The screen twitched. A sudden flicker, barely a second long. Mike frowned and rubbed his eyes. Great. Hopefully not a graphics glitch.

  He moved the mouse, guiding Tessa Sturm through the massive halls of her fortress. Her footsteps echoed against the dark stone floor, her black armor nearly invisible in the gloom. The NPC guards stood like statues along the walls, eyes downcast, utterly loyal to their empress. Everything seemed normal—and yet, there was a strange tension in the air.

  He had Tessa fly out of the palace, soaring across the jagged landscape. Below, the wastelands stretched into the distance—ruins of ancient kingdoms, bathed in the dying light of day. He intended to test a newly created boss creature he'd placed deep within a southern canyon.

  Then—another hiccup.

  A slight lag. Barely noticeable, but real. Mike’s fingers froze over the keyboard. He waited. Seconds passed.

  The game continued. But something was different.

  The colors were… sharper. The shadows moved oddly, as if the wind had changed. The in-game sounds—the howling hyenas, the crunch of sand—were warped. Unnatural.

  Mike squinted. What the hell…?

  He rubbed his eyes again, a strange discomfort pressing against his chest. Maybe he had just been playing too long. He hadn’t moved much since he got home.Alright, just a bit more, then I’ll stop.

  He guided Tessa down into the canyon. The darkness there was thick, nearly tangible. Somewhere below, between jagged rocks, his cursed beast should’ve been waiting—a monstrous creature designed to challenge even Tessa Sturm.

  But there was nothing.

  No boss.No sound.Only darkness.

  Then—the world froze.

  A blinding flash surged across the screen. A deep hum vibrated through his headphones, crawling like an echo into his skull.

  And then—

  Pain.

  A sudden, stabbing bolt in his chest.

  Mike gasped, his fingers tearing away from the keyboard. His heart pounded like it was trying to escape his ribcage. Cold sweat drenched his skin. He clutched at his chest, trying to breathe—but it only got worse.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  His vision blurred.

  His head slumped forward.

  The last thing he saw was Tessa Sturm, staring out of the screen—directly at him.

  Then, everything went black.

  Gasping, Mike opened his eyes.

  Darkness. Dense treetops above, with only faint light filtering through. The smell of damp leaves and soil filled his lungs.

  Where was he?

  He tried to sit up—and immediately felt a crushing weight on his shoulders. His body felt… foreign. As if it wasn’t his own.

  His hands dug into the mossy ground. But they weren’t his hands.

  Metal.

  He froze.

  His gaze dropped to the dark gauntlets covering his fingers—black, heavy armor, finely crafted, utterly unfamiliar.

  He forced himself to breathe. Stay calm… calm…

  Nothing felt calm.

  Slowly, he pushed himself upright. The armor weighed him down like stone, but his movements were strong. Effortless. Powerful.

  He looked down at himself.

  Black plate armor, dark as night. It didn’t shine. It devoured light.

  His breath quickened.

  No… no, this can’t be real.

  His fingers reached up, feeling the helmet that enclosed his face—cold, dead metal. A skull made of steel.

  His heart thundered.

  He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. What is this? Where am I? Why… why does this body feel so wrong?

  Then he heard it.

  Water.

  A river.

  He stumbled forward, his first steps heavy, then faster. The weight of the armor didn’t slow him. He rushed through underbrush, past ancient trees with gnarled roots rising like fingers from the ground.

  Then he saw it.

  The water gleamed in the pale light, still and clear. He knelt at the edge, panting.

  Then raised his hands.

  They trembled as they grasped the helmet.

  A sudden pull—the metal released.

  He took it off.

  And what he saw in the reflection made his breath catch.

  Not Mike.

  Not his face.

  But Tessa Sturm.

  Black hair. Glowing green eyes. Sharply defined, Nordic features.The face of the avatar he had created—now staring back at him.

  He gasped and collapsed to his knees.

  “What the hell…?”

  His hands ran across his face, his skin. It wasn’t the skin of a 45-year-old man. It was the face of a goddess. A legend. A creation.

  His own body—gone.

  He was Tessa Sturm.

  Breathing hard, he glanced around. The trees loomed overhead like titans. Ancient. Heavy. The leaves above were thick and dark.This wasn’t Conan Exiles. Not like he remembered it.

  Where the hell am I?

  His heart thundered in his chest. Panic rose.

  Then—a sound.

  A faint echo in the distance.

  He turned, sharply.

  Something was watching him.

  And then—

  Only silence.Endless.Suffocating.

  End of Chapter 2