Riku's breath hitched. He broke into a run. The dirt path was uneven, roots snaking across it like traps. His heart hammered a frantic drum against his ribs, drowning out the forest sounds. 'Just get to Lowtown. Just get to Borin. Come on.'
A sharp crack split the air. Something crystalline was coming his way. A shard of ice, sharp as a dagger, slammed into the tree trunk right where his head had been a second before.
Ice. A human element. This wasn't a spirit.
He ducked and weaved, his mind screaming. Humans. Why humans? The Ascendancy. It had to be. He'd seen behind the curtain, and now the stagehands were coming to silence him.
Panic was like a fire in his veins. He focused on it, on the sheer need to not be here. He threw a hand behind him without looking, picturing a barrier, a distraction. A shimmering, illusory wall of light flickered into existence across the path. He heard a curse, a stumble - it had bought him a second.
That second was all he had. His foot caught on a gnarled root. The world spun, and he hit the ground hard, the air all went out of his lungs in a painful gasp. He rolled, dirt and leaves sticking to his sweat-soaked tunic, scrambling backwards like a crab.
They emerged from the trees. Three figures, clad in dark, non-descript clothing, faces completely masked except for cold, dead eyes. No insignia. No identity. Just weapons. One held a sword that gleamed with a faint, icy sheen. The other two had shorter blades.
The one with the ice sword lunged. It was a straightforward thrust aimed at his heart. No theatrics. No words. Just efficient, quiet murder.
Riku's body moved on an instinct, thanks to the trainings with Kayra. He rolled again, the blade slicing through the air where his chest had been. As the attacker's momentum carried him forward, Riku remembered a clip he'd seen once - a blurry video of some self defense martial arts reel. As the man stepped past, Riku shot his legs out, scissoring them around the attacker's ankles and twisting with all his might.
It was clumsy and desperate, but it somehow managed to work. The man grunted in surprise, his balance broken, and he crashed to the forest floor with a heavy thud, his sword skittering away.
Hope flared for a single second. Riku scrambled to his feet, his hand closing around the hilt of the fallen ice sword. It was heavier than he expected. Cold.
The other two didn't hesitate. They didn't check on their companion. They advanced in unison, their movements a mirror image of cold efficiency.
Riku raised the sword, his stance all wrong, his arms trembling. He was a game designer holding a real weapon for the first time. "Calm down, you can do this. You can—"
The two attackers split, flanking him. One came from the left, the other the right. Their attack was perfectly synchronized. A horizontal slash from the left aimed at his neck, a vertical chop from the right aimed at his collarbone. An inescapable X.
There was no time to block both. No time to dodge.
The world slowed to a crawl.
The blades made contact. A searing, unbelievable pain exploded in his chest. He felt the impact, the brutal sting of steel tearing through muscle and bone. He didn't scream. The air was gone from his lungs. He was lifted off his feet and thrown backwards onto the damp earth.
He lay on his back, staring up at the patch of darkening sky through the canopy of branches and leaves.
A warm, metallic taste filled his mouth. He coughed, and a spray of blood.
'What did I even do?' The thought was strangely calm. 'I just got here. I just started to understand.'
The masked figures stood over him for a moment, their dead eyes confirming the kill. One nudged the first attacker, who was getting to his feet. Without a word, they melted back into the trees, leaving him alone to die.
The cold was spreading. The forest sounds faded into a dull hum. This was it. Again. He'd died in a virtual world, and now he was dying in a real one. Except it wasn't real, was it? It was just as brutal, just as unfair, just as heartless as the history books he read said. The strong crushed the weak. This age was deemed ruthless era and he'd been naive.
A different kind of heat bloomed in his chest, cutting through the cold. Not the heat of blood, but of rage. A pure, undiluted fury.
Was he going to go back to his world now? Or was this the final death. He didn't even want to go back to his old world of code and screens anymore. He wanted to live here. He wanted to tear down the gleaming Spire with his bare hands. He wanted to show them. He wanted to be more ruthless than they could ever imagine.
'This is just a freaking betrayal in a game.'
The thought echoed, warping, solidifying.
'This is a game.'
He clung to the idea, a lifeline in the void. It was the only framework his dying mind could grasp. The pain, the betrayal, the cold logic of power - it was all just mechanics. Unbalanced, unfair mechanics.
'This is a game. This is a game. This is a game.'
If it was a game, there had to be a UI. A menu. A way to interact with the code. A 'dev console' maybe. He was the Architect. He could design realities. So why was he lying here, bleeding out?
He just needed to access the system. He focused every last ounce of his will, his rage, his desperate desire to cheat death, into a single, silent command.
'Show me the code.'
The world flickered.
For a split second, the forest canopy was replaced by lines of yellow code texts on a black background. Error messages. Health critical. Then, it was gone.
It was fake, wasn't it? That's just his power doing what he thought of. There really is no code.
Darkness pressed in. His eyes fluttered shut. The last of his strength faded. He had failed. It was over.
Then, a soft, luminescent yellow light pulsed against his eyelids.
His eyes, heavy as stone, managed to crack open.
Floating in the air before his fading vision was a single, clean, geometric window. The text was simple.
[UI Successfully Created via Architect's Design]
A final, bitter thought crossed his mind. 'Great. I finally unlock the feature right before the Game Over screen. Bullshit.'
Then, nothing.