I woke up on cold stone.

  Not in my chair. Not in my room. Not in front of a screen. Just… stone. Damp. Hard. Cold.

  My palms scraped against it as I sat up, blinking at the fog rolling around me.

  I was outside.

  What the hell?

  Then I saw it.

  A chapel. Mist-wrapped, silent. Arched, crumbling stone rising in the distance—exactly how I remembered it.

  The Chapel of Anticipation. The very first zone of Elden Ring.

  This was… no, it couldn’t be real. I had to be dreaming. Or maybe I passed out during NG+7 launch and my brain decided to throw me into some lucid fantasy.

  But it felt real.

  The wind. The smell of dust and sea salt. The faint golden shimmer in the air, like Grace itself was bleeding into the sky.

  And then something flickered in the corner of my vision.

  Level: 713

  All Stats: 99

  Runes: ∞

  Limit Breaker: ACTIVE

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  A smile tugged at my lips.

  Okay. Yeah. I’m dreaming. No way this is real.

  I stood up, brushed the dirt from my cloak—and paused.

  My cloak?

  I looked down. Full gear. Just like my character. Blackened armor with gold trim. Sword at my hip. Flask pouches, rune indicators on my wrist—like some semi-holographic overlay that flickered when I focused on it.

  Still thought I was dreaming.

  “Alright then,” I muttered. “Let’s play along.”

  I stepped toward the broken bridge, exactly as I remembered it. The breeze kicked up again. I could see the distant chapel’s doors waiting, quiet.

  I flexed my fingers, just to feel them. Pulled up my status screen.

  And there it was.

  The full HUD. Just floating in front of me. Like an AR game—but sharper, clearer, realer.

  Everything was maxed.

  Health. FP. Stamina. Strength. Dex. Int. Faith. Arcane.

  The whole damn sheet glowed gold. I even had access to Limit Breaker functions. A submenu I didn’t recognize in the mod.

  Stat Ceiling: OFF

  Equipment Weight: NULLIFIED

  Grace Access: GLOBAL

  Death Reset: DISABLED

  “Death reset… disabled?” I whispered.

  So if I die—I don’t reset?

  Or… I just don’t die?

  No time to figure that out.

  Because I heard it.

  The sound of something crawling—wet, slithering, dragging.

  I turned, and there it was.

  The Grafted Scion.

  Dozens of limbs, fused into a grotesque mockery of a knight, swords clutched in nearly every hand. It scuttled from the side chapel, eyes gleaming like coals under its twisted helmet.

  In the game, it was meant to kill you. A scripted loss. Wake-up call for new players.

  But I wasn’t new.

  And this wasn’t the game.

  I cracked my neck. Drew my blade. Felt the heat of power thrumming just beneath my skin.

  “I don’t know if this is real,” I said to the Scion. “But if you’re here to kill me…”

  I smiled.

  “You’re already dead.”