The city was alive with noise — digital screens flashing, news anchors shouting over the roar of a crowd, holographic ads sweeping across glass towers like ribbons of light.
> "The epoch-making online experience Eternal Ascendancy has officially gonna launch!"
"The launch is scheduled for midnight tomorrow, and the world is already losing its mind—!"
Anchors tripped over one another as they tried to keep up with the frenzy.
> "Sources confirm that Eternal Ascendancy is the first 100% neural-synchronized virtual reality! The government has invested directly — yes, the federal government!"
"And get this—players are reportedly receiving state-issued subsidies just for participating!"
"We're outside the Eternal Ascendancy's Domain Connector sales site, and the line wraps around five city blocks! Sir, when did you start queuing?"
"Three days ago!"
"Three days—by the stars!"
The noise blurred into static.
Adrian Cross turned away from the television and stared through the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse. Neon bled across the clouds like spilled paint, the pulse of civilization at his feet. For a long moment, he just stood there — silent, steady — then he breathed in sharply, as if trying to convince himself that the air was real.
> "Reborn," he whispered. "I'm really… reborn."
A half laugh escaped him, followed by a long exhale. The memory was still fresh: flames raining from the sky, cities shattered, the heavens torn open as gods descended in fury. The last moments before the end of all things. And now he was back — a full day before Eternal Ascendancy went live.
It wasn't just a game. He knew that now.
In his previous life, the world had believed Eternal Ascendancy to be a marvel of human engineering — an entertainment platform so advanced it blurred the line between play and reality. Players took on the role of gods, building kingdoms, gathering believers, shaping divine realms. It was supposed to be fantasy.
But when the skies cracked and reality merged with the so-called "servers," when divine fire burned through the fabric of space and the players' avatars became their true selves… the world had learned the truth too late.
The game was real.
The domains were real.
And gods — ancient, infinite, and utterly alien — walked among them.
Earth, his home world, had been the last to awaken to the truth. Even after mortals began ascending within the simulation, the governments refused to believe that Eternal Ascendancy was more than software. Until the day the real gods came.
Adrian had seen it with his own eyes — the fall of the Blue Star Pantheon.
One Main God from another realm had been enough to annihilate them all.
He lit a cigarette, letting the smoke curl between his fingers, and stared at the reflection in the glass — a tired face, twenty-something, eyes sharper than he remembered.
> "It all makes sense now," he muttered. "No wonder it felt so real. No wonder we lost."
In that first life, Adrian had been one of the privileged. Born to wealth, heir to a successful conglomerate, he'd lived easily, lazily. While others camped outside stores to buy connectors, he'd been sailing, clubbing, spending. By the time he finally logged in, a full month had passed since the launch. That one-month delay had cost him everything.
Even with his raw gaming talent, he'd only reached Rank Nine — a demigod.
Not enough. Never enough.
He'd fallen before he could ignite his godfire.
> "One step late," he whispered. "That's all it takes."
Now he had a second chance. A chance to start from the very beginning — with knowledge that no one else in this timeline could possibly possess.
His gaze hardened.
> "This time, the Lord God won't be my limit."
He could still see that figure in his mind: the being beyond comprehension, the power that even Main Gods feared. Compared to that, becoming a true god was merely a step on a much higher staircase.
He turned toward the alloy desk, where a sleek silver band rested in its cradle.
The God's Domain Connector — a marvel of technology. A neural-link device capable of interfacing with the simulated divine field that Eternal Ascendancy claimed to represent. Most people treated it like an expensive VR headset. To him, it was a key — a bridge between worlds.
He picked it up, weighing it in his palm.
In his last life, someone had gifted it to him before launch. He'd left it sealed in the box for weeks, dismissing it as another corporate toy. That negligence had cost him eternity.
> "Not this time," Adrian said softly. "This time, everything changes."
As the government broadcast continued to echo in the background, he smiled coldly.
> "The government knew," he said. "They knew exactly what this was."
The thought filled him with quiet rage. After the invasion, the surviving demigods had learned the truth — that Eternal Ascendancy was not a human creation at all. It was an interface designed by an unknown intelligence to select candidates for ascension. To find mortals capable of wielding divinity.
And the government had hidden it.
The first true god born on Blue Star had been one of their own — a military figurehead uplifted to protect the regime. Yet when the invasion began, that same god had vanished without a trace. Coward or casualty, it made no difference. Humanity was doomed.
Adrian clenched his fist.
> "This time," he vowed, "I won't be a pawn in anyone's game."
He paced the room for a while, considering his next move. He couldn't warn the public — not yet. If he told anyone that the game was real, they'd call him insane. He needed credibility, power, proof. Only a true god could speak and be believed.
> "So I become one," he murmured. "As soon as possible."
He took out his datapad and began the process of liquidating his assets. Within the hour, he was on a secure call with his family's investment firm.
"All holdings," he said. "Everything in my name. Sell it."
The broker sputtered. "Sir—everything? The companies, the cars, even the—?"
> "All of it," Adrian interrupted. "I want liquidity within twenty-four hours. I don't care if it's at a loss. Move it."
By evening, the city's financial channels were whispering about the young heir gone mad. Friends called, old partners texted, his ex sent a bewildered message asking if he was dying.
He ignored them all.
When the dust settled, three hundred million credits sat in his personal account. Less than his true worth, but enough for what came next.
He spent it within hours — military-grade security drones, armored vehicles, self-defense weaponry, and a full suite of life-support systems. If the world went mad again, he would not be caught unprepared. When he became a true god, the human realm would no longer matter, but until then, he would ensure his body's safety.
Finally, he relocated to a secluded villa on the outskirts of the city — his parents' old estate, untouched since their passing. For the first time in years, the silence comforted him. The security network flickered to life around the perimeter, sensors glowing faintly in the dark.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, exhaustion creeping into his limbs, and smiled faintly.
> "Recharge, refocus… Eternal Ascendancy, here I come."
The Next Day
At exactly twelve noon, the world held its breath.
Across the planet, millions of players slipped the sleek connectors onto their wrists or temples, neural fibers aligning with cortical threads. The system hummed, a single note resonating in the mind like a whisper from heaven.
Adrian sat in the darkened room, eyes closed, heartbeat steady.
A chime rang out in his thoughts.
> "Welcome, Player. Eternal Ascendancy AI is at your service."
"Verifying player identity… Adrian Cross. Identity confirmed. Name locked — cannot be changed."
"Generating divine designation… Randomization complete. Player's god-name: Korrhaz the Bloodfather."
"Assigning divine domains…"
"Initial divinity: Gnolls (0.1%)."
"Secondary domain: Slaughter (0.001%)."
"Assigning initial believers — Binding complete. Primary believers: Gnolls."
The light within his mind flickered like the dawn of a new world. Symbols spiraled across his consciousness, ancient yet mechanical, divine yet digital.
Adrian's expression remained calm. He remembered this exact sequence from his previous life — the "randomization" that so many players had cursed. But he knew better now. It wasn't random at all.
The system read each player's soul, synchronizing them with a domain that reflected their essence. Luck had nothing to do with it.
> "Still the same domains," he murmured. "Gnolls and slaughter… so be it."
The AI voice continued, soft and cold.
> "Player information successfully registered. Final step: extract the Talent of God. Upon extraction, you will enter the Divine Realm."
Adrian's lips curved into a faint smile.
This was it — the only moment of true agency a player had before entering. In his past life, he'd drawn an ordinary C-rank talent, barely enough to survive. But now? Now he understood the system, the probabilities, even the hidden triggers.
Maybe, just maybe, rebirth would change more than his timing.
He approached the massive wheel hovering before him — a sphere of light spinning endlessly, etched with runes and data. His reflection shimmered across its surface.
> "Let's see what destiny thinks of me this time."
He reached out, fingers brushing the surface of the wheel. It pulsed beneath his touch like a living heart.
And as the world dissolved into light, Adrian Cross — reborn heir, fallen demigod, would-be Lord of Slaughter — stepped once more into the realm of gods.