The old gold and diamond system was completely gone. In its place was just… points. One universal currency.
He noticed something else.
All other modes had vanished.
Only three remained:
- Battle Royale Ranked Mode
- Team Combat Ranked Mode
- Training Spectrum
He understood the first two instantly—classic ranked, now probably with VR twists.
But the last one—Training Spectrum—he didn't understand. Still, he thought, *It's probably something related to training. A practice area, maybe.*
He stood in the white space, now dressed and ready, looking around at the endless emptiness.
The game had changed.
Completely.
And he had no idea just how deep those changes went.
But he was about to find out.
Just as he wanted to explore more, he noticed in his player window that his other friends had come online.
He sent invitations without hesitation. The moment his friends accepted and entered his lobby, he realized something strange—he couldn't see their bodies clearly. Only faint, shadowy figures stood there, voices echoing normally, but no details. No faces, no outfits, nothing solid.
He guessed immediately: they hadn't customized their characters yet. They were still in that "naked," undefined state—like him before he made his own. That's why he couldn't see them properly.
He quickly explained everything he had discovered so far—the white space, the reset, the points, the customization. He urged them to create their characters too.
One by one, his friends began shaping themselves. Slowly, the shadowy outlines sharpened. Faces appeared. Bodies formed. Clothes materialized. Soon the lobby felt alive—his old squad, now in fresh, self-designed forms, standing together in the endless white.
More friends joined. He thought the lobby might be limited to four players at a time, generic feature. But no.
He invited twelve—then more—and all of them entered without issue. The space expanded seamlessly, comfortably accommodating everyone. It looked like there was no hard limit yet.
With everyone finally here and customized, they started chatting—voices overlapping in excitement and frustration.
They talked about how much they had missed the game. How strange it felt without levels or ranks. How unfair it was that their collections—skins they had spent real money on—were gone in an instant.
Just then, one friend—Amit—shouted suddenly.
"Hey, hey! Returner is online! Invite him quick. I don't know what his feelings are after losing all his levels and collection. Can he still become the top player? Because all our levels are reset, and this isn't a mobile game anymore. Here we have to play with our actual bodies. No auto-aim, no touch controls. Don't know if he'll still be able to dominate."
The friends circle all knew about Returner. His real name was Ankit. He was legendary among them—unmatched skill, calm under pressure, always one step ahead. But they also thought reasonably: playing inside the game with a real body was completely different from tapping on a phone screen.
Just then, they saw Ankit appear in the lobby.
But the moment he materialized, everyone became confused.
Because they could see… everything.
His character wasn't shadowy or undefined like theirs had been at first. He stood there clear, solid, fully formed. And the detail was overwhelming.
They stared.
His form was a living abomination—tall, emaciated, and utterly inhuman. A mass of writhing red tendrils and exposed muscle fibers covered his entire body like a network of bloody roots, pulsing with sickly crimson light that seeped into the air around him. The skin was gone, replaced by raw, veiny flesh that twitched and contracted as if breathing. At the top, where a head should be, a single enormous eye dominated—unblinking, glowing with cold white fire, surrounded by jagged, fleshy ridges that dripped viscous black ichor. The eye swiveled independently, locking onto each of them with a gaze that pierced the soul.
No limbs in the traditional sense—just elongated arms ending in razor-sharp bone claws, dripping more ichor, ready to rend flesh. The torso and legs were a twisted fusion of muscle and shadow, shadows clinging to the form like living smoke. No mouth. No nose. Only the eye, staring, unyielding. (Wanna see the image? Just comment, I will send u)
He looked like something ripped from the deepest hell of a fever dream—a being that defied existence, that made the mind scream and blank out in primal, wordless terror.
The lobby went deathly silent.
No one dared speak.
No one dared breathe too loudly.
He looked like he had walked straight out of a nightmare battlefield.
Ether clone—Returner—stood motionless in the center, the eye on his head slowly turning to regard each of them in turn.
Whatever came next… they were already regretting inviting him.
***
Thankyou kiwami803 for your support.