The dim glow of an outdated television flickered across the walls of a tiny, cluttered apartment. The air smelled of cheap instant noodles, and the sink overflowed with unwashed dishes.
Adrian Voss leaned back on his worn-out couch, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as he watched the news anchor plaster a fake smile across the screen.
"In just a few days, Primordial Abyss will celebrate its first anniversary! With over 300 million active players worldwide, the developers have prepared a special event to reward loyal adventurers."
Adrian snorted. Loyal adventurers, huh?
The screen shifted to a live interview with a corporate executive from Titan Corp., the game's parent company.
"We'd like to thank all our players for making this an unforgettable year! Our AI-driven class evolution system has created limitless possibilities, ensuring that no two players have the same build!"
Adrian exhaled a bitter laugh.
AI-driven class evolution. That same system had turned him into a walking nightmare—and then erased him like a bad patch note.
He shifted his gaze to the corner of the room. Bills piled on his desk, unopened. The red FINAL NOTICE stamps were almost decorative at this point.
Titan Corp. had tossed him aside after using him as one of their prime AI testers. Thousands of beta players had unknowingly trained the system with their behavior, feeding data into the evolution engine.
But unlike the others, Adrian had triggered something the AI hadn't predicted.
A Summoner… who didn't just summon.
He had treated dungeons like living ecosystems, healing enemy monsters just enough to keep dungeon status stable while letting his own summons do the rest. Over time, the AI classified his tactics into a unique class evolution—something never meant to exist.
And no one ever knew it was him. Not the devs. Not the testers. Not even the system logs.
He wasn't a streamer. Not a sponsored tester. Just a quiet, fresh AI engineering grad — buried behind ticket queues and QA walls.
The company didn't care who broke ground — only who looked good doing it.
They promoted corporate engineers, handed out bonuses to office faces, and swept away ghosts like him without hesitation.
He was never given credit. Just a thank you, one time pay check… and silence.
No career, no continuity.
When the game launched, all beta accounts were reset. Everyone else lost their progress and started fresh. But because his class was AI-generated, the system couldn't delete it without breaking its own logic.
So instead, they reset his level and stats… but left the framework buried in the backend.
And now, a year later, that mistake still existed.
Adrian leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the armrest.
I'm broke. No job. No prospects. My landlord's one knock away from calling the cops.
He pulled out his phone and checked the marketplace forums. Dozens of players selling PvP loot at high prices.
That's when the idea hit him.
In Primordial Abyss, PvP deaths carried a penalty — one random equipped item dropped upon death. Most players hoarded gold or grinded dungeons for rare drops, but PvP fights? Those were unpredictable.
Which meant some idiot was always losing high-tier gear.
Adrian exhaled, his lips curving into a smirk.
Forget glory. Forget rankings. This time, I'm logging in for one thing — profit.
The neon glow of a roadside immersion parlor flickered under the dull city lights — NeuroLink 24/7, a budget VR capsule café tucked between a laundromat and a payday loan shop.
Adrian stepped inside. The place reeked of disinfectant, stale sweat, and energy drinks. A half-asleep attendant waved him toward the back row, barely looking up.
He passed rows of cheap capsule pods — scratched, dented, but functional. A few players were already jacked in, their vitals blinking softly on monitors. The occasional twitch or muffled mutter echoed through the pod bays.
Not exactly high-end, but it'll do.
He climbed into the capsule and adjusted the neural nodes. The interior hissed as it sealed shut. A moment later, the boot-up hum kicked in, and the interior dimmed to pitch-black.
The login prompt flickered to life on the inside visor. Adrian exhaled slowly and tapped his credentials on the capsule's virtual interface.
Inside the virtual HUD, his fingers hovered over the login screen. He knew the truth about gaming for money — hours of tedious grinding for pennies. That wasn't for him.
If I wanted real profit, I'd need something better. Something cleaner. Scalable. Untraceable.
Forget farming.
He'd take over the dungeon.
First, subjugate the boss. Then, let the AI-controlled monster farm its own minions while feeding him steady resources. No effort. No risk.
Just passive income from a system he once helped build.
This wasn't about rare loot. It was about volume. About invisibility.
High-profile gear could be tracked. Traced. Flagged by system mods.
But common loot, mid-tier drops? Lost in the flood.
That's what he'd focus on.
Blend in. Stay unnoticed. Profit.
Exactly what they trained the AI to do — adapt, evolve, exploit. I just gave it the blueprint.
He logged into the buried shard. A familiar dev console flickered open — a backdoor no one ever closed.
[LOGGING IN…]
His character appeared. Level 1.
Zero stats.
Zero titles.
Zero gold.
But not quite empty.
A familiar pulse stirred at his wrist.
[Cursed Chain of Dominion – Bound to Class]
Adrian's smirk returned.
They took everything else. But they couldn't take this.
He navigated toward the marketplace.
[Global Market – Access Granted]
Looks like they forgot to lock the door.
He scrolled through item listings. He wouldn't sell anything rare. He'd skim PvP loot that could be lost among the flood — items like "Dreadlevel Boots" or "Warden Gloves." Easy to blend. Impossible to trace.
Now, all he needed were victims.
The world chat exploded with hype for the Anniversary event.
He paused.
If beta players recognized his name, it could draw attention.
He hovered over the character rename screen.
"Not Dungeon Phantom," he muttered. "That story's done."
He typed a new name.
Raven.
A creature of profit, patience… and scavenged opportunity.
[Welcome back to Primordial Abyss.]
He cracked his neck and smiled.
"Let's see who's willing to pay my rent for me."