I was never particularly interested in trying it. The game claimed to draw from Norse mythology, yet most of its content barely resembled the mythology it was named after.
It did look fun, though, and a lot of my online friends were playing it, mainly with the usernames nekomama, Fedmod, and shroomman.
One of them was a closet racist, the other was kinda high, and the nekomama was in the wrong server.
While on the other hand, I am sane.
I hate everyone equally.
Unfortunately, not that I could have played it anyway, I didn't have the finances to buy the VR headset, which cost nearly $2,999!
BEFORE TAXES!
There were far better things that kind of money could be spent on, like gambling.
Still, missing out on countless bonding sessions with my online friends affected me more than I'd like to admit.
While they played all night, I was left with nothing but the group chat messages, my friends describing all the fun they were having, while I worked overtime trying to pay off my decade-old student debt.
That's just life ain't it.
Shroomman had been spamming my private messages, urging me to join them.
Nekomama sent more screenshots of what they'd just built, while Fedmod was complaining about his life and how it was falling apart, though he didn't have to be racist about it.
If this group chat gets leaked, there goes my social life.
I couldn't join them. I was making up excuses, like health problems or something believable, but the truth was simple: I was just a broke, failed adult who couldn't afford it!
But it was too embarrassing to admit!
I wasn't bitter or anything. My online friends were good people, despite their questionable discussions at times, they were better than most, which was a miracle in itself since you usually meet a lot of weirdos online.
I've come to terms with the fact that no human is perfect and that inherent flaws make a person interesting—or, albeit, sometimes hilarious.
But I couldn't help but wish I'd made more memories with them.
Some of them... hadn't been online in two years.
I shook my head.
The news about the virus kept spreading, and humanity was growing desperate to fight back. I lived in a safe zone, surrounded by walls and the army.
I never bothered to care about the outside world, nor the struggles of others, or social problems; I only really cared about myself.
But that worldwide epidemic...
Took some of my online friends...
But the big three—nekomama, Fedmod, shroomman...
They left their dying messages in chat; it was grotesque in detail, describing what was happening to them.
I didn't want to read all of it; it was something no human should experience. I ended up vomiting from the discomfort.
Yet, it was the first time in decades that a grown man like me cried for people I had never even met in person.
But why, in this shitty country, do I still have to pay my student debt, even when the world's apparently ending?!
I scrambled desperately to gather enough funds to buy the VR headset.
Through my tear-streaked phone screen, I read a message from Shroomman: they had built a world for me inside the game and wanted me to see it.
He even offered to lend me money before he passed, but I refused.
Out of respect, of course.
Mostly because of the trauma of being in debt in general.
Shroomman had a family; he was a police officer. I'd rather know he spent every bit of his fortune on his loved ones.
Then everything changed, as with a stroke of luck, or maybe fate, I won the lottery.
One million dollars!
Years of hopeless number predictions had finally paid off, not through skill or persistence, but through dumb luck!
For the first time in my miserable life, I finally had the means to buy a VR headset, the very thing that had kept me separated from my friends for so long, but it was already too late.
But I still wanted to see the world they built for me with my own legally blind eyes...
To my horror, though, modern VR sets cost more than a mortgage, and worse, Valhalla Online could only be played with the outdated original model from just a few years ago!
The price for it was ridiculously inflated, and finding one in my so-called safe zone was nearly impossible.
But I wasn't going to give up so soon. Eventually, I tracked down a seller, a massive, unkempt man named John Chad. He looked like my twin, but we were just two failures lurking in a sketchy alley.
The headset was sticky, smelly, and clearly abused, yet John Chad demanded $100,000!
This motherfucker is ripping me off!
That's an absurd price!
"Pay or no play, hobo dude," John Chad replied, his smile the sweatiest I'd ever seen. I wanted to plant my fist in his face so badly after his words, but I was a peaceful man.
I was rich at this point, and I paid without argument, though it still stings. I could've donated that money to my favorite VTuber.
As I got home, I'd built a habit of listening to the news more often, probably something that comes with age. To my delight, I saw John Chad on the screen, arrested for crimes involving stolen government files and some... very controversial ones.
Serves him right!
Repairing the device was no small task, but those random tutorials on the internet were so advanced these days that it was enough to coax the VR headset back to life.
When it powered on, I hesitated, dreading the idea of putting my head where John Chad had been. The VR menu appeared, and with it, John's old folders, which contained dangerous files that could have landed me in prison!
Man, WTF?!
I quickly wiped the entire system clean, reset the account, and checked if Valhalla Online still lived.
It did, though its player base had dwindled.
Still, that was the game I had always longed to play.
Before I started playing, I checked my online friends to see if they were online. To my disappointment, none of them was. In fact, it was harrowing that almost all of them were offline. This was once an active group, and now I'm the only one talking in it.
However, they left me a code, a code to their world where I could visit.
As I prepared to dive in, the civil defense alarms blared. News flashed across my phone and television: the city's walls had fallen. The undead had mutated into superhuman monsters, tearing through soldiers and fortifications alike.
I was terrified, but running away was futile. I was a 240-pound fatass—even if I had an athlete's body, it wouldn't make a difference against superhuman zombies!
The only thing I could do was put on the headset. It immobilized my body by hijacking brain signals and rerouting them to control the in-game avatar. I lay down on the couch in my apartment, my hands trembling as I barely managed to start the sequence.
I heard screams outside as the building began to shake. I hurried to log in. Amid the chaos, someone shouted for their mother... then another for their father.
It reminded me that I was an orphan.
But why, of all moments, did I have to remember my past? I tried my best to ignore it.
I found myself tearing silently behind the headset, forcing myself not to look at the brutality unfolding outside my room. The only thing that mattered was seeing even a glimpse of the world I had missed.
I gritted my teeth. I could hear their growls and rapid footsteps; it was only a matter of time before they got to me. I speedran through character creation, barely pausing as I set up a generic, handsome European man with black hair.
At the brink of anxiety, a voice echoed:
"Please enter your name."
Though I was horrified by my situation, a small smile formed on my lips. My real name was irrelevant here.
I typed in the username:
» Arsen
It was a cool name I remembered from one of the games I'd played, and by some miracle, it wasn't taken. However...
The house shook violently, dust fell from the ceiling, and the air was filled with screams, gunfire, and sirens.
But that wasn't what I was most concerned about...
IT HURTS SO MUCH!
I'M BEING EATEN ALIVE!
I felt it—every bite, every tear. Agony ripped through my body as claws and teeth shredded my flesh. My bones cracked, breaking one after another under the weight of the undead devouring me.
BUT BEING EATEN ALIVE WON'T STOP ME FROM SEEING IT!
I tried my hardest to keep my consciousness intact as they feasted on me alive. Through desperate screams and ragged breaths, I forced myself to enter the code—"Paradise."
It was the world my online friends had made.
I only needed to see one pixel... just one...
Let me see what I missed...
That's all I want right now...
Eventually, it loaded.
And on my screen, I saw the most breathtaking sight—vast, endless lands stretching to the horizon. I stood atop a castle balcony, witnessing the years of work my old friends had built together.
Impossible architecture. Beautiful, smiling people. A world without corruption, without famine. I was in awe of it all, so different from our dying earth.
I envied this digital world!
This... This was the vision you all saw?
Shroomman, nekomama, Fedmod...?
I can only imagine what we could've built together if I'd been there. But you only live once, and my life... was only good in imagination.
My vision started to darken, yet I was smiling—tears streaming down beneath the VR headset.
I despise the undead and the world for this unforgivable thing!
Because of the dead! The opportunity to prolong my time with my friends was cut short! I wish I had the means to eradicate them myself!
However...
I died with that smile on my face.
Perhaps this was the ending meant for an insignificant character like me...
...
.....
....
"Don't be afraid..."
A voice echoed through the darkness, neither terrifying nor even comforting.
Though it pained me to realize one thing.
I was still alive.
As if I were about to enter another world.
Chapter End.