In 2044, Earth wasn't the same as the one in history books. Once a planet of scientists, builders, and thinkers, it had evolved into a playground for gamers. What had started as a niche entertainment industry spiraled into a cultural and economic giant. Streaming platforms rivaled the GDP of countries, professional tournaments became national holidays, and gamers earned the same respect—and income—as surgeons and CEOs.
The pinnacle of this new era? The Immortals, the cream of the crop in the gaming world. These were the elite few whose influence extended beyond leaderboards and esports arenas into corporate boardrooms and even politics. And no name stood taller among the Immortals than Malachi Reed.
For two decades, Malachi had dominated the global gaming scene. No matter the genre—MOBA, FPS, MMORPG, or RTS—he crushed his opponents with cold precision and relentless focus. He wasn't just skilled; he was a phenomenon, a living legend whose mere presence in a game dictated its meta. Sponsors fought tooth and nail for him. Governments sought his endorsements to bolster their economies.
Malachi led The Emperors, a team of legends in their own right. Together, they had ruled the professional gaming scene like kings.
---
Malachi reclined in the plush seat of their bulletproof transport van, idly scrolling through game stats on his holo-tablet. His sharp green eyes flicked across the screen, absorbing data like it was second nature. Across from him sat his team, the Emperors, the people he trusted most in the world.
Dean Richards, the team's vice-captain and strategist, adjusted his glasses with a calm, measured motion. His navy-blue suit was tailored to perfection, giving him the appearance of a high-ranking diplomat rather than a gamer. He glanced at the tablet on his lap, refining strategies and reviewing opponent playstyles. "Malachi," he began, his tone formal but laced with a hint of amusement, "you've been reviewing the stats for the last hour. Don't tell me you're actually worried about Team Blazers."
Malachi smirked, his lean but muscular frame relaxed in his seat. "Worried? No. Curious? Maybe. They've been pulling some unusual strategies in their scrims. It's sloppy, but effective."
Dean leaned back, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Sloppy isn't good enough against us. We've anticipated everything they could throw at us."
Khalid Vonn, the team's tank, let out a booming laugh. His massive frame barely fit in the van, his arms crossed as he grinned like a predator. "Blazers are just hyped up because they managed to cheese a couple of weaker teams. Let 'em try that against me. I'll crush 'em."
"Try not to overextend this time," Dean retorted dryly.
Khalid shot him a glare. "Hey, I don't overextend. I just... push boundaries."
In the corner, Chen Yun, their assassin, was half-asleep, his head resting on the window. His dark, sleepy eyes barely opened as he muttered, "Doesn't matter what they do. One wrong step, and they're dead."
"Well, don't fall asleep before you make that step," joked Horus Bloom, their roamer. With his flamboyant red jacket and perpetual smirk, Horus was the team's wildcard, a player who thrived on chaos. "Honestly, we should thank Team Blazers. After we stomp them tonight, the headlines will be Emperors Reign Supreme—Again. Pretty catchy, huh?"
"Don't jinx it," Malachi said, though his tone was light. "We've been at the top for 20 years, but every empire falls eventually."
Horus rolled his eyes dramatically. "Not ours, Cap. We're The Emperors. Even if someone knocks us down, we'd just rebuild stronger."
---
The van rolled through the streets of Neo-Seoul, the city that had become the beating heart of the gaming world. Neon lights reflected off towering skyscrapers, holograms advertising upcoming tournaments and gaming peripherals flashed in the sky. Crowds gathered outside massive arenas, waiting for the championship match that was being billed as the event of the decade.
The Emperors were headed to their final match of the season, the culmination of months of grueling competition. For Malachi, it was just another step in a career filled with victories, another crown to add to his collection. But as they neared the venue, Malachi couldn't shake a faint unease gnawing at the back of his mind.
"You seem quieter than usual," Dean observed, breaking the silence.
Malachi shrugged. "Just a gut feeling. Nothing specific."
"Cap's feeling nervous?" Khalid teased, flexing his hands. "That's a first."
Before Malachi could respond, the van jerked to a sudden halt, throwing everyone forward in their seats.
"What the hell—?" Khalid growled, reaching for the door.
Dean's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, already putting the pieces together. "Ambush. Defensive positions, now!"
Malachi's unease solidified into cold certainty as the first explosion rocked the van.
And just like that, their world shattered.
The van's reinforced windows cracked under the pressure of the explosion, a deafening sound that rattled everyone's ears. Smoke filled the air, mixing with the sharp scent of burning metal.
"Khalid, cover the left!" Malachi barked, his instincts kicking in as chaos erupted around them.
Khalid didn't need to be told twice. The tank of their group shoved open the door with brute force, using it as a makeshift shield as gunfire rained down from a nearby overpass. "On it! These bastards won't know what hit 'em!"
Dean crouched low, his movements precise and deliberate as he scanned for an exit. His usually calm face was taut with tension. "This isn't random. They planned this. Malachi, this isn't just about intimidation—they're trying to take us out."
"They're doing a great job of pissing me off," Horus snapped, already out of the van, his red jacket flaring behind him. He moved with agility, ducking and weaving to distract the attackers. "I'll draw their fire; you guys figure out a way to get us out of here!"
Chen Yun, as silent as ever, slipped out the other side of the van, his movements fluid and calculated. He disappeared into the shadows like a phantom, reappearing moments later behind one of the attackers. A quick slash from a concealed blade, and the man crumpled to the ground.
"Stay sharp," Malachi ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Dean, are comms working?"
Dean cursed under his breath. "No signal. They're jamming us. Professional-grade tech. This isn't just some petty grudge."
Malachi's mind raced. They were in the middle of Neo-Seoul, surrounded by millions of fans, journalists, and event organizers. For an attack like this to happen here, in broad daylight, meant one thing: whoever was behind it didn't care about consequences.
"This has Blazers written all over it," Malachi muttered, stepping out of the van with a calm that belied the fury simmering beneath the surface. He grabbed a metal pipe from the wreckage, his grip tightening. "They're trying to take us out before the match."
Dean shot him a sharp look. "If they are, they're more desperate than we thought. Killing us doesn't guarantee a win—it guarantees prison."
"Tell that to the psychos shooting at us," Khalid growled, tossing a chunk of debris at an incoming attacker and grinning as the man stumbled back.
Suddenly, another explosion went off, this time closer to the van. The blast sent Malachi flying, his vision blurring as he hit the pavement hard. For a moment, everything was noise—distant, chaotic noise—and then silence.
Through the haze, he saw Dean struggling to pull Khalid behind cover, his suit torn and blood seeping from a cut on his forehead. Chen was still moving, a shadow in the smoke, taking out attackers with deadly precision. Horus was shouting something, but Malachi couldn't make out the words.
And then he saw it—the figure stepping out of the smoke, wearing the unmistakable black-and-red colors of Team Blazers.
Elliot Greaves, the Blazers' captain, stood with a smirk that oozed arrogance. "You always were too cocky, Reed," he called out, his voice amplified by a personal comm. "You thought you were untouchable. Thought being an Immortal meant you could do whatever you wanted. But even legends can bleed."
Malachi struggled to his feet, gripping the pipe tightly. His body screamed in protest, but his mind was sharp, focused. "And here I thought you'd try to beat me in-game for once, Elliot," he replied, his voice calm despite the rage boiling inside him.
Elliot chuckled, spreading his arms wide. "Why bother? You've been untouchable for too long, Reed. It's time to remind the world that even an Emperor can fall."
Before Malachi could respond, another explosion rocked the area, this one far more powerful. The shockwave knocked him off his feet again, and this time, when he hit the ground, the darkness swallowed him whole.
---
When Malachi opened his eyes, he wasn't in Neo-Seoul anymore.
The sky above him was vast and unfamiliar, painted in hues of violet and gold. The air smelled clean, with a faint trace of something sweet and earthy. He sat up, groaning as he felt his body—not the battered, bruised body he'd had moments ago, but one that felt... different.
Stronger.
His clothes were unfamiliar too—a simple tunic and trousers, both worn but functional. A weight on his hip made him glance down to find a sheathed sword, its hilt wrapped in leather.
"What...?" he murmured, his voice hoarse.
Ahead of him, a rolling field stretched into the horizon, dotted with strange plants and creatures that looked like something out of a fantasy game. And in the distance, towering above it all, was a city unlike anything he'd seen before—its spires gleaming with light, its walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly.
It was then that a voice echoed in his mind, cool and mechanical.
[Welcome to Tattooria, Player Malachi Reed.]
Malachi froze.
"Player?"
[You have been granted access to the world of Tattooria. Please proceed to the nearest settlement to begin your journey.]
His gamer instincts kicked in, assessing, analyzing, trying to make sense of the situation.
"This isn't a game," he muttered. But the familiar chill of anticipation—the one he felt before every major match—coursed through him.
Whatever was going on, one thing was clear: the game wasn't over. It was just beginning.