Oh, yet another way Requiem defies sanity for entertainment. Anything can cross its borders—fiction or nonfiction, thought or memory, fact or fantasy—and that’s not just limited to characters. Entire events can slip through, and even video games can manifest as living systems.

  Events are a discussion for another time, but video games—those are a nightmare sometimes. When a game enters Requiem, the world itself reacts as if a new page has been written into its very code. Reality bends to fit the rules of the imported system, forming self-contained layers where even lesser gods must play by the game’s logic. Death screens, level systems, checkpoints, respawns—they all become real.

  And the strangest part? The games don’t always arrive whole. Sometimes, during the transition, multiple titles fuse—mechanics overlapping, narratives tangling. An RPG might absorb a horror sim. A dating visual novel could merge with a survival sandbox. The result is something uniquely horrifying: an ecosystem of broken design and divine consequence.

  So when you enter one of these V-Dungeons, remember—not everything is what it seems. The rules may look familiar, but they were written by hands that no longer remember they were once made for a controller.

  ———

  Jack couldn’t get over it. A video-game dungeon? He’d heard passing mentions of dungeons before, but when you spent your days sprinting through life with Intermediate Rankers, you didn’t exactly have time for orientation sessions.

  And, to be fair, he hadn’t joined the Narloic Foundation for study. He’d joined to grind—to keep up with them. With her.

  The Wandering Rabbits.

  A misfit clan of Intermediate Rankers known across a half-dozen realms for their savage style and dramatic flair. They weren’t heroes or villains—just chaos wrapped in charm. Mercenaries, adventurers, and daredevils, all living for that next breathtaking fight.

  Jack hadn’t been the strongest. Not yet. As gifted as he was, he still sat at Legendary Cadet, brushing the edge of Ranker status—but even then, barely a low Ranker. He was able to keep up with The Wandering Rabbits due to his hacks. Even so, North, Calmbrand, Ozzy… all of them sat higher on the mountain. For now.

  He grinned to himself. For now.

  Because in one day—one day—he’d made progress it would take others months to achieve. His control was sharper, his instincts cleaner. Every sparring match with S?urtinaui and every punishing training session pushed him closer to that next wall.

  And this “video-game dungeon” thing? It sounded super cool.

  A place where mechanics ruled over gods. Where imagination shaped reality. Where he could finally show everyone what “Dimensional Echo Authority” could really do.

  He started whistling, a short, confident tune echoing down the ship corridor. The sound bounced off the metal walls.

  “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “Let’s see this dungeon final boss try me.”

  He was practically humming with energy when a familiar voice sliced through his daydream.

  “You seem to be in a good mood.”

  Jack turned to see Bebele standing a few paces away, the odd, thumb-shaped being in his blue-and-white Occulted Moon robe. His ring of ears flickered faintly, each one twitching with the quiet pulse of ambient sound. Jack never got used to him. The guy looked like a discarded doodle come to life.

  “Yeah,” Jack said, hands behind his head, “Going to a dungeon, finally gonna show you posers what a main character can really do.”

  Bebele’s tone didn’t change. “Sounds about right. Well, if you want to further this conversation, please come with me.”

  Jack blinked. “What?”

  But Bebele had already turned, waddling away with his rhythmic stride. No explanation. No glance back.

  Jack hesitated for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “What does that even mean—‘further this conversation’?” he muttered. Still, curiosity—and maybe boredom—got the better of him. He jogged forward, catching up.

  They walked for a while, the metal floor panels echoing beneath their steps. Bebele said nothing. Not a hum, not a word. Just the faint, steady vibration of his ears, listening to everything.

  Jack tried to lighten the mood. “Sooo… we going somewhere cool? Command room again? Maybe a secret training sim? C’mon, throw me a bone.”

  Nothing.

  He tried again, louder this time. “You know, bro, it’s rude not to answer the protagonist.”

  Still nothing.

  The silence was starting to bother him. The air felt thick—like the ship itself was holding its breath. Bebele’s gait didn’t change, but the longer they walked, the more Jack noticed something was off. The sound of his steps didn’t match the rhythm of Bebele’s. The corridor lights flickered just slightly every few seconds.

  Jack frowned. “Yo, you good?”

  Bebele’s ears twitched once. “Almost there.”

  “Almost where?”

  The stubby man didn’t respond. He turned down a narrow hall Jack didn’t remember existing before. The light above flickered again—this time staying dim. Jack slowed his pace, that creeping unease from earlier prickling at his neck.

  “Hey… Bebele?”

  Still no answer.

  “In here, please. I have something to show you.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow but followed anyway. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and he stepped into… a room. A normal room, of all things. A few desks, scattered papers, old lamps, and rows of plain wooden chairs. The walls were lined with shelves stacked unevenly with books—half pristine, half falling apart. The air smelled faintly of ink and dust, a weird contrast to the ship’s sterile metallic corridors.

  “What is this place?” Jack asked, glancing around.

  Bebele didn’t turn immediately. “This room holds information,” he said in his usual calm tone, though something in his cadence felt… off. “Records, pamphlets, notices—announcements from those who are no longer around. I organize them when I can. The process brings structure to chaos. Order to sound.”

  He moved toward a low shelf and bent down, stubby fingers brushing over a few stacked tomes until he stopped on one—small, thin, and oddly colored. Yellow and black.

  Jack frowned as Bebele lifted it with an almost ceremonial care. “That’s one ugly book cover, man.”

  Bebele ignored the comment and set it on a nearby desk. “This one is special.”

  Jack stepped forward, curiosity overtaking his sarcasm. He leaned over the desk and looked down at the book.

  It was blank.

  Every page—completely empty. No ink, no faint lines, not even a watermark.

  Jack blinked and looked up at Bebele. “Uh… cool diary, I guess? You brought me here to show me a notebook that forgot how to book?”

  Bebele’s ears twitched once, slow. “It’s not blank,” he said softly, his voice lower now. “You just haven’t started reading yet.”

  Jack opened his mouth to say something smart—but stopped.

  Because as he looked down again, faint letters began to burn themselves into the page, one by one, as though written by invisible hands dragging light through the paper.

  ————

  Caroline flicked a towel straight into a basket and turned sharply toward the Jujisn across from her. “So what happened at the table? And don’t say nothing!”

  Tinsurnae froze mid-fold, her fingers tensing around a pale blue robe. Around them, the laundry room hummed with constant motion—steam pipes hissing, dryer runes glowing, and the rhythmic sound of cloth being tossed, stacked, and smoothed. Z’tey, the tall bird woman helping them, moved gracefully between stations, brown feathers catching the lantern light, orange markings flashing whenever she turned. About thirty others worked in the background, each wearing the deep blue of the Occulted Moon, their motions almost ritualistic in precision.

  For all the chaos and strange personalities on this ship, the Occulted Moon ran a tight operation. Even chores looked like choreography. So that left little to help out with.

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  Tinsurnae exhaled, setting down the robe. “I told you—it was nothing serious.”

  “Bullshit,” Caroline shot back, her hands on her hips.

  The steam from the dryers gave everything a soft haze, and the rhythmic clack of machines filled the space with background noise. Caroline’s voice had easily cut through it, though.

  “I said, don’t say nothing,” Caroline repeated, pointing a folded sheet at her like it was a weapon.

  Tinsurnae sighed. “I’m not saying nothing.”

  “Good, because that freak-out at the table was wild. You went full Exorcist-meets-flashbang for a second.” Caroline paused, catching a towel thrown her way by Z’tey. “I couldn’t be nothing, Tinny. You looked like you saw God—and then remembered you owed him money.”

  Some of the crew snickered. Z’tey gave an amused squawk, tossing another towel into a bin. She turned her feathered head just slightly, her keen avian eyes flicking between the two before politely pretending not to listen—though everyone in the room could feel the tension.

  Tinsurnae muttered something under her breath, then finally exhaled. “It was… complicated.”

  “Complicated like ‘I tripped on my own powers,’ or complicated like ‘I remembered a nightmare that might also be real?’”

  Tinsurnae hesitated. “The second one.”

  Caroline frowned and leaned against one of the laundry machines. “Tinny, you’ve been getting more cryptic than North.”

  “I saw something,” Tinsurnae admitted finally. Her voice was quiet, but the laundry room seemed to hush around her. “A memory that didn’t feel like mine. But I know him.”

  Caroline’s face softened. “You mean the guy that dropped Jack here?”

  Tinsurnae nodded slowly. “Yes. But when I remembered, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a friendly voice or some cosmic clerical error like Jack described. It was… cold. Like something that created things just to see what they’d become. I think that’s why I blacked out. My mind tried to reject it.”

  Z’tey fluffed her feathers nervously. “A creator figure with multiple faces? That sounds dangerous.”

  Caroline crossed her arms. “More like a jerk with too much power.”

  Tinsurnae smirked faintly. “You’re not wrong.” She folded the last of the towels and handed them to Z’tey.

  Caroline threw her hands up. “Great. Multiversal cosmic meddler guy. Just what we needed on top of Supremes, gold waves, and cursed trees.”

  “Who said the Tree was cursed,” Tinsurnae said with a half-laugh, though her eyes still looked distant.

  Caroline huffed. “Going into everything as a worst case scenario. But if anything else is bothering you, don't be distant. Capeesh?”

  Tinsurnae nodded. She was glad Caroline didn’t push for more information forcefully. Besides, talking about the Vantis wasn’t the healthiest thing. And she still wasn’t sure what that vision with Rhan was. She shook her head to calm herself.

  “You ok?”

  “Yup, just getting my head in the game. Worrying about the dungeon first and then my internal tension.”

  ————

  The gym is another interesting place.

  Metallic trees pumped oxygen through glowing leaves, ceiling runes shifted through motivational phrases, and holographic trainers barked encouragement in six languages at once. A pool of glowing liquid shimmered near the far wall, doubling as both sauna and cryo-recovery pod. And in the middle of it all, Kiera was casually bench-pressing a hundred thousand tons.

  Every repetition cracked the reinforced air plating beneath her feet. Each drop of the bar sent a deep hum through the room that made trainees wince. Her yellow tank top was damp from exertion, and her purple tie somehow still managed to hang in perfect alignment.

  “So we’re sure about this?” Kiera grunted, voice steady even as she pressed the next rep. “Thirty people max, right?”

  “Confirmed,” Lythra replied, standing beside a levitating tablet that projected holographic data across her translucent arms. Her synthetic body flickered faintly with lines of code. “Entrance parameters stated only thirty unique signatures. Any more, and the dungeon won’t open. The system labels it as a Hybrid Simulation Environment—fusion class. Two data sources confirmed: ‘Call of Duty: Zombies’ and ‘Plants vs Zombies.’”

  S?urtinaui crossed her arms, ears twitching.

  Kiera smiled. “So we’re dealing with guns, hordes, and… horticulture?”

  “Essentially,” Lythra said flatly. “It appears we’ll be defending multiple zones from waves of infected and mutated flora. Estimated duration—one week..”

  Kiera finished another set, the bar ringing as she placed it back in the rack like it weighed nothing. “A week trapped in a zombie-plant crossover. Great. Who designs these things?”

  “Reality glitches, converging codebases, or a bored Supreme,” S?urtinaui said. “Take your pick.” She leaned against the console beside Lythra. “The bigger problem is the entry tunnel. If the cave’s just the staging zone, our scans won’t help. We’ll be blind once we step through.”

  “Exactly,” Lythra confirmed, swiping through floating blueprints. “The entire external topography is a decoy. The cave mouth functions like a lobby screen. Once we enter, we’re transported into the active simulation. Layouts, exits, terrain—all procedurally generated.”

  Kiera stretched, cracking her neck. “So, no maps, no teleport exits, no supply points unless we earn them. Classic roguelike setup.”

  “Which means endurance,” S?urtinaui added. “We’ll need relay rotations, rest periods, and elemental specialists who can adapt to shifting environments. Fire, poison, frost, and corrosion are the likely hazards.”

  Kiera smirked and rolled her shoulders. “Good thing I like cardio.”

  “You like violence,” Lythra corrected.

  Kiera grinned. “Same difference.”

  S?urtinaui sighed. “Then it’s settled. We brief the rest of the team in an hour.

  Kiera smiled. “Prep combat kits, ammo synthesis, and aura stabilizers.”

  S?urtinaui chuckled. “I’ll warn Magjesti not to treat this like an arcade.”

  “She’ll try anyway,” Kiera said, grabbing the bar again for another set. “But at least we’ll have good entertainment while we’re getting eaten by radioactive begonias.”

  “Also, grabbing ammo and supplies won’t be necessary,” S?urtinaui said, flicking through the holographic dungeon briefing. The map rippled, briefly showing the jagged cave mouth and then dissolving into static. “Since this is a V-Dungeon, we’ll be given what we need when entering.”

  Kiera paused mid-stretch, blinking. “Oh.”

  S?urtinaui arched an eyebrow. “First time in a dungeon?”

  Kiera shrugged. “First time in a V-Dungeon.”

  Lythra chuckled softly, her transparent frame flickering with soft green code. “That explains the enthusiasm. I’ll be staying behind—someone has to monitor the link and maintain the aura feeds from outside. I’ll probably have Bebele stay as well.” She frowned, eyes briefly dimming. “Speaking of which, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “He’s probably busy,” Kiera said with a wave of her hand. “But I’m going. I love zombies.” Her grin was sharp enough to cut metal.

  S?urtinaui rubbed her temples. “Wonderful. A blood-hungry brawler in a survival simulation.”

  “Exactly,” Kiera said proudly.

  “So it’ll be me, Magjesti, Jack, and Tinsurnae,” S?urtinaui continued, counting off her fingers. “Plus Kiera makes five. You'll pull the other twenty-five from your roster. Ideally, specialists in ranged combat, barrier reinforcement, and crowd control. Hopefully,” she added dryly, “we all survive.”

  “We should,” Lythra said. “We have resolve and determination on our side.”

  Kiera smirked. “Oh, yeah. Resolve always beats explosive, regenerating, plant-zombie amalgams.”

  S?urtinaui glanced at her, tone calm but steady. “Why are you so ready to die for this?”

  The question hung in the air for a long moment.

  Lythra’s crimson eyes dimmed, her voice quiet. “Because we’ve already died once.”

  Kiera looked over, grin fading slightly. “She’s right. Every Outlander, we all had our moments where Requiem took something from us. You stop fearing death when it stops being the worst thing that can happen.”

  “The Occulted Moon has given us purpose,” Lythra said quietly, her voice humming with the subtle vibration of power as data streams glowed faintly across her translucent skin. “And protected us. I was nothing but an NPC before this culture gave me a reason to be a person.”

  S?urtinaui tilted her head, studying her. “You mean before you joined the order?”

  Lythra nodded. “I wasn’t truly self-aware at first. I existed because the world needed me to—code in a loop. A script. Then the Moon found me, gave me will, gave me freedom. That’s what our goddess does. She doesn’t create followers; she rewrites lost things.”

  Kiera leaned against the wall, toweling sweat from her arms, the faint shimmer of aura still glowing around her from training. “You know… same for me.”

  S?urtinaui looked over.

  Kiera’s tone softened, more honest than usual. “When I first woke up here, I was pissed. Mad at everything. This world took my life away, threw me into this… avatar. I wasn’t even human anymore. I looked in the mirror and saw someone else’s face staring back—and it wasn’t me.” She laughed once, shaking her head. “But then Ozzy found me. Took me in before I went crazy. Told me I could hate it all I wanted, but I wasn’t allowed to stop living.”

  She smiled faintly, running a hand through her red hair. “Now? I kinda like this body. Stronger, faster, louder. Maybe I was meant to be this way. The Occulted Moon gave me a home, a crew, a reason to wake up. Ozzy and the goddess—they’re the only reason I didn’t just… fade out.”

  Lythra nodded, her glow pulsing a little brighter. “Ozzy helped me too. When I first came as a construct, I didn’t understand emotion or fear. He was patient. Taught me how to feel without falling apart. He said logic means nothing without a reason to protect.”

  S?urtinaui smiled. “That sounds like him.”

  Kiera grinned. “That man…. always pretending he’s some unshakable badass while secretly raising half the ship like ducklings.”

  Lythra’s lips curved. “He calls it ‘command structure.’”

  S?urtinaui smirked. “Sounds like you’re in good company.”

  “Exactly,” Kiera said, spreading her arms wide. “This life isn’t so bad once you stop comparing it to the old one. We’ve got each other, we’ve got strength, and we’ve got purpose. That’s more than most people ever get.”

  Lythra nodded, her tone firm again. “The Occulted Moon isn’t a small name either. We hold dominion over a few hundred realms now. Entire star systems kneel or trade under our banner. To some, we’re monsters. To others, saviors. But to us—”

  “Family,” Kiera finished.

  Lythra smiled. “Exactly. Family and faith. That’s why we do as our goddess commands. That’s why we won’t fail Ozzy.”

  Kiera pounded a fist into her palm, eyes sparking with violet energy. “Damn right. Now let’s go clear that dungeon. For the Moon!”

  S?urtinaui gave a small nod.

  ————

  “So does it make sense? Anything confusing?”

  Jack leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. “No. I get it now.” He grinned wide, the smug kind of grin that always came right before he did something reckless. “Everything really is lining up the way it should. This book… it’s like a message from V, right? A sign.”

  Bebele nodded once—slow, deliberate. “Someone close to him.” His ring of ears tilted on his head as if smiling. “Exactly. A sign. But it is not yet time to act on it.” He slipped the small yellow-and-black book into his robe. “We must not speak of this again. Stories unravel when told too soon. You must let things come as they will and act only when the moment demands it.”

  He tilted his head to the other side, every ear quivering faintly. “As a protagonist should. A true protagonist.”

  Jack’s grin sharpened. “Of course. I get it.” He jumped to his feet with his usual dramatic flair. “Well, I’ll go have my sexy sensi give me a few more lessons—especially now that I know all of this. Hehehaha!”

  He strode out, laughter echoing through the corridor, lighthearted and cocky as ever.

  Bebele remained perfectly still for a long moment after the door closed. Then his body twitched—a faint, unnatural jerk that didn’t belong to any normal rhythm. His form seemed to ripple, flesh pulsing like sound waves under water beneath the robe.

  The air grew colder.

  From beneath the folds of his garment, a faint gold-blue glow pulsed at his spine. A Ryun symbol, etched deep into his flesh. It wasn’t carved; it was growing, like a living brand.

  The sigil’s edges writhed with faint, golden letters. Words older than language itself.

  And as the light faded, a whisper escaped him—barely a vibration, more felt than heard.

  “The story must continue.”

  Then the glow died. He straightened his robe, calm once more. To anyone passing by, he was just Bebele—eccentric, chatty, harmless.

  But beneath that, the mark pulsed faintly still. A Story being forced into existence. One that had already chosen its protagonist… and its cost.