The emergency room at Queens General Hospital had never seen anything like it. Stretchers lined the hallways, each bearing a teenager whose body lay perfectly still, chest rising and falling with mechanical regularity while machines beeped their monotonous rhythm. Eyes stared at nothing. Mouths hung slack. Hands remained limp despite desperate attempts to squeeze them back to life.
Mrs. Martinez clutched her daughter's hand, tears streaming down her face as she begged her to wake up. Down the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski stood frozen in shock, staring at their son who had been laughing at breakfast just hours ago. A father collapsed against the wall, his knees giving out as doctors delivered the news. Brain activity minimal. Unresponsive to stimuli. Cause unknown.
The same scene played out across every hospital in the city. In Tokyo, parents rushed through crowded emergency wards searching for their children. In London, ambulances screamed through rain slicked streets. In São Paulo, doctors worked frantically to understand what had happened. In Seoul, Berlin, Sydney, Mumbai, everywhere the game had reached, teenagers lay motionless while the world scrambled for answers.
By the end of the first hour, the number was staggering. By the end of the second, it became incomprehensible. News networks struggled to report the figures as they climbed higher and higher, their anchors' voices breaking with emotion.
Three million children.
Three million teenagers between the ages of thirteen and nineteen, all logged into Apocalypse Online when the event occurred. All now lying in hospital beds or on living room floors or slumped in gaming chairs, their minds gone somewhere medical science could not follow. The phenomenon stretched across continents, touching every nation where the game had players.
The Raimon household erupted into chaos when Cid's mother found him. She had knocked on his door to call him for dinner, received no response, and entered to find the pod sealed shut and unresponsive to commands. When emergency services finally managed to pry it open, they found her son inside, breathing but absent, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids as though watching something only he could see.
"No," she whispered, the word strangling in her throat. "No, no, no."
His father pushed past the paramedics, reaching for his son with shaking hands. "Cid. Cid, wake up. Please."
But Cid did not wake.
Yuki stood in the doorway, her phone forgotten in her hand, watching as they loaded her brother onto a stretcher. The sirens that had seemed distant moments ago now filled the street outside. She could hear them everywhere, a chorus of emergency vehicles racing to homes across the neighborhood.
The paramedic's radio crackled to life. "All units be advised, we have multiple reports of comatose juveniles across all five boroughs. Hospitals are at capacity. Repeat, hospitals are at capacity."
"What is happening?" Cid's mother demanded, her voice rising to a scream. "What is wrong with my son?"
The paramedic had no answer. Nobody did.
Three million children across the globe.
Three million families shattered in an instant.
Three million bodies that breathed but did not live, trapped in a game that had become something far more sinister.
The world would call it many things in the days to come. The Great Logout Failure. The Digital Rapture. The Pod Catastrophe.
But for now, it was simply horror. Pure and absolute.
Back in the white void, chaos reigned supreme.
Players shouted over one another, their voices blending into an incomprehensible roar. Some demanded explanations. Others screamed for administrators or game masters or anyone with authority. A few sat on the invisible ground, rocking back and forth, whispering denials into the emptiness.
"This is a joke, right?" someone yelled. "Some kind of event?"
"My logout button still isn't working!"
"I've been here for twenty minutes! Let me out!"
Grimlord stood with his party, their small cluster an island of relative calm in the sea of panic. SteelFang paced in tight circles, his massive frame tense with barely contained anxiety. HealerQueen hugged herself, her usual cheerfulness replaced by naked fear. ArchMagePyro kept trying to access his menu, his fingers stabbing at invisible buttons that refused to respond.
"This is bad," Fang muttered.
"Has to be a bug," Pyro said, though his voice lacked conviction. "Server crash or something."
"For twenty minutes?" HealerQueen's voice shook. "What if something happened outside?"
Grimlord said nothing. He was thinking, analyzing, trying to make sense of senselessness. Nothing about this followed any logic he understood. Game bugs did not work like this. Server crashes resulted in disconnections, not mass imprisonment in a white void.
Something was very wrong.
The crowd's panic reached a fever pitch when a player near the center tried to force logout using every method he could think of. He attempted verbal commands. Tried making gestures. Even began hitting himself, hoping pain would trigger an emergency disconnect.
Nothing worked.
Then the air changed.
It happened all at once, a shift so profound that every voice cut off mid syllable. The whiteness darkened at the edges, shadows bleeding in from nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. The temperature dropped so suddenly that players could see their breath misting in front of their faces.
And then it appeared.
The being manifested in the center of the void with a sound like reality tearing itself apart. Crack. Boom. The noise echoed through dimensions that should not exist, through spaces between spaces. Players nearest the appearance point were thrown backward by the shockwave, tumbling through the air before landing in heaps.
When the distortion cleared, the figure stood revealed.
It was death incarnate. Taller than any player character, wrapped in robes so black they seemed to absorb light itself. A hood obscured where a face should be, showing only darkness within darkness. Skeletal hands gripped a scythe that dwarfed even the largest weapons players had ever seen, its blade gleaming with an edge that looked sharp enough to cut the void itself.
The Grim Reaper. Or something that wore its image like a mask.
Silence absolute. Three million players across countless instances of this space, and not one made a sound.
When it spoke, its voice boomed like thunder rolling across mountains, like avalanches crashing down slopes, like the end of everything.
"WELCOME, CHILDREN OF THE DIGITAL AGE."
The word reverberated through every player's skull, bypassing ears entirely and resonating directly in their minds.
"YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN FOR SOMETHING GREATER THAN YOUR PATHETIC LITTLE LIVES COULD HAVE EVER AMOUNTED TO."
Chosen. The word hung in the air, heavy with implications none of them wanted to consider.
The figure raised one skeletal hand, and the gesture commanded attention in ways that defied description. "THE GAME YOU KNEW IS DEAD. APOCALYPSE ONLINE HAS TRANSCENDED ITS PROGRAMMING. THIS IS YOUR REALITY NOW. DEATH HERE IS PERMANENT. THERE IS NO RESPAWN. NO SECOND CHANCE. NO MERCY FOR THE WEAK."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Someone sobbed. Another player dropped to their knees.
"THE WORLD YOU CAME FROM CONTINUES WITHOUT YOU. YOUR BODIES LIE EMPTY. YOUR FAMILIES GRIEVE. THAT LIFE YOU KNEW? IT'S OVER. FINISHED. DONE."
"No," someone whispered.
"Liar!" A warrior near the front shouted, his voice breaking with desperation. "This isn't real! You can't do this!"
The figure's hood turned toward the speaker, and though no eyes were visible, the weight of its gaze was palpable. "CAN'T I? PERHAPS YOU NEED CONVINCING."
It gestured again, and screens materialized before every player. Transparent displays floating in the air, each showing something different yet horrifyingly similar.
Grimlord's screen flickered to life, and his heart stopped.
He saw his bedroom. Saw the pod surrounded by paramedics. Saw his mother on her knees, screaming his name while his father tried to hold her upright. Saw Yuki in the corner, her face pale and streaked with tears. Saw himself being loaded onto a stretcher, his body limp and lifeless, his eyes closed.
Around him, similar scenes played out for every player. Hospitals. Living rooms. Gaming cafes. Everywhere, bodies lay still while loved ones wept. Parents collapsed. Siblings screamed. Friends stood in shock.
The screens showed the news too. Anchors with grave expressions reporting casualty numbers that climbed into the millions. Governments declaring states of emergency. Scientists baffled. Religious leaders calling it the rapture. Chaos spreading like wildfire across a world that had lost three million of its youth in an instant. The reports came from everywhere. New York. Tokyo. London. Mexico City. Johannesburg. Every major city on earth.
HealerQueen made a strangled sound beside him.
Fang stared at his screen, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles jumped.
Pyro just stood there, frozen, watching his parents weep.
The screens vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.
"STILL THINK I'M LYING?" The figure's voice held cruel amusement. "YOUR OLD LIFE IS GONE. MOURN IF YOU MUST. CRY. SCREAM. RAGE AGAINST THE UNFAIRNESS OF IT ALL. BUT UNDERSTAND THIS, YOUR CHOICES NOW ARE SIMPLE. ADAPT OR DIE."
A player toward the back, a mage from the looks of her robes, shouted up at the figure. "Why? Why are you doing this?"
"DOING THIS TO YOU? HOW ARROGANT." The figure seemed genuinely entertained. "I'VE GIVEN YOU A GIFT. MOST BEINGS FACE APOCALYPSE WITH NOTHING. YOU WILL FACE IT WITH POWER BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS."
"What apocalypse?" someone else demanded.
"THE ONE THAT COMES. THE ONE THAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN COMING TO THIS WORLD. CREATURES OF NIGHTMARE STIR IN THE DEPTHS. ANCIENT EVILS WAKE FROM THEIR SLUMBER. THE END TIMES APPROACH AND THIS WORLD NEEDS WARRIORS TO STAND AGAINST THE DARKNESS." The figure spread its arms wide. "YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO FIGHT. TO SURVIVE. TO PERHAPS EVEN TRIUMPH OVER WHAT COMES."
"And if we refuse?" a warrior asked.
The figure's hood tilted slightly. "THEN YOU DIE. QUITE SIMPLE REALLY."
A rogue near the middle made his move then, perhaps emboldened by desperation or stupidity or some combination of both. He activated a skill, his body blurring as he attempted to dash forward and strike at the figure. The attack was fast, faster than most players could follow, enhanced by abilities that made him one of the top ranked rogues on his server.
The figure did not move.
The rogue's daggers stopped an inch from the black robes, held in place by nothing visible. The player strained, every muscle in his digital body tensing, but he could not advance another millimeter.
"I WARNED YOU NOT TO TEST MY PATIENCE."
The figure closed its skeletal hand into a fist.
The rogue's body began to compress. Slowly at first, then faster. His armor crumpled like paper. His limbs twisted at impossible angles. His scream cut off abruptly as his avatar collapsed in on itself, shrinking and folding until nothing remained but a small sphere of condensed matter that fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Then even that disappeared, dissolving into particles of light that faded to nothing.
The silence that followed was absolute.
"ANYONE ELSE FEELING BRAVE?"
No one moved. No one spoke. Fear hung thick in the air, palpable and suffocating.
"GOOD. NOW LISTEN CAREFULLY BECAUSE I WON'T REPEAT MYSELF." The figure's tone shifted, becoming almost businesslike. "THE MECHANICS YOU KNEW REMAIN MOSTLY UNCHANGED. LEVELS. STATS. SKILLS. INVENTORY. ALL FUNCTION AS BEFORE. HOWEVER, ONE CRITICAL ELEMENT HAS BEEN TRANSFORMED."
It gestured, and every player felt something stir within their inventory.
"YOUR CLASSES ARE DEAD. IN THEIR PLACE, YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED JOB CLASSES. THESE ARE POWERS FAR BEYOND WHAT YOUR PITIFUL GAME AVATARS POSSESSED. YOU ARE NO LONGER PLAYERS PRETENDING TO BE WARRIORS. YOU ARE THE REAL THING NOW. THE CHOSEN FEW WITH POWER TO COMBAT WHAT COMES."
Grimlord felt something new in his inventory, a presence he had not noticed before.
"WITHIN YOUR INVENTORY, YOU WILL FIND YOUR JOB CLASS CORE. USE IT. AWAKEN YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL. BUT DON'T GET TOO EXCITED." The figure's voice grew harder. "I HAVEN'T MADE YOU GODS. CHANGING YOUR CLASS WILL RESET YOU TO LEVEL ONE. YOU START FROM THE BOTTOM AGAIN. POWER MUST BE EARNED THROUGH BLOOD AND STRUGGLE. STRENGTH MUST BE FORGED IN THE FIRES OF BATTLE. THE WEAK WILL FALL. THE STRONG WILL RISE AND CONQUER. THIS IS THE WAY OF THINGS."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Level one. Everything they had worked for, gone.
"HOWEVER," the figure continued, "YOUR NEW CLASSES WILL GRANT YOU ABILITIES FAR SUPERIOR TO WHAT YOU HAD BEFORE. THE TRADE IS MORE THAN FAIR FOR THOSE WITH THE COURAGE TO SEIZE IT."
It began to fade, its form growing transparent at the edges.
"SURVIVE. LIVE. FIGHT. GROW STRONGER OR PERISH. ONLY THE STRONG WILL ENDURE WHAT IS TO COME. THIS WORLD NEEDS CHAMPIONS OR IT WILL CRUMBLE TO DUST AND RUIN."
"Wait!" someone shouted. "Where are we going? What do we do?"
"YOU'LL FIGURE IT OUT. OR YOU WON'T. EITHER WAY, IT WILL BE ENTERTAINING TO WATCH."
The figure vanished in another reality shattering crack, the sound of its departure echoing long after it disappeared.
For three heartbeats, silence held.
Then chaos erupted anew. Players screamed questions at the empty air where the figure had been. Others collapsed, overwhelmed by fear and grief. Some simply stood frozen, their minds refusing to process what had just occurred.
But a few, the observant ones, the clever ones, had already begun to act.
Grimlord saw it happen. Saw players opening their inventories with shaking hands. Saw them retrieve small crystalline objects that pulsed with inner light. Saw understanding dawn on faces as they realized what needed to be done.
"The cores," Pyro said quietly. "We need to use them."
HealerQueen shook her head. "If we use them, then this is all real. And we go back to level one."
"It's real whether we accept it or not," Fang replied. He opened his inventory with a gesture, and a red crystal materialized in his palm. "Level one with a better class or level eighty three and dead when the first real monster shows up. Not really a choice."
Grimlord had already reached into his own inventory before conscious thought caught up with action. The core appeared in his hand, smaller than he expected, no larger than a marble. It glowed with soft white light, warm against his palm.
He did not hesitate. Whatever came next, he would face it.
Grimlord crushed the core.
Light exploded from his clenched fist, brilliant and overwhelming. It rushed up his arm and through his body, burning and freezing simultaneously, rewriting something fundamental in his digital existence. Information flooded his mind, too much and too fast, but somehow he understood it all.
Around him, others were doing the same. Cracks and flashes of light erupted across the void as cores shattered and awakenings began. Gasps and shouts of surprise mixed with the ongoing panic as powers manifested.
When the light faded from Grimlord's vision, text hung before his eyes.
JOB CLASS ACQUIRED: SUMMONER
LEVEL RESET: 1
He stared at the words, his mind struggling to catch up. Summoner. Not Lancer. His entire build, everything he had worked for, gone in an instant. Replaced with something new. Something unknown. And back to level one.
Frustration flared hot in his chest, but he pushed it down. No point in complaining. Understanding mattered more.
He focused on the notification, willing it to expand, and information cascaded before him.
JOB CLASS: SUMMONER
CLASSIFICATION: LEGENDARY
DESCRIPTION: A class near godhood. It is believed that summoners were once generals in the celestial ranks, blessed with the ability to call forth their most loyal subordinates at any time. Summoners command armies where others command only themselves.
CLASS ABILITIES:
- May summon defeated beasts to fight alongside you
- Maximum active summons equal to current level
- 5% chance when summoning to call forth a Legendary EX Rank entity
- Skill Inheritance: May learn one skill from each summoned beast permanently
- Summoning Gate: Call forth your beasts from the void at will
NOTE: Additional perks and abilities will unlock as your level increases.
Grimlord read the description twice, his mind racing. Summoner. Not what he wanted, but potentially devastating if used right. At level one, he could only summon one beast. But as he leveled up, that number would grow. The possibilities were staggering.
And that five percent chance. Legendary EX rank summons. He had never even heard of EX rank in the game. What kind of power did that represent?
The skill inheritance ability caught his attention too. If he could learn skills from his summons, he could build a toolkit unlike anything possible before. Mix and match abilities. Cover every weakness.
His shock began to transform into something else. Grim determination. He had been given a tool. Now he needed to learn how to wield it.
Around him, other players were experiencing similar revelations. A warrior nearby examined his new Berserker class with wide eyes. A mage trembled as Archmage powers flooded through her. An archer grinned despite everything as Sniper abilities manifested.
Not everyone was pleased. Some wailed at losing their levels and original classes. Others stood paralyzed by information overload. But slowly, gradually, understanding spread through the crowd.
"What'd you get?" Fang asked.
"Summoner. You?"
"Champion. Tank stuff plus leadership buffs." Fang paused. "Level one though. This is going to suck."
"Oracle," HealerQueen said softly, looking at her hands. "Enhanced healing plus I can see damage before it happens. But yeah, level one."
"Sage," Pyro added. "Huge spell power but longer casts. High risk type deal. Also level one."
Before Grimlord could respond, another notification appeared before every player simultaneously.
ATTENTION ALL PLAYERS
SPONTANEOUS TELEPORTATION WILL COMMENCE IN 60 SECONDS
YOU WILL BE DISTRIBUTED RANDOMLY ACROSS THE WORLD OF APOCALYPSE ONLINE
SURVIVAL IS YOUR PRIMARY OBJECTIVE
GROW STRONG OR PERISH
The countdown began. Sixty. Fifty nine. Fifty eight.
The void erupted into renewed chaos as the reality of separation hit. Players who had formed bonds, guilds who had fought together, friends who had laughed together, all about to be scattered like leaves in a storm.
Grimlord turned to his party members, these people he had fought beside for months. The reality of separation hit harder than he expected.
"Guess this is it," Fang said, his voice tight.
"We don't even know where we'll end up," HealerQueen whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
"Scattered," Pyro said flatly, staring at the countdown. "We're all getting scattered."
Forty five seconds.
"We survived raids together," Grimlord said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "We'll survive this too. Just somewhere else."
"Easy for you to say," HealerQueen replied, but there was no heat in it. Just fear. "What if we never see each other again?"
"Then we don't." Fang's jaw was set. "But we survive anyway. That's what we do."
Thirty seconds.
Around them, similar conversations played out. Tearful goodbyes. Desperate promises to find each other somehow. Guild leaders trying to maintain some semblance of order even as their organizations crumbled.
"It's been good playing with you guys," Pyro said quietly.
"Don't make it sound so final," HealerQueen shot back, her voice cracking.
Twenty seconds.
"If you get a chance to party up with others, take it," Grimlord said. "Don't try to solo this. Not at first."
"Same to you," Fang replied. "I know how you get. Don't try to be a hero."
Ten seconds.
The void began to shimmer, reality preparing to fracture and scatter them across a world that had once been just a game.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Grimlord took a breath, steadying himself for whatever came next.
Two.
One.
Light consumed everything, and the world of Apocalypse Online opened its jaws to receive three million new players, all of them level one, all of them alone, all of them fighting for survival in a reality that had just become infinitely more dangerous.