Connection Established…
A calm, synthetic female voice echoed in his mind.
Ding!
The sound was sharp—too real to be imagined. It sliced through the fog in his mind like a blade, jarring him awake.
Feng's eyes fluttered open.
At first, all he could see was white light. Blinding. Harsh. Cold.
But slowly… slowly, the outlines began to form—blurred silhouettes sharpening into clearer shapes. A sterile metallic ceiling came into view, followed by flickering holographic panels lining a circular room. Faint murmurs filled the air like white noise. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of other people stirred to life around him, lying on similar metallic platforms, all dazed and confused.
Then, a bright translucent screen appeared in front of him, floating mid-air.
Welcome, Feng.
Another ding.
You have 92 seconds to select a class.
Tournament Initialization: In Progress.
Choose wisely.
"What the… what the actual hell is this?" Feng muttered, his voice hoarse and confused.
His hands gripped the edges of the platform. Cold steel met his fingers. He tried to sit up, but his balance was off—his body felt different. Lighter, stronger. Yet… disconnected. As though it didn't belong to him.
He looked around. The room was vast, the walls arched high into a dome. Rows of glowing pods housed other people—some yelling, some trying to run, others just screaming.
Feng's breathing picked up. He closed his eyes.
"I was in my room… I had just finished grinding a dungeon in Immortal Paradox Online. My head was spinning, so I laid down to rest. I never logged into any new game. So how the hell…"
The screen shifted.
Available Classes (20):
Skyforged
Runner
Vanguard
Mimic
Sorcerer
Shield
Wraithcaller
Fist Monk
Chronoblade
Beastkin
Stormborn
Gladiant
Hexweaver
Titanborn
Verdancer
Soul Piercer
Dreadknight
Dragoon
Aethermancer
Ashborn
"Oh, this has to be a dream. This better be a goddamn dream. Because if not—if this is real—then I'm seriously fucked."
He waved his hand instinctively.
A cursor moved.
It reacted to his will. His thoughts. It was fully synced to his consciousness.
Each class began to display its attributes as he hovered over them.
Skyforged:
Flight. Enhanced durability. Lightning resistance. Weak in confined spaces. Vulnerable to ranged spellcasters.
Runner:
Extreme speed. High criticals. No defense. Requires mastery of movement skills.
Mimic:
Temporary skill absorption. Unpredictable. Drains energy rapidly. Weak defense.
Chronoblade:
Time-step movement. Combos. Reset cooldowns. Complex to master. Weak to crowd control.
Feng's gaze narrowed.
"What the hell is this game? Who made it? And why am I inside it?"
Suddenly, a violent tremor shook the room. A countdown appeared, blinking red.
71 SECONDS UNTIL FORCED ENTRY.
Panic erupted among the others. Some were crying. Others were shouting things like "log out," "exit game," and "admin command." But nothing worked. There were no HUD menus. No logout button. No customer support prompt.
Just the class selection.
Feng had played thousands of hours in online games. He was familiar with character creation, optimization, stat trees. But this—this wasn't normal. This wasn't even possible.
It felt… real.
Painfully real.
He clenched his fists. The platform he was lying on lowered into the floor and vanished beneath him, leaving him standing on smooth glass. A surge of heat ran through his arms. Strength. Weight. Control.
He stared at the Skyforged class again.
It was aggressive. Tanky. Versatile.
"Fuck it," he muttered. "If I'm stuck here, I need a class that can survive."
He willed it.
A soft click echoed in his mind.
Class selected: Skyforged
Generating soul-bind…
The moment he made the selection, agony ripped through his spine like wildfire.
His body convulsed. He dropped to his knees. His skin burned—then glowed—then cracked.
But instead of bleeding, his veins lit up with golden circuits, like a living armor was being carved into him. Wings of faint energy began to form on his back, skeletal at first, then solidifying into ethereal steel.
His vision blurred.
And then—BOOM!
The glass floor split apart.
Everyone, including Feng, dropped into the abyss.
He fell for what felt like hours, spinning through a tunnel of light and shadow. The air was thick, like he was being pulled through dimensions. Voices chanted in ancient tongues. Chains rattled. Screams echoed.
Then—impact.
Feng slammed into solid ground, his knees digging into cracked stone.
Above him, a sky burned with twin suns. Jagged mountains surrounded the land. A deep, circular coliseum rose around them—an arena. The crowd was endless. Spectators—some human, some not—watched from bleachers suspended in midair. Banners flew in the wind, inscribed with symbols he didn't recognize.
And in the center of the arena, a massive floating screen displayed:
ROUND ONE:
SURVIVE THE SLAUGHTERFIELD
00:59 COUNTDOWN TO SPAWN
Others landed around him, dazed and confused. Twenty… thirty… maybe fifty people in total.
Most looked like him—young, mid-20s, average build. Some were teenagers. A few older men. But all wore the same stunned, terrified expression.
"This isn't a game," someone whispered.
"No shit it's not," another muttered. "I feel everything. My heart's pounding. I can smell the dirt."
A woman in a red cloak—clearly a Sorcerer—raised her hand and cast a test spell. A fireball formed in her palm, real and burning, and then exploded into the sky.
Everyone went silent.
Reality hit.
This was no simulation.
This was real.
And they were being thrown into battle without warning.
00:10
00:09
Feng took a deep breath.
The Skyforged system synced fully. A faint HUD blinked into view—minimal, sleek.
HP: 100%
Mana: 100%
Armor Integrity: 100%
Flight: [Locked until Rank 3]
Weapons: None equipped.
"Damn it… not even a starter sword?"
00:03
00:02
00:01
A massive gate opposite the arena began to rise, gears grinding like thunder.
Monsters poured out.
Dozens of them.
They were grotesque—half-flesh, half-metal abominations. Misshapen limbs. Spiked backs. Glowing red eyes. Some crawled on all fours. Others hovered with pulsating tendrils.
"MOVE!" someone screamed.
The battle began instantly.
The monsters charged.
A Mimic user shouted and copied a Vanguard's shield, barely blocking the first attack. A Stormborn archer fired a barrage of lightning arrows, clearing the left flank. The red-cloaked Sorcerer hurled waves of fire, incinerating four creatures before being overwhelmed by three others and dragged down, screaming.
Feng snapped into motion.
A spear materialized in his hand—sleek, metallic, skyforged alloy. He didn't know how he summoned it, but it felt right.
His instincts kicked in.
He parried the first blow—a clawed monster lunging for his throat—and drove the spear through its chest. The body dissolved into code. No blood. No gore. Just lines of fragmented data.
But the pain in his arm from the impact?
That was real.
Another creature leaped at him. He sidestepped, spun the spear, and cracked its skull with the butt of the weapon. It exploded in a flash of sparks.
His body moved like a warrior. The Skyforged system enhanced him—guided him. He wasn't fighting like a gamer. He was fighting like someone who had done this all his life.
To his left, a girl—barely eighteen—screamed as a monster tackled her.
Feng didn't think.
He dashed forward, spear slicing horizontally, splitting the beast in half before it could rip her throat out.
"Get up!" he yelled.
She scrambled to her feet, eyes wide. "T-Thank you."
Another wave approached.
The monsters weren't infinite. But they were relentless.
And the players were dying.
One by one.
Every scream echoed across the arena. Every kill left a mark. There was no respawn. No revival screen. Once you were gone, you were gone.
Feng's arms burned from strain.
His armor cracked slightly.
Then—finally—
WAVE COMPLETE.
The monsters dissolved into particles.
The crowd above roared.
SURVIVORS: 17
Out of 50.
Only 17 left.
Feng stood in the center of a battlefield soaked in data-fragments and echoes of the fallen.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
CONGRATULATIONS.
SKYFORGED CLASS: RANKED 1
BONUS ATTRIBUTE: +5 RESILIENCE
FLIGHT MODULE UNLOCKED (LIMITED)
A soft glow lit up his back.
Energy wings formed again—this time solid, complete. Not just visual. He could feel them.
He looked around.
Seventeen survivors.
Most collapsed, shaking.
One kid was crying. Another sat with his back against a dead monster, eyes hollow.
There was no victory here.
Only survival.
Then—new text appeared.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF XENOS.
YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN.
DEATH IS PERMANENT.
LEVEL UP TO RETURN.
OR DIE IN SHAME.
The crowd chanted from above.
"Blood for power! Blood for glory! Blood for return!"
Feng looked up.
Then down at his hands.
"What the hell have I been dragged into?"