Projekt Anima(OUTDATED VERSION!)

Chapter 1: Enter The Game

There was darkness. Eternal darkness. Except for a minuscule bit of light, there was nothing. The feeble glow barely resurfaced among the sea of cataclysmic ebony, its puny gleam flickering and wavering endlessly against the defiant black waves that threatened to overshadow it into one, mighty void.

But it was promising.

Despite the dark tempest, the light withstood its place—a stark contrast to its confines. Silently, Tristan reached for it, intending to seize its illumination, to grasp the radiance that dared to defy the grip of darkness. But as soon as he did so, it began to fade, its silky embers slowly faltering, until everything once again was consumed by the void.

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REGISTRATION PHASE

Tristan's eyes were closed, but for some reason he could see light. He didn't dare open them, fearing the fierce dazzle would overwhelm him and render him blind. For a moment he lay there, completely motionless, not even daring to breathe. How did he not die from that, Tristan didn't know. But for hours and hours it seemed, and by time, he finally grew impatient enough to find out what was happening. He decided for a second to take a peek, slightly raising his shutters by merely a quarter. Then by a half. And, now accustomed to the light, Tristan finally opened his eyes.

A massive screen was in front of him, so immense that he could not see neither top nor end of it. Tristan was about to wonder what was he doing there and why he couldn't move as well when something suddenly flashed in the large screen right before his eyes.

"Welcome to Defiant Sins Online," a disembodied voice spoke, smooth and clear. It was clearly in tandem with the pixelated words that flashed on the screen. "What is your name?" At that the cursor stopped, blinking in a corner as if prompting for a response.

I am in a game? Tristan thought in a daze, trying to rack his brain for any possible explanations. For some reason, he could still remember his name and most of his life—but not the events prior to this happening.

No, Tristan, he assured himself. This couldn't be real. I'm probably just dreaming.

He tried as hard to accept that explanation when the voice spoke once again, this time sounding more urgent.

"What is your name?"

"I don't—"

"Failure responding within 5 seconds will result to being instantiated by a username generator. You have been warned." the voice interrupted sharply.

Yeah, I'm just dreaming, he briefly thought. I guess I'll just have to tag along then.

So he began consulting the remnants of his memory, trying to remember past and former usernames he'd used on a previous game that he'd once excelled at and had been addicted to for hours on end.

It took him about two seconds to recollect that piece of information. "Raiden," he replied right away, fearing that the 5-second counter had already lapsed.

"Very well, Rai-den," the voice responded. "You will be presented a series of items, which will determine your race in the magical land of Alcerrah."

Tristan never had a surreal dream like this before, but whatever it was, it felt so genuine to him. Maybe dreams were supposed to be like that, he thought. They made someone feel beyond alive, kind of like a simulated reality—with fantastical events far beyond human capabilities and imagination.