The dull clinking of coins echoed in my pocket as I walked out of the café, my shift finally over. It was routine at this point: eight hours of serving people who, frankly, seemed more like broken NPCs than real individuals. People always thought that working in a café was relaxing. Quiet. Peaceful.

They were wrong. It was tedious. Predictable.

I headed down the narrow street, lit by the flickering streetlights above, past the usual groups of people—students pretending to laugh at the same jokes they've heard a thousand times, couples holding hands like they were clinging to the last remnants of affection, old men watching the world pass by. Each of them moved like clockwork, following patterns they weren't even aware of.

To me, they were all the same. Predictable. Boring.

Life's just a game, I thought, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. Everyone's just following the rules laid out for them. Some pieces move faster, some slower, but in the end, they all fall into the same traps.

I passed by a corner store. A quick glance at the window reflection showed my blank face staring back at me. Average in every way—nothing that stood out. Which suited me just fine. I preferred it that way. Easier to blend in when no one expects anything from you.

With a sigh, I stepped into the liquor store, grabbing the cheapest bottle of whiskey I could find. Dad didn't care what kind it was, just that it burned enough to numb whatever pain he was trying to drown today. I didn't care either. It was all part of the routine.

The cashier didn't even look up as I paid, and I didn't bother with small talk. Why would I? The transaction was the only thing that mattered. Another step completed. Another piece moved.

I walked out into the night, the cold air biting at my skin. It was dark now, the city quieting down as the clock crept closer to 9. My feet took me toward home automatically, but my mind wandered. As I passed by more people, I couldn't help but observe them. They all moved with purpose, but none of it seemed important. They were driven by needs—food, shelter, companionship. None of them questioned it. None of them stopped to think about what it all meant.

If only they realized how pointless it all was, I thought, watching a man hurry past me, his briefcase clutched tightly to his chest. They're just pawns. They think they have control, but they're just pieces on a board, following someone else's script.

As I turned down the alley toward home, something strange happened. The air felt... different. I stopped walking, glancing around. The street was empty, but the quiet was heavier than before, almost suffocating.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath me began to hum. A low vibration at first, but quickly intensifying. My hand instinctively tightened around the bottle, my eyes scanning the area. But there was no source. No explanation.

And then, in an instant, it happened.

A swirling light, soft and golden, erupted from the ground beneath my feet, wrapping itself around me like tendrils of liquid light. It was warm, pulling me in, and before I could even process what was happening, I felt my body lifting off the ground, weightless, as if gravity had suddenly decided to take a break.

What the hell...

The world around me blurred, the street, the buildings, the distant hum of the city fading away. My heart should've been racing, panic should've set in—but instead, I felt calm. Detached. Almost like this was just another part of the game.

Another unexpected move. Another rule I wasn't aware of.

I didn't fight it. Why would I? I was always looking for something to break the monotony, after all. Something new. Something challenging.

And right now, it seemed like the game had just started.

When the light faded, I found myself standing in... something straight out of an anime or one of those fantasy novels I used to read when I was younger. It felt surreal, like I'd been dropped into someone else's dream.

Around me, the ground shimmered as though made of polished crystal, and the sky wasn't a sky at all—it was endless, a deep, swirling canvas of colors, with soft white clouds that drifted lazily, like they had nowhere to be. The air smelled... pure. Not like the city's smog. It was too perfect, like some kind of heavenly landscape.

This is new.

I looked around. No one else was here. Just me, standing in the middle of this strange, pristine place. Not exactly the kind of 'next move' I was expecting. For a moment, I wondered if this was some weird, lucid dream. But no—everything was too vivid, too real for that.

I waited. If this was part of some game, there had to be rules. There always were.

Then, after what felt like an eternity of silence, I heard footsteps behind me. Slow. Deliberate.

I turned to see an old man approaching. He looked... well, like the type you'd expect in a fantasy setting. Long beard, wrinkled face, robe that flowed down to his feet. He looked at me with tired eyes and sighed, muttering, "Again? Another human. I thought it was over."

Another human? I kept my face neutral, observing him. I wasn't about to start asking questions. I preferred to let other people talk—it was easier to gather information that way.

"Follow me," the old man said, not bothering to explain further. I didn't argue. He led me through what looked like a giant archway, shimmering with faint light, and I stepped through it into... chaos.

On the other side, I saw about a hundred people, all scattered across an open hall. The place was massive, like a cathedral, but without walls. Columns of light stretched upward into infinity, and floating above us, sitting on thrones of gold and silver, were the gods.

Real gods.

Some looked humanoid, others monstrous, but each radiated power in a way that sent a cold shiver down my spine. The kind of power you could feel just by looking at them.

I listened carefully as a figure—a god, no doubt, but his appearance was more... human—stepped forward from his throne and addressed us. His voice boomed through the space, making sure everyone was paying attention.

"Welcome, humans. You have been summoned to participate in the Game of Gods. You will each choose one of us as your patron, and in return, we will grant you a fraction of our power. With that power, you will be sent to a world we have created—a world where you must build your kingdom, conquer, kill, and rule. The last one standing will win the game, and their god will ascend."

The game was simple enough. Build a kingdom. Crush everyone else. Be the last one standing. Survival of the fittest, but on a godly scale.

So this is what it's come to, I thought. The ultimate strategy game. With gods as pieces on the board.

As the head god continued to explain the rules, I noticed the other participants already moving. They were selecting their gods—each one approaching the throne of their chosen deity, locking eyes, and claiming their power. One by one, the gods were chosen, until their seats began to fill.

"Choose," the old man next to me muttered, nudging me forward. "Hurry, before it's too late."

I glanced around. The hall was thinning out, with only a few thrones left unclaimed. And as I walked, two thrones caught my eye. Two gods.

The first was a towering figure of iron and steel—God of Weapons and Machinery. He sat proudly, his body encased in mechanical armor, gears and pistons hissing with power. One seat left. His power was obvious—raw destruction, a god designed for war. Most people would've chosen him in a heartbeat.

But I wasn't most people.

The other god was... different. A woman, but barely that. She was small, fragile-looking, with white hair cascading down her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, soft, and filled with something like fear. Her throne seemed smaller than the others, less radiant. The name above her read: Nathalia, Goddess of Healing Magic.

And no one had chosen her. She sat there, alone, glancing around nervously, as if she expected someone—anyone—to step forward and save her from this humiliation. I noticed the other gods whispering, some outright laughing at her.

The weakest god, huh?

I didn't need anyone to tell me why no one picked her. Healing magic in a game of destruction? Not exactly a winning strategy. Besides, there was something else hanging in the air. A rule. If a god wasn't chosen... they would be executed. Eliminated from existence.

I turned my attention back to the God of Weapons and Machinery. A tempting choice, certainly. He radiated power, the kind of raw strength that could crush kingdoms.

But I wasn't looking for brute strength.

I smirked and walked toward Nathalia's throne. I could feel the eyes of the other gods on me, their whispers turning into outright laughter. I ignored them. They didn't understand.

I stopped in front of Nathalia, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You... you're choosing me?"

"Looks like I am," I said, my voice calm, almost bored. "I don't need raw power to win. I need something unexpected. Something no one else will see coming."

The laughter grew louder behind me, but I didn't care. The game wasn't about choosing the strongest piece. It was about knowing how to use what you had.

Nathalia's hands trembled slightly as she reached out, and I felt her magic flow into me—warm, gentle, but with an underlying strength that was almost... comforting.

The head god's voice echoed through the hall again. "You have chosen. Now, go. The world awaits you, and your gods will be your companions."

Before I could blink, the world around me shifted again. The floor disappeared beneath my feet, and the light consumed me.

The game has begun.