Inside the dimly lit workspace of a large corporate building, one of the upper floors was nearly deserted. Rows of office desks stretched out. The only light came from the glow of a single computer monitor in the middle of the room. Screen casting a ghostly shine on the exhausted face of a man slouched in his chair.
He looked like a man who hadn't tasted more than one or two hours of sleep per day in months… because that was exactly the case. His eyes were heavy, ringed with dark circles. His hair stuck out in scattered tufts, messy. His beard had clearly been shaved recently, but the uneven regrowth proved how little time he had to care about appearances.
He wasn't just an employee here. He was the company, at least the part that kept it breathing. The only IT personnel who wasn't an idiot or an intern. Every server, every network issue, every "urgent" email at 3 a.m.—he was the guy they called. The whole system practically ran off his caffeine and silent resentment.
Eight cups? No, nine cups of instant coffee, sat scattered across his desk. Some half-finished, others cold and forgotten. The trash can under his table had a lot more to say, all for late-night survival. He checked his watch, rubbing his eyes.
2:06 a.m.
"Ahh, another ugly day for this ugly freak to make a bunch of hypocrites look at their bank accounts and smile… hehe," he muttered, voice cracked and dry. He chuckled lowly, but the smile eventually disappeared. "Man, I'm bad at jokes."
This was Alex Morgan, twenty-five years old. An orphan, tossed into the world at eighteen with nothing but anger and attitude. For a while, his life spiraled. Bad decisions. Worse company. He'd become just another record in a police file. But something changed at twenty-three—he cleaned up, pulled himself together, and landed a job here. A "respectable" company. One that looked good on paper, but behind the curtains, it was a burnout monster.
Right on cue, his phone buzzed beside him, snapping him out of his spiral. Unknown number.
He picked it up. "Whaaaaat?" he groaned, dragging out the word with the energy of a man who'd lost the will to care.
"Delivery," a voice replied on the other end. Cold.
He stared at the phone, blinking. "Not here. Who the hell orders delivery to a dead-ass company building at 2 a.m.? Nah, I ain't getting kidnapped. Y'all trippin'."
Five minutes later, Alex was kidnapped.
Shoved into the back of a black minivan, sack over his head, hands tied. Two massive dudes flanked him. One wore a baseball cap, the other a surgical nose mask.
"For the record," Alex said calmly, "I came down out of curiosity."
"Shut up," the one with the cap snapped.
"At least tell me where I'm being taken," Alex pressed.
"Heaven. Sound nice, yeah?" the one with the mask replied, voice light, casual.
A few minutes passed. The van rolled to a stop atop a long, deserted cable bridge. The kind that stretched over a dark river you wouldn't want to fall into even during daylight. But right now, the road was empty. Dead silent. Everyone in the city was probably asleep or had nothing to do with this part of it at the the late hours
"We ain't got all night!" the driver yelled, cigar clenched between yellowing teeth. "I still don't get why the lady wants this one dead."
The doors swung open. The two goons yanked Alex out, dragging him toward the railing.
"Say hi to my wife, would ya?" the man with the nose mask said. "Name's Cassey."
"Wait, wait, wait…why are you lifting me?" Alex asked, more confused than panicked as he was lifted off the ground.
"Taking you to heaven," the man said plainly.
They hoisted him up with ease, looked at themselves, nodded and threw him over the edge.
For a normal human being, they'd either scream or accept their fate. Can't say the same for this dude,
"WHAT DOES SHE LOOK LIIIIIKE!?" Alex screamed.
His voice echoed. Then came the splash. A hard crash into the cold black water.
The two men didn't hesitate—they jumped back into the van, slammed the door, and sped off into the night like nothing happened.
Meanwhile, underwater, Alex struggled. The sack over his head tangled with his breath, the ropes tightening as panic rose. But his body was too worn down, too tired, too weak. Everything caught up at once. His limbs stopped resisting. His mind blanked.
And just like that, he passed out.
Minutes later, his body resurfaced. But it was no longer alive.
Alex Morgan had died.
Then...
A sleek black sports car pulled to a stop at the center of the bridge. From it stepped a tall woman dressed in a long black coat, high-heeled boots, and a sleek black face mask. Her presence screamed elegance. Danger. Control.
She stepped out slowly, her gaze fixed on the floating corpse in the distance. Her eyes glowed a faint, unnatural blue. With her hand, she drew out a necklace. Black chain, crescent moon carving.
The wind around her began to howl. Clouds gathered above. Thunder rumbled.
She whispered to herself, voice soft but firm. "We shall meet again… Black Moon."
Then she tossed the necklace.
It glided through the air, slicing the wind until it landed right on Alex's chest.
The moment it touched him, a monstrous bolt of lightning cracked down from above, striking the river with terrifying force, right where his body floated.
A beat.
Then another.
His brain sparked. Like someone had plugged it back in.
Random information started firing off in his head, scattered.
"Potatoes… potatoes. 4.6890000 bits. I love female raccoons. I'm not… a chicken. I'm…"
The thoughts slammed into each other, nonsensical and loud. But they were thoughts, and that meant something was coming back.
His senses were crawling their way back to life. First, awareness. Then hearing.
Muffled voices. Dozens.
And then, just as one final thought clicked into place,
"…alive."
The word echoed through his head. He could feel again. Smell again.
And hear… way too clearly.
"Burn the curse bringer! Burn! Burn! Burn the curse bringer! Burn! Burn!"
His eyes snapped open.
A translucent green screen was in front of him.
.
{SYSTEM PERFORMING FULL BODY SCAN...}
{SCAN COMPLETE!}
{PLAYER IS COMPATIBLE!}
{WELCOME TO THE BLACK MOON SYSTEM!}
.
Then it instantly disappeared before his vision fully cleared.
Everything was upside down.
No, wait...he was upside down. His vision blurred slightly as he realized he was being carried—arms and legs tied tightly to a thick wooden log. Two huge guys were walking shoulder to shoulder, hauling him like a pig ready for the roast.
And in front of them was a bonfire.
A giant one. Ready for execution.
Alex tried to process it all. The chanting crowd. The fire. The weird-ass outfits. Everyone around him looked... Medieval. Robes, tunics, fur, cloaks and more.
"What the hell kind of fever dream am I in right now?" he muttered to himself.
"WAIT!" He said, louder this time.
The crowd froze.
Gasps exploded from every corner. Murmurs shot through the mob like sparks on dry hay.
"He's awake!"
"He's more dangerous now!"
"His eyes! Did you see his eyes?!"
Alex cleared his throat, head spinning. "I'm not the… curse bringer or whatever the hell you think I am. I'm… I'm…"
He paused. Blinked.
"Oh hell no."
The crowd leaned in, hanging onto his next words.
"You're… you're…?" they all echoed.
Alex searched his mind.
Nothing. Blank.
He couldn't remember his name at all. Of all things not to remember...his name.
"Ah, shit. Congratulations on forgetting your name," he muttered internally, his eyes twitching.
Suddenly, someone from the crowd yelled, "THE CURSE BRINGERRRRR!"
The crowd erupted once again.
"Burn the curse bringer! Burn! Burn! Burn the curse bringer! Burn! Burn!"
They surged forward, dragging him closer to the blaze.
Alex struggled against the ropes, but it was pointless. The knots were tight. Whoever tied them had probably been training for this moment their whole life.
"Halt! All of you!"
A voice rang out. Calm. Feminine. But so commanding that it put everyone into silence.
The crowd turned.
Alex craned his neck to see the speaker. He squinted.
Out stood a woman—young, tall, striking in all the ways that made people shut up and listen. She wore brown leather pants that hugged her hips, a black cropped top that showed off her toned stomach, and a sagged adventurer's belt hanging lazily at her slim waist. A sword swung gently at her side, and in her hand was a flask.
Long yellow hair was threaded from both sides of her head, braided tightly toward the back like a crown. Dark blue eyes. Cherry lips. Regal, but savage. Slender and the perfect mix of beauty and brawn.
From the way the crowd murmured and parted for her, Alex instantly clocked her as someone important. A leader. A rebel. Maybe both.
"Elina Lucerius," someone whispered behind the front row.
She raised her flask and took a long swig, then spoke.
"There is no curse bringer," she said, waving her free hand. "That's old superstition. Nonsense our ancestors used to scare children into obedience. Just books, books, books, repeating the same old crap."
She gestured toward the land behind her—dark hills, broken buildings, rubble scattered.
"Even if the curse bringer exists, this land's already in hell. I mean, take a look around you. This place is a dumpster fire. You think this is what an 'uncursed' land looks like? Please."
Alex grinned.
He could've kissed her if he wasn't tied up and just a couple of inches from combustion.
"Finally," he muttered. "Someone with a brain."
Elina took another sip and walked further into the crowd. "It's a shame to see grown adults, old and young, yelling like drunk children about fairy tales. Look at yourselves!"
The crowd shifted awkwardly, some lowering their torches, others suddenly ashamed of their pitchforks and rage.
Alex exhaled. Relief washed over him.
"Now chant something better!" Elina shouted suddenly, raising her flask again.
Alex's eyes widened.
"Like… Burn the not-the-curse bringer! Burn! Burn!"
Alex froze. "Eh?"
The crowd erupted.
"BURN THE NOT-THE-CURSE BRINGER! BURN! BURN! BURN THE NOT-THE-CURSE BRINGER! BURN! BURN!"
Alex's soul left his body for a second.
"You've got to be shitting me."