Free Web NovelMatt was sitting at the kitchen table.
There was no unbearable heat.
No black stone.
No red runes.
No mechanical creature with eight arms trying to tear him apart.
He was just there.
Sitting. With a plate in front of him.
The smell of food filled the kitchen with a calm that felt almost unreal.
Warm rice, stewed meat, some toasted bread in a small basket, and a jug of cold water in the center of the table.
Matt blinked slowly as his hand held a fork.
His body didn't hurt. His throat wasn't burning. His back wasn't broken. His clothes weren't covered in blood. And his hair…
Matt looked down at himself.
He was wearing an old t-shirt.
A normal one, the kind he wore at home.
His mother was sitting at one side of the table. She had her hair pulled back in whatever way it ended up when she finished cooking, and a tired but calm expression.
Across from him sat his fourteen-year-old sister. In a slightly rumpled school uniform, a notebook open beside her plate, and an expression of absolute suffering.
"I can't take it anymore…" she said, letting her head drop onto the table. "I really can't take it anymore. School is trying to kill me."
Matt looked at her in silence and his sister barely lifted her face.
"I have three exams this week, two assignments due, a horrible history presentation, and a teacher who thinks her subject is the only one that exists in the world."
His mother took a sip of water.
"You say that every week."
"Because every week they try to destroy me in a new way…"
Matt looked down at his plate.
The food was still there.
Warm.
Normal.
Real.
Or at least it felt real.
Matt picked up some with his fork and ate. The taste hit his chest in a strange way.
It wasn't the best meal in the world.
It was home food.
And that made it better.
Much better.
Matt swallowed slowly and felt a peace so large it almost frightened him.
His sister sighed dramatically.
"I've decided. I'm not going to university."
His mother looked up.
"Excuse me?"
"I've decided."
Matt looked at her.
"Since when?"
"Since five seconds ago."
"Solid decision."
His sister pointed at him with her fork.
"Don't make fun. I'm being serious."
Matt rested his elbow on the table.
"That makes it funnier."
She frowned.
"I'm not going to put myself through university to suffer more. I've suffered enough. When I graduate, that's it. No more classes. No more homework. No more teachers. No more anything."
Matt raised an eyebrow.
"You've still got almost two years until you graduate."
"That's exactly why I'm suffering in advance."
"How efficient."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I'll take it as one."
Matt let out a small laugh and kept eating. His sister rested her chin on her hand.
"Besides, I don't need university. Better if I do what you do."
Matt blinked.
"What I do?"
"Yes."
"What's that?"
"Make my own way on the internet. Play games. Do streams. Make money. Be free."
Matt looked at her for a few seconds, then let out a laugh clear enough that his sister puffed out her cheeks.
"What are you laughing at?"
Matt shook his head.
"Nothing."
"You're making fun of me."
"Yeah."
"Mom!"
His mother looked at Matt.
"Matt, don't make fun of your sister."
Matt raised both hands.
"I'm not making fun of her dreams."
"Yes you are!" his sister yelled.
"I'm making fun of her skills."
She opened her mouth, indignant. Matt pointed his fork at her.
"Don't forget you're terrible at playing."
"I'm not terrible!"
"True. Horrible would be more accurate."
"That's a lie!"
"The other day you fell off a bridge in a game where there were no enemies anywhere near you."
"The controller malfunctioned!"
"You said that when you shot your own team too."
"That was an accident!"
"It happened more than four times."
His sister crossed her arms.
"That's called… unpredictable strategy…"
Matt barely smiled.
"That's called getting reported."
His mother let out a small laugh but tried to hide it by taking a drink of water.
Matt's sister looked at her, betrayed.
"You too?"
"I didn't say anything."
"You laughed."
The girl dropped her head back onto the table.
"This family doesn't support my dreams…!"
Matt kept eating.
"I support you. That's why I'm telling you the truth before you end up fighting twelve-year-olds online and losing."
"How cruel."
"I'm a realist."
"Jealous."
Matt raised an eyebrow.
"Jealous?"
"Yes. You don't want me making money gaming too."
Matt was quiet for a second.
His sister didn't notice.
Neither did his mother.
But the phrase landed on him strangely.
Making money gaming professionally.
It sounded nice said like that.
Simple.
Pretty.
Like all it took was turning on a computer, playing a few hours, and waiting for the money to appear.
Matt looked down at his plate.
At that point he was still twenty years old.
He lived off playing.
Or that's what he told his family.
Small tournaments.
Irregular prize money.
Some streams.
Some sponsorships.
Money that arrived late.
But money that wasn't enough, creating debts that piled up in silence while he pretended everything was fine.
His mother thought he was tired from working hard.
His sister thought he was free.
But Matt knew the truth.
He was only free on screen.
Off it, every month was a rope tightening around his throat.
But he couldn't say that.
Not there.
Not in front of them.
"If you could genuinely make good money gaming professionally, I'd be the first to tell you to go for it."
"Then say it."
"No."
"Matt!"
"I'm not telling you not to play."
His sister blinked and Matt set his fork on the plate and sighed.
"You can stream if you want. You can upload videos. You can play for fun. You can even try to grow as a streamer."
His sister's expression shifted a little.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"So you do support me?"
"Don't get excited."
Matt leaned back in his chair.
"What I'm saying is you can try it casually, not think a professional team is going to sign you tomorrow because you won one match by accident."
"By accident?"
"Your team carried you."
"That's a lie!"
"I watched the match."
"Then you watched wrong."
Matt looked at her without expression.
"You got stuck against a wall for twenty seconds."
"That was a strategy."
"That was a wall."
His mother sighed, but smiled a little.
Matt's sister puffed out her cheeks.
"Okay, maybe I'm not ready for a professional team yet…"
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"Yet?" Matt repeated, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes. Yet."
"Right."
"But I could be a streamer."
"That you could try."
The girl's eyes went wide, surprised.
Matt continued before she could celebrate too much.
"But graduate first."
His sister made a face.
"There's the catch."
"It's not a catch. It's common sense."
"Sounds like a catch."
"Finish school. At least that. Then, if you still want to try, do streams, see what works, and decide."
His sister looked at him with suspicion.
"Are you saying I don't have to go to university?"
His mother looked up immediately.
Matt noticed the movement and clicked his tongue.
"I'm not saying that."
"It sounded like that."
"Don't put words in my mouth."
"But you said it."
"No."
"Yes."
Matt sighed.
"What I'm saying is, when you graduate, you can think more carefully about what you want to do. University, scholarship, work, streaming, whatever. But don't make a stupid decision two years early just because you have history homework today."
His sister went quiet.
For a moment, she seemed to actually think about it.
Then she looked down at her notebook.
"I'm just tired…"
Matt watched her.
Her voice didn't sound so dramatic anymore. It sounded smaller.
Matt felt a strange irritation in his chest.
Not guilt.
Well.
Maybe a little.
He was almost never home. He spent too much time playing, training, recording, competing, trying to get money from anywhere, and pretending everything was fine.
To his sister, his life probably looked like freedom.
Sleeping in.
Being online.
Making money gaming.
No teachers breathing down your neck.
No homework.
But Matt knew it wasn't freedom.
It was being alone in front of a screen wondering if next month would be enough.
Matt picked up his glass of water and drank a little.
Then he spoke in a lower tone.
"I'll help you try it."
His sister looked up.
"What?"
"The streaming."
"Really?"
"Yes. But casually. No dropping out of school. No claiming you're going to be a pro out of nowhere. No spending money on weird stuff because some streamer said it was necessary."
His sister smiled just slightly.
"So you are going to help me."
Matt went still.
"What?"
"You're going to help me. You know about that stuff."
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"No."
"Yes."
"I only said you could try."
"And to try I need help."
Matt looked at her in silence.
She smiled more.
A small, irritating, victorious smile.
Matt sighed.
"I can help you set things up and get a few things."
"Yes!"
"A few things."
"Mom, Matt is going to make me a streamer!"
"I didn't say that."
His mother looked at Matt with an expression somewhere between amused and tired.
"I'm glad you're supporting your sister."
"I'm being manipulated."
"A little," his sister admitted.
"At least be honest."
"I'm a future public figure. Honesty is important."
"You'll last three days before getting into a fight with someone in the chat."
"Then you'll be my moderator."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"We'll talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about."
His sister laughed.
Matt tried to keep a straight face.
He failed a little.
Just a little.
The kitchen fell quiet again.
For a few seconds, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware, the old fan turning in the corner, and some car passing far down the street.
Then his sister moved her fork across the plate.
"When I graduate…" she said, her voice lower. "You'll come, right?"
Matt blinked.
"To what?"
"My graduation."
Matt looked at her as if she'd said something obvious.
"That's still a long time from now."
"Doesn't matter."
"Almost four years away."
"That's exactly why I'm telling you now."
Matt let out a low laugh.
"What? You think I'm going to forget?"
"Yes."
"Not much faith."
"It's you."
"That's not an argument."
"Yes it is."
His mother smiled a little, but said nothing.
Matt looked at his sister.
She was trying to act like the question didn't matter too much to her.
But it did.
You could tell.
In how she avoided looking at him directly.
In how she moved her fork.
In how she puffed out her cheeks to look annoyed rather than nervous.
Matt was almost never home.
And when he was, he was almost always tired, shut away in his room, or glued to a screen.
For him, the graduation sounded like something far away.
For her, maybe it was a way of asking him to be present at least once.
Matt sighed.
"Yes. I'll go."
His sister looked up.
"Promise?"
Matt pointed his fork at her plate.
"I promise I'll go to your graduation, even if by then you're still terrible at gaming."
"Matt!"
"That last part is also a promise."
She looked at him with annoyance.
Then smiled.
A small smile.
Satisfied.
"Fine."
Matt went back to eating.
At that moment, he didn't think too much about that promise.
Why would he?
It was something simple.
His sister would graduate.
He'd go.
They'd take photos.
His mother would cry.
He'd make fun of them both.
Maybe afterward he'd help his sister do a terrible stream where nobody would join except him using a fake account.
Everything would stay normal.
Then…
"Matt."
Matt blinked.
The sound didn't come from the table.
It didn't come from his mother.
It didn't come from his sister.
It came from far away.
Very far away.
As if someone were calling him from the end of a tunnel.
Matt looked down at his plate.
The food was still there.
"Matt."
This time it was clearer.
A feminine voice.
Tense.
Urgent.
Matt frowned.
His sister kept talking, but her voice began to distort.
"Also, when I'm famous, I'll say you trained me anyway. So if I lose, it'll be your fault too."
The words stretched.
Then grew distant.
The kitchen shook.
Not physically.
Not like a house in an earthquake.
More like a poorly loaded image.
The edges of the table went blurry.
The light above the ceiling flickered.
"Matt."
Matt gripped the fork.
His mother moved her lips, but no sound came out.
His sister too.
Everything started to bend.
The walls.
The table.
The plates.
The window.
The promise.
Matt felt cold.
"Matt, you have to come back!"
The voice.
The cave voice.
Matt's eyes widened.
The kitchen distorted like someone had thrown a stone into water.
"Now."
The table sank into the darkness.
The food disappeared.
His sister disappeared.
His mother disappeared.
The smell of home faded.
And Matt remembered.
The mechanical skeleton.
Eight arms.
Regeneration.
The light gun in one hand.
The heavy one in the other.
The bow-spear.
The last attempt.
He had fired.
No.
More than that.
He had used everything.
Both guns and the spear at the same time.
A burst from the light one to open up the arms.
A shot from the heavy one to break the defense.
The spear thrown on blood threads to pierce the head from an impossible angle.
For a moment, it had worked.
Matt remembered it.
The skeleton's head almost destroyed.
The red opening going dark.
The metal splitting.
The horrible sensation of victory.
And then…
The arms.
Still moving.
Even without a complete head.
One of them had reached him.
He had no time to dodge.
No time to block.
He only felt the blow.
Then nothing.
Matt gasped.
The kitchen no longer existed.
He was in a dark place.
Completely black.
No visible floor.
No ceiling.
No walls.
Just darkness.
But Matt was sitting.
Still sitting.
The kitchen chair disappeared beneath him and for a second he fell.
Not downward.
Nowhere in particular.
Then his body stopped.
"Matt."
The voice sounded closer.
More desperate.
"Matt!"
Matt raised his gaze.
He saw nobody.
"What…?"
"You lost consciousness."
Matt blinked.
The darkness around him moved softly.
"What?"
"It hit you. Your body stopped responding. I took control."
Matt went quiet.
For some reason, that bothered him more than it alarmed him.
"You?"
"Yes."
"You can do that?"
"Not well."
The answer was too quick.
Too honest.
Matt felt something in his chest sink.
The voice continued:
"I need you to come back. Now. I can't hold on much longer."
Matt closed his eyes for a second.
Then he heard something.
Not in that place.
Outside.
BANG!
A distant explosion.
Then another.
CLANG!
Metal clashing against metal.
A wet sound.
A gasp.
The voice spoke again, more agitated.
"Matt, please."
Matt slowly opened his eyes.
The darkness was still there.
Calm.
Silent.
Strangely comfortable.
There was no pain.
No heat.
No blood.
No skeleton.
No queen.
No Iris.
No Eleonora.
No Forge Cave.
Just him.
And that voice bothering him from outside.
Matt looked around.
"So this place still exists."
"What?"
"Doesn't matter."
Matt raised a hand.
He remembered this space.
Not completely.
But enough.
The first time Iris had dragged him here, the place wasn't like this.
It wasn't empty.
Iris had filled it with things.
Elegant curtains.
An enormous bed.
Expensive furniture.
Red rugs.
A room similar to the one he'd woken up in after the queen drove blood through his throat.
A ridiculously refined space.
Ridiculously her.
Not Matt's.
Iris's.
Or what Iris believed should be hers.
Matt looked at the darkness.
"So it can be changed."
"Matt!"
"Wait."
"I can't wait!"
Matt ignored her.
He thought about the kitchen.
The table appeared.
Not fully at first.
First a line.
Then wood.
Then the chair.
Then the empty plate.
Matt opened his eyes slightly.
"Ah."
The voice yelled:
"What are you doing?!"
Matt didn't respond.
He thought about his room.
Not the castle room.
The real one.
His home room.
His room from before.
From when he was twenty years old and still thought his problems were debt, lost tournaments, and not knowing how to tell his mother the money wasn't enough.
A simple wall.
The old desk.
The monitor.
Tangled cables.
Clothes on a chair.
A half-empty water bottle.
The darkness responded.
The kitchen dissolved.
His room appeared around him.
Not perfect.
Some things were blurry.
Others too clean.
But it was there.
Matt felt a strange pressure in his chest.
Nostalgia.
Disgust.
Calm.
All at once.
Then he thought of a chair.
Not just any.
The expensive gaming chair he always wanted and could only buy after saving for months.
Or more accurately, after going a little further into debt and telling himself it was an investment.
A black, comfortable, large chair with a high backrest appeared in front of him.
Matt looked at it. Then sat down.
His body sank slightly into the seat.
Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Matt closed his eyes.
For the first time in a very long while…
He felt no pain.
The voice spoke desperately:
"Matt, no."
Matt slowly exhaled.
"This is fine." freewebnovёl.ƈom
"Matt!"
"What peace."
"Come back right now!"
Matt opened one eye.
"Why?"
"Because we're in a fight!"
"You're in a fight."
The voice went quiet for half a second.
Then yelled:
"What?!"
Matt leaned his head back against the headrest.
"I've fought enough."
"If I lose, we both die!"
"Yes."
"Then come back!"
"No."
"Matt!"
"I don't want to."
The voice was breathing with difficulty.
Or at least it seemed that way.
It was strange to hear her like this.
Until now she had always sounded annoyed.
Sarcastic.
Confident.
Sometimes irritating.
But now…
Now she sounded scared.
"Matt, please. I can't do this alone…"
Matt closed his eyes again.
"How convenient."
"What?"
"When I need people to stop dragging me into horrible things, nobody listens. But when you need help, then I'm supposed to get up."
"This isn't the time for that!"
"It is for me."
Outside another explosion sounded.
BAAANG!
The room shook.
A crack appeared in the imaginary wall.
Matt looked at it without much interest.
He repaired it with a thought.
The voice gasped.
"Damn it!"
Matt barely frowned.
"You're using the heavy gun too much."
"I don't know how to use it like you do!"
"Then don't use it."
"I can't get close either! That thing moves its arms even when I'm not looking!"
"Yes. It's irritating."
"Matt!"
He smiled just slightly.
Not from happiness.
From exhaustion.
"Now you understand."
"Understand what?"
"How annoying it is to fight for your life."
The voice went quiet.
Matt settled more comfortably into the chair.
"Welcome."
"That's not fair."
"No."
Matt opened his eyes.
His gaze was calm.
Too calm.
"But almost nothing is."
The voice seemed to be holding something back.
Rage.
Fear.
Both.
"Matt…"
"No."
"Don't leave me now."
Matt looked at the ceiling of his imaginary room.
"I've been fighting in this place for too long."
"I don't have your experience."
"Then learn fast."
"I can't!"
"I had to."
"This is different!"
"It always is."
The voice trembled.
"Matt, please."
That word bothered him.
Please.
It sounded too human.
Too real.
Matt closed his eyes.
For a second, he saw his mother.
His sister.
The kitchen.
The warm food.
The calm.
Then he saw something else.
A promise made without thinking.
"Yes. I'll go."
The graduation.
His sister's smile.
Matt tightened his fingers on the armrests.
Then he saw the castle.
The queen smiling.
Iris sleeping in his bed.
Eleonora looking at him with disappointment.
Selene smiling with blood in her mouth.
The cave.
The skeleton.
The white hair.
The tight clothes.
His body changing again.
His life being taken, again.
Matt felt something inside him go dark.
"No."
The voice went silent.
Matt spoke more quietly.
"I'm tired."
"I know."
"No. You don't."
"Matt…"
"I don't want to keep going."
The room went silent.
Outside, something clashed.
CLANG!
Then came the sound of metal cutting through air.
VRRRRRR!
The voice let out a strangled cry.
Matt didn't move.
His fingers rested on the chair's armrests.
The comfort was absurd.
Unreal.
But it was comfortable.
That was enough.
"Handle it yourself," he murmured.
"I can't!"
"Then die trying."
The voice didn't respond.
Matt closed his eyes.
He didn't say it with hatred.
That was the worst part.
He said it without strength.
Without rage.
Just with exhaustion.
An exhaustion so deep that the idea of dying didn't sound as terrible as getting back up.
The voice spoke again.
This time more quietly.
"If you die… you'll never see them again."
Matt barely opened his eyes.
The room shook.
His sister.
His mother.
Clara.
For a second, the chair stopped feeling so comfortable.
Matt clenched his jaw.
The voice continued, desperate.
"Your mother. Your sister. You said you'd come back."
Matt squeezed his eyes shut.
"That's cruel."
"I know."
"Using that now."
"I have nothing else."
Matt didn't respond.
The voice spoke again.
More quietly.
"You also promised to go to her graduation."
"Wake me up if you win."
"Matt!"
Matt stopped responding.
The voice kept calling.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
But the words grew distant.
Like the noise of a television on in another room.
Matt sank further into the chair.
His breathing slowed.
His hands relaxed.
The pain no longer existed.
The fight no longer existed.
Just sleep.
Just silence.
Just a comfortable darkness that for once asked nothing of him.
Matt fell asleep.
…
The voice opened her eyes.
No.
Matt's body opened its eyes.
But she was the one looking.
The hot air of the room hit her face.
Blood was running down her cheek.
The light gun was in her right hand.
The heavy gun in her left.
Both vibrated unevenly.
The bow-spear was not in her hands.
That was a problem.
A big one.
It was on the floor several meters away, near a crack opened by one of the skeleton's arms.
She swallowed.
Matt's body responded with difficulty.
Not because it was weak.
No.
This body was absurd.
Fast.
Strong.
Powerful.
Too powerful.
That was part of the problem.
It was like being inside a machine designed for someone who knew exactly how to move every part.
And she didn't.
Not entirely.
She had taken control when Matt lost consciousness.
She had no choice.
If she hadn't, the next blow would have destroyed the body against the ground.
She had managed to dodge.
To fire.
To move the wings.
To survive.
But that was all.
Survive.
Not win.
The mechanical skeleton was in front of her.
Eight arms.
Eight again.
The head was still damaged, but had almost fully rebuilt itself.
The red opening in its face shone with a horrible calm.
It didn't look angry.
It didn't look rushed.
It was just waiting.
As if it knew.
As if it had understood that Matt was no longer the one moving.
The voice gritted her teeth.
'Don't look at me like that.'
The skeleton advanced.
One arm moved.
She reacted too late.
"Tch!"
She opened the wings and pushed herself backward.
FWOOSH!
The arm passed in front of her face.
Close.
Too close.
She raised the light gun and fired.
Bang! Bang!
The red bullets struck the arm.
BOOM! BOOM!
The metal veered off, but didn't break.
The light gun vibrated with an ugly sound.
She felt the recoil travel up through her wrist.
'Too hard.'
She had fired too hard.
Not like Matt.
Matt did it with a precise rhythm.
Irritating.
Reliable.
As if he could calculate how much punishment each weapon could take before breaking.
She couldn't.
She just fired to not die.
The skeleton turned.
The sword came from above.
She raised the heavy gun on reflex.
Not to fire.
To block.
Bad idea.
CLANG!
The blow almost tore the weapon from her hand.
Pain shot up to her elbow.
"Ugh!"
She pulled back.
The saw came from the side.
VRRRRRR!
She tried to spin the way Matt did.
It didn't come out the same.
The body moved fast, yes.
But too much.
She lost the angle.
The saw grazed her leg.
SHRAK!
The blood came out.
Hot.
Dark.
The wound closed almost immediately.
But the pain went through her with a horrible clarity.
She opened her eyes.
So that's what it was.
That's what Matt felt every time.
Not an idea.
Not an image.
Not a shared memory.
Real pain.
In real flesh.
She felt nauseous.
"That's… horrible."
The skeleton gave her no time.
The cannon lit up.
She opened the wings.
ZAAAP!
The beam passed beside her shoulder and burned part of the shirt.
The heat bit into her skin.
She fired the heavy gun.
BAANG!
The shot wasn't perfect.
It came out crooked.
It hit the floor in front of the skeleton.
BOOM!
The explosion sent stone and dust flying.
For a second, it gave her distance.
Just a second.
She looked toward the bow-spear.
It was too far.
'I need to get it back.'
But the skeleton seemed to know that.
Two arms moved in that direction, blocking the route.
She gritted her teeth.
'Clever.'
Matt was right.
That monster wasn't just resilient.
It thought.
It learned.
It waited.
And that terrified her.
Because she wasn't Matt.
She had his memories.
His sensations. freewebnøvel.com
His way of moving mana.
Part of his instincts.
But she didn't have his experience.
She didn't have that horrible habit of analyzing while bleeding.
She didn't have that broken calm that let him say something stupid even when a saw was about to open his chest.
She looked at the guns in her hands.
Both were damaged.
The bow-spear was far away.
The enemy was regenerating.
And Matt…
Matt wasn't coming back.
Her hands trembled.
The skeleton advanced again.
Eight arms.
Sword.
Saw.
Cannon.
Sharp fingers.
Energy slots.
Regeneration.
Patience.
She stepped back in the air.
Then another step.
Her wings moved to keep her suspended, but she no longer felt safe.
"Ah…"
The sword came down.
The voice pulled both triggers.
BANG!
BAANG!
The room filled with red.
