To be the hero, the legend, the unstoppable force.
But I finally found happiness in my actual life.
Im fact, when I mysteriously fell asleep on the computer, it was the last day I was going to play this game—tomorrow was the first day of my dream job, the promotion I'd clawed my way toward for fucking years. The apartment lease renewal was signed. My boyfriend—no, *fiancée*—had just texted "goodnight, love you" before I dozed off. And now? Now I was standing in a fucking field with swords that drank the light and armor that moved like a second skin.
The pulse in my chest flared again, hotter this time.
I would get home.
One way or another, I would get home.
I then see a large river ahead.
But I should probably get my helmet back first...
The helmet lay halfway down the slope, its gold filigree catching the sunlight in mocking little winks. I scowled at it—already resenting the thing like it had personally dragged me here—before striding forward to retrieve it.
The helmet rolled to a stop against a gnarled root, its polished surface now smeared with dirt and crushed grass. I reached for it, but my armored fingers hesitated—because the root wasn't just *there*. It pulsed. Veins of bioluminescent sap throbbed beneath the bark, casting a sickly violet glow across the helmet's edge. The forest behind me wasn't just trees; it was *watching*. Branches twitched without wind, leaves curling like fingers beckoning me deeper.
I snatched the helmet up, and the moment my armoured fingers touched the filigree, I ran to the riverbank and looked around. This river was about two hundred meters across. It seemed to hold quite a lot of water. When I looked at the river, the water seemed to be transparent, and I saw many fish swimming along with the current.
"Oh well, why don't I take a break and have a drink of water?," I muttered, half-expecting the armor to protest. But the obsidian plates remained silent, save for the faint hum of whatever the hell was living inside them. Kneeling at the riverbank, I hesitated—this wasn't just water. Up close, it shimmered with an unnatural clarity, like liquid glass. The fish weren't fish at all. Their scales were too iridescent, their movements too synchronized, weaving patterns that made my vision blur if I stared too long.
I dipped my bare hand in—no gauntlet this time, I took it off with the other hand.
But such a thought was in my head as I brought my face closer to the water.
At that moment, my mind went blank.
"Damn…"
My mutter was lost inside the noise of the water.
My vision focused solely on the refection in the water now—but it wasn't *mine*.
It was my character.
The reflection in the water wasn't just my character—it was *me*. Long, black hair cascaded over armored shoulders, a few strands loose and framing a face I'd only ever seen in menus and loading screens. Dark skin, smooth and unmarred, contrasted against the gold filigree of the armor's gorget.
But it was the eyes that froze me: amber, sharp as a predator's, glinting with an intelligence I hadn't programmed. They flicked slightly to the right, as if tracking something just beyond my periphery, and the lips—*my* lips—parted in a smirk that was all teeth, no humor.
The earrings dangling from my (my? *Mine?*) lobes caught the light, tiny obsidian shards that seemed to drink the sunlight rather than reflect it.
It wasn't me at all...