Chapter 1

<Prologue>

Watching the ending credits roll across the screen, I pulled off my headphones and slumped into my chair.

I’d seen this scene more times than I could count, enough that I should’ve been sick of it by now—but somehow, at this very moment, it never got old.

It’s been almost five years since this game was released.

I started about three years after launch, which means I’ve been playing it for nearly two years now.

“Man, when will I ever see all the endings?”

In those two years, I’ve only managed to see five endings.

A wry laugh slipped out, equal parts excitement and despair—the excitement of knowing there’s still so much story left, and the despair at realizing how ridiculously massive this game’s content is.

It’s amazing. Two years of play, and all I can still say is: “This game is incredible.”

An unbelievable scale. Freedom so vast it feels limitless. AI so real it’s like talking to actual people. A sprawling world with endless storytelling.

And every story changes drastically depending on which race you start as, and how.

Even if a player uses the same character and makes the same choices, at some point, the influence of the AIs flips the entire plot on its head.

Absolute madness.

This was, without exaggeration, the devil’s game that had ensnared players across the globe.

“God, I just can’t quit this thing.”

Two years in, and it’s still fresh every time.

With the story shifting depending on your character, class, and birthplace, there’s no way to “stagnate.” You might get used to it, but you can never exhaust it.

Can you believe it? Two years, and I’m still what players call a ‘clean’ user.

I swear—despite two years of play, I still know almost nothing about the game, and I’ve never done a proper run.

Sure, part of that’s my playstyle and skill level. But mostly, it’s just the game’s sheer difficulty that keeps me that way.

The difficulty is brutal. And yet, it’s so fun I can’t stop. The best kind of brutal.

When the ending credits finished, I didn’t log out. Somehow, my finger had already clicked “Create New Character.”

Originally, I’d thought about rolling a barbarian again. But since I’d just played a werewolf, and their styles overlapped, I figured I’d warm up with something different—maybe an elf.

For reference, I usually stick to a brute-force, macho playstyle—smash everything with raw strength and stupidity.

That’s part of why I’m still “clean” after two years.

I charge in like a berserker every time, and usually end up dying. Even when there’s a proper guide, I don’t bother following it.

So I don’t learn strategies, I don’t dig deep into lore, I don’t care about the worldbuilding.

I just bulldoze ahead. That’s my style. And this game, with its merciless difficulty, does not tolerate bulldozers.

I’ve raged and nearly quit more times than I can count.

‘Never played an elf before, but whatever.’

Didn’t matter. This was just a warm-up run anyway.

Part of the point was to die quickly, reset my mood, and then switch back to my usual characters.

I skipped birthplace for now.

Set potential stats… yeah, max again.

‘Elves live long, so the playtime might be drawn out. But I’ll probably die before that, so whatever.’

Death as an ending—that’s one of the main reasons this game is infamous. If you count those, then technically, I haven’t seen five endings—I’ve seen hundreds.

It’s just that the community set its own standard for what counts as a “real” ending. You could argue, “Why do players get to decide?” But since the game itself rolls credits under certain conditions, clearly the devs intended those to be the “true” endings.

Not that the devs ever confirmed it. All they ever said was: “Your play is your ending.” Just lip service, really.

Anyway, I finished customizing my elf and maxed out potential stats.

All that was left was birthplace.

And birthplace mattered—a lot.

This game forces you to play through childhood. That stage determines which job choices appear at your coming-of-age ceremony.

Until then, you can’t access the status window or any system menus. If you mess up childhood, your job options turn out ridiculous later.

Like if you grow up farming in a village, the only job option might be “Farmer.”

I learned that the hard way. Once, I wanted to try a “village-born hero” setup as a human. I wasted two weeks grinding, only to give up and restart in the capital to get the knight route. Four suicides later, I finally reset properly.

What’s the point of chopping wood and plowing fields? All I got were lumberjack and farming skills.

Even if you scavenge a sword, without a proper master, swordsmanship barely levels.

Veteran players may know workarounds, but the NPC AI here is too good. Nobody’s handing a farmer a sword. Farmers farm. Period.

So unless you steal one or pick one up, forget it. And even then, you’d have to train in actual combat. What chance does a ten-year-old kid have against wolves or monsters? Even with max potential, a kid’s still just a kid.

To make it worse, there are no hidden classes. No secret jobs. Just “Swordsman,” “Archer,” “Mage.”

Each race has a few unique spins, but they’re basically reskinned versions of the basics.

Sure, sometimes you can unlock a hero class later, but that’s rare—and it’s not some special hidden job, just the result of luck and effort.

Point is: pick the wrong birthplace, and you’re doomed to a trash character.

“If I’m born in a human city, maybe I could be a half-elf…”

But in this world, being half-anything sucks. Humans discriminate, and you lose racial talents compared to pure bloodlines.

Elves excel at archery and spirit affinity. Halves get neither at full strength.

And growing up in another race’s village? Forget it. Prejudice is so extreme, you’d get bullied to death before adulthood.

This world’s civilization level is primitive. Think Earth’s ancient times—like Greece or early Korea. No equality, no enlightenment. Other races are slaves or trash.

So if you spawn in another race’s village, you’re guaranteed slavery or death.

“Guess I’ll just pick one of the elf forests.”

Problem is, elves have the lowest survival rate in one of the main episodes: the racial wars.

Their habitats are limited to forests rich in natural energy—easy targets for fire. Even with spirit magic, they can’t withstand a barrage of flames from enemy mages.

Unless you live in the World Tree’s direct domain, you’re basically doomed.

Main episodes, by the way, are the recurring global-scale scenarios that shape the entire game world.

The term “main” came from players, not the devs. The company never officially declared them.

Anyway, in those wars, elves either flee as refugees or end up slaves. Survivors often die later from trauma—stress, depression, the slaughter of family and kin.

Sure, with max potential, maybe I could grow strong enough fast enough to survive. But war is war. One person can’t change that.

And this game has no difficulty settings. It’s all realism.

If you’re injured, you need time or healing magic. And if you die, that’s it—the character is gone.

That’s why potential stats exist, but even maxed, if your childhood goes wrong, you die early or end up with garbage jobs.

There’s a reason it takes forever to see a “true” ending.

And yet, despite its infamous cruelty, I can’t quit. That’s the devil’s game, Omega World.

“Screw it. Let’s try.”

It’s my first elf run. I’ll die a few times, get used to it, then switch back to barbarian or werewolf. Maybe orc.

But dwarf?

‘Never again.’

I shuddered at the memory of that grind, then refocused on the screen.

“Birthplace… I guess not the World Tree itself. Too hard to escape. Maybe a nearby forest.”

Surviving the racial war basically meant fleeing.

And if I die from stress, I’ll just quit. No way I’m betting my sanity on a warm-up character.

That decided, I finished character creation.

But the ending rush had faded. I was in cooldown mode. I’d save actual play for tomorrow.

And just as I clicked “Complete Character Creation”—

[Congratulations, Player! You’ve been selected for the upcoming 5th Anniversary Event! Would you like to designate this character as your event character?]

“Oh?”

A fifth-anniversary event? Omega World has events? First I’ve heard of it. Even the official site didn’t mention anything. Must be some surprise event for a select few users.

A secret event no one knew about. Pretty on-brand for Omega World.

How far are they planning to push their notoriety?

Whatever the case, I was excited. My first-ever event in this game—and being “chosen” among a few made it feel special.

Without hesitation, I clicked accept. Another message popped up.

[Warning. Once you designate this event character, there is absolutely no going back. Absolutely. Do you accept?]

My excitement chilled instantly.

Why so ominous?

Isn’t this just an event?

And no explanation of what kind of event it even is?

Suspicious, I alt-tabbed to search online.

Nothing. Not on the site, not on Google. Just unofficial fan events, company spin-offs, benchmarked copies. No mention of a real 5th anniversary event.

So it really was a secret event for a handful of players?

“What the hell? Why so shady?”

I’d never felt uneasy about a game event before.

Even so, I didn’t hesitate long.

The mouse cursor hovered over “Accept.”

“Screw it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Honestly, I didn’t think much of it.

So what if it was sketchy? It was still just a game. Worst case, I’d delete the character and start over. I figured it was just a surprise gift for randomly chosen players.

So I clicked accept. Character creation complete.

A simple, meaningless step. Just another character for another run.

Like always.

And thus, the first-ever event character of Omega World was born—
and with it, so was I.