TICK. TOCK. TICK.
The mechanical rhythm of the wall clock hammered against the silence of my room, louder than my own heartbeat, mocking me with every second that passed. It felt like the seconds themselves were pointing and laughing at me.
I let out a dry cough into the stale air.
I stared blankly at the monitor in front of me, messy black hair falling into my eyes, my thick-rimmed glasses smudged with the grease and sweat of a twelve-hour session.
The glow of the screen painted my pale face in harsh, red light, illuminating the two words that had just burned themselves into my skull:
GAME OVER.
My fingers had locked into a painful claw around the controller, slick with plastic and sweat. Beside me, my high-end PC tower screamed, fans spinning at maximum RPM like a jet engine trying to start the takeoff. It sounded like it was ready to launch and leave me behind.
The hardware was fighting the heat, desperately trying to cool down, unlike the cold dread anchoring itself in my chest.
I already knew what was happening on the second monitor, but my eyes dragged over anyway, like a driver staring at a car wreck.
[NoobMaster69]: HE FINALLY LOST??
[PixelPapi]: SKILL ISSUE
[SleepDeprivedGamer]: IT'S JUST A GAME, LIL BRO
The chat accelerated into a blur of neon toxicity. It wasn't just a few haters anymore; it was an entire digital stadium cheering for my downfall. They'd been waiting for this moment, sharpening their sarcasm like weapons.
These little shits had been waiting for years.
The view count spiked violently: 50,000, 60,000, and climbing. People rushing in not to watch me play, but to watch me fall. To witness the myth crack.
I grabbed my cup of orange juice with trembling fingers, missed my mouth slightly, and droplets stained my shirt. I didn't bother wiping it. The stain felt honest.
My streak was broken. For two years, I had never lost. Never seen a "Game Over" screen. And this is how it ends?
It might not seem like much for everyone else, but this was my identity. I was the guy who cleared Souls-like games on max difficulty without taking a single point of damage. Studios invited me to test their "impossible" modes. I had become the benchmark. The stress test. The glitch they couldn't patch.
But in the professional gaming world, you're only as good as your last win.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
My phone started vibrating, notifications piling up like mountains.
It was the sponsors.
Emails forming in boardrooms.
'Dear Chris, regarding the "Undefeated" clause in your contract…'
If I lost the streak, I lost everything. My career wasn't built on personality; it was built on spectacle. The illusion of perfection.
People look at me weird when I say gaming pays my bills, but their expressions change real quick when I tell them the numbers.
Without that money... what am I? Just a lonely guy in a dark room that smells like stale air, spilt energy drinks, and burnt circuitry.
The silence of the room was heavy.
It had been heavy for two years, ever since the house became too big for just one person.
I turned the game volume up, hoping to drown it out.
Twenty-four games in two years. Zero losses. Zero restarts.
Until tonight.
Demon Chronicles.
A throwaway stream, I thought. Just some indie title gifted to my game account. I started it with low expectations. Then the claws sank in.
Every choice mattered. Characters reacted to the world. The world reacted to me. NPCs felt more human than most real people I knew. I got attached.
But sacrifices had to be made.
And I made them.
I took the route that killed the other characters, sacrificing companions I actually cared about, so I could build the perfect stats for the final boss. And I still lost.
My gaze lingered towards the monitor.
The screen pulsed like a dying heart:
[RETRY LEVEL?]
My throat felt tight. Six months poured into this save file. Walking away meant letting the vultures feast.
Will I clear it this time? To be honest…
This game felt rigged. The Demon King had three phases, each one crueller than the last. My health bar was permanently halved because of narrative choices I made three acts ago.
I hit [YES].
"One more time," I muttered.
I pushed my glasses up, straightened my spine, and let the familiar switch flip in my mind.
Phase One. Cleared.
Phase Two. Cleared.
Almost there.
Phase Three.
A new attack that wasn't in my previous run.
It adapted mid-fight, rewriting its attack pattern.
No warning. A single slash was all it took.
Instant death.
The Game Over screen came again.
The chat wasn't just mocking me anymore; they were bored. They were leaving, moving on to the next trending disaster.
The screen blurred as I stared, hollow and numb, until one line refused to disappear into the scrolling text:
[Try it from the beginning.]
My gaze stopped on that line.
"…Beginning?" I said, my voice cracking. "Is this guy insane? I'd have to grind plenty of hours just to get back here."
Another message popped up, lingering longer than the rest:
[Are you afraid?]
It's the same guy.
"I'm not afraid, idiot. I'm efficient. It's a waste of time. And time is money."
And money was exactly what I was running out of.
Suddenly, the screen exploded in gold particles. A triumphant, orchestral jingle blasted through my speakers, nearly giving me a heart attack.
[Tryifyoudare sent you 1000 Gifts!]
"…What?"
The banner covered the entire chat window.
[Tryifyoudare sent you 1000 Gifts!]
Again.
1000 Gifts. That was astronomical. That was enough to patch the financial bleeding, enough to cover rent and the sponsor recoil for a month.
The chat turned rabid instantly:
[WTF??]
[DADDY?? Sorry. Daddy??]
[Sir plz my mom is kinda homeless. Send cash]
I swallowed hard, my gaze bouncing frantically between the astronomical number of gifts on the chat screen and the ominous NEW GAME button hovering on the main menu.
I hesitated, my pride warring with my bank account.
Another donation chime rang out.
[Tryifyoudare sent you 1000 Gifts!]
"...Fuck it."
I clicked.
Instantly, the air in the room shifted. It wasn't a sound; it was a pressure drop that popped my ears. The screaming fan noise died instantly into silence.
"What's happening?"
The second monitor, the one with the chat, flickered once and died into a black screen.
I tried to stand up, but something held me down against the chair. It felt like gravity had flipped in the wrong direction, pinning me in place.
My glasses slid down my nose, and I reached up to push them back, but I was too late.
The main monitor didn't look flat anymore. The pixels were swirling, melting into a vortex of black and red ink.
"HEY! STOP!"
I clawed at the desk, my nails scraping uselessly against the wood.
My hand knocked the orange juice over, and I watched in horror as the liquid spilt, but instead of falling down to the carpet, it flowed sideways, dragged horizontally into the screen.
My controller. My desk. My life.
I screamed as my body was ripped forward.
I didn't hit the monitor glass; I went through it.
My vision stretched into nauseating streaks of light and colour. My body twisted, feeling like it was being squeezed through an invisible tunnel or pushed through a straw. The smell of the monitor's wires filled my nose.
Then-
Void.
I was weightless, numb, and senseless. Only my consciousness remained, floating in a void where even the relentless tick, tock, tick of my wall clock had finally ceased to exist.
DING.
A clear, crisp sound echoed in my skull.
A blue holographic screen materialised in the void before me.
[WELCOME, PLAYER, TO DEMON CHRONICLES.]
I can't believe this is happening.
My thoughts scrambled as I floated there.
Wait. No truck?
No lightning strike?
I just got… sucked into the computer?
[YOUR CHARACTER IS BEING CHOSEN]
Okay. Okay. Don't panic. Just stay calm.
[YOUR CHARACTER HAS BEEN CHOSEN]
Please do not make me some ugly NPC.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATING…]
A System? Finally. Something I can use.
"Alright, give me something cool," I said, my mental voice echoing in the void.
"God-Slayer System. Infinite Mana. Hell, I'll take a Cheat Menu. Status window! Status window! Come on!"
[YOU HAVE TO FULFIL A CONDITION TO ACTIVATE YOUR SYSTEM]
Fine. Whatever. I'm a pro. I can handle a fetch quest.
Kill ten slimes?
Run a marathon?
Kiss the princess?
Just tell me what to do.
The text pulsed innocently:
[CONDITION: YOU HAVE TO DIE]
I stared at the words, the adrenaline freezing in my veins.
"What the fuck?"