They say karma is a bitch that always comes back to bite you in the ass eventually—and now, I truly believe it. All I wanted was to gift my best friend a slow-burn dark fantasy game that will make him fall into depression for his birthday, just to watch him suffer after playing it. Perhaps that was a bit too cruel of me?
But can you really blame me? When I once asked him for an anime recommendation, that bastard suggested a gay ecchi series! Ugh, just remembering it makes my stomach churn. So, naturally, I decided to take revenge by gifting him that depressing eroge. I was certain he'd play it just from the poster alone—after all, he's one hopelessly horny bastard.
I walked to his house with the game tucked under my arm, a wicked smile spreading across my face as I savored the thought of him devastated — "At last… my revenge." I was euphoric, floating on cloud nine; truth be told, I'm a confessed sadist.
However, as I passed by a narrow alley, a sudden chill crawled up my spine—I could feel "eyes" on me. My footsteps halted instinctively. Without turning around, I took a few careful steps backward and leaned slightly to peek into the alley. Empty. Completely deserted.
I exhaled in relief.
But the moment I faced forward again, my breath caught in my throat.
someone, no—Something—stood ahead of me. A humanoid silhouette… yet grotesquely wrong. It had no eyes. No face. No features at all. Its body was a shifting mass of darkness, with limbs sprouting and vanishing from random places, twisting and flickering like corrupted data. Its very existence seemed to glitch, as if reality itself was trying to erase it.
The game box slipped from my trembling hands as terror seized my body. My legs nearly gave out, but I forced myself to run—stumbling, gasping, sprinting with everything I had in the opposite direction.
"What the hell is that thing?!" I shouted, my voice breaking with panic.
After putting some distance between us, I dared a glance over my shoulder. To my relief, it was still standing there—motionless, watching. But in the next instant, I blinked… and it was gone.
A sharp, burning pain pierced my chest. My breath hitched, my body froze mid-stride.
I hesitated and looked forward—and there it was, impossibly close, face to face. Its hand had plunged through the center of my chest. A hot metallic taste flooded my mouth as I coughed up a mouthful of blood; pain detonated through my ribs and everything went white at the edges. Was I truly so evil for imagining gifting that game to my friend that I deserved this? The thought felt obscene and unbearably small against the scream of agony.
Even inches from it, my eyes refused to focus onto any detail—as if I were staring at a gliched screen. I gritted my teeth and spat a curse. "Fuck!! If I die here, I'll at least return a part to you."
Summoning the last shards of strength, I thrust my fist forward and swung for its face. My knuckles passed through the thing as though it were made of light; there was no resistance, only cold emptiness. Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. As consciousness slipped away, I heard it whisper in a language I had never heard before—strange syllables that should have been meaningless—but somehow, incomprehensibly, the meaning rang clear in my mind:
"This is our last chance."
------
What was once a peaceful village now lay in ruins, reduced to ashes and smoke. Many lives were lost, though a few were fortunate enough to survive. Amid the wreckage, a boy no older than eight clenched his fists, his eyes burning with tears and fury.
"Those demons… I'll never forgive them!" he screamed, his voice trembling with rage and the unbearable grief of losing his family to the merciless attack.
It was a stroke of fortune that the kingdom's knights arrived when they did—had they been any later, not a single soul would have survived.
"Liam, don't cry." Three girls wrapped their arms around him, their voices trembling as they tried to comfort him. Each carried their own sorrow—one had lost her mother, another her father—yet they stood together, bound by the shared pain of loss. They had grown up side by side in that once-peaceful village.
----
Three years passed since that tragic day.
The survivors had rebuilt what little remained of their village, and though only a few stayed behind, life had begun to return. The children, too, had grown—but for Liam, the scars of that night never faded. From that very day, he had devoted himself to training, driven by a single purpose: to annihilate the demons.
"Liam, that's enough. The sun's already setting," his childhood friend Sana called out, concern lacing her voice.
He ignored her, his sword still slicing through the air, sweat glistening under the fading light. The four of them—Liam and his three friends—shared the same dream: to become strong enough to protect those they loved, and the same burning hatred toward the demons who had taken everything from them.
------
Another year slipped by. The four of them had grown stronger—both in body and resolve—and at last, they made their decision. Remaining in the village any longer would only hold them back.
They would leave.
Their dream was simple but unwavering: to become adventurers, form a powerful party, and one day be recognised as the next heroes—strong enough to face the demons who had stolen their past, and determined enough to forge a future with their own hands.
-----
Three years had passed since they became adventurers. In that time, Liam's three childhood friends had each awakened their "Unique Abilities"—a phenomenon so rare that even nobles envied those who possessed it. These powers, said to be remnants of ancient bloodlines, only manifested when certain hidden conditions were met. Perhaps their ancestors were never ordinary villagers after all.
With their newfound abilities, the three girls' strength grew rapidly, far surpassing what anyone expected. Their party began to attract attention throughout the region.
But for Liam, things were different. No matter how hard he pushed himself, no "Unique Ability" ever awakened within him. As his friends grew stronger, he found himself falling further and further behind—until he became a burden in battle, the weakest link in their once-balanced party.
The realization shattered him. Yet instead of giving up, Liam threw himself into relentless training, determined to make up for his lack of talent with sheer effort.
"You think that's enough?"
The voice slithered through the air, distorted and hollow.
Behind him, a shadow took form—a warped silhouette, its outline flickering as if reality itself rejected its presence. Limbs twisted and vanished, reappearing in impossible places. It was the same abomination from before—the same existence that glitched against the world, as though it had no right to exist within it.
Liam neither saw it nor felt its presence, his focus consumed by the rhythm of his blade slicing through the air. Sweat dripped from his chin, his breath ragged—but behind him, the distorted shadow flickered closer, reality warping with each step it took.
Without warning, its amorphous hand wrapped around his head, cold and formless, seeping into his very thoughts. That same hollow, broken voice echoed in his ear.
"Can you win against the world? Can you oppose the heaven?"
The creature paused, then slowly turned its head—not toward Liam, but somewhere else entirely.
"I'm asking...YOU."
The world shattered into darkness. And in that abyss, countless eyes opened—unblinking, eerie, all staring in the same direction.
------
A boy jolted awake, gasping for air as though he had just escaped from a nightmare. His dark blue hair was tousled, sticking out in every direction, and his light purple eyes trembled with fatigue. He ran a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing, then muttered through clenched teeth,
"Fuck… what a creepy dream."
But his eyes froze the moment he took in his surroundings. Wooden furniture with no trace of modern design filled the room. A faint light emanated from a glowing crystal on the wall, serving as a lamp, and beneath him was a hard, uncomfortable bed.
He slowly lowered his hand from his face, confusion clouding his features.
"Where the hell… is this place?" he muttered under his breath.
Then, a chilling realization dawned on him. His expression twisted as he looked down, clutching his head.
"Those… memories—they weren't a dream?" he whispered to himself, disbelief and dread mixing in his voice. "Does that mean I actually died at the hands of that thing… and got transmigrated into this motherfucking game?!"
Cursed Crown.
That was the name of the Eroge he'd planned to gift his friend on birthday. To ensure his dear buddy receive only premium-grade emotional damage, he had even played through the entire thing himself first—purely for "quality assurance."
Throughout the hellish experience, he had wanted to smash his controller at least 101 times, punch through his monitor 97 times, cough up blood 19 times, and gouge out his own eyes 33 times. Yet despite that torment, he endured every soul-crushing moment—for his friend's "sake".
Now that was what true dedication looked like.
And because he had played the game himself, the scattered memories began to align, forming a horrifying realization—he had transmigrated into Liam, the protagonist of " Cursed Crown".
The powerless fool.
The one destined for nothing but despair, heartbreak, and endless suffering.
His stomach twisted as the truth sank in. This world—Artheria—followed a brutal law: the strong takes all. And Liam, despite being the so-called protagonist, was among the weakest of them all.
That was because cursed Crown wasn't some heroic power fantasy—it was a degenerate dark fantasy eroge, a paradise for masochists, who took pleasure in helplessness, humiliation, and watching their lovers stolen away.
And he despised every bit of it. To his very core.
"I'd rather die than enjoy such things," he muttered through gritted teeth.
He pushed himself off the bed, the wooden floor creaking beneath his bare feet. Grabbing the sword resting against the wall, he exhaled sharply and headed for the door. He refused to sit around and wait for fate to make him a victim again.