The anniversary dinner at L'Elysée was supposed to be the final brick in the wall of Aisling Davis's "perfect" life.

  She caught her reflection in the polished silver spoon—blue eyes wide and darting, red hair pulled into a tight, restrictive bun, and that light dusting of freckles across her nose that she always tried to hide with heavy concealer. Craig hated them. He said they made her look like a "common farm girl" rather than the refined partner a CEO of his stature required.

  "You're fidgeting, Aisling," Craig said, his voice a smooth, dangerous silk. He adjusted his silk tie, his blonde hair perfectly coiffed. At 6'1", he commanded the room, his green eyes sharp with the habit of looking down at everyone—Aisling most of all. "It's unbecoming. You should be grateful I took the time out of the merger to bring you here."

  "I am, Craig. Truly," Aisling whispered. Her sense of self had been whittled down to a toothpick over the last three years. She was a project he had curated, a woman he had "saved" from the messiness of her own emotions.

  "Good. Now, I have a quick call to take. Stay here. Don't make a scene."

  He didn't wait for her to answer. He never did.

  Aisling sat in the suffocating silence of the five-star restaurant for twenty minutes before a strange, cold intuition pricked at her skin. She wasn't supposed to leave the table—Craig's rules were absolute—but the "Inferno" that had always simmered in her chest, a heat she'd spent years suppressing for him, was suddenly white-hot.

  She stood on trembling legs and walked toward the private suites. She heard the laughter before she saw the betrayal.

  The door to Suite 4 was cracked open. Inside, Craig had Amy Struess—Aisling's "best friend"—pinned against the mahogany desk. Amy was buxom, soft where Aisling was lean, and she was giggling as Craig's hands wandered where they shouldn't.

  "Craig, stop," Amy teased, though she made no move to push him away. "Aisling will wonder where you are."

  "Aisling is exactly where I told her to be," Craig muttered, his voice thick with a cold, narcissistic pride. "She belongs to me, Amy. She doesn't have the spine to leave, and she certainly doesn't have the brains to figure this out. She's a useful tool for my image, nothing more. You, however... you're a pleasure."

  Aisling felt something snap. It wasn't just her heart; it was the very leash she had allowed him to put on her soul.

  She pushed the door open. The heavy wood hit the wall with a bang that silenced the room.

  "Aisling!" Amy squeaked, clutching her dress.

  Craig turned, his green eyes flashing with irritation rather than guilt. "Aisling? I told you to stay put. You're overstepping."

  "I'm done," Aisling said. Her voice didn't tremble. For the first time in years, it burned. "I'm done being your project, your tool, and your victim. We are finished, Craig. And Amy? You can have him. He's as hollow as you are."

  "You aren't going anywhere," Craig stepped toward her, his face darkening. "You have nothing without me. No one will look at a girl like you twice. You're lucky I even—"

  "I said," Aisling's hand shot out, and a literal spark flew from her fingertips, "we are finished."

  The spark hit the carpet, and for a second, the room felt like a furnace. But before Craig could retaliate, the world decided to end.

  [Emergency Initialization...]

  [The World Axis has tilted 23.5 degrees.]

  [The Survival Game is now Live.]

  A voice, high-pitched and mocking, echoed through the building. In the center of the room, a cloud of black smoke coalesced into the form of a 2'6" cartoonish black cat. It floated in mid-air, its wide, toothy grin reminiscent of a nightmare.

  "Hello, meat-sacks!" the cat chirped, its tail swishing. "My name is Sus, but I'm not suspicious, I promise! Well, maybe a little. Half of you are about to turn into mana-dust! Isn't that exciting?"

  "What is this?" Craig shouted, reaching for his phone. "I'll have you arrested! I'll—"

  "Oh, hush, Blondie," Sus flicked a paw.

  A blue screen materialized in front of Aisling.

  > Status: Candidate #00004

  > Name: Aisling Davis

  > Trait: [Inferno] - Awakened.

  > Note: A heart broken is a hearth lit.

  >

  Beside her, Amy shrieked as a gold light enveloped her.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  > Candidate: Amy Struess

  > Trait: [Safe Space] - Activated.

  >

  But the "Cull" was faster. Throughout the restaurant, people began to dissolve into shimmering silver particles. Amy survived, huddled in a glowing bubble, but Craig's corporate subordinates vanished in an instant.

  "Aisling, fix this!" Craig commanded, his voice trembling. He saw a screen too.

  > Candidate: Craig Driscoll

  > Trait: [Absolute Manipulation] - Initialized.

  >

  "Fix it yourself," Aisling said. She felt the heat in her blood rising. It wasn't a burden anymore; it was a weapon.

  The restaurant walls groaned and tore away, revealing a sky the color of a bruised plum, filled with stars that pulsed like beating hearts. The literal world had tilted; gravity felt wrong, the horizon slanted at a sickening angle.

  [The First Quest: Escape the Inferno.]

  [The building will collapse in 300 seconds.]

  [Go!]

  Monsters—lumbering things with too many limbs—began to crawl through the spatial tears in the ceiling.

  "Aisling, please!" Amy cried from her bubble. "Help us!"

  Aisling looked at them. She saw the man who had broken her spirit and the woman who had helped him do it. She felt the heat on her skin, the red hair she had hated now glowing like embers.

  "I'm done helping people who only want to drown me," Aisling said.

  She turned and ran toward the shattered window. As a monster lunged at her, she didn't scream. She threw her hand forward, and a torrent of blue-orange flame incinerated the beast mid-air. She jumped from the third-story window.

  Aisling's Descent

  The sensation of falling was supposed to be terrifying, but as Aisling plummeted toward the cracked asphalt of the street below, she felt a strange, buoyant pressure against her skin. The air itself seemed to thicken, supporting her. When her boots hit the ground, the impact should have shattered her ankles. Instead, a ring of flame billowed out from under her heels, cushioning her like a jet thruster.

  She stood up, stumbling slightly as she tried to reconcile her senses. I just jumped thirty feet, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. I should be dead. Or broken.

  She looked up at the tilting skyscraper. Above, the violet sky pulsed, and the restaurant level burst into a localized supernova of orange light. The screams of the dying were muffled by the roar of the wind, which now smelled of ozone and scorched earth.

  "This can't be real," she whispered, her hands shaking. "The cat, the screens... People turning to dust."

  Panic threatened to claw its way up her throat. Everything she knew—the city, the laws of physics, her own sense of inferiority—was being rewritten in real-time. She looked at her hands. The fine, expensive lace of her gloves had burned away, but her skin was untouched. In fact, her skin looked healthier, more vibrant. The concealer she'd used to hide her freckles had flaked off, leaving her feeling exposed, yet strangely powerful.

  Was she losing her mind? Or was the world finally reflecting the chaos she had felt inside her for years?

  She forced herself to move. She couldn't stay here. The slanted streets were a maze of wreckage and bizarre, neon-colored flora that seemed to grow out of the concrete at an impossible speed. Every few feet, a translucent screen would flicker in her peripheral vision, tracking her heart rate, her "Mana Output," and her distance from the "Instance Center."

  She felt like a character in a game she hadn't asked to play. But as the fear began to settle into a cold, hard knot of resolve, she realized one thing: she wasn't Craig's project anymore. She was a survivalist.

  The Void Observation Deck

  High above the chaos, sitting on a throne of woven starlight and shadows, a man watched the screen with a predatory grin.

  Ronan Shade—known to the system as Shadow—was 6'4" of sculpted, devilishly handsome arrogance. His black hair fell over grey eyes that had seen a thousand worlds burn, but this one... this one was providing a unique vintage of entertainment.

  "Look at her," Ronan purred, his voice a deep baritone that made the air vibrate. He adjusted his dark duster, his grey eyes locked on Aisling Davis as she navigated the tilted ruins of Chicago. "She just spurned a CEO, ignored a god-sent cat, and incinerated a Rank-E Stalker without blinking."

  "She's quite prickly, My Lord," Sus appeared beside him, licking a black paw. "She even rejected the starting gift from the 'Light' faction."

  "Good," Ronan stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to have a life of its own. "I'm tired of these 'chosen ones' who weep and pray. She has a distaste for men, doesn't she? She thinks she's better off alone."

  He stepped off the edge of the platform, not falling, but gliding through the dimensions toward the broken Earth.

  "I think I'll descend," Ronan chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The system says I should just watch, but where's the fun in that? I want to see if that fire of hers can handle a little shadow. I want to see her bend... and then, I want to see her crave the very thing she's trying to burn away."

  Earth: The Ruined Streets

  Aisling leaned against a piece of jagged concrete, gasping for air. Her red hair was messy, her blue eyes sharp with a new, feral light. The silence of the street was broken only by the distant, wet sounds of monsters feeding.

  No more anchors, she told herself, the mantra repeating in her mind. No more liars. No more people telling me who I am.

  A soft, pathetic sound caught her ear—a high-pitched, desperate trill. She turned her head, her hand instinctively igniting with a small, defensive spark.

  Underneath the twisted remains of a metal bus stop bench sat a tiny, soot-covered tuxedo kitten. Its white paws were stained gray, and its wide green eyes were dilated with terror. As Aisling approached, the small creature arched its back and gave a defiant, raspy mewl. It was tiny, hungry, and completely alone in a world that had tilted off its axis.

  Aisling felt a pang in her chest that had nothing to do with Craig. She reached out, her hand's heat softening into a gentle warmth.

  "I know," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm scared too."

  The kitten sniffed her finger, then leaned its small head into her palm. Aisling scooped it up, tucking the trembling creature into the crook of her arm, beneath the protection of her jacket. The kitten dug its claws into her shoulder, clinging to her with a strength that surprised her.

  "It's just us," Aisling said firmly, looking out at the violet horizon. "No more anchors. No more liars. Just us."

  Suddenly, the air in front of her shimmered.

  > [The Sponsor 'Shadow' has sent you a gift: 'Ring of the Ember Soul'.]

  > [Description: Increases Fire Potency by 20%. A little spark for a beautiful flame.]

  > [Accept? Y/N]

  >

  Aisling stared at the screen. She remembered the diamond ring Craig had used to try and buy her silence. She remembered the way men had always offered her "gifts" with strings attached.

  "No," she snapped at the empty air, her blue eyes flashing. "I don't want your gifts. I don't want your help."

  She swiped the screen away with a violent motion, watching the pixels dissolve into nothingness.

  A few yards away, hidden in the deep gloom of a fallen skyscraper, Ronan Shade watched her. He felt a sharp, unexpected jolt of attraction as she spurned his divine offering.

  "Oh," he whispered, his grey eyes darkening with a hunger that wasn't entirely about the game. "This is going to be much more fun than I thought."