Money.
I have a lot of it. An obscene, meaningless amount. Enough to dump truckloads of cash on strangers every single day and watch the global economy shudder, and it would never, ever finish.
My father is one of the richest men on Earth. My mother, a legendary actress. My older brother, the perfect heir, handles the work, the meetings, the legacy.
And me? I'm the second son. A ghost in a gilded cage. A terminally ill patient with a disease so new it doesn't even have a name, just a case file. I've lived in this sterile white hospital since I was fifteen. I'm nineteen now. They never talk to me. Maybe they're too busy. Or maybe I'm just a failed, expensive experiment—a reminder of mortality in their immortal world of finance and fame.
A few months ago, the doctors gave me their final verdict. One month. Maybe less.
So, I decided to do what all rich kids are supposed to do: be frivolous. I'd never done it before. But if I was going to die, I wanted to die happy, having felt what it was like to truly spend.
My method? A gacha-MMORPG called Fantasy Legends. The perfect digital sinkhole for a fortune.
The character creation screen glowed before me. Dozens of races and classes, from hulking barbarians to ethereal mages.
My eyes settled on one. The weakest starting class in the game: the Noble Scion. Statistically terrible. But… he was handsome. Sharp, symmetrical features, intense eyes, a regal bearing. The nurses always said I was handsome, too. It was a foolish, sentimental choice.
[Character Selected: Noble Scion]
[Base Power Rating: F-]
But in a gacha game, a weak base is just a blank canvas. The true power isn't in the character; it's in the credit card.
I clicked on the gacha portal. Spin. Reward. Dismantle. Spin again. Again. Again.
Three hours melted away. I bought every top-tier weapon, every legendary armor set, every forbidden spell scroll. I poured resources into the Noble Scion, watching his power rating climb from F- to a blinding, impossible SSS+.
Another hour passed. I looked at my creation. He was no longer a Noble Scion. He was an emperor. I named him Devon Ashcroft.
Then, I got her. A special summon: a unique-class female warrior. Her avatar smoldered on the screen. She was pale as moonlight, with hair like spilled ink and eyes that burned a fierce, bloody crimson. She was clad in elegant, deadly black lace, a perfect fusion of beauty and violence.
[Unique Character Acquired. Please assign a name.]
I didn't hesitate. Nyx Bloodborne.
I saved, ate a tasteless dinner, and returned. For another hour, I leveled them both to the cap. Then, it was time to begin.
The game loaded. Devon stood in a tiny, ruined shack, the default starting zone.
Ugh. Our glorious king can't live in this. I navigated to the building menu. Upgrade. Upgrade. Upgrade.
The screen flashed, and the shack was replaced in an instant. A Citadel of Gilded Sorrow. A palace that spanned pixels like a city, constructed of what appeared to be solid, polished gold, with obsidian trimmings and towers that pierced the digital heavens. Now, this was more like it.
I opened the wardrobe. I dressed Devon in the most extravagant set I owned: a high-collared, baroque suit of armor that seemed forged from liquid gold, with a massive white mantle lined with gold filigree. I dressed Nyx in a gown of intricate, shadowy lace that clung to her form, both revealing and deadly.
A notification popped up. [Legendary Pet Acquired: Flame Spirit.]
I bought a name card. Flare.
I wasn't just buying cars or yachts. I was building a kingdom. I navigated to the world map, selecting my territory. I named it. The Dark Continent of Erevane. A land of jagged, black mountains and perpetual twilight, now crowned by my golden, arrogant capital.
Then, I started buying my army. Soldier. General. Squad Leader. Dark Soldier. Dark Knight.
I purchased 60,000 of them—the maximum the game allowed. Then, I leveled every single one to Level 999. The numbers on my screen were a symphony of purchased power. I had spent more money in one sitting than the developers had likely made in the game's entire lifetime.
A bank alert flashed on my second monitor: $5,000,000 spent. Account temporarily frozen for 24 hours.
I smirked. I have three more accounts.
I went to the special summoning wheel. I set the auto-spin to 999 and clicked go. Another million vanished. The screen exploded with light. Legendary items. And then… her.
A vampire. Her character model was stunning. Flowing golden hair, eyes of hypnotic amber, and a playful, predatory smile. She wore a elegant gothic dress, a black choker with a cross resting on her pale neck.
[Unique Character Acquired: Vampire. Please assign a name.]
Alice.
A final notification: [First Battle Incoming: The Kingdom of Lulusia approaches your borders!]
I quickly maxed out every last defensive structure. I was ranked number one on the global leaderboard. The player in second place would need to spend eight million dollars and grind for twenty years to even catch a glimpse of my stats.
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through my skull. My vision blurred.
Wait… how long have I been playing? I glanced at the clock. Nineteen hours straight.
Well, I thought, the world fading to black. I was going to die anyway. At least I died on top.
I opened my eyes to nothingness. An infinite, dark void. I was standing. I looked down at my hands. No I.V. lines. No pain.
Where is this?
A light appeared. A small, radiant fairy, its form reminiscent of the game's guide spirit, Lunox. It floated ahead, beckoning.
A dream? A final hallucination? I followed.
It led me to a single, towering door of polished ebony and gold. It swung open silently. I stepped through.
"ALL HAIL THE IMPERIAL MAJESTY!"
The voice boomed, echoing through a cavernous throne room. My breath caught.
I was standing at the end of a long crimson carpet. At the far end, seated on a throne of solid gold and shadow, was… me. Or rather, the character I had created. Devon Ashcroft. He looked exactly as I designed him—the sharp, handsome features, the flowing platinum-gold hair, the intense, glowing amber eyes radiating absolute authority. He was clad in the same baroque golden armor, the massive white mantle draped over his shoulders.
And kneeling a few steps below him, her back to me, was a woman with hair like a starless night, clad in deadly black lace.
Nyx…
My mind reeled. The throne room was my Citadel of Gilded Sorrow. The army of 60,000 Dark Knights, each at Level 999, stood in perfect, silent ranks along the walls.
A transparent blue screen materialized before my eyes, but it wasn't in front of a monitor. It was in the world.
[User Identity Synchronized.]
[Welcome, Devon Ashcroft. Emperor of Erevane.]
[Title: The Undying Cold Monarch.]
[Power Rating: SSS+]
[Abilities: [Aura of Absolute Dominion], [Wealth Manifestation], [System Command Authority]...]
The figure on the throne… it was me. I was him.
I looked at Nyx, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I forced my voice to be a command, though it trembled internally.
"Nyx."
She turned, her crimson eyes lifting to mine. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
My mouth was dry. A stupid, desperate thought from my old life surfaced. "Will you… come sit on my lap?"
I braced for anger, for disdain.
Nyx simply stood, ascended the dais, and with a graceful, unquestioning motion, settled onto my lap. She was warm, real.
She did it. Because I designed her to be absolutely, unwaveringly loyal. I even coded a one-sided romantic affinity.
I, the player, had fallen for a collection of pixels. And now, she was here.
Tentatively, I reached out and stroked her hair. She stiffened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but said nothing.
I focused my will on her, and a status screen appeared.
[Nyx Bloodborne. Title: Army Commander. Power Rating: SSS. Loyalty: Absolute.]
A laugh bubbled up from my chest. It was a quiet thing at first, then it grew, echoing through the silent throne room—a raw, manic, psychotic laugh of pure, unadulterated release.
"HAHAHA… HAHAHAHA!"
Nyx looked up, concern in her glowing red eyes. "Your Majesty? Wh-What has happened?"
I finally calmed, the grin refusing to leave my face. "Nyx. Do you remember what happened yesterday?"
She thought, her brow furrowing. The confusion on her face was genuine. "Your Majesty, I… I don't."
"Right," I said, the truth of my power settling deep within me. "That's right. It's because you were all born today. I am your creator. Your absolute master. I can create you, destroy you, and grant you rebirth. I am the god of this Dark Continent."
Nyx slid from my lap, knelt on the steps, and bowed her head deeply. "Thank you for this glorious life, Your Majesty. No… my Lord."
I looked out over my golden palace, my limitless army, my beautiful, loyal commander. The family that ignored me, the body that failed me—they were a lifetime away.
This was it. The life of absolute lavishness. The strength, the fame, the face.
I am Devon Ashcroft. And I am the pay-to-win god of this world.