When the Game Became Reality
The evening in Adelaide was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the city outside the window. Inside a modest apartment, Locke Weisz lay sprawled on his bed, his fingers idly scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his sharp, bright bluish eyes, and his messy black hair fell softly across his forehead. It was a rare moment of peace for Locke — the strongest hero alive, the Number One of the Hero Industry, hidden behind the façade of a normal 19-year-old living in an ordinary world.
His life was anything but ordinary. Beneath the surface of everyday society, a hidden war raged—one the public never knew existed. At its center stood the Hero Industry, an invisible and fiercely guarded organization that sought out powerful individuals like Locke, training and refining their abilities to defend Earth and countless other realms from looming threats. Opposing them was the Villain Industry, a shadow-bound counterpart that cultivated villains driven by ambition, resentment, or the desire for absolute control.
Both factions operated in secrecy, recruiting not only orphans but also gifted youths, the forgotten, the desperate, and even ordinary or homeless people who had slipped through society's cracks. Once taken in, they were bound by silence, power, and purpose—drawn into a conflict far beyond normal human understanding. Of course they always had a choice, but though sometimes not though.
Anyone who accidentally uncovered the truth faced a quieter fate: their memories were altered. Knowledge of the factions was erased, though the people they had encountered remained—rewritten into something harmless. A confrontation became a passing stranger. A moment of danger turned into an accidental collision with an ordinary person. Reality itself was edited in their minds, replaced with a believable opposite, leaving no trace of the hidden war—only a false memory that felt completely real.
But tonight, Locke wasn't thinking about battles or multiverse threats. Tonight, he was just a kid relaxing with friends. "Alright, I'm setting the timer," Locke announced, picking up a small digital device from his nightstand. "Ten minutes max. Then it's lights out."
From the couch, Nice King — Zing Inoviri to those who knew him outside the mask — grinned. His spiky blond hair caught the soft light, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ten minutes? You know you'll be up way past that."
Locke smirked. "Maybe. But I'll try." Jace, their roommate, was in the kitchen, washing dishes with a sharp tone. "Try harder, Locke. You're not getting any younger."
The back-and-forth between Locke and Jace was familiar — clumsy, but edged with the honesty of those who cared. Jace was the practical one, often frustrated with Locke's laid-back approach. Nice King was their goofball, always ready to lighten the mood.
Tonight, they had decided to unwind by playing Terraria — a simple game Locke had dabbled in, nothing serious. As Locke hooked up the console, Zmin and Orit, two strange but loyal companions, arrived quietly behind Nice King. Zmin was a black stick figure with fiery orange and red powers flickering at will. Orit was his orange twin, shimmering with the power of blue starlight, an ethereal fire that pulsed brightly, especially in moments of stress.
Lastly, there was Sakuta — a person from another time, with long silver hair and sharp turquoise eyes, now living in their modern era thanks to Locke's intervention in a past battle. Though rarely active these days, Sakuta joined them tonight, curious to see what earthly fun awaited.
With the team assembled, Locke inserted the Terraria game cartridge. As the menu popped up on the screen, something strange happened.
Suddenly, the room shimmered with chaotic energy. Locke's powers — still raw and adjusting after recent intense training — flared uncontrollably. A surge of power burst from him like a storm, sucking in the air and light itself.
Before anyone could react, a violent pulse exploded through the apartment. The screen shattered. The console smoldered, broken beyond repair.
"Wha—" Jace started to shout, but Locke, Nice King, Zmin, Orit, and Sakuta were already vanishing before her eyes. One moment they stood in the living room, the next, they were gone.
Jace blinked, staring at the empty space where her friends had been moments ago.
"What the hell just happened? Where are they?" she yelled, panic rising as she noticed the shattered console on the floor, the blinking timer still counting down.
Frustration flared. She stormed over to the sink, her elbow clipping a plate and sending it crashing to the floor. It shattered on impact.
"Great. Just great," she muttered. "Locke's going to pay for this mess. How does he always manage to drag himself into some unexpected adventure every time his powers go haywire?"
She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. "He'd better be back by dawn… though he never is. A week later, more like." She straightened, shaking her head. "I don't know how he does it. I'm used to it by now—but it's still annoying. Every single time."
Meanwhile, the five heroes found themselves standing on a strange patch of vibrant grass, the sky above an impossibly clear blue, the sun warm on their faces. But this was no pixelated screen — this was real.
The rolling hills, dense forests, and sparkling lakes stretched out endlessly. Every leaf fluttered with life. Every stone glistened under the sun. They had entered Terraria — but not as a game. As a world.
"…Is this real?" Sakuta muttered, eyes narrowing as he took it all in. "It's like we walked straight into the game's soul." Locke cracked a crooked grin. "Guess my chaotic powers didn't just fry the console," he said lightly. "Looks like they tore a hole between the game and reality instead."
He shrugged, trying—and failing—to sound confident. "Just another hiccup on my end. But hey… it's fine. Right?"
Zmin flickered nervously, fire crackling around his limbs, but it sputtered, weak. Orit's bright blue starlight shimmered faintly — but then faded. Nice King looked around, unsettled. "Wait — I don't feel my powers. Can any of you?"
Locke raised his hands, concentrating, but his usual abilities refused to respond. No food conjuring, no energy blasts — nothing. The world was silent except for the rustle of the wind.
Then, a translucent menu flickered in front of their eyes — classic RPG-style stats and inventory — but they couldn't interact with it. It was a ghost interface, useless for real.
"Okay, so we're in a real world where the game rules don't apply. Great." Locke's smirk faded into a serious expression. "We'll have to rely on old-fashioned skills."
Just then, a sharp figure appeared nearby — a robed person carrying a lantern that glowed softly. "Greetings," he said, voice calm but mysterious. "I am the Guide. I help those lost in Terraria's realms."
"Guide?" Locke stepped forward. "We're... not exactly from around here."
The Guide nodded, eyes twinkling. "This world tests those who arrive. Your powers do not extend here. You must learn, adapt, or perish chosen heroes." Nice King glanced nervously at his empty hands. "So no fire blasts? No super speed?"
"No," the Guide said simply. "Here, you must build your own fate." The team exchanged looks. It was daunting, but Locke's eyes sparkled with challenge.
"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I know the basics. Building a shelter, gathering wood, crafting tools. Let's do this." They set off, but reality struck hard. Every tree had to be chopped with makeshift tools. Every stone gathered by hand.
Their first nightfall approached faster than expected. The chilling darkness brought danger — and soon, a familiar figure hopped into view: a tiny slime, translucent and gelatinous.
"Fight!" Locke shouted, grabbing a sturdy branch. Their first real battle was messy and exhausting — no powers, no shortcuts. But they triumphed. As the stars glittered overhead, Locke laughed quietly.
"I pulled you all into this mess," he admitted, amusement lacing his voice. "But hey, we'll figure it out." They settled near a small campfire, feeling the weight of the world and the thrill of the unknown.
She shook her head, grabbing a broom. "I swear, Locke — you better explain this."
Survival Of The Fittest
The flickering glow of the campfire cast long, wavering shadows against the hastily built wooden hut. The five heroes—Locke, Nice King, Zmin, Orit, and Sakuta—sat in silence around the small blaze, their bodies tired but their minds racing with uneasy anticipation. The vast Terraria world stretched around them in all directions, its beauty now tinged with the sharp edge of danger.
The sun was dipping beneath the horizon, and with it came the promise of a merciless night. Locke flexed his fingers, the rough bark of a fallen branch digging into his palms. "Alright, this is it. Night falls, and things get ugly."
Nice King leaned forward, emerald eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. "Zombies, eyeballs, those flying things... not the friendliest creatures in the dark."
Zmin, his black stick figure form flickering with faint orange flames that sputtered in the cool air, crouched near the hut's entrance. "No powers. No fancy tricks. Just raw fight or flight."
Orit, glowing softly with his usual bright blue starlight, paced nervously, fingers twitching as the shadows deepened. "We have to stay alert. We can't afford mistakes."
Sakuta, his sharp turquoise eyes scanning the treeline, remained quiet but focused, hands resting on the makeshift wooden spear they'd carved earlier. "The Guide told us to adapt. To survive."
Behind them, the small hut they'd assembled stood humble and fragile—just a few walls of crudely nailed planks and a rickety roof, barely enough to keep out the chill of the night, much less the horrors lurking beyond.
The Rising Darkness
As darkness enveloped the landscape, an unnatural silence descended. The gentle rustling of leaves gave way to ominous groans and guttural growls echoing through the trees.
From the shadows, pale forms began to emerge — zombies. Their rotting flesh hung in scratches, eyes bloody and lifeless, mouths dripping with foul drool.
"Here they come!" Locke yelled, grabbing a sturdy branch as a crude weapon. "Form up!" Nice King shouted, stepping forward with determination. His fists clenched, ready to fight.
Zmin ignited a small flame, the glow casting eerie shadows on his stick-figure form. "I can't use my powers like this," he muttered, frustration clear in his voice. "Feels like I'm a shadow of myself."
Orit took a defensive stance, the starry light around his hands pulsing faintly. "We have to rely on each other." The zombies shuffled closer, snarling and lunging with surprising speed for their decayed forms.
The First Wave
The fight was brutal and raw. Branches crashed, fists swung, and desperate dodges barely kept the rotting corpses at bay. Locke ducked a lurching grasp and swung his branch with all his might, cracking a zombie's skull. "Take that!"
Nice King punched with precise strikes, every blow fueled by years of combat experience. "Keep moving! Don't get cornered!" Zmin unleashed a burst of sparks—just a trickle of fire, but enough to scare off a few of the weaker foes.
Orit's glowing hands formed a shield of light, protecting Sakuta as the blows thrust his spear he found in a chest over the past day with deadly precision.
Yet, the sheer number of enemies was overwhelming. More zombies poured from the darkness, groaning and reaching. Amid the chaos, the Guide huddled inside the hut, peeking nervously through a cracked wall.
"Why isn't he helping?" Locke shouted between breaths, dodging a snapping jaw. "Because he sucks at fighting," Nice King grunted, slashing through a zombie's arm.
Locke smirked despite the danger. "Figures. Guide or no guide, we're on our own."
The Eyes from Above
Just when they thought the worst had passed, a new terror descended. From the star-speckled sky, hundreds of glowing eyeballs began to drift downward, their red irises pulsing ominously.
They floated silently but menacingly, circling and diving in swarms, their gaze piercing and deadly. Locke swung his branch, trying to bat one away, but they were fast and relentless.
"Flying eyeballs!" Sakuta yelled. "Keep moving!" The glowing orbs swooped and tried to latch onto their faces, trying to blind and paralyze them.
Zmin and Orit worked together, using what little power they could muster to keep the eyeballs at bay — sparks and starlight flashes buying precious moments.
Nice King gritted his teeth as one eyeball grazed his cheek. "These things are worse than the zombies." Locke chuckled darkly, blood trickling from a scratch on his forehead. "No powers. No easy Classic Mode. Just survival."
The Night's Toll
For what felt like hours, the battle raged. The hut was battered, its walls splintering under zombie strikes. The campfire flickered low.
The team fought with exhaustion and desperation, sweat and dirt smearing their faces. At one point, Locke caught a glimpse of the Guide running past the burning branches of the hut, huddling inside again, completely useless.
"Guide, if you're scared, stay out of the way!" Locke yelled. The Guide peeked from behind a corner, his voice shaky. "I'm... trying to help." Locke shook his head, breath ragged but eyes fierce. "We're the heroes here."
Dawn Breaks
As the first pale light of dawn crept over the horizon, the enemies finally began to retreat.
The surviving heroes leaned heavily on their makeshift weapons and each other. Their small wooden hut was battered and bruised, but it still stood. The land around them was silent once more, save for the quiet crackling of the dying campfire.
Locke wiped a smear of grime from his cheek and let out a long breath. "We survived." Nice King grinned, rubbing a sore arm. "Barely. But yeah — we survived."
Zmin and Orit looked exhausted but alive. Sakuta's calm gaze met Locke's. "We have much to learn." Locke smiled, his eyes gleaming with determination.
"Then let's get to it," he said, squaring his shoulders. "We're in Terraria now—no powers, no shortcuts. Just survival of the fittest."
He took a steady breath. "And if we want to get back home, we'll have to beat the game first. So… let's do this. At least... I think so?" Meanwhile, back home… In the quiet apartment in Adelaide, Jace paced the living room, hands clenched into tight fists.
The shattered game console lay on the floor, blinking lifelessly. "Where are they? And why was Locke messing with powers again?" she muttered angrily.
The timer beeped softly, counting down the last few seconds of the night. With a frustrated sigh, she muttered, "I swear... if those idiots don't come back soon, they're paying for this mess."
TO BE CONTINUED...