Chapter 4: Leveling Up My Existential Crisis
As the crowd buzzed with fire fists and vanishing acts, a calm, cool presence walked up to us like he owned the tutorial area. His black robe flowed behind him, trimmed with dark silver edges that shimmered under the chandeliers. Glasses perched perfectly on his nose, and he looked like the kind of guy who read spellbooks for fun and corrected your grammar mid-duel.
He gave us a confident smile and spoke with theatrical weight:
"Handle: Abyss Gazer."
Diana blinked. "That's… dramatic."
Chris crossed his arms. "You get that name from an online fantasy name generator or just from staring too long at your own reflection?"
Abyss Gazer laughed, unfazed. "You're funny. Most people just gape. I like you two already."
With a flick of his hand, he produced a sleek, futuristic gun from his robe—somehow matte black and glowing with faint red lines, like a demon's nerf blaster.
"Don't worry," he said, noticing Diana flinch. "Rubber bullets. It's symbolic."
"Symbolic of what?" Chris asked warily.
Abyss Gazer grinned. "Pleasure."
Chris choked on air.
"Okay, clarify, please."
"Pleasure is my will," Abyss said matter-of-factly, like it was a job title. "I find joy in control, in the craft of mastery, in the elegant execution of power. My trigger was realizing I gain pleasure when I'm in complete command of the situation."
He aimed the gun casually and pulled the trigger. Click.
The gun didn't fire a bullet. Instead, the air shimmered—and then split.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, of metallic spikes appeared, hovering mid-air in perfect alignment. They gleamed like shrapnel from some digital war god's weapon.
"Infinite Blade," Abyss Gazer said, gesturing to the swarm. "Each spike is a fragment of a thought. I will them to move, and they obey."
The room went quiet around us for a second as nearby players turned to admire the display.
"Dude, you're flexing so hard right now," Chris muttered, impressed despite himself.
Abyss adjusted his glasses smugly. "I know."
Diana clapped. "Okay, that was awesome. But you said our magic depends on our will. Can you explain that more?"
Abyss nodded. "Sure. Your will is you. It's the part of you that doesn't lie. The thing you fight for. The thing that won't bend even if the world tries to crush it. If you pretend to be something else—cooler, tougher, simpler—your magic won't work. It won't respond to lies."
Chris frowned. "So you're saying I have to be honest with myself?"
"Painfully," Abyss said with a grin. "It's why most people never awaken their true ability. They're too ashamed of what really drives them. But once you stop hiding it…"
He waved a finger, and the blades all spun in unison like a deadly fan.
"…you get this."
He let the spikes dissolve like mist and holstered the gun, probably into a pocket dimension or something equally dramatic.
"Anyway," he added, turning away, "good luck, newbies. You seem like the fun type. I'm rooting for you."
And then he disappeared into the crowd like a stage magician after the final bow.
Diana turned to Chris, eyes wide with excitement. "Okay. That guy's weird, cocky, and probably reads dark poetry at parties—but I love him."
Chris smirked. "Yeah. Me too."
He looked down at his bracelet again, thoughtful.
What really drives me?
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Okay, so imagine this: you're sitting in a golden palace bigger than your self-esteem issues, trying to figure out what "defines your inner will" while chewing a suspiciously gourmet sandwich and watching people shoot fire from their fists.
Welcome to Real Dark Fantasy, where your emotional trauma is now a game mechanic.
Diana and I had parked ourselves on one of the ridiculous velvet sofas—seriously, it was so soft it felt like sitting on a cloud that had paid off its student loans. She was munching on a croissant like this was brunch at some elite magic café, and I was poking at what looked like a plate of spaghetti that sparkled. Yes. Sparkled. Like, edible glitter levels of sparkle. No idea if that meant it was enchanted or just extra pretentious.
"Okay," Diana said, licking crumbs off her fingers, "what's your thing?"
"What do you mean?" I said, playing dumb even though I knew exactly what she meant.
"You know," she said, waving a hand vaguely in the air. "That deep, core-driving-soul-magic-fuel thing. Abyss Gazer said we need to figure it out or we're just going to be dead weight. I don't want to be a tutorial NPC, Chris."
Fair point.
So I leaned back, staring up at the massive chandelier above us that looked like it cost more than my entire neighborhood. Everyone around was busy discovering their powers—flames, vanishing acts, telekinetic spoons, and one guy who made a squirrel army. Don't ask. It's still too soon.
And me? Still just me. Chris: owner of one sparkly bracelet, zero powers, and a head full of thoughts that wouldn't stop pacing.
I tried to go back. Mentally, I mean.
To the times when I felt the most me. The least confused. The least like I was just faking it and hoping no one noticed.
And then it hit me.
It was the game.
Not a game, but the game. The one I used to play with my old squad. My safe place. Where I could level up, control every variable, and shape the world around me like it was my own story.
Nobody told me to go faster. Nobody benched me. Nobody rolled their eyes when I made mistakes. I grew when I wanted to. I chose where to go, what to build, what path to take. I was in control.
I had control.
And with that thought, my bracelet pulsed.
Like—actually pulsed. The crystal embedded in the middle glowed red-black, then purplish, like it was reacting to something inside me. I nearly choked on my glitter noodles.
"Whoa," I whispered.
Diana glanced over. "You okay? Your bracelet's glowing like it just got a text from God."
I didn't answer. Because I was seeing things.
Not in a "call-a-doctor" way. More like I had just clicked a switch. Everything slowed. Reality blurred around the edges, and suddenly, I wasn't just sitting on the sofa.
I was watching myself sit on the sofa.
Like through a screen. Like I had become the camera in a video game cutscene and was watching my character—me—from a control room. The world had become a user interface. I saw icons forming in the corners of my vision, like health, stamina, focus. I could feel myself... syncing.
It was like a gamer's dream mixed with a VR meditation app that actually worked.
I was the player. And the character.
"This… is so weird," I muttered. "But also, kinda awesome."
Diana blinked. "What happened?"
"I think I just… turned into a walking video game protagonist," I said. "I can see myself like I'm controlling my avatar. Like I'm sitting in a pocket dimension watching a live feed of my body."
Diana stared at me. "You're not going to start narrating your own dialogue like a streamer, right?"
"Chris activates self-reflection mode," I said in a deep voice.
She facepalmed. "Oh gods, it's already started."
But deep down, I could feel it: the trigger had activated. My will was control. And this was just the tutorial.
If I could learn to master it, if I could command the field like I did in my games, then maybe I wouldn't be behind everyone else. Maybe I could even win.
Now, all I had to do was figure out how to control my real-life stats without rage quitting.
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Diana Pov:
You ever have that moment where your best friend figures out their magical willpower anime technique and you're super happy for them… but also kinda freaking out inside because you haven't yet?
Yeah. That was me.
Chris was sitting beside me, all glowy and weirdly calm, like some gamer Buddha who just unlocked ultra instinct or whatever. Meanwhile, I was nibbling on my third almond tart (don't judge me, they were amazing) and trying to figure out what the heck my inner soul-flame trigger-whatever was.
Everyone else was getting flashy. One girl had lightning coming out of her heels. Another was dancing and making actual butterflies burst from her hands. It was beautiful and lowkey terrifying.
And then there was me. Just... sitting. Eating pastry. With my bracelet doing absolutely nothing.
At first, I thought maybe I didn't have the willpower for this game. I mean, I wasn't exactly some warrior princess or anime protagonist with a tragic backstory. I was just Diana—the girl who used to hide in library corners and draw magical girls in the margins of her math notebook.
I looked over at Chris.
He looked… confident. Maybe too confident. He was staring off into space like he'd just had a divine revelation. Probably thinking about skill trees and cooldowns. Classic Chris.
But seeing him like that stirred something in me. A memory.
Two years ago.
I was crying in the back of the drama club room, hiding behind the prop curtains after a girl from school had "accidentally" spilled juice all over my sketchbook. Again. Everyone else thought it was funny. Said I was weird for drawing anime stuff and not going to parties. Said I was boring.
And then I heard someone behind me. Not yelling. Not asking if I was okay.
Just…
Reciting a villain monologue from "Eclipse Hearts Omega", complete with over-the-top voice acting.
It was so bad. But so passionate. So stupid. So Chris.
I'd laughed. Through my tears. For the first time in weeks.
From that day on, he never left my side. And I never wanted him to.
That bond—that weird, ridiculous, beautiful connection—was the only reason I'd survived the last two years. He didn't just accept my weirdness. He shared it. He was my player two in a game I didn't even know I was playing.
And that's when it happened.
The crystal on my bracelet pulsed. No—shivered. Like it had just woken up after a long nap and stretched in slow, inky tendrils.
I didn't get a cute glow or sparkles. Nope. Not me. I got tar.
Literal black, shadowy, crawling tar started oozing from the bracelet, creeping up my arm like it had been waiting for permission. It didn't feel gross though. It felt… warm. Comforting. Possessive.
It slid across my skin, curling over my shoulders like a cloak, coating me in this silky shadow. It wasn't heavy. It felt mine.
A voice whispered in my head—not like words, but a sensation: Protect. Keep. Anchor.
I understood instantly. My will was attachment. The desire to never be alone again. The need to cling, even through the dark, even through fear. It wasn't weakness.
It was power.
"Whoa," I heard Chris say next to me.
I turned slowly, the shadows still writhing gently around my form like ink in water. His eyes were wide.
"You good?" he asked, half-grinning, half-terrified.
I laughed. A little giddy. A little terrified. "I think I just turned into a villainess from one of those romance games."
"Awesome," he said, eyes lighting up. "Do you have a cool line to say before you summon your army of shadows?"
I grinned, standing up as the mist flowed like ribbons around my feet.
"Touch him," I said to the air, "and I'll erase you from existence."
Chris clapped. "Okay, that was badass."
He laughed, and that sound—it made the darkness hum, like it approved.
So yeah. I guess we both found our "thing."
His was control.
Mine? Devotion.
But unlike a game mechanic, this wasn't just for stats or cooldowns. This was the part of me that had been real all along. And now it had shape.
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Back to Chris:
You ever have one of those moments where your years of being an unapologetic, sleep-deprived, soda-fueled gamer actually paid off?
Yeah, this was that moment.
Diana had just unlocked her powers in the most overpowered anime villainess way possible—shadow mist, gothic energy, threatening one-liners. The whole deal. I was proud. Slightly scared, but proud.
Me? I didn't have scary tendrils or elemental bursts or even flashy particle effects. My ability was... control. Basically, I could treat my body like an RPG avatar inside a video game.
And let me tell you—it was awesome.
In the real world, I was about as athletic as a sleepy cat in a sunbeam. But here, I could hop into a "control mode" that turned my movements into something smoother, sharper, more responsive—like I was holding a controller and watching my body from a third-person screen.
It started when I focused and slipped into that pocket dimension again. In my mind, I wasn't standing in a palace anymore. I was sitting in a sleek gamer chair, joystick in hand, my own body moving on a translucent screen. If I wanted to dodge-roll, I dodge-rolled. If I wanted to strike a pose like a fighting game character—bam, there it was. Complete with optional glowing aura for flair. (Okay, that part might've been just me imagining it. Still cool.)
But I had a problem.
No powers. No lasers, no fireballs, no dragon transformations. Just raw control.
So I did what any self-respecting nerd would do when handed a combat sim with no restrictions:
I looted the place.
I walked over to the walls where the fancy medieval decor lived—swords, shields, spears, and other definitely-not-just-for-decoration items. I reached for a sword and shield, half-expecting an alarm to go off or a staff member to yell "THOSE ARE NOT TOYS."
Instead, the sword shimmered, and a message blinked in the corner of my vision.
[Training Sword Acquired] — Damage: Meh. Coolness: High.
[Shield Acquired] — You may now block like a boss.
Then, like I had the menu from Final Fantasy wired into my soul, an inventory screen literally popped up in front of me. There were slots. I had slots. For gear. For weapons. For skills I didn't even have yet.
I might've teared up a little.
I even grabbed a couple of training daggers for throwing and stashed them in quick-access slots like a total pro. After that, the others caught on and started grabbing gear too, which was kind of flattering. I guess I'd unknowingly started a fashion trend.
Now came the fun part: training.
I stepped onto one of the open combat platforms scattered across the room. It was like a marble dojo with enough space to stage a small anime battle. Perfect.
I slipped into control mode and began testing moves.
Hadouken? Couldn't do it. No projectiles yet.
Shoryuken? Sorta worked. I looked more like a flailing chicken than Ryu, but hey—baby steps.
Tekken-style sidestep into spinning back kick? Boom. Nailed it.
My control wasn't perfect. My real-world body still had limits, like weak stamina and untrained muscles. But the game system seemed to compensate—my stamina bar would drain when I overexerted, but then refill at a game-like rate. No soreness. No collapsing. Just a cooldown and back in action.
And it felt amazing.
I wasn't just pretending to be a character anymore. I was one. My character.
"Hey," Diana called out from nearby, her shadows swirling like some cool goth Sailor Moon. "You look like you're having too much fun."
"I'm literally maining myself," I shouted, blocking an imaginary punch with my shield and countering with a spinning strike. "This is peak nerd enlightenment!"
She laughed, which made the shadows wiggle like they were laughing too.
I kept going. Sword strikes. Shield blocks. Rolls. Jumps. Throwing daggers. It wasn't just about moves. It was about syncing up my mind and body like I was the one coding the experience in real time.
This was my power: Control.
And for once, I didn't have to explain why that made me feel strong.