I was just an average person. A job, a few hobbies, and even fewer friends. My free time disappeared into a game called Infinite Realms—an action RPG with deep lore, breathtaking graphics, and a painfully predictable hero who saved the world.
Sixteen years ago, I woke up inside that game.
Not as the hero. Not a side character. Not even someone the story cared about. I was Damien Miller—an extra, invisible in the grand scheme of the game. I thought this new life would come with powers, world-defying talents, maybe even cheats. Sixteen years later, I was still… average. I grew up in an orphanage, attended the same academy as the main cast, and left all world-saving duties to Mark—the default main character who never needed my help.
Even trying wasn't enough. Getting into the academy as an orphan ranked me 743 out of a thousand. I had a partial scholarship for good grades and worked part-time for the rest, but among the geniuses of this world, I was nothing remarkable. Just a sharp mind, some skill with daggers, and the acceptance that I would never be a hero.
Until today.
The message came like a punch to the gut: the orphanage was under attack. The people I cared about—my granny, the children I grew up with—everything gone.
I should have gone there. I knew demons were appearing more frequently, I knew the danger was real. But I wasn't strong enough. I was level 25; Mark was 31. And in this world, every ten levels was a chasm. Level 30 to 31 wasn't just harder—it was a whole new way of fighting. Mana-coated weapons, spells amplified—things I couldn't touch.
And the gods? Seven in total. The orphanage worshipped Ely, goddess of fire and creation. Did she even notice when children burned? No. They rarely reply to prayers, only to those deemed worthy. People like me? Disposable.
I clenched my fists. I would not let anyone take what I cared about ever again. I would get stronger. I would take my revenge.
I needed to clear my head. The academy was silent at night, its massive halls empty, the ocean beyond casting silver light across the campus. My dorm room wasn't luxurious—shared bathrooms, four bunk beds, a living room with the bare essentials—but it was mine. I didn't want to explain anything to my roommates.
So I ran. Over the wall, to the station, to the floating train that would take me to Cartos, the city of my childhood. Ten minutes later, I arrived.
Smoke curled in the distance. The street where the orphanage stood was gone—flattened. My knees hit the ground, my vision blurred with tears. My whole life erased in a single attack. Law enforcement tried to block the area, but I pushed past them. Loneliness and grief swallowed me. I had always been introverted, but now everyone I loved was gone.
Mark's team was there—five of the academy's top students. Mark himself was battered, barely standing. I turned to Amber Peers, a fire mage with red hair and orange eyes.
"Are there any survivors?" I asked, grabbing her hand.
She yanked it free, glaring at me. "Don't touch me. I don't know. Go ask someone else."
The others were exhausted, none of them knowing me, none offering answers. I asked anyone in authority. Same response: no survivors… none that they knew.
I stood up. The street was silent, smoke drifting above the ruins. I didn't know how to feel anymore. All I knew was that I had failed them once. I would never fail again.
And I would do whatever it took to get stronger.