30 minutes left.
The countdown ticked in the corner of every streaming system across the world. Every system in the world—blaring the same message.
> WARNING: Humanity has failed to clear Floor 45. Time remaining before total extinction: 00:29:59
Billions watched, helpless.
45th floor—the Den of the Crimson Eclipse. A dungeon teeming with bloodthirsty vampires, twisted nobles, and at its peak: the Vampire King, Altherion. The bastard bathed in moonlight and massacres, lounging on his obsidian throne as the world burned.
Teams had tried.
Guilds had failed.
And now... hope itself was silent.
Until it wasn't.
The moment the camera feed shifted, the chat exploded.
[Anonymous has entered Floor 45]
For a second, the stream went quiet—like even the world was holding its breath.
Then, he appeared.
A matte-black mask, eyes glowing crimson through the dark. A long coat fluttering like a shadow given form. He stood alone at the entrance to the floor, hands in his pockets like he owned the damn place.
Because he did.
"Yo," Anonymous said, voice like velvet wrapped around a dagger. "Sorry I'm late. Had to grab some commands before saving the world."
The chat erupted.
> HOLY SH*T IT'S HIM
ANONY'S BACK
THE CREATOR JUST LOGGED IN??
Anonymous lifted his hand.
Fingers snapped once. And he said,
> System Override: Command—
"I AM GOD."
The Tower trembled.
The skies of the vampire realm twisted into a spiral of code and storms. Lightning crackled in strings of binary. His eyes flared—first red, then blue, then gold. His hair turned silver-white, flowing like starlight.
A globe of light formed above his hand.
Skill: World.Database.
"Activate," he said.
Thousands—no—millions of skills spun inside the sphere. Sword arts. Magic. Summoning. Control. Manipulation. Entire skill trees blurred and twisted.
He flicked his hand.
> Merge: Shadow Step + Bloodlust + Lightning Arc = Dev Skill: Phantom Flash Execution
Copy: Vampire Sovereign's Regeneration
"Let's start the show."
He vanished.
One blink—gone. The next—he stood behind a vampire general, hand plunged through its chest. "Oops. Wrong heart?"
Ten vampires lunged. He whispered:
> "Command: Thousand Shards of Midnight."
A black circle exploded beneath them—dozens of swords erupted upward like a blooming lotus made of death. Not a single vampire moved again.
Then came the summons.
> "System Override: Construct—Summon: Night Parade of the Hundred Devils."
The world cracked open.
Monsters stepped out—dragons with burning wings, wolves stitched from shadows, celestial foxes laughing in madness. Each one S-rank, each one under his command.
"Play nice," he smirked.
They didn't.
Blood and screams echoed through the floor as the monsters slaughtered everything. All that remained was the throne—and the Vampire King, pale and trembling.
Altherion dropped to his knees. "W-Wait. Please—I'll give you my skills, my power—anything. Just let me live—"
Anonymous walked toward him, slow and casual.
He snapped his fingers again.
> "Command: Summon—Dev-Class Sword: Eclipse Ender."
The sword formed in the air—sleek, obsidian, with a glowing red pulse down its blade. A weapon not meant to exist.
He caught it mid-air and pressed it to the king's throat.
"No updates," he said, voice calm. "No bug fixes. No mercy."
One slash.
The King was dust.
He turned to the camera—the world.
"Don't forget…" His voice echoed like a system alert. "I'm still here."
Then he cut the stream.
Silence.
In the next moment, the mask dissolved into code. Arthur Creed—hair sweat-tousled, lips curled in a half-smile—stepped out of god mode.
And for the first time in a long time...
He felt alive.
---
[Several Years earlier — Before the Transition]
The city hummed. Skyscrapers kissed the clouds, neon lights blinked like lazy stars, and a thousand lives blurred past each other with headphones on and eyes down.
But Arthur Creed?
He sat alone in a cramped apartment, surrounded by cluttered ramen cups, glowing monitors, and lines of code that looked more like spells than programming.
A genius, they once called him.
Harvard graduate at 18.
Developed the most complex VRMMORPG in history by 22.
Now?
An orphan with no family, no friends, and barely any food in the fridge.
But none of that mattered.
Because in front of him…
...was Eclipse: Reborn.
The game.
His masterpiece.
His sanctuary.
His only reason to keep breathing.
Eclipse: Reborn.
The most advanced VRMMORPG on Earth. A full-dive simulation spanning a Tower of 50 floors—each a world of its own, with unique laws, monsters, environments, and rules of reality.
But no one had ever cleared Floor 40.
Except one man.
Anonymous.
The Developer.
The Masked Monster.
The guy who never joined a party and still topped every leaderboard.
Except... no one knew who Anonymous really was.
Not even the dev team.
Hell, the dev team didn't even exist anymore. They bailed halfway through—crushed by funding cuts and the sheer madness of Arthur's vision.
He finished the code alone.
In the real world, Arthur was a ghost.
In the game? He was a god.
No guild. No allies. No voice chat.
Just pure, terrifying dominance.
And no one knew it was him.
He leaned back in his chair as Eclipse's startup screen flickered to life. A black void. One phrase in glowing silver:
> "Can you survive your own creation?"
Arthur smirked, sipping cold coffee.
"Damn right I can."
He clicked Enter Game.
But instead of the login screen, a pop-up appeared.
Not a bug. Not a hack.
Something... new.
> [SYSTEM NOTICE: YOUR GAME HAS BEEN SELECTED FOR REALITY INTEGRATION.]
[CALCULATING REWARD...]
Arthur blinked. "What?"
Before he could react, the sky above the world cracked open with a thunderous roar. Lightning tore through clouds. The Earth trembled.
And from the heavens…
Towers began to fall.
Colossal obsidian spires crashed into cities across the globe. Holographic consoles exploded into existence in every home, every street, in front of everyone. People screamed. Sirens blared. Screens lit up with the same title:
> ECLIPSE: REBORN — INITIATING GLOBAL ACCESS...
On a news channel, someone gasped. "Wait... isn't this... the same as that VR game, Eclipse: Reborn?"
Arthur stood frozen. Shocked. Breathless.
Then his monitor lit up one last time.
Golden and silver letters formed slowly on the black screen:
> "Good luck, Creator."
Arthur's lips curled into a grin.
"…Looks like I get to play for real."
---