Ji-hoon barely had time to catch his breath after the chaos outside Seoul before he found himself guided into an aircraft alongside the handful of other survivors. Each craft could carry no more than twelve people, and everyone was packed in tightly, shoulders brushing, hearts pounding in synchrony. None spoke; the only sound was the quiet hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of a nervous foot.
When they arrived at the headquarters of the Aetheric Assembly, they were ushered down the ramp and into the base. The building stretched high above them, corridors gleaming with polished metal and soft white light. As they walked, Ji-hoon's eyes caught the armory.
Racks upon racks of weapons filled the space. Guns lined neatly, swords of every shape and size glinting, scythes and bows displayed like works of art. Each piece seemed to hum with latent power, the faint glow of mana tracing the edges of blades and barrels. Ji-hoon's gaze lingered for a moment too long before he tore his eyes away, a shiver running down his spine.
All that could be heard was the thud of their footsteps and the low murmur of other Aetheric Assembly members walking beside them, giving instructions or exchanging curt remarks. It felt almost ceremonial, the solemnity pressing down on him with each step.
Finally, they arrived at a massive auditorium, the sheer scale of it making Ji-hoon feel small and insignificant. They were told to sit. He found a seat and sank into it, muscles aching from the recent fight.
A soft squeeze on his arm pulled his attention away from the polished floor. He looked to his side and saw a girl, perhaps his age or a little younger. She was shaking violently, lips trembling as if the air itself were too heavy to breathe. Without looking up at him, she whispered, "I… I just want to hold on to someone. Please…"
Ji-hoon's chest tightened, and he nodded immediately. She leaned closer, and he looked away, allowing her the small comfort of a lifeline in this strange, terrifying world.
**********
Movement at the podium drew their attention. A tall man in a black, sci-fi-inspired jacket, trousers, and boots stepped forward, white hair and a neatly trimmed short beard giving him a commanding presence. Beside him stood Commander Rane, calm and composed.
"I am Baek An," the man announced, voice resonating effortlessly through the auditorium. "Head of the Aetheric Assembly in Korea. Beside me is Commander Rane Edison."
The girl beside Ji-hoon whispered, "Is he really from Korea?"
Ji-hoon's mind raced. The figure matched the NPC from the game's cover perfectly, a beacon of authority frozen in time. "He's an NPC," Ji-hoon said quietly. "The one on the cover of the game."
She blinked in surprise. "Your name?"
"Ji-hoon Kang," he replied.
"Kim Hari," she whispered back, pressing closer to him.
Baek An's eyes scanned the room before he spoke again. "I was informed of everything that happened," he said, voice even, calm. "Commander Rane reported to me on the way here. I know what you've seen. I know the chaos you've faced."
Ji-hoon felt a chill as the words sank in. It was as though Baek An had expected them. A shiver ran through him, and he began to rise slowly from his seat.
Hari's voice came, gentle but worried. "Ji-hoon… what's wrong?"
He didn't answer. He just stood. Baek An's eyes shifted to him. "Do you have questions?" he asked.
Ji-hoon didn't hide it. "Did you… know we would be here?"
Baek An's lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. "Of course. We know. Because we are also victims of this game."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room. "We're human," Baek continued, voice sharp. "Not NPCs. We are alive. We are real. And this game… it is not new. It was released in the 1990s. Graphics were simple, but the world captured players' attention. One day, it pulled us in, and the game vanished from existence. When the required number of players in each country is met, the game awakens again. When the threshold is reached, it stops, awaiting the next cycle."
Ji-hoon's eyes widened. The people on the cover photo… they were real. Slowly, he sank back into his chair.
Baek An's voice grew firmer, heavier. "The only way to escape is to defeat the Demon Lord. That is no easy task. Each player can reach level 999 at most, and no one has ever come close. Even arch demons are formidable beyond comprehension."
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "You will be assigned occupations. Healers, defenders, front-line warriors wielding swords or other weapons, and ranged attackers using guns fused with mana, or arrows. You will learn magic. You will master it. That is how you will survive."
The meeting concluded. A few of the survivors got up, murmuring nervously to one another. Others remained seated, shivering, fear etched into every movement. Hari clung to Ji-hoon even more tightly, burying herself against him as if his presence alone could stave off the panic.
A loud beeping cut through the auditorium. A male voice echoed over the speakers, clear and authoritative. "All level 1 players, assemble at the training ground immediately. A soldier will direct you from there."
Ji-hoon inhaled sharply. He could feel the weight of this world pressing down on him. There were no easy paths, no shortcuts. Every step forward would be a test. And somewhere deep in his chest, determination flickered.
When they arrived, the hall was enormous. It wasn't just big, it was vast. Rows of training facilities stretched as far as Ji-hoon could see, each area meticulously designed for different combat styles. The smell of polished wood, metal, and faint magical residue filled the air, a subtle hum of latent power vibrating through the floor beneath his boots.
Before they could even speak, their clothes shifted. The fabric melted into sleek, black suits, tight and flexible, fitting every curve and muscle, like a second skin. Ji-hoon flexed his fingers and felt the suit move perfectly with him, as if it anticipated every motion.
"Pick your weapon," a voice echoed across the hall, commanding yet neutral. "Choose the one you believe you can master."
The survivors scattered across the room, examining the racks of equipment. Guns of all sizes gleamed coldly; swords, straight and curved, shone under the overhead lights; bows were strung taut, arrows fletched and ready; odd weapons of unfamiliar design hummed faintly with magical energy.
Hari hovered, hesitant, fingers brushing the handles of a bow and a spear, unsure which to choose. Then she glanced left. Ji-hoon, after a brief hesitation, picked up a sword. She mirrored him instinctively, grasping a blade of her own.
The sword-training room was smaller but no less intimidating. Wooden racks lined the walls, each weapon bearing the marks of countless battles. The floor was polished, reflecting every flicker of light like a mirror.
A man entered, tall and imposing, eyes sharp as steel. His black training uniform was trimmed with white, and a sword hung at his side.
"I am Bitgaram Oh," he announced, voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "Head of sword users. Today, you will learn the first lesson: your weapon is not just an extension of your body, it is your lifeline."
He glanced around, surveying the room, then beckoned two trainees forward. "Show me what you know."
The two men stepped out. Blades in hand, they lunged, and Bitgaram met them with precise movements. Parry, block, push, the sound of metal striking metal rang sharply in the hall. Every step, every strike carried a lesson.
"You just died," he said after a particularly decisive sweep, voice echoing coldly. "Return to your place."
Then his eyes landed on Ji-hoon and Hari. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Ah. You two. Step forward."
Ji-hoon hesitated. His palms were slick with sweat. This wasn't a game. There were no respawns, no checkpoints, no reloads. He swallowed and forced his legs to move. Hari followed immediately, trusting him as much as he trusted himself.
They took their stances instinctively, drawing from countless hours of playing games long forgotten. Age Of The Apocalypse had trained them in reflexes, in strategy, but the stakes here were terrifyingly real.
"Charge," Bitgaram commanded.
They sprinted forward. Bitgaram's blade was a blur, but they dodged, ducked, and parried when possible. Every move carried the threat of instant failure.
Bitgaram struck Ji-hoon with precision, forcing him back with a strong parry. Then, without warning, a swift kick connected with Hari's side, forcing a sharp intake of breath. She staggered back but quickly regained her balance, rolling aside to avoid the next strike.
Seizing the moment, Ji-hoon darted behind Bitgaram, sword poised to strike. He felt a surge of hope, the first flicker of confidence. But Bitgaram was faster. A leap, a spin, and Ji-hoon was swept off his feet, landing hard on the floor. Bitgaram's sword hovered over his stomach.
"You just died," Bitgaram said calmly, almost fondly.
Hari, from behind, lunged forward, desperate to aid him. Instinct took over. Ji-hoon grabbed her sword mid-thrust, lifting her above his shoulder and pushing her down hard onto the mat. She gasped, wind knocked out, but neither of them smiled.
Bitgaram shook his head. "If there's something you should know about this world, what is it?"
"This is not a game," Ji-hoon whispered under his breath, chest heaving. "Every mistake… costs."
Bitgaram nodded, stepping back and letting them rise. "Good," he said. "You understand. Survival is about awareness, timing, and trust. You fail, you die. You hesitate, you die. You act together, perhaps… you live."
The room was filled with tension. Ji-hoon's heart still pounded in his chest, and Hari clung to him slightly, catching her breath. They weren't just learning to fight, they were learning to survive.
A few hours had passed since training. The relentless clamor of the Aetheric Assembly returned, echoing across the vast halls. The voice instructed them that it was break time. They were to eat.
Ji-hoon sat in the canteen, a tray before him, the smell of cooked food filling the air. He picked up his spoon, pushed at the rice and meat lazily, and barely tasted a thing. His mind was elsewhere, replaying every lesson, every near-miss in training. How could he survive in a world where every moment demanded vigilance? Where rest was a luxury, and hunger waited patiently while monsters lurked beyond every corner?
He pushed his food around again, lost in thought.
"Hey."
Ji-hoon looked up, catching the shadow of Hari sliding into the seat beside him. She placed her tray down and began eating quietly. Her movements were careful, almost deliberate, as if afraid to disturb the air around them.
Ji-hoon glanced at her from the side of his eyes. She met his gaze, and after a moment, spoke.
"I know what you're thinking." Her voice was soft, uncertain, yet steady. "You're wondering why I keep following you."
He said nothing. She swallowed, looking down at her tray.
"There's… there's something about you," she continued. "I keep seeing hope when I look at you. Like… like maybe you're the one who can do something about all this. I don't know why, but I can't stop thinking that if anyone can get us through this… it's you."
She paused, and the silence between them felt heavier than the emptiness Ji-hoon had felt in days. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke again.
"There are so many things I wanted to do… before coming here. I wanted to visit my parents. I wanted to see my brothers play basketball, they've been asking me to come watch them. And my sister… she passed the Suneung and got into Eunhae University. I wanted to celebrate that with her..."
Ji-hoon's grip on his spoon loosened. Her words hit him like a storm.
"And after that day… the first time I held onto you…" her voice faltered. "I was scared, but you didn't push me away. You… you made me feel like I could rely on you. That you'd be there."
Ji-hoon's eyes widened. In the real world, he had been a failure, brother, uncle, nephew, friend. Except gaming, every role he thought he could play, he had failed at. And yet, here was someone, looking at him as if he could be their anchor. Someone believed in him.
Tears trickled down his face, slow at first, then unstoppable.
"W-wait I'm sorry if I said something wrong!" Hari's eyes widened, panic mixing with sorrow as she spoke rapidly, trying to apologize.
"Don't apologize," Ji-hoon said, voice breaking, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "Thank you… for trusting me. For looking up to me."
She tilted her head, and without warning, he wrapped her in a hug. His shoulders shook, his sobs loud and raw. Around them, others watched. Some stared in silent shock, some were moved to tears themselves. Even those who had no reason to cry felt the weight of his grief and hope pressing into their hearts.
"I'm going to protect you," Ji-hoon whispered into her hair. "Even if you don't get to see any of the things you wanted… you will see them again. This world is temporary. We're the ones who will finish this game. No other soul from the real world will be trapped here. Only us."
His words resonated. Some players cried openly. Others cheered, shouting that they would destroy this world, end the nightmare. Some clapped, voices shaking with emotion. Hari pressed herself closer, hugging him tighter, tears falling freely.
Two months passed.
The days blurred into weeks of training, the constant clash of weapons and the rhythm of magic lessons. Everyone grew stronger, more capable. In two months, many had leveled up, their skills sharpening, their confidence building. Ji-hoon could see it in the way they moved, their steps more certain, their attacks faster, sharper. Even Hari moved with purpose now, her trust in him unwavering.
But still, every time Ji-hoon looked around, he remembered the words he had spoken. Every battle, every challenge, every day would bring them closer to the impossible. And he would not fail them, not again.
When they were sent on their first mission against a group of Level 3 Trogalis, the battlefield erupted into chaos. Screams echoed off the twisted steel walls, the stench of scorched earth and blood mingling in the air. Some of the newer players were hit so hard they didn't rise again, their bodies dissolving into flickering data shards. Others barely survived, coughing and staggering, their armor scorched, their weapons dented and shattered.
Ji-hoon and Hari fought side by side, their movements instinctive and synchronized. Every swing, every step, every dodge felt like a dance honed in countless hours of games long before the Apocalypse had swallowed reality. They were hit, bruised, and bloodied, yet each time they fell, they rose again, refusing to give the monsters the satisfaction of their deaths.
When the mission finally ended, silence settled over the battlefield, broken only by ragged breathing and the dying groans of the Trogalis. Those who survived felt the surge of growth immediately, their bodies and minds humming with newfound strength. Ji-hoon's Status Window blinked violently, pulsing red once before returning to its usual blue. He stared at it in disbelief. "Hmm, it's never I've never seen it glitch like this before."
Scrolling down, he could see the changes:
Lv 6
Items: Hidden
Exp: 50/60
Strength: Lv 5
Skills: Lv 4
Abilities: 3
A faint thrill ran through him as he closed the window. This was progress. This was survival.
Two years had passed in this merciless world. Each day had honed them, hardened them, and burned away the weakness of ordinary humans. Ji-hoon had reached Level 37, far beyond the novices who had first stepped foot into the Apocalypse. Yet even now, the weight of responsibility pressed on him heavier than any weapon.
The summons came suddenly. All surviving players were called to the auditorium, their boots echoing in the empty corridors as they assembled. The air was tense; every eye flicked toward Commander Rane and the Aetheric Assembly leaders, waiting for instructions.
"There's a power surge in the subway," Rane began, his voice steady, measured, but carrying the weight of warning. "We don't know what it is, but it's strong enough to disrupt the surrounding area. You will investigate. Everyone on this mission is expected to survive. Use caution, and work as a team, and if there's anything you find out, please do not hesitate to report back to us."
The aircraft they boarded was tight, its engines humming beneath their feet. It lifted silently at first, climbing over the ruins of a city that had been home, now twisted and alien. The propellers churned the cold, acrid air, and the vibration thrummed through the soles of Ji-hoon's boots.
Despite the steady flight, a knot of unease twisted in his stomach. He fidgeted, running a finger along the edge of his sleeve, tracing imaginary patterns only he could see. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong, that the subway they were heading toward was no ordinary location.
Hari noticed. Her gaze cut across the narrow aisle, sharp with concern. "Ji-hoon… are you okay?" she asked quietly.
He gave her a small, tight nod but didn't speak. Words felt inadequate. The unease in his chest was too deep, a shadow crawling up his spine. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of two years of training, of comrades lost, of survival carved into muscle memory.
She didn't push. She only stayed close, her presence a small comfort against the invisible tension.
The aircraft flew on, slicing through the violet-tinged skies of the Apocalypse Realm. Below, the world twisted and shimmered with the static haze of corrupted reality. Ji-hoon's pulse quickened. Something was waiting for them, and he could feel it an intent lurking in the darkness that smelled of power and blood.
When they finally touched down, the silence hit like a wall. No groans, no monsters, just the hollow echo of their own steps as the team advanced toward the subway entrance. Every player moved cautiously, weapons raised, senses straining. Ji-hoon fell into step behind the others, eyes scanning every shadow. The hairs on his arms stood on end.
Hari walked beside him, her shoulder brushing his subtly. He could feel her tension mirrored in his own. They were ready. They had to be.
And yet… the warning inside him screamed that this mission would be unlike anything they had faced before.
The air in the subway was thick with tension. Every step echoed, every sound magnified against the concrete walls. Ji-hoon walked behind the others, his senses on high alert. Hari moved beside him, silent but vigilant. The team pressed forward, a measured, cautious advance into the dark depths.
Then a low, guttural growl tore through the silence. From the shadows above, a monster dropped, claws extended and eyes glowing. A soldier at the front reacted instantly, impaling the creature with a single, precise strike. But there was no time to breathe. More fell from the ceiling, snarling and snapping, their limbs flailing with lethal intent.
The fight was relentless. Steel clashed with claws, gunfire echoed off the walls, and mana-infused arrows streaked through the gloom. As they pushed deeper into the subway, Ji-hoon felt an unsettling pull, a sense that they were being lured into a trap.
Monsters fell, but with every strike, the air seemed to grow heavier, the shadows darker. Finally, Ji-hoon spoke up. "We need to turn back." His voice cut through the chaos.
The one leading the charge, a veteran whose armor gleamed under the flickering lights, barked at him. "No. Keep moving forward. We complete the mission!"
Ji-hoon's eyes narrowed. "I said we turn back!"
"No one is leaving this place till we complete this mission!" The leader shouted again, fury laced in every word.
But Ji-hoon didn't hesitate. He seized Hari's hand and pulled her along. They barely took four steps when an invisible force slammed into them, throwing them to the ground. The power was overwhelming, crushing, refusing to let them rise.
A heavy thud. Footsteps approaching. And then a figure emerged: clad in black armor, a massive black sword resting on his shoulder, eyes burning with merciless intent. Zarvok had arrived.
He spoke, voice deep and commanding. "Stand."
Every survivor struggled to obey, pushing through the invisible weight that pinned them. When they finally rose, Zarvok's calm voice carried over the devastation. "The subway doesn't have enough space for our duel."
An orb of glowing energy encapsulated them, lifting them high above the ruined tunnels. When the world fell away, they found themselves in the city, chaos stretching out beneath them. Zarvok's gaze swept over the survivors. "Apologies," he said, almost casually. "I am the Arch Demon."
Ji-hoon's stomach twisted. He remembered Bitgaram's words in the auditorium, the warning that had seemed almost abstract then. Now, it hit him with terrifying clarity.
Zarvok loomed, grin sharp and cruel, and charged. The ground trembled under the weight of his steps, each strike a shockwave that threw debris in every direction.
The fight dragged on. Zarvok moved with a speed and precision that no ordinary player could hope to match. Explosions erupted, fire consumed rubble, and the screams of the fallen filled the air. Ji-hoon and the few remaining survivors knew running was impossible. They braced themselves, weapons trembling in their hands, hearts hammering in fear and determination.
Then, before anyone could react, a colossal explosion erupted.
The smell of ozone and scorched earth filled Ji-hoon's senses. He lay pinned beneath the rubble of a shattered city monument, his left leg useless and throbbing. The sky of the Apocalypse Age swirled above him, a vortex of poisonous purple energy vomiting creatures of obsidian and malice.
"It's over," someone whispered, the voice barely audible above the roar of the Arch Demon.
Ji-hoon didn't need to look to know. His comrades were gone. Broken. Scattered. And then he saw her. Hari. Her body hovered above the ground, crimson staining the air around her. Zarvok's sword was embedded in her stomach. Her gaze found his.
"J-Ji-hoon" she whispered his name as she gave him a faint smile "T-thank you for always being there." After saying this, her body dissolved into shards of data.
Tears stung Ji-hoon's eyes. "T-thank you? What did I do!? I couldn't save her, I couldn't save anyone, and... And I can't even save myself! I failed.... again."
A blue light flickered, dying alongside his fallen companions. Ji-hoon recognized it instantly: a Status Window dissolving. Every player's interface, the clean, digital representation of their lives, skills, and now death, vanished into nothingness.
He was next.
The Arch Demon advanced, each footfall shaking the ground like a quake. Ji-hoon squeezed his eyes shut. He wished for an end.
Pain exploded behind his eyes, searing and unnatural. He gasped and forced them open. His personal Status Window, once a calm, blue display, burned violently, glitching, pulsing with deep crimson.
[STATUS: FATALY WOUNDED]
[GIFT GRANTING: REGRESSION]
[-RESTARTING WINDOWS CYCLE-]
The words were black on blinding red. The demon, the city, the apocalypse, they were all drowned in the heat of the warning. This wasn't a choice. It wasn't skill. It was raw, involuntary command.
A dizzying lurch overtook him, the sensation of being pulled backward through a funnel of time and agony. He wasn't dying. He was undoing death itself.
When he gasped again, the scent of ozone had vanished. The stale, familiar air of his cramped bedroom surrounded him. He was sitting in his gaming chair, hands resting on the keyboard, staring at the blinking notification on his monitor:
[The Age of Apocalypse has begun. Do you agree to participate? Y/N]
Ji-hoon's heart pounded in his chest, frantic and terrified. He stared at his hands, whole, strong, and painfully ordinary. The date on the screen mirrored the exact moment he had pressed 'Y' the first time.
He had returned. Alone.