Yes, I know the fault is mostly mine but when the thread I made is more deserted than 1987 Chernobyl, it gets frustrating.
It's a difficult writing prompt (at least for me it is), but I gave it a try.
Here's what I came up with.
Marcoth chose to exit the game, at which point he found himself inside some kind of strange structure. He automatically tried to draw in mana but found that there was none.
Confused, he tried to search the body's memories. As a powerful mage, he was able to do at least too much even without mana.
He learned that the player's name was Robert. He was 18 years old and a senior in something called high school. He lived with his parents and younger sister.
Thinking about them, he felt bad for a moment, then remembered how many families these ‘players’ had torn apart. He remembered his own Lenore and hardened his heart.
There was no room for pity while his world was suffering. He would do what needed to be done, but before that, there was a bit of a problem.
How was he going to solve things when the body he was occupying was just a normal young man in a world that didn’t even have any mana?
He spent the next few weeks researching things on the internet. His interaction with his family and friends this time was awkward for him, but he felt he passed well enough.
Luckily, his efforts were all worth it, and he had a plan.
First, he brought more people from his world over. Some in key positions. Then, when everything was set, he decided he would try reason first. He didn’t think anything would come of it, but he felt that he had such a responsibility anyway.
The only issue was how he would even have the chance to communicate with people on a large scale given his identity. Perhaps he could use aid from his fellows to accomplish it, but he didn’t want the others to suffer for his own foolish sentiments, so instead he chose a more direct approach.
He chose to hold a stadium of people hostage at a major sporting event. Thus, he found himself in the awkward position of standing in front of a camera with a bunch of hostages and an explosive vest.
“The game ‘Land of Gods’ isn’t a game at all. I’m from that world, and you all need to stop the bad things you’re doing there.”
“Sure, whatever you say, buddy. Just let the people go, and we'll talk about it.”
Marcoth sighed in exasperation after his tenth attempt.
He knew it would be like this. How could it be any different?
“Listen up. This is important. Everything that is about to happen is because of what you bastards have been doing in ‘Land of Gods,’ and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop.”
“No, wait…”
Many things flashed through Marcoth’s mind in those last few moments. From his childhood, the magic academy when he first met Lenore, dropping her books, to when he last saw her going out to investigate a group of strange people. Perhaps he could have handled things in a way more beneficial to himself, but he was tired and no longer cared. Let him bear all the sin.
Boom
Simultaneously around the world, there were attacks on important infrastructure, causing panic and massive economic shutdowns.
The suffering leads to questions. As more of the perpetrators who were hunted down mentioned the game, people became suspicious of it.
No one wanted to play, fearing their bodies would be snatched. Then one day the game mysteriously disappeared from everyone's machines.
Here is what Grok AI suggest I use instead.
Marcoth awoke in a strange world, trapped in the body of a player named Robert, an 18-year-old “high school” student. He tried to draw mana, but this world had none. As a master mage, he scoured Robert’s memories: parents, a sister, a carefree life. Guilt flickered—then he recalled Lenore, his love, lost to the players’ rampages in the Lands. His world was dying. Pity could wait.
Using Robert’s “internet,” Marcoth learned of the players’ society. He contacted mages from his world, guiding them to possess key figures—coders, officials, influencers. They planned to expose the truth: Land of Gods was no game but a living world bleeding under the 4th Calamity’s heel.
Marcoth tried reason first. He hacked a global streaming platform, broadcasting a plea: “Your ‘game’ is our home. Every death you cause is real. Stop, or we’ll make you.” The players laughed, calling it a publicity stunt. Desperate, Marcoth escalated. His allies sabotaged power grids, stock markets, and server farms, sowing chaos. He stood in a stadium, an explosive vest strapped to Robert’s chest, cameras rolling.
“Land of Gods isn’t a game,” he said, voice steady. “You’re invaders. Stop, or this world suffers too.”
“Calm down, kid,” a negotiator replied. “Let’s talk.”
Marcoth sighed. He’d known they wouldn’t listen. “This is for Lenore. For all of us.”
Boom.
The blast was a signal. Across the globe, his allies struck—targeted, precise attacks on infrastructure, not lives. Panic spread. As authorities hunted the perpetrators, each captured mage spoke of the game, planting seeds of doubt. Players grew wary, fearing their bodies could be next. Then, one day, Land of Gods vanished. Marcoth’s mages, using the head mage’s server connection, had corrupted its core, erasing it from existence.
In his final moments, Marcoth saw Lenore’s smile, her books scattered on the academy floor. He’d borne the sin, but his world might yet live.
