All around, the hissing of burning metal roared, sparks flew into the air, and the flames of the welders danced. The factory noise was deafening – metal clashing against metal, machines humming, and workers laboring at a relentless pace like soulless machines.

  Umeda Raide, a 23-year-old man, stubbed out his unfinished cigarette on his boot, walked to his workstation, lowered his head, his hand shaking as he turned on his welding torch, and continued welding. His protective mask was clouded with sweat and dirt. Another sheet of metal, another seam, more hours passing in the rhythm of labor.

  He was tired. Tired of all those days that dragged on the same, the repetition and the hopelessness hanging over him like a dark cloud. Every time he lifted his eyes and looked at the world outside, it was the same smog, the same gray sky. The air was heavy, saturated with toxins, and the people around him moved in their gas masks like robots. Sick of it all, he knew this wasn't a real life anymore.

  And then – finally – the sharp voice of the supervisor rang out:

  "Shift's over! Get home, and be back at seven tomorrow! Don't you dare oversleep, or I'll kick your ass myself!"

  The boss, a fat guy with a face like the worn-out leather of a sandal, growled the order, turned, and muttered away. The sound of the welding torches ceased, and the space was filled with only the quiet hissing of cooling machines.

  Raiden turned off his welding torch, slowly removed his helmet, and took a deep breath. His face was covered in a layer of gray dust, and he instinctively blinked against the harsh light of the factory's fluorescent lamps. His short black hair was completely gray from dust and metal. He deeply regretted his decision. Working in the factory was slavery, poorly paid, with no future. But what could he do? The world outside was dead, ruined by wars and toxic air. There was nothing else left for him. He tiredly stretched his stiff muscles before pulling off his gloves and slowly walking toward the large iron gates.

  He headed to the dirty locker room where his gas mask awaited. Without it, he wouldn’t survive outside for even a minute. He changed into his black sweatpants and gray hoodie and headed toward the massive metal gates.

  These gates were no ordinary ones, nor just simple doors – they were designed to protect the building and the workers from the toxins outside. Made from reinforced alloy and equipped with special seals, they were almost perfectly airtight.

  As soon as he passed through the massive metal gates, the cold air saturated with toxins hit him. The city was surrounded by perpetual smog, lazily hovering above the streets like suffocating mist. People shuffled silently along the sidewalks, each wearing a gas mask, children, the elderly... The year 2130 hadn’t brought the progress everyone promised, it wasn’t a year to remember, just a slower, bitter decline.

  Above, cars once soaring through the sky now floated silently. There weren’t many of them. Today, they flew only rarely, and most were old, dirty, worn out, and broken. After the war, nearly all energy for propulsion had been depleted. These rare flying machines were relics of the past, with only a few still maintained and fully functional, considered a luxury by some.

  It was said that the government was drawing energy from neighboring countries, but even Japan had only a few decades left before it completely exhausted its last resources. People knew it. And they knew that hope for change was becoming rarer.

  Raiden walked silently through the streets like a shadow. People around him hurried back to their homes, some stopping to buy food, carefully wrapped and stored in special boxes that looked more like containers made of alloy.

  Every house, every apartment building, every floor of the high-rises was tightly secured with heavy metal doors. These doors were designed to prevent toxic air from entering, protecting the inhabitants from its deadly effects. It was necessary – it had happened several times that people who underestimated the power of the contaminated air had died. The cities were practically surrounded by massive metal walls to block the toxic gases. When someone ventured out, it was like a race against time. Even those who tried often had no choice but to wear gas masks to survive. And even then, it was on the edge.

  The streets were half-empty, while life inside the homes struggled with quiet, slow extinction. Those who were lucky had at least a few spare filters and devices to keep breathable air in their homes. Filters had become a luxury only a few could afford. Prices were astronomical, and an average family had to save for months to afford even a single set of quality filters. And even when they finally acquired them, it was no guarantee of long-term peace. Most of these filters only lasted three or four years, which was incredibly frustrating because they needed to be replaced regularly.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  And though there were models designed to last up to 12 years, they were so expensive that most people could never afford them. These filters, if they ever reached the market, were usually sold out before anyone had the chance to buy them. And when the crisis came, when new supplies had to be obtained, most homes had to rely on whatever was left or the black market, where prices shot up even higher. And if someone wasn’t strong enough or clever enough, they ended up at the mercy of the filthy, poisonous atmosphere outside. That’s why it was better to have doors no one could break through, and above all, to always have a way to survive.

  When he finally arrived at his apartment – a small, sterile room with a single window, which only showed the gray emptiness outside – he closed the door behind him. He automatically spoke:

  “Tadaima.”

  No one replied. Of course not. He had been living alone for a long time.

  He headed for the fridge, grabbed some instant food, and mechanically ate it. The food wasn’t worth mentioning, it tasted awful, but as he ate, his mind wandered in thought. His parents… they had died. Poisoning from toxins. Overwork. A fate shared by many others. He remained alone. Work. Eat. Sleep. And again and again.

  No… it wasn’t just about that.

  He went to the black chair in the middle of the room, an elegant piece of technology. At least something that brought progress to humanity. Slowly, he sat down, stretched his fingers, and reached for the glasses lying on the table next to him.

  Nanotechnology virtual reality. His escape.

  He put on the glasses and activated the connection.

  Once the glasses settled on his face, a great darkness enveloped him. Suddenly, the image brightened, and the interface appeared before his eyes, a blue-glowing window with sharp digital lines.

  Welcome, user. Connection to the nanotechnology network detected. Analyzing biometric data…

  A short pause. It always took only a few seconds, but Raiden had long since gotten used to the process. After a moment, another message appeared.

  Identification verified. Do you want to start "Eterna Skirmish Online"?

  Two buttons appeared below the text: YES and NO. It was just a formality – he never clicked NO. Without hesitation, he selected confirmation. This world was his escape, and he didn’t want to stay in a world where all that existed was smog and suffering. Immediately, light enveloped him, and his consciousness sank deeply into a kind of sleep.

  As soon as his consciousness sank, he slowly began to open his eyes. He was greeted by a blinding light, but the light around him slowly faded and turned into a detailed environment of his mansion – a mansion that had been carefully built within his guild, Kuro no Tenshi.

  Umeda Raiden appeared in a large, decorated hall, where a massive round table inlaid with diamonds and magical stones dominated the space. Yellow and green gemstones glowed with a soft light, casting delicate reflections on the black marble surface of the table. The walls of the hall were adorned with ancient tapestries and engravings, depicting the glorious deeds of his guild.

  In the center of the hall, across from the round table, stood a solitary black throne. It was decorated with intricate engravings and dark gemstones that faintly pulsed with magical energy. The throne belonged to the guild leader – the man who had once ruled with unwavering authority.

  But that man hadn’t logged in for a long time. His nickname was TimeWasteer.

  It was said that he had succumbed to toxins in the real world, or that he had been broken by the overwork that was so common a cause of death in these times. No one really knew what had happened to him. Eventually, his name began to slowly fade.

  And so the throne remained empty.

  Raiden had the right to it, as he was the guild’s representative. He could sit on it and become the new ruler of Kuro no Tenshi, but for now, he declined. It wasn’t just about the responsibility – he knew that such an act could divide the guild. The friendship that had once united them would turn into politics, into hidden intrigues, and a war for power.

  And he didn’t want that. He didn’t want his greed and selfishness to destroy what he loved most. He didn’t want to turn his friends against him, even though they were just in-game. He valued that.

  He looked at himself. His avatar was a reflection of the power he had built in this world. Heavy, silver-black armor adorned with spikes covered his entire body, with a massive nodachi at his waist, and two katanas attached to his back. A dragon skull-shaped helmet gave his figure a terrifying appearance.

  But he wasn’t alone. Across from him, at the other end of the table, sat another player character.

  She was beautiful – an elf with unimaginable beauty, her long blonde hair glittering like the purest gold. Yet, her eyes were empty, completely white, devoid of life. In her left eye, the number 六 (six) was clearly etched into the iris.

  She wore elegant white robes embroidered with silver patterns that seamlessly transitioned into armor, exposing her right arm – smooth, snow-white, almost otherworldly. Beside her floated a beautifully decorated wooden staff with golden fittings. At its peak, a crescent moon cradled a large purple orb that pulsed with mysterious energy.

  The elf, under her player name Yumi, gently tilted her head and smiled. It had been a long time since their last meeting, but nothing had changed – she still looked just as otherworldly beautiful, still had that strange empty gaze, as if her mind were elsewhere.

  Yumi smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes. "Maybe even longer... I lost track. Every day feels the same."

  "Work, sleep, survive. Repeat until exhaustion." His words almost sounded mocking, yet there was an absence of true emotion in him.

  "Something like that," Yumi nodded and pushed a strand of hair back. "My company has been working me harder than ever. Paperwork, meetings, endless demands. Every day feels longer than the one before."

  Kami Kaze smirked. "And does it at least pay well?"

  "Enough to survive," she shrugged.

  "But not enough to make the lost time worth it."

  Raiden silently scanned the empty hall. The place that used to be full of players now felt like an abandoned crypt.

  "And the others? Has anyone joined in?"

  Yumi shook her head. "No one. No one has been here for weeks."

  "The remaining fifty-five members of Kuro no Tenshi are either working or sleeping. Most of them don’t have time to log into the game. And even when they can... they have to save up for the filters."

  Raiden lowered his gaze.

  "Irony, huh?" Yumi looked at the empty table.

  "We used to be gods in this game. Now we're just slaves to reality."

  "We always were," Raiden replied quietly. "We just didn't see it back then."

  A silence fell. Both of them looked toward the black throne at the far end of the hall – the symbol of Kuro no Tenshi's power. A place that once awaited its ruler.

  "And you?" Yumi asked, her voice almost tender. "Are you still refusing to sit on that throne?"

  Raiden turned his gaze away.

  "It's not about power. Kuro no Tenshi was family. I don't want to tear it apart for ambition."

  Yumi smiled faintly, though there was sadness in her eyes.

  "In that case, you're a better leader than you think."