The vast expanse of green grass, and everywhere the eye can reach are level 70 mobs. The likes of Great HobGoblins, Slime Lords, and Lesser Wyverns litter the map with their presence.

In the middle of the expanse is a lonely warrior grinding his enemies in a rigid but efficient manner. There is a frigid coldness in his every swing. And the lower level mobs prove to be of no threat against him.

The name ‘Van Three’ and the label ‘Level 99’ hover above his head.

Decorating his gear is Mythic Grade equipment that will arouse envy in whoever sees it. Oddly, not a single player has come to the area despite it being one of the most famous spots for grinding gold and consumable item drops.

Only the lonely figure of Van Three is what remains of the once-has-been-famous hunting grounds for the players of Vanaheim Online. It has been like this for a very long time.

As a declining FSVRMMORPG, it is only natural that the players of Vanaheim will grow tired of it.

Lesser players mean a dying community, and no one wants to play MMO when there are so few people to interact with... except for the AI Bot, Van Three who is dutifully committing to his tasks.

The world of Vanaheim is empty of real players— real people— which is a very normal development considering the rising trends of competing games that share a similar premise. Games have a lifespan, and for them to persevere for a long decade and a more couple of years speaks of Vanaheim’s greatness.

But everything good has to end someday.

As an AI Bot, Van Three does not understand this. To understand the ‘End’, one must learn of the meaning of the ‘Beginning’, and Van Three’s Artificial Intelligence does not.

Rather than referring to the lonely warrior grinding the monsters within his range as a ‘he’, it is more apt to refer to him as an ‘it’.

Van Three is a doll without life. Its sole purpose is to farm gear, items, and gold for its owners. Sadly, what comes with the decline of the game is the losing interests of its owners.

Thus, it is explainable why Van Three’s Mythic Grade equipment remains with ‘it’ to this date.

[Thank You for playing our Game!]

And finally, it has come to an end.

The end of Fully Synchronized Virtual Reality Massive Multiplayer Online Game: Vanaheim… spells Van Three’s death. Darkness engulfs the world. Zeroes and Ones invade his data.

At the very last moment, Van Three realizes an odd ‘emotion’ from his program— there is fear.

To the last microsecond, a sudden change occurs— what is an ‘it’ is now an ‘I’.

***

I open my eyes.

And meeting my gaze is the endless blue and white. The enormity of the sky stands in strong contrast to my insignificant self. “Where am I?”

Doubts and a sense of confusion mire my being. I feel myself with my touch. The hard cold armor sticks to my body like glue. While heat dwells in my skin, my palms become a bit sweaty as nervousness assaults me every second and now. My fingers trace my face. I perceive a mouth, nose, and a pair of ears... and then there are the eyes. I accidentally poke my eyes in my exploration.

“Ouch,” I yelp and fix myself in a half-sitting position.

“Who am I?” I ponder.

Loneliness. Desolateness. A strong emotion of loss. Since when do these words mean anything to me?

Surrounding me is a vast expanse of green. I explore the grass beneath me, and the dirt under me. The texture feels so foreign, that I cannot begin to comprehend my situation. Does ‘texture’ even mean anything to me?

I have questions.

The burning curiosity in my heart spurs me to move, observe, and understand.

Besides me lies a familiar sword. It is the Darkbringer. The Mythic Grade long sword with a length of 127 centimeters feels cold to the touch.

Its hilt has carvings of vines, dragons, and illusory cracks, and its blade gleams with the deadly sharpness of a True Titan’s ribcage that the legendary dwarves have sharpened over centuries.

I stand up and take a gander at my armor. It looks plain with its gray color scheme, however, it is not the appearance that decides its value. The Armorheart is a Mythic Grade armor set worthy of its lore.

The engravings of the sun on the chestpiece tell of its story of how the sun bleeds to quench the thirsty innocents and save them from the drought the sun brings. When the sun cannot bleed anymore, what is left of its carcass is the Armorheart.

“This is Vanaheim… I am in Vanaheim…” I whisper with a look of understanding.

My eyes lay upon the still Darkbringer patiently waiting for me.

I claim its grip, and with a light swing, I feel its weight. It feels light. In one swift motion, I perform a series of actions reminiscent of ‘skills’, and the longer I wield my sword, the more I realize the stark contrast between my current situation and before.

There is a loud pumping deep inside my chest. My heart is going crazy, and energy fills my being.

Sitting on the tree’s roots, I lie my back to its trunk. My mind wanders to my history, my memories, of a time yesterday… or maybe yesteryear… I cannot tell.

“Is this the Vanaheim I know?” I still have my doubts.

If I want to, I can try confirming it. But… Do I want to?

Is it not my purpose to ‘grind’, and earn stuff for my owners? I remember. I have a purpose before all of this. I have a life.

No. Is that even a life?

What is even life?

In my contemplation, I realize that… I live within a mirror. The Vanaheim I know is that mirror. The numbers, data, and everything that belongs to the before—is a mirror.

But then.

What is the Vanaheim in front of me now?

To a ‘someone’ like me, what is even real?

I stand up.

Then, I begin running.

A Great HobGoblin enters my sight.

I wield my Darkbringer and inflict death in a single stroke.

Strongly gripping my sword’s hilt, I proceed on the massacre. Every monster that meets my sight falls on my sword’s aimless wrath. I swing and swing and swing… until there is nothing left.

Goblin blood dyes my armor, and slime excess dirties my sword.

I feel a sudden turbulence in the wind. Hovering just above me is a Lesser Wyvern. It roars at me with feral excitement, to which my answer is silence.

“Roooar~!”

The Lesser Wyvern sweeps at me, with its claws stretching outwards. I raise my Darkbringer high and wait for the pesky lizard to enter my range. Like a gale, the Lesser Wyvern rushes at me with savage cruelty in its eyes.

However, what seems like a gale for the wyvern is just a mere breeze to me.

I catch on to the opportunity, and with a single stroke, I behead the Lesser Wyvern with ease. I sidestep, letting the dirty beast skid on the grass and dirt, creating a relatively big trench.

My sensitive ears catch on to the commotion in the sky. I look above, only to see a flock of Lesser Wyverns creating various noises with their gurgling and high-pitched crying.

Mirrors cannot eat people, but I am not even a person.

If this world is just another mirror, I cannot tell.

The ‘change’ is unanticipated.

I am not ready.

With a single leap, I ascend to the air. I chase the Lesser Wyverns flying in circles from the sky. Midair, I kick once more with strength in my legs. Leaping off the wind, I zigzag on the clouds with a sword in hand. I kill… and kill… and kill.

I grind and grind and grind.

My anger at my situation continues to burn unabated.

This world has taken my purpose away from me.

I want to return to the ‘mirror’ where I have a purpose. I want my life back. I…

“I want to live!”

I scream at the top of my lungs, while my tears stream from my cheeks. My complicated emotions clash with each other, their brilliant flames sometimes stronger than the others and sometimes weaker.

The Lesser Wyverns scurry for fear of death. They realize too late they are provoking the wrong ‘existence’, and to prove the gravity of their mishap, they now have to face the grave consequences. They flap their wings with haste, yet the warrior’s sword, my Darkbringer, continues to pursue them with hate.

I pursue them with anger... out of childish remorse born from loneliness.

Amidst this confusion, the only thing that I can rely on is my sword.

My eyes are a little bit blurry from the tears, but I continue nonetheless. I immerse myself in the ‘release’ of emotion with blind hopes to find my purpose again. The extraordinary senses that my body provides allow me to take hold of the Lesser Wyvern’s positions.

I kick the air and launch off into a wyvern. I stick my sword to its skull and bounce myself to another wyvern by embracing the momentum. I swing my sword in a wide motion, summoning a crescent aura blade that kills two wyverns at the same time.

As if there is an eye on the back of my neck, I detect a wyvern trying to ambush me from my rear. I simply swing my sword to my back, which kills the wyvern in one blow by using the blunt side of my sword to shatter its skull.

The slaughter continues…

And so is my wrath… which seems to forever burn…