The dim glow of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly hue over the cramped office space. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of stale coffee and old paper.
A man sat at a desk, scrolling through confidential reports with a tired but focused gaze. He wasn't a big-shot executive or a crime lord—just another cog in the machine, working for a company that thrived in the underbelly of society.
Blackmarket deals, corporate sabotage, and silencing the wrong kinds of people—he didn't do the dirty work himself, but he knew where the bodies were buried. He was a middleman, a fixer, ensuring everything ran smoothly for those above him. It wasn't a glamorous job, but it paid well—better than most legal ones—and gave him access to certain privileges that the average person could only dream of.
Yet, despite all that, he was still just a pawn.
And yet, despite being part of this shadowed world, he had no real control. No power.
And he hated it.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Another long day, another job done, another chunk of money transferred to an offshore account he barely got to enjoy.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles before grabbing his controller. If there was one place where he could escape this pathetic reality, it was through the game.
The screen flickered to life, displaying the title of a world drenched in darkness, suffering, and merciless cruelty.
A dark fantasy RPG he had poured hours into—a world where knights fell to madness, kings were puppets of eldritch horrors, and the gods had long abandoned humanity. A world of despair and struggle, where only the strongest, the most ruthless, could carve their place in history.
A world where he wasn't a pawn, but a conqueror.
His character stood before a ruined cathedral, a towering abomination waiting beyond the fog gate. Its twisted body of bone and cursed metal loomed in the distance, its hollow eyes watching hungrily. He smirked, rolling his shoulders as he gripped the controller.
"Alright, let's finish this."
He pressed forward—
BANG.
Pain.
A searing, unbearable heat bloomed in his chest. His breath caught. The controller slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the desk.
Slowly, he turned his head.
A man stood in the doorway, gun raised, silencer still smoking. A co-worker. Someone he had worked with for years.
His mind struggled to process it. A hit? Ordered by who? Why?
His vision blurred. His body slumped forward, his character still standing in the game, waiting at the fog gate.
His fingers twitched.
The boss beyond that gate was a god of suffering and ruin, a being that crushed all who opposed it.
And here he was, just another weak fool meeting his end before even stepping inside.
A bitter laugh barely escaped his lips before darkness swallowed him whole.
Then—
[SYSTEM BOOTING…]
His eyes snapped open. Cold. The scent of damp soil and decay invaded his nostrils. His body felt... off. Smaller. Weaker. Fragile.
A strange, unnatural glow filled his vision.
A floating blue screen.
Words formed before his eyes:
[Welcome, Host.][Umbral Devourer System Activated.]
His lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin.
Maybe this time, he wouldn't be a pawn.