The day had finally come.
Mythwrath—the most advanced full-dive VRMMORPG in years—was going live. Full-dive tech wasn’t new anymore. But this? This was something else entirely. Mythwrath’s World AI didn’t just respond to player input. It adapted, evolved, reshaped the world in response to behaviour. Skills were forged through action, classes mutated with habit, and quests weren’t given—they were earned. No rails. No safety net. Just endless possibility.
And one hell of a prize.
Two weeks earlier, the studio behind the game, simply named Myth, had dropped the bombshell: the first party to defeat the final boss—identity unknown—would split a million dollars. No hints. No roadmaps. No second chances. First clear takes all.
Knox leaned back in his chair. His full-dive rig hummed quietly beneath him like a dormant beast. On the monitor, the countdown to launch ticked past sixty seconds.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, and mentally ran through his setup one last time.
Race: Cosmetic only. Human was the safest bet.
Appearance: Irrelevant. Randomize until he didn’t look like nightmare fuel.
Class: He’d experimented with plenty during beta. Cultist Fire Mage had strong late-game scaling but was miserable early on. Archers? Bland. Tanks? Too slow, especially for solo play.
His choice was risky, but efficient.
Sanguine Berserker. High risk, high reward. Thrived at low health. A build for players who weren’t afraid to dance on the knife’s edge.
Starting zone? Valeborne had a rare axe drop, but it was flooded with players during launch windows. Skarholt, on the other hand, was remote. Near the Thazir Wastes. Fewer players. More aggressive world events. Riskier quests, better payoff. It was the right call.
He locked in his route.
Five seconds to go.
Orchestral music swelled in his ears, strings and drums rising like a heartbeat.
4... 3... 2... 1...
White light engulfed the screen.
Everything vanished—sight, sound, weight. The familiar vertigo of full-dive swept over him, pulling him out of the real world and into digital ether. He floated, bodiless, in a skyless void. Stars glimmered like distant embers. Nebulae drifted past, slow and silent.
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Ahead, a planet spun lazily into view. Two moons orbited it—one pale and cratered, the other violet-hued, glowing where starlight touched its surface.
Time bent around him. The moons accelerated. Continents shifted. Oceans drained and refilled. Mountains rose and crumbled. Civilizations blinked into existence and vanished. The world reshaped itself, over and over, until it stilled.
Mythralis.
A soft chime echoed through the void, and a translucent blue prompt appeared before him:
<blockquote>
[Welcome to Mythralis – Please enter your character name.]
</blockquote>
Knox typed quickly. Confirmed.
<blockquote>
[Character Creator – Design your avatar.]
</blockquote>
Random. Random. Random. Good enough.
<blockquote>
[Select your starting area.]
</blockquote>
Skarholt.
<blockquote>
[Please enter your class.]
</blockquote>
This was it. The signature feature. No fixed trees. No forced choices. If the World AI could understand it, it would work.
He typed: Beerserker.
Another flash of light. Then silence.
His avatar descended through biting wind. Snow-laced mountains rose around him. Trees bent in the storm. Wolves howled in the distance.
He landed hard, boots sinking into a bank of fresh powder. The air was frigid. The cold bit at his skin—startlingly real.
Birdsong echoed faintly above. Pine trees creaked in the breeze.
He was in.
This wasn’t just immersion. This was presence. Myth had delivered.
A new prompt shimmered into view:
<blockquote>
[Welcome to Mythralis. Do you wish to participate in the Race to World First? This choice cannot be reversed.]
</blockquote>
Knox clicked YES.
<blockquote>
[Entry accepted. You are Player #000007.]
</blockquote>
Lucky number.
The next screen followed immediately:
<blockquote>
[Please review the rules.]
</blockquote>
Next.
<blockquote>
[Only one team may claim the grand prize.]
</blockquote>
Next.
<blockquote>
[This character is your only eligible entry. Future characters cannot participate.]
</blockquote>
Fine. No rerolls.
<blockquote>
[Participation invokes Perma-Death. If you die, your character is deleted and you are disqualified.]
</blockquote>
Knox stared at the final line.
"...Shit."
He read it again. And again. Still the same.
There had been no mention of this in beta. No datamined leaks. No rumors.
"Is this a joke?" he muttered.
He glanced around. Nothing changed. The screen waited.
This wasn’t just high-stakes. This was brutal.
Sanguine Berserker was a class built on risk. He’d died hundreds of times just testing its mechanics. He’d learned through trial, error, and pain. And now? He had to finish the game without dying once?
His jaw tensed. No use panicking.
He hit NEXT.
Control returned. The interface vanished. He could move.
“First things first,” he muttered, already wincing from the cold, “I need gear.”
He opened his inventory. Starter kit, auto-generated based on his class and zone. Leather armor. Fur-lined cloak. Heavy boots. Enough to ward off frostbite.
No weapon.
“…Really?” he muttered. “Guess they wanted to keep us improvising.”
A few potions were tucked inside—a surprise. Healing items weren’t supposed to be craftable until someone unlocked alchemy. Rations. A basic survival kit. Rope. Flint.
And one more thing.
A frothy mug of beer.
Knox blinked.
“…What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”