The refrigerator hummed like it was fighting for its life—then gave up with a final dying whine.
Raiven Arkos didn't flinch. He stared into the half-lit box, eye twitching as the fan inside let out one last sputter. There were two cracked eggs, a brown-tipped slice of bread, and a bottle of milk that smelled like acid when opened.
The city's ration grid had cut him off again.
He let the fridge door hang open as he turned away, pulling the curtain shut on a window that showed nothing but the rusted skeletons of New Avalon's lower tier. Neon ads flickered on nearby buildings, illuminating a dozen other tiny box-apartments just like his.
No privacy. No power. No way out.
He sat down on a broken swivel chair in front of his beat-up desk. A single device glowed on it—a dented datapad with a cracked screen and cables held together with tape. The light flickered, then steadied.
Raiven tapped through to his messages. One new alert.
> FROM: Saint Mercy General Hospital
SUBJECT: Final Billing Notification – Elira Arkos
"We regret to inform you that financial coverage for Patient #00238-EX ('Elira Arkos') has lapsed due to non-payment. Life support will be suspended in 72 hours unless arrears are settled."
Raiven stared at the line.
72 hours.
His fingers trembled. Not from shock. Not from emotion. From fury.
He slammed the datapad down on the desk, breathing hard.
This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
Just over a year ago, Raiven had been one of the top-ranked VR esports players in the Federation. His alias—ArkosRend—was whispered with admiration and envy in gaming circles. He was fast, calculated, deadly. A natural.
Then came the glitch.
It happened during the world finals of Steel Valor: Dominion. His HUD flickered mid-match, froze for 2.7 seconds, then recalibrated. His killshot on the enemy captain was declared invalid by the server log, flagged as "impossible input."
A day later, the tribunal reviewed a falsified cheat injection. Someone—he still didn't know who—had planted it. There was no appeal. No chance to explain.
Raiven Arkos was banned for life.
Sponsors dropped him overnight. His apartment lease was revoked. Friends stopped responding. Commentators who once praised him as a genius now called him a fraud.
All while Elira, his bright and fragile sister, lay in a hospital bed hooked up to wires, fighting a disease that didn't even have a name.
He had nothing left to sell. Nothing left to beg with.
Except his name—and even that was tainted.
---
The datapad beeped again.
New message.
No subject. No sender.
Just one line of red text:
> You still want in? One slot left. You owe me. —Rog
Raiven's eyes widened.
Rog.
He hadn't heard from him in over a year. A rogue dev, modder, and data broker—brilliant and unhinged. They'd worked together back in Raiven's competitive days, when Rog built custom interface layers and "grayware" boosters for elite players.
Rog had vanished after the scandal.
Raiven tapped the message.
A second window opened.
> Game Build: NOCTHERION [CLOSED BETA]
Real payout system. Crypto economy. Total immersion. Extreme risk.
Entry Code: R0GUE1
This server does not support manual logout. Proceed only if you're ready to burn the bridge behind you.
He hesitated.
Then typed "Noctherion" into his underground board feed. Hundreds of hits. Most were wiped within minutes.
A few stuck.
> "Feels too real."
"No logout button. No respawn in some zones."
"Cursed weapons. Gear that screams when you equip it."
"Steampunk and sorcery. Bosses speak like gods."
"I made $200 off a loot drop yesterday."
Raiven's eyes locked on one phrase:
"Pain is real. So is the payout."
He closed the feed.
This wasn't a game anymore. It was war.
And he had nothing to lose.
---
Under a pile of broken shoes, he pulled out his old gear: a black-market full-dive rig, modified for off-grid immersion. Illegal. Unstable. Custom coded by Rog himself.
He placed it over his head. The pads pressed against his temples like a coffin lid sealing.
> BOOTING NEURAL DIVE INTERFACE…
WARNING: No fallback layer detected. Permanent immersion likely.
System Integrity: UNSTABLE
Connect to NOCTHERION Server?
"Yes," he whispered.
> Code Accepted: R0GUE1
Welcome, ghost fragment.
Dive commencing…
---
Raiven fell.
Through light. Through memory. Through the screaming echoes of his old life. The dive wasn't smooth—it was ripping. Like his consciousness was being thrown into a furnace, hammered, and reshaped.
He saw flashes.
A machine-god forging gears in a void of oil and blood.
A cathedral burning with blue flame.
A black rifle made of bone and regret.
And then…
Darkness.
---
He woke up chained to the floor.
The heat struck him first—suffocating and constant. Then the weight—his arms were bound behind him with iron chains etched in moving runes. The air smelled of soot and sulfur.
He opened his eyes.
A ruined cathedral stretched around him. Shattered stained glass. Iron arches. Flames licking the edge of what had once been a holy place. Six others knelt nearby—also bound. One moaned. One was clearly dead.
> SYSTEM NOTICE:
Welcome to Noctherion (Beta Shard: Forgemind Rupture)
Prologue Instance: [Cursed Initiation]
Class: Unassigned
Status: Soul Unforged
WARNING: Death in this zone is PERMANENT.
No respawn will be issued.
Raiven tried to speak. His mouth was sealed by some magical force.
Then it appeared.
A titanic figure of brass and smoke, rising from the fire at the altar. Eight feet tall, humanoid in shape, but machine to its core. Pipes hissed from its shoulders. Gears spun inside its ribs.
It held a staff made of twisted engine parts and a glowing core.
> "More offerings," it said, voice like a broken trumpet. "More souls for the Hollow Forge. Who among you will remember the pain?"
It walked toward them.
Stopped at Raiven.
> "You. The one with fire still in his veins."
The construct raised its staff.
> "Let us see what remains after the breaking."
It swung.
Raiven didn't move. Couldn't.
The staff connected with his skull—
---
White light exploded.
Raiven expected death. Instead, he heard a whisper.
> "Iron remembers Iron…
Pain tempers the unworthy…
You are unbroken. You are Hollow-bound."
---
> YOU HAVE BEEN CLAIMED BY THE HOLLOW FORGE
CLASS: Warden of the Hollow Forge (Prototype)
Status: Ghostflagged / Deathless
Faction: World Threat Detected
Penalty: 1000 Silver Bounty
Feature: Soulbound Weapon - [Iron Remnant Rifle]
NOTE: You are now hunted.
Raiven's chains shattered.
His body surged with something cold and electric. The blue fire wrapped around him but didn't burn—it fused with him. A weapon materialized on his back: long, sleek, made of rusted iron and pulsing with runes. A sniper rifle, but wrong. Almost alive.
The brass priest stumbled back.
> "Impossible. He survived the Foundry Verdict—"
Raiven moved on instinct.
He grabbed the rifle and aimed it mid-air, without even lifting it from his back. A glowing target lock appeared in his vision. His finger curled.
CRACK.
The priest's head snapped backward, metal and fire spraying across the altar.
Silence.
Then the system screamed.
> ALERT: WARDEN PROTOTYPE ACTIVATED
Contagion spreading…
Difficulty spike engaged: 4x
Elite Bounty Contracts Updated
Global Broadcast:
A World Threat has emerged.
Codename: [Raiven Arkos]
Location: Hollow Cathedral - Sector 001
Reward: 100 Credits + Gear Drop Access
Raiven gasped for air.
The UI faded. The flames receded.
He was alone.
Alive.
And hunted.
---
He checked his weapon. Ammo: unknown. It had no clips—just a counter that read "1 Will." Whatever that meant.
Footsteps echoed beyond the cathedral doors.
He dropped to one knee, scanning the environment.
Then he smiled.
The game thought it had broken him.
It didn't realize—
He was just getting started.