Chapter 1: A Glimpse of Fate

Max slouched into the worn leather couch of Alex's apartment, absently watching the flickering lights of the video game on the TV. His friends were immersed in their own worlds—Alex scrolling through his phone with the enthusiasm of a news anchor, Leo gripping his controller like his life depended on it, and Jess reclining with a soda. They were as lost in their distractions as Max was in his thoughts. The half-eaten pizza on the table had long grown cold, much like Max's enthusiasm for... well, everything.

Lately, everything felt off. The job hunt was dragging him into a hole, and no matter how many applications he sent out, rejection emails seemed to flood his inbox like clockwork. His social life had shriveled into a predictable routine—meet friends, hang out, but nothing new ever really happened. Even his hobbies felt stale. The thrill of life he once chased seemed distant, unreachable, like a memory that faded the more he tried to grasp it.

As he stared through the window at the city's dim, blinking lights, he wondered if he had missed something along the way. Was this what life was supposed to feel like? The noise of a late evening in the city, the tired hum of cars below, only added to his sense of restlessness.

"Hey, did you hear about the Fate's End update?" Alex's voice sliced through the air, cutting the comfortable silence. "People are going crazy over it. Forums are calling it the 'final patch.'"

Max turned his head, half-interested. Fate's End. The name tugged at his memory. He remembered playing it a few years ago. Back when he had the time and energy to dedicate hours to gaming, back when he believed games were an escape from reality. He'd sunk weeks into it—grinding, leveling up, searching for a way to beat the system, only to realize that no matter how strong you got, the game was rigged. The world was always doomed, always ended the same way. It was like life was now—no matter what you did, the result was always the same.

"Didn't they always say the world ends no matter what you do?" Max asked, more of a statement than a question.

Leo didn't even look up from his screen. "Yup, nothing's changed. You can max out, take down demon kings, collect the god-tier weapons, but in the end, Arkathul shows up and burns everything to the ground."

"It's kind of messed up," Max muttered, leaning back into the couch. "You work so hard for what? To watch everything get destroyed?"

"It's the point," Jess added, her eyes lazily drifting from her phone to Max. "That's why people love it. No matter what you do, the end is always the same. There's something cool about that."

"Cool?" Max scoffed. "What's cool about being doomed from the start?"

Alex grinned. "It's not about winning. It's about fighting against something that can't be beaten. The challenge isn't to stop Arkathul—it's to see how far you can get before the world burns. You either love it or hate it."

Max had been one of those who grew to hate it. At first, Fate's End had been everything he looked for in a game—complex, rich in lore, unforgiving. He'd been hooked. Late nights, trying to build his character, learning the ins and outs of every quest, memorizing every map. But after weeks of effort, he began to resent it. There was no payoff. Every timeline he played ended the same—Arkathul, the Outer God, appeared and wiped out everything. The game itself had become like an endless cycle of disappointment.

"I played it," Max admitted, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. "A while back. Spent too much time on it before I gave up."

Leo finally glanced at him. "You? Gave up? Didn't know that was in your vocabulary."

Max shrugged. "There's only so many times you can watch your world burn before you get tired of it."

Leo smirked. "You just didn't grind hard enough."

Jess shook her head. "Nah, I get it. It's brutal. But that's what makes it so satisfying when you actually get close to changing something—even if it's temporary. Feels like you're bending fate, even if only for a moment."

Max knew that feeling. The one time he'd gotten close—defeated the demon kings, wielded the god-tier sword—it had felt like he was right there, at the cusp of victory. But then Arkathul appeared, and in the blink of an eye, all his efforts turned to ash. The frustration had gnawed at him for days afterward.

"Yeah, well, the whole thing is pointless," Max muttered. "What's the point of playing if the world's going to end anyway?"

"Maybe that's the point," Alex said, chuckling. "Life's pointless, and we're all just delaying the inevitable."

Max turned back to the window, the glow of the city reflected faintly in the glass. The more they talked about it, the more he realized how much Fate's End mirrored how he felt lately. Life, like the game, had become a series of tasks with no real payoff. A grind with no escape. Was it the job hunt, or something deeper? The feeling that no matter what he did, nothing ever seemed to change. He was stuck, just like in the game, doomed to repeat the same loop.

"You ever think about going back to it?" Leo asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Max shook his head. "Nah. Been there, done that. Got tired of it."

"You should give it another shot," Alex said, smirking. "Who knows? Maybe you'll be the one to stop the end of the world."

Max chuckled, but the thought lingered. He had walked away from the game back then, frustrated and burnt out. But now? Something about the idea of going back was strangely appealing. It wasn't about the game itself—it was about finishing what he started. Could there really be a way to beat the system? To outsmart fate?

---

Later that night, Max sat in his dimly lit apartment. The glow from his computer screen bathed the room in soft blue light, but the world outside his window was a blur of darkness. He wasn't planning to stay up much longer. He had spent the last few hours applying for more jobs, scrolling through company websites, filling out the same forms again and again. It was all starting to feel meaningless.

As he moved to shut down his computer, something unexpected happened. The screen flickered. A notification appeared, but it wasn't from any program he had running.

"Do you wish to see the world of Fate's End for yourself?"

Max stared at the message, confusion settling in. He hadn't played the game in years. There was no reason this should be on his screen. His first instinct was to close it. This had to be some kind of glitch, or maybe even malware.

But something made him hesitate.

He thought back to the conversations earlier with his friends, to the game world that had haunted him for so long. The idea that no matter what you did, you couldn't win. It had pushed him away before, but now... now the challenge felt different. What if there was a way to change things? What if he could go back and find a way to stop the end?

His finger hovered over the mouse, ready to click the "X," but instead, he clicked "Yes."

The moment he did, the lights in his apartment flickered violently. A sudden coldness washed over him, like a gust of icy wind had blown through the room. His breath caught in his throat as the screen went black. Darkness surrounded him, pressing in from all sides, and for a moment, he felt weightless.

His heart raced. Panic surged through his veins as the sensation of falling overwhelmed him. It was as if the ground had vanished beneath him, and he was being pulled into a void. His stomach lurched, his pulse quickened, and just as the panic was about to consume him, everything stopped.

Max opened his eyes with a gasp, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breath. He wasn't in his apartment anymore.

The cold stone floor beneath him sent a shiver up his spine, and towering walls loomed around him, adorned with banners that looked unfamiliar. The room was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, eerie shadows across the stone. His heart pounded as he pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaky and weak.

He looked down at his hands—only, they weren't his hands. His fingers were longer, more defined, the skin rough and calloused. He reached up and touched his face, feeling the sharp angles of his jawline, the unfamiliar contours of someone else's features.

A dark velvet cloak draped over his shoulders, heavy and luxurious, something fit for nobility. A sword hung at his side, its polished handle glinting in the dim light. His reflection in a nearby polished shield caught his eye, and when he saw his own face—no, the Duke's face—his breath caught in his throat.

Where was he? And how was he—?

The door to the room swung open with a creak, and a man dressed in ornate armor entered. He moved with the precision of someone who had done this hundreds of times before, his steps methodical, his posture rigid. The metal of his breastplate gleamed in the flickering torchlight, and despite the grandeur of his appearance, he bowed deeply, lowering his head as if standing before royalty.

"Your Grace," the man's voice was steady, respectful, but distant. "The council awaits your command. Shall I prepare your horse for departure?"

Your Grace? Max's mind scrambled, trying to process the words. The council? A horse? None of this made sense. His heart hammered in his chest, his thoughts spinning in a thousand directions. He wanted to believe this was a dream—a vivid, strange nightmare—but the weight of the cloak on his shoulders, the cool touch of the sword at his side, the coldness of the stone beneath his feet—it all felt too real.

"Uh…" Max hesitated, his throat dry. He struggled to find the words, but his mind was still reeling. "Yes. Prepare it."

The man bowed again, then turned sharply and left the room, leaving Max standing alone in the silence.

Max's breath quickened. The Duke of Arenia? He blinked, his mind slowly piecing together the fragments of information that had been thrown at him. This wasn't just any character. He knew this name. Arenia. One of the key figures in Fate's End. The Duke was a villain, the cold and calculating noble who had set in motion the events that would lead to the fall of empires. His betrayal, his alliances—everything he did in the game led to chaos, and eventually, the end of the world.

Max stumbled toward the polished shield, his reflection staring back at him with sharp, regal features he didn't recognize. His mind raced, trying to remember the details his friends had discussed—details about the Duke, his role, his fate.

The Duke didn't make it to the end.

Max's breath caught in his throat. He had become a villain. One of the main instigators of the game's events. A man feared by his allies and hated by his enemies. And if he remembered correctly, the Duke's story ended in betrayal—by his own council. Then

Protagonist killed him long before the Outer God, Arkathul, descended to finish off the world.

I'm going to die.

The thought hit him like a hammer to the chest. Max staggered back from the shield, his heart pounding, cold sweat forming on his brow. He wasn't just trapped in this game world—he was trapped in the body of a man destined to die, a man whose ruthless nature had turned everyone around him into potential enemies. The Duke of Arenia had ruled through fear, had manipulated those closest to him, and had paid the price.

Max could feel his pulse in his ears, his breath shallow as the enormity of the situation sank in. He had five years. Five years before Arkathul appeared to destroy everything, but he wouldn't even live to see that if he didn't figure out how to survive the immediate threat. His council would betray him, his enemies would close in, and he'd be dead long before the end of the world arrived.

His fingers tightened around the edge of the shield as panic clawed at his throat. He wasn't a leader. He wasn't a manipulator. He wasn't ruthless or cold. He was just... Max. A guy who had given up on the game because it was too much. How was he supposed to survive as this man? How was he supposed to navigate this world when he didn't even remember how to play the game anymore?

Max squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm the storm of fear threatening to overwhelm him. Think, Max. Think. He had played Fate's End. He knew the game's mechanics, the structure of the world. He might not remember all the details, but he knew enough to understand what was coming.

I need a plan.

He had no choice but to play the part of the Duke. If he showed any weakness, the council would sense it, and they'd turn on him sooner rather than later. He needed to buy time, to figure out how to prevent his betrayal. The only advantage he had was that the Duke's fall wasn't supposed to happen for another couple of years. That gave him time, but not much.

His thoughts raced. He needed to learn everything he could about the Duke's current situation—who his allies were, who his enemies were, and, more importantly, who he could trust. If he could manipulate the narrative, if he could change the Duke's fate, then maybe... maybe he could survive.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. The same armored man from before stepped back inside, bowing once more.

"Your Grace, the horse is ready."

Max took a deep breath. He straightened his posture, doing his best to imitate the Duke's commanding presence—cold, distant, in control. He couldn't afford to let his fear show.

"Lead the way," Max said, his voice calm, though the effort to keep it steady took everything he had.

The man bowed again and led him through the stone corridors. As they walked, Max's mind churned, his eyes darting around, taking in the surroundings. The castle was massive, with tall arched ceilings and banners bearing the Duke's crest hanging from the walls. Everything felt imposing, built for a ruler who wielded fear as his primary weapon.

Max's pulse quickened as they stepped outside. The cool night air greeted him, and he found himself standing in the middle of a vast courtyard. Soldiers—his soldiers—stood at attention, their armor gleaming in the torchlight, their eyes forward as they awaited his orders. Horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their breath visible in the cool air.

And in the center of it all was his horse.

It wasn't like anything Max had ever seen before. The creature stood taller than any horse he'd known, its body covered in black, shimmering scales. Its eyes glowed faintly with a fiery red light, and its breath, misting in the cold, seemed to carry a faint wisp of smoke. This was no ordinary animal—it was a warhorse fit for a villain, a creature that looked as if it had been born from the depths of a nightmare.

Max swallowed hard, his mind racing. He had no idea how to ride a horse—let alone a monster like this one. But he couldn't let that show. He needed to act like the Duke, like someone who commanded respect and fear in equal measure.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and held out the reins to him, bowing deeply.

"Your Grace," the soldier said, his voice filled with reverence. "Shall we escort you to the council chamber?"

Max took the reins, his hands shaking slightly as he fought to maintain composure. He had no idea what he was walking into, but he knew one thing—if he didn't play his cards right, he wouldn't make it through the night.

With a deep breath, Max mounted the warhorse, the cold weight of the Duke's legacy settling heavily on his shoulders. He had been thrown into a world where every decision could be his last, and every ally could be his downfall.

But one thing was clear: If he wanted to survive, he'd have to become the villain they feared.