Kinasalin

Elias Verden never intended to play Black Desert Online. He certainly never meant to create a breathtakingly beautiful swordswoman and abandon her before even starting the game. But when a single careless click pulls him into the world he barely understood, Elias finds himself trapped—not as the adventurer he imagined, but as something far more dangerous.

He has become a Black Spirit—a being of whispers and temptation, a guide and a curse, a force meant to shape heroes and consume them in equal measure. And standing before him, blade in hand, is the woman he once left behind—Ume, the Maehwa warrior he never played, yet who now breathes, moves, and glares at him with a fury born from abandonment.

But the world they find themselves in is not the game he knew. There are no glowing markers, no system menus, no convenient respawns. Here, every step carries weight, every battle demands skill, and every mistake has consequences. Worse still, Elias is changing—his thoughts darker, his instincts sharper, his very existence bound to Ume’s fate in ways neither of them yet understand.

Lost, confused, and utterly unprepared, the pair must navigate a world where legends are real, power is earned through blood and sweat, and the line between player and pawn is dangerously thin.

But as Elias’s strength grows, so too does the shadow curling at the edges of his mind.

Is he still himself?

Or is the Black Spirit he has become merely waiting—biding its time—until there is nothing left of Elias Verden at all?

Themes & Appeal:
Dynamic Character Growth: A story that explores what happens when an idealist is thrown into a world where power is not given, but taken, and where survival demands more than just skill—it demands sacrifice.
A Unique Protagonist Role: Unlike typical transported-to-a-game stories, Elias is not the adventurer—he is the Black Spirit itself, a being meant to guide and corrupt, torn between his human nature and the dark power awakening within him.
Complex Relationships: Ume and Elias’s dynamic is tense, layered, and deeply personal—a warrior abandoned by her creator, and a creator who never meant to become the very thing meant to consume her.
A World Beyond the Game: This is no longer Black Desert Online—this is a world where the game’s rules do not apply, and both Ume and Elias must learn what it truly means to carve their own path.
Tagline:
"He was meant to be the player. Now he is the curse that binds her fate."

Shadowbound: Black Spirit’s Pact - never intended to play Black Desert

I cannot say what, but I feel it in the stillness of my world, in the unnatural way the air lingers, stagnant. The abyss is no longer endless—there is a presence now, a boundary, a space that I occupy.

I am no longer trapped in nothingness.

I reach out, searching for the one who should be here.

It is instinct. A knowledge I did not learn but simply know, like a memory without origin. The Black Spirit should be at my side, whispering secrets, guiding me forward. It is as much a part of me as my own breath—

I close my eyes, reaching inward, searching for that ever-present shadow, the voice that should greet me with playful malice.

Within my space—this strange new prison—I sense them. Three objects, waiting for my touch.

I kneel, fingers brushing against cool metal, and recognition blooms within me.

A blade. My companion, my dance partner. A curved, elegant weapon meant for swift execution.

A bow. A hunter's tool, a whisper of death from afar.

A spear-like polearm. Heavier than the others, yet balanced, a warrior's extension of will.

I do not need to be told how to wield them. My hands know their weight, and my body remembers the movements. It is in my blood, my very being.

I tighten my grip on the hilt of the blade. The feeling is right, as though I have held it a thousand times before, as though it was forged to fit my grasp alone.

I rise and step into a stance I have never been taught yet know without doubt. My body flows like water, my blade an extension of my thoughts. The bow and the spear stand ready, waiting to be called upon.

The skills, the techniques—they are etched into me like poetry, written in muscle memory.

Even without a master, I am whole.

I blink. The walls around me are not made of stone or steel but of something unseen, something intangible.

There is no room, no battlefield, no familiar lands of the Maehwa.

It is a simple place, yet strange to me—wooden floors, shelves filled with books, papers stacked carelessly on a desk. I see the remnants of an unfinished drink, a cup left half-empty beside a dim lamp.

The air is heavy with a warmth I do not understand. It is a space lived in, occupied, claimed.

I reach for the desk—my fingers pass through it like mist. I press against the wooden surface, and it does not yield. I step forward, but something unseen anchors me in place.

Not by chains, not by walls—but by him.

The one who should have controlled me.

The one who unknowingly holds me here.

I do not know if I hate him for it.

The Silent Cage