The world disintegrated into a blinding whiteness, a far cry from the dimly lit corner of his bedroom where Ravi had just spent the past dozen hours grinding away on "Aethelgard," his go-to MMORPG. One minute was navigating his character, the powerful battle mage "Shadowbane," through a particularly tough raid, the next. nothing. There was no hurt, none of the lingering sense of desperation being dragged over the precipice of existence, just this crushing feeling of. nothing. And then a curious heat spread within him, a feeling of a thousand suns exploding all at once, followed by a whirling dizziness that sent his stomach plummeting.
When Ravi's consciousness finally focused, he was stretched out on something soft and grassy-feeling. He opened his eyes, his vision acclimating to a sky a hundred times more colorful than the pale gray of his bedroom wall. It was a gorgeous blue, dotted with impossibly cotton-candy-like white clouds. It filled his lungs with thick scents of wildflowers and something faintly.enchanted. It was not his bedroom.
Panic clawed at him. He sprang to his feet, his heart racing against the confines of his chest like a rabid drum solo. His hands, always calloused from holding his gaming mouse for hours at a time, were. different. Softer. Younger. He glanced down at his body; he was younger, perhaps sixteen, and his limbs seemed somehow. stretched out, impossibly elegant. He was clad in simple, almost rustic attire; far from the sweatpants and stained sweatshirt that he'd had on moments—or rather, ages —ago.
He gazed about frantically, his gaze skimming the stunning landscape. Towering trees, leaves shining with a soft, otherworldly light, stretched above. Unnatural, glowing flora sent soft illumination through the air and cast long, waltzing shadows on the ground. Far away, snow-covered peaks broke through the skies, peaks lost within a swirling cloud of purple. It was unbearably stunning, something torn from the finest fantasy game engine possible. Only. this was real. Far too real.
A cold sweat trickled over his face as a dread thought wormed its way into his mind: He was dead. Not game over, like the countless times before that, but really, irrevocably dead. The panic threatened to overwhelm him, but just as abruptly as the fear had flared up within him, a curious calm descended. After all, he'd played hours on end in the virtual realities of games like "Aethelgard." He'd battled mythic monsters, overcome seemingly-impenetrable dungeons, and even (in the virtual sense) died more times than he could count. This. this was just another level. Another game. One a shade more. permanent.
Then, he felt it. An influx of power so great, so intense, that it threatened to knock him off balance. It was an energy running through his veins, a raw power that vibrated on a primeval hum. He lifted his hand involuntarily, and a shining, iridescent sphere of power condensed into his palm. It vibrated with a soft light, imbued with a feeling of. infinite possibility.
He carefully concentrated his mind, trying to master the unusual power. To his surprise, it listened. The orb expanded, intensifying into a blazing light that lit the forest around him with a stunning spectacle. He felt. powerful. Inconceivably, absurdly powerful. He could likely blow that mountain away on a sneeze. He carefully set the orb back down, the power fading as his attention was broken. That was not normal power. That was. god-like.
A wave of bewildered amusement spread over him. "Wait, was this real? Oops," he grunted to himself as his mind was already making plans for a quick exit. This world that he knew instinctively was Aerthos was definitely beyond anything that had happened in any game. And having this much power, the last thing this world needed was unwanted attention. He was already thinking of the crowds of adventurers, knights, and likely over-zealous clerics clamoring for his attention. No, thank you. He liked his anonymity.
His plan was decided almost immediately: blend in and keep up the facade of a mysterious, aloof figure, and preferably steer clear of any serious fights. He'd read enough light novels and watched enough anime to know how these types of stories went. Overpowered leaders never lasted long if they played by the wrong cards. And he sure as heck did not want to be another predictable, dull hero. No way. He would be the secret creator, the puppeteer pulling the strings behind the scenes. He would be. cool. Incredibly, unbelievably, mysteriously cool.
The initial step was developing a credible persona. He required a past, a mythos, a complete religion centered about him. He chose the title of his group as the "Genesis Veil," a mysterious group of true believers who thought him the Origin of All Things. He'd develop a legend about him, a tale so intricate and intriguing that it would enchant his followers while also confusing potential attackers. It was the best means of keeping him incognito while also benefiting from followers. And perhaps a couple of committed female followers wouldn't be a bad idea.
The following weeks were a blur of meticulously conceived moves and dazzling acts of improvisation. He selected a secluded area far from any sizable towns or cities where he set up his operational center. He forged a personality - remote, mysterious, having the potential for brutal destruction as well as a near unsettling tranquility. He fashioned enigmatic statements, oblique enough to be subject to interpretation, yet augmented by just enough of the kind of mystical hooey that would keep his followers mesmerized. He'd allow them to fill in the gaps. Let them believe.
His initial followers came near enough as if summoned by an intangible thread. They were a most interesting assortment of people: a battle-roughened warrior woman who had molten gold eyes where most people do not have a visible iris; a sly rogue who had a talent for melting away into the background like a ghost; a venerable scholar who knew a wealth of history about Aerthos; and a very adept healer who was particularly skilled at potions more potent than anything he'd have imagined in any game. There was a reserved, near-gossamer mage as well, who hummed quietly beneath her serene surface, and turned out to be a vital asset. He simply knew this was just the start.
Every interaction was a scripted production. His off-hand remarks, made while adopting a deliberate nonchalance, were mistakenly taken as divine dictum. A careless remark regarding the approaching harvest, made by way of a sly smile, was a harbinger guaranteeing a fruitful yield. An off-hand remark regarding a possible attack set up by the surrounding peaks initiated a preventive attack on the part of his followers, foiling what might have turned into a catastrophic invasion.
The Genesis Veil that started as a small group of followers expanded, fueled by the imagined power and prophecy of the self-proclaimed deity – a deity that was actually a rather gifted, rather powerful, teenager who happened to die and find himself transported to a different world altogether.
The irony was not lost on Ravi. He, a cynical teen who'd spent most of his life stuck on a screen, was now unintentionally dictating the destiny of a world he'd just discovered. His spur-of-the-moment pronouncements, made as a joke or just a distraction, were determining the fate of Aerthos in ways that even he did not fully understand. He was, in a strange, convoluted way, living the plot of one of his favorite light novels. And yet. it felt. very much more realistic than any virtual reality could possibly be. His heart racing; a rush ran through his veins that had nothing at all to do with any video game high score. He was playing for keeps. And thus far, was winning. But for how long could this subterfuge keep going on? The answer, he knew, was much more intricate, and possibly more horrific, than even he'd conceived. He was a teenager after all - albeit a very powerful, unintentional god.