The NeuralTech conference room felt smaller at 9 AM.
Six executives sat around the table. David Park at the head. Sarah Chen to his right, the only friendly face in the room. The others Marcus didn't recognize—corporate types with expensive watches and dead eyes.
"Mr. Caldwell." David gestured to the empty chair. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."
Marcus sat. Placed his laptop on the table. Said nothing.
The silence stretched. Someone coughed.
"Let's get to it," David said. "You've been in beta for four days. We need to discuss ROI."
"Return on investment?" Marcus opened his laptop. "I'm level twenty-three. That's sixteen levels ahead of the second-place player. I've unlocked a hidden class. Cleared two field bosses solo. My forum posts have six hundred thousand views."
He turned the screen toward them. Showed the analytics.
"Your brand is mentioned in eighty-three percent of discussions about my content. NeuralTech headset sales on pre-order spiked eleven percent since my first stream. You've gotten seventy-two million impressions from my activity alone."
One of the executives—a woman with severe gray hair—leaned forward. "Impressive numbers. But we're paying you for long-term value, not short-term spikes."
"Then let's talk long-term." Marcus pulled up a spreadsheet. "Public launch is in eighty-five days. By then, I'll be level fifty. First to clear the game's first raid. First to establish a legendary-tier guild."
"You can't guarantee that."
"I can. Because I know exactly what needs to happen and when." Marcus met her eyes. "The question isn't whether I'll hit these milestones. It's whether NeuralTech wants their logo attached when I do."
The woman didn't blink. "Walk us through your next month. Specifics."
Marcus had expected this. Pulled up a timeline.
"Tomorrow, the Goblin Siege event. I'll assault the goblin fortress with a five-person team while everyone else defends towns. We'll get world-first clear. Media coverage. Forum explosion."
"And if you fail?"
"I won't."
"Humor us."
Marcus paused. This was the trap. Overconfidence got you replaced.
"If I fail," he said slowly, "I'll pivot. Hit the coastal dungeons instead. They unlock same day. Lower glory, but guaranteed progression."
The woman's expression softened. Slightly. "Continue."
"Week two: First dungeon clear. Week three: Guild establishment. Week four: First raid boss attempt." Marcus closed the laptop. "Every week, a new headline. Every headline, your brand. By launch, NeuralTech won't just be associated with Eternal Dominion. You'll BE Eternal Dominion to the average consumer."
David was nodding. Sarah looked pleased.
But a man at the far end of the table—younger, probably from marketing—spoke up.
"There's a problem." He slid a tablet across to Marcus. "Crimson Vanguard."
The screen showed Ethan's guild page. One hundred seventy members now. Growing fast.
"They're getting more engagement than you," the marketing guy said. "Their leader does daily streams. Q&As. Guild events. Community building. You're strong, but they're likeable."
Marcus looked at the numbers. The guy wasn't wrong.
Ethan's streams averaged eight thousand concurrent viewers. Marcus's streams—when he bothered—hit three thousand.
"Likeable doesn't win," Marcus said.
"Likeable gets sponsors." The marketing guy tapped the tablet. "Crimson Vanguard just signed with HyperGear. Three-year deal. Seven figures."
The room went quiet.
Marcus felt something cold settle in his stomach. Not fear. Calculation.
Ethan was moving faster than expected.
"HyperGear makes peripherals," Marcus said. "Keyboards. Mice. Hardware that doesn't matter in a neural-link game. They're paying for exposure, not performance."
"Exposure sells."
"Short term." Marcus leaned back. "Here's what happens next: Crimson Vanguard hits a wall. Probably around level thirty. Because Ethan doesn't have the strategic depth to push past mid-game content. His guild fragments. Drama. Attrition."
"You're betting your contract on them failing?"
"I'm betting on them being average. Average guilds don't make history." Marcus stood. "But if you'd rather invest in popularity over results, HyperGear's playing that game. Your call."
He moved toward the door.
"Marcus." David's voice stopped him. "Sit down."
Marcus turned. Didn't sit.
David sighed. "We're not terminating the contract. But we need more visibility from you. More engagement. Sarah will work with you on content strategy."
"I don't do vlogs."
"You don't have to." Sarah opened her laptop. "But you do need to let people see your process. Strategy breakdowns. Build guides. Behind-the-scenes. Give them something besides your back as you walk away from conversations."
Marcus thought about it. More content meant more time. Time was the one resource he couldn't steal.
But it also meant more leverage.
"Fine. One video per week. Ten minutes max. I pick the topics."
"Two videos," the gray-haired woman said. "Fifteen minutes."
"One video. Twelve minutes. And I want approval on all sponsored messaging. I won't shill garbage products."
David glanced at the woman. She nodded.
"Deal," David said. "Now sit down and walk us through the Goblin Siege strategy. If you're going to make us look good, we need to know how."
Marcus sat.
And spent the next hour explaining how he was going to do the impossible.
He logged back in at 2 PM.
Millbrook was chaos.
The Goblin Siege notification had dropped an hour ago. Players were scrambling. Organizing defenses. Panic-buying potions.
Marcus ignored all of it.
He met Isabella and IronHide at the eastern gate.
"Two more recruits," he said without preamble. "Then we're full."
"Who are we looking for?" Isabella asked.
"A DPS with actual game sense. And a healer who won't panic."
"That's it? That's your requirements?"
"That's what matters." Marcus pulled up his friends list. Sent out two messages.
The first reply came fast.
From: Shadowstrike
"yeah im down. where we meeting?"
Marcus showed them the username.
IronHide grunted. "Shadowstrike. I've seen him around. Rogue. Level twelve. Quiet guy."
"Perfect."
"You want quiet?"
"I want competent. Quiet is a bonus." Marcus checked the second message. No reply yet. "Shadowstrike will be here in five. Let's wait."
The rogue appeared four minutes later.
Shadowstrike was lean. Dark leather armor. Twin daggers. His character's face was hidden behind a black mask.
"Ghost." His voice was young. Maybe twenty. "You said you needed DPS."
"I said I needed someone who knows when to engage and when to wait. You do."
Shadowstrike tilted his head. "How would you know?"
"I watched you kill that merchant yesterday."
The mood shifted immediately.
Isabella's hand moved to her staff. IronHide's grip tightened on his axe.
Shadowstrike went very still. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The NPC merchant. Southeast corner of the market. You killed him. Took his inventory. Logged before the guards spawned." Marcus's voice stayed level. "It's fine. I don't care. But I need to know—did you do it for the thrill or the profit?"
Long silence.
Then: "Profit. The merchant had a quest item someone was paying gold for. Real gold."
"How much?"
"Fifty bucks."
Marcus nodded. "You willing to kill players?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether they deserve it." Shadowstrike's masked face turned toward Isabella. "You good with this? Your boy recruiting a red player?"
Red player. Someone who'd killed enough to get flagged by the system.
Isabella looked at Marcus. "Are we?"
Marcus thought about Ethan. About Sophia. About everyone who'd stood by and watched him burn.
"Yes," he said. "We are."
IronHide shifted uncomfortably but didn't object.
Shadowstrike relaxed. "Alright then. When do we start?"
"After we get our healer." Marcus checked his messages again. Still nothing. "Give it ten more minutes."
"And if they don't show?"
"We go in without healing and hope we don't need it."
Isabella made a face. "That's a terrible plan."
"It's a backup plan. There's a difference."
The healer showed up at 2:17.
But she wasn't alone.
Three players followed her. All wearing Crimson Vanguard guild tags.
[MERCY - LEVEL 11 - CLERIC]
[BLADESTORM - LEVEL 9 - WARRIOR]
[QUICKSHOT - LEVEL 8 - RANGER]
[PALADIN_ERIK - LEVEL 7 - PALADIN]
Mercy was exactly what Marcus needed. Cleric class. High level for a support. Smart positioning based on how she moved.
But the Crimson Vanguard tags changed everything.
"Ghost?" Mercy's voice was hesitant. American accent. Midwest, maybe. "I got your message. But I'm confused. You want me to leave my guild for... this?"
"Yes."
"That's not much of a sales pitch."
"I don't need to pitch. You messaged me first three days ago. Said Crimson Vanguard wasn't what you expected. Still feel that way?"
Her expression tightened. "How did you—"
"You used a different username. HealSmart. Deleted the message after I didn't respond." Marcus had noticed because he noticed everything. "So here's me responding. Join us or don't. But your guild mates need to leave. This conversation is private."
Bladestorm stepped forward. Big guy. Probably played football in high school. "You can't just poach our members."
"I'm not poaching. I'm offering an alternative."
"Ethan's not going to like this."
Marcus felt something sharp and cold slide through his chest at the name.
"Then Ethan can come talk to me himself." He kept his voice flat. "Until then, you're in my way."
"Tough talk for someone outnumbered."
Shadowstrike materialized behind Bladestorm. Daggers out.
Isabella's staff began glowing with frost.
IronHide just stood there. Massive. Immovable.
"Outnumbered?" Marcus smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Count again."
Bladestorm looked around. Realized he'd walked into a bad situation.
"This is bullshit," he muttered. But he backed up.
Mercy stepped away from the Crimson Vanguard group. Closer to Marcus.
"If I join you," she said, "I need to know what I'm joining. What's your guild's deal? What's your philosophy?"
"We don't have a guild yet. We have a team. Five people who want to be first at everything that matters."
"That's it? Just... winning?"
"Just winning." Marcus met her eyes. "No family. No friendship. No pretending this is summer camp with dragons. We work together because we're stronger together. That's the only reason."
"Wow." Mercy glanced at Isabella. "He's always this warm and fuzzy?"
"You get used to it," Isabella said. "He's honest, at least."
"Honest is good." Mercy looked back at the Crimson Vanguard players. At Bladestorm's red face and Quickshot's confusion and Paladin_Erik's disappointment.
Then she opened her interface and quit the guild.
[MERCY HAS LEFT CRIMSON VANGUARD]
[MERCY HAS JOINED YOUR PARTY]
"Mercy—" Bladestorm started.
"Tell Ethan I said thanks for the opportunity." Mercy's voice was firm. "But I came here to compete, not make friends."
She walked over to stand with Marcus's group.
Bladestorm pointed at Marcus. "Ethan's going to hear about this."
"I hope so." Marcus turned away. "Now leave. We have work to do."
The Crimson Vanguard players hesitated. Then left.
Marcus waited until they were gone before speaking.
"Alright. We're full. Five players. Seventy hours until the siege." He pulled up the fortress map. "Time to go over the plan."
The plan was insane.
That's what IronHide said after Marcus finished explaining it.
"You want me to pull seventeen goblins at once. Solo."
"Fifteen. The other two you'll skip."
"Oh, well, fifteen. That's totally reasonable."
"You can do it. Your shield bash has a three-second stun. Chain it with your war stomp. That's six seconds of crowd control. More than enough to survive until we clean up."
"And if I die?"
"You won't. Mercy will keep you up."
Mercy raised her hand. "Quick question. What if I run out of mana?"
"You won't. You'll use your mana efficiently because that's what good healers do."
"I hate you a little bit right now," Mercy said.
"That's fine. You'll like me when we're splitting legendary loot."
Shadowstrike was studying the map. "The goblin king. Level twenty-five boss. What's the strat?"
"Stay out of his spin attack. Interrupt his heal cast. Don't stand in the fire."
"That's not a strategy. That's common sense."
"Common sense is the strategy." Marcus closed the map. "Most players overthink boss fights. This one's simple. High damage. Predictable patterns. We burn him fast. Questions?"
Isabella had one. "What happens if Crimson Vanguard shows up?"
Marcus had thought about that. "They won't. Ethan's defending Millbrook. It's the visible play. The heroic one. He can't resist."
"But if they do?"
"Then we kill them first. The fortress becomes a PvP zone once the event starts. No guards. No penalties."
"You'd really kill other players?" Mercy asked.
"To protect our objective? Yes." Marcus looked at each of them. "This is your last chance to back out. Once we commit, we're all in. No half measures. No mercy."
He watched them process that.
IronHide was first to speak. "Well, my username's IronHide, not IronQuit. I'm in."
Shadowstrike just shrugged. "Already killed my first player yesterday. What's a few more?"
Isabella sighed. "Someone needs to keep you all from making completely suicidal decisions. Might as well be me."
Mercy was quiet longer. Then: "I joined a guild once that promised me we'd be legendary. That was Crimson Vanguard. Ethan gave great speeches. Made it sound magical."
She looked at Marcus.
"You're not promising magic. You're promising results. I'll take results."
"Good." Marcus opened the party interface. Made it official. "Tomorrow, 2 PM. We scout the fortress. Day after, we clear it. Get rest. Prepare. This is going to hurt."
Marcus logged out at 9 PM.
His apartment felt too quiet after the chaos of the game.
He checked his phone. Messages from Sarah about content schedules. An email from his bank about his account balance going up—NeuralTech's first payment had cleared.
And a text from Lily.
LILY - MOBILE:Still on for movie night? I'm thinking we watch something terrible. Like really bad.
Marcus smiled despite himself.
MARCUS:How bad are we talking?
LILY:I found a horror movie called "Zombie Beavers." I'm not joking. That's the actual title.
MARCUS:That might cause permanent brain damage.
LILY:Perfect. See you at 8?
MARCUS:I'll bring pizza.
He set his phone down. Looked at his reflection in the black laptop screen.
Four days ago, he'd died.
Three days ago, he'd come back.
Now he was building an empire out of stolen opportunities and calculated ruthlessness.
But tomorrow night, he'd watch a stupid movie with his sister and pretend to be normal.
Balance.
That's what he needed.
Be the ghost in the game.
Be a brother in the real world.
Don't confuse the two.
Marcus opened his laptop. Started drafting the first strategy video NeuralTech wanted.
"Advanced Leveling: Why Everyone's Doing It Wrong."
He wrote for two hours. Explained power-leveling routes. Optimal quest chains. Common mistakes.
Gave away just enough information to be valuable.
Kept back everything that mattered.
At 11 PM, his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He almost didn't answer. But curiosity won.
"Yeah?"
"Ghost?" The voice was unfamiliar. Male. Nervous. "My name's Blake. I'm... I'm with Crimson Vanguard. Bladestorm. We met today."
Marcus sat up straighter. "How did you get this number?"
"That's not important. Look, I'm calling because Ethan wants to talk to you."
"I'm not interested."
"Just hear me out—"
"No. Tell Ethan if he wants to talk, he can message me in-game like everyone else."
"He did. You blocked him."
Marcus had forgotten about that. "Then we have nothing to discuss."
"Ghost, wait." Blake's voice took on a desperate edge. "He's pissed, man. About Mercy. About you building a team. He thinks you're trying to start shit."
"I don't care what he thinks."
"You should. Ethan has resources. Connections. He could make things difficult for you."
Marcus laughed. Actually laughed. "Let me tell you something, Blake. Your guild leader is all marketing and no substance. He talks about family and community because he's good at it. But when the real fights start? When content gets hard? He'll fold."
"You don't know him."
"I know exactly who he is." More than Blake could possibly understand. "Tell him this: Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of his. But if he comes at me, I won't pull punches."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's a promise."
Marcus hung up.
Blocked the number.
Sat in the dark apartment, heart hammering.
Ethan was noticing him.
Finally.
The invisible ghost was becoming visible.
And that changed everything.
Friday night came fast.
Marcus showed up at Lily's apartment at 8:03. Three minutes late. The pizza was still hot.
She opened the door wearing an oversized hoodie and a grin. "You actually came."
"Said I would."
"Yeah, but you've been weird lately. Thought you might bail."
Marcus stepped inside. Her apartment was small. Cozy. Posters of bands he didn't recognize. Books stacked everywhere.
In five years, she'd lose this place. Lose her independence. Lose her sight.
Not this time.
"I brought terrible pizza for a terrible movie," Marcus said. "Let's do this."
They settled on her couch. The movie started.
Zombie Beavers was exactly as bad as advertised.
Lily laughed at everything. The bad CGI. The worse acting. The plot holes you could drive trucks through.
Marcus found himself laughing too. Real laughs. Not performed. Not calculated.
Just... laughing.
"Oh my god," Lily gasped during a particularly ridiculous scene. "That beaver just—did it just—"
"Yep."
"This is art. Terrible, terrible art."
They made it through the whole movie. Ate all the pizza. Lily fell asleep on his shoulder during the credits.
Marcus sat there. Didn't move. Let her sleep.
This was why he was doing it.
Not for revenge.
Not for pride.
For this.
For a future where Lily could watch bad movies and fall asleep feeling safe.
His phone buzzed. Carefully, he checked it without disturbing her.
Message from Isabella in the game forum.
FrostQueen:Scouted the fortress. You were right about the patrol patterns. This might actually work.
Ghost:It will work. Get rest. Tomorrow's going to be long.
FrostQueen:You ever sleep?
Ghost:When I'm dead.
FrostQueen:That's concerning.
Ghost:That's commitment.
He put the phone away.
Lily stirred. Blinked awake. "Sorry. Movie was too exciting."
"It was very exciting. I especially liked the part where the beaver ate the—"
"Don't ruin it. Let me remember it as the masterpiece it was." She sat up. Stretched. "You okay? You seem stressed."
"I'm fine."
"Marcus."
"I'm fine, Lil. Really. Just a lot going on with work."
She studied him with those too-perceptive eyes. "The gaming thing?"
"Yeah."
"Is it going well?"
"Better than expected."
"Good." She squeezed his arm. "You deserve success. After everything with Jessica. After being so hard on yourself. You deserve something good."
Marcus thought about what he was building.
An empire of stolen futures.
A team of killers and outcasts.
A reputation built on ruthlessness.
Good wasn't the word for it.
"Thanks, Lil."
He left at 10 PM. Drove home through empty streets.
At 10:47, he logged back into Eternal Dominion.
The Goblin Siege counter showed forty-two hours.
His team was online. Waiting.
"Alright," Marcus said into voice chat. "Let's run the fortress one more time. Every patrol route. Every spawn point. Every variable."
"It's almost midnight," Mercy said.
"I don't care what time it is. I care that we don't die because we missed something."
"Slave driver," IronHide muttered.
But they all followed him into the darkness.
Scouted. Planned. Prepared.
At 2 AM, they logged out.
At 6 AM, Marcus logged back in.
Practiced solo. Refined his timing. Memorized every detail.
At noon, the full team assembled.
"Final check," Marcus said. "Consumables?"
"Stocked." Isabella.
"Repairs?"
"Done." IronHide.
"Escape plans if everything goes wrong?"
"North exit. Rally at the river." Shadowstrike.
"Good." Marcus pulled up the siege timer. "Thirty-eight hours. Tomorrow afternoon, we make history."
"Or we die trying," Mercy said.
"We won't die. Dying is inefficient."
"You really need to work on your motivational speeches."
"I'm not here to motivate. I'm here to win."
Marcus logged out. Tried to sleep.
Couldn't.
Kept seeing Ethan's face. That smile. That casual cruelty wrapped in charisma.
In thirty-eight hours, Marcus would steal something else from him.
Not just a reward.
Not just glory.
The narrative.
Ethan wanted to be the hero defending the innocent town.
Fine.
Let him have it.
Marcus would be the ghost who did the impossible while everyone else played pretend.
And when the dust settled, people would remember who actually won.
He finally fell asleep at 4 AM.
Dreamed of fortresses burning.
Woke up at 7 to his phone ringing.
Sarah Chen.
"Marcus. Good news. Your first video hit half a million views. The community loves it. David wants you in the office Monday to discuss expanded partnership."
"Monday's tight. I've got—"
"Make time. This is big. Seven figures big."
Marcus sat up. "I'll be there."
He hung up. Checked the video numbers.
547,000 views. 23,000 comments.
He scrolled through them.
Most were positive. Some asking questions. A few calling him arrogant.
And one from a verified account that made his blood freeze.
Crusader:"Good info! Different philosophy than ours at Crimson Vanguard, but I respect the grind. May the best guild win. 😊"
Ethan.
Being gracious.
Being public.
Being smart.
Marcus stared at the comment.
Then typed a response.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that too.
Finally:
Ghost:"See you at the top."
Posted it.
Regretted it immediately.
Too aggressive? Not aggressive enough?
He closed the browser. Didn't matter.
In thirty-three hours, everything would change.
The Goblin Siege was coming.
And Marcus was going to make sure everyone remembered his name.
Especially Ethan Cross.