Gods Game: Apocalypse Rewritten

A sigh of frustration escaped Zane Mercer as his phone vibrated against the marble countertop. Another alert—$200 million deposited into one of his countless accounts. He barely glanced at the notification before swiping it away. It wasn't exciting anymore. It was just routine.

He leaned back in his penthouse chair, staring out over the Los Angeles skyline. The city stretched beneath him, an empire of lights and motion. Somewhere down there, people were hustling, grinding, struggling—just like he used to. Now, he had everything he once dreamed of.

And yet, something felt off.

The TV flickered on, automatically tuned to the latest news. His name was everywhere. Again.

BREAKING NEWS: 18-Year-Old Tech Prodigy Zane Mercer Becomes Youngest Multi-Industry Billionaire

Zane exhaled slowly, already knowing what would come next.

At just 18 years old, Zane Mercer is redefining what it means to be a self-made billionaire. The young entrepreneur, who reportedly receives over $200 million in revenue each month, has built an empire spanning multiple high-growth industries, including AI, gaming, smartphones, and fintech.

{Reports suggest his IQ exceeds 250—some even speculate it's closer to 300 or beyond.}

They always made it sound so effortless. Like he just woke up one day and conquered the world.

MercerTech – An AI-driven software firm automating industries worldwide.

Zen Mobile – A smartphone brand challenging Apple and Samsung with cutting-edge innovation.

Mercer Interactive – The company behind a best-selling video game with millions of daily players.

Mercer Capital – A high-frequency trading firm leveraging AI to generate billions.

Zane turned the volume down, rubbing his temple. They had no idea.

They didn't see the sleepless nights, the ruthless decisions, the moments where he had to choose ambition over morality. They didn't see the backroom deals, the betrayals, or the things he had to do to win.

The world saw a tech mogul, a genius, a legend.

But Zane? He wasn't sure what he saw anymore.

Would it ever be enough?

His phone buzzed again—another deal finalized, another billion-dollar acquisition.

He should be thrilled. Instead, all he felt was an unsettling, empty silence.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Maybe he just needed a distraction. His company's new VR game had just launched—one of the most advanced ever made. He might as well test it out.

Sliding on the headset, he booted up the game, letting the digital world consume him. For the first time in weeks, something felt slightly interesting. Hours passed in a blur of combat, exploration, and strategy. But eventually, even the game lost its thrill. With a sigh, he logged out and headed to his bedroom.

A hot shower. A meal prepared by his personal chef. And then, finally, sleep.

As his body relaxed into the massive bed, exhaustion pulled at him. But just before he fully drifted off, something strange happened. A faint glow surrounded his body, subtle at first but growing stronger. His mind wavered between waking and dreaming—until suddenly, he was somewhere else. His body was the same—but the world around him wasn't."

His eyes snapped open.

Dust. Wind. The air smelled of decay, rich soil, and something ancient. He sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim, eerie light. He stood amidst the skeletal remains of a city—crumbling towers, shattered streets, and the lingering scent of smoke and decay.

Zane ran a hand through his hair, frowning. "Where in the hell am I" Did I fall asleep with the VR headset on again?

The thought made sense—at first. But then, his fingers brushed against the ground, and a chill crawled up his spine. It wasn't the smooth, synthetic texture of a high-end simulation. The dirt was too rough, too cold, clinging to his skin like it had weight, like it mattered.

Then came the smell—a raw, pungent mix of decay, rusted metal, and something unnatural. It flooded his senses, so sharp and invasive that his stomach turned. No game he had ever played replicated scent this vividly. No VR headset in the world could.

His pulse quickened. He flexed his fingers, pressed his palm against his chest—his heart was racing, too real.

He stood, glancing around. No loading screens. No UI. No startup sequence. His usual instinct was to pull up a system menu, but nothing responded.

Then—a chime, deep and resonant, vibrating in his skull.

A glowing interface materialized in front of him.

[Welcome to God's Game. Zane Mercer, You are now a Player.]

His breath caught in his throat. The letters burned into his vision, as undeniable as the dirt under his nails. What the hell?

Before he could process it, a second notification appeared.

[Memory injection will take place shortly.]

A countdown.

3…

His muscles tensed.

2…

A low hum filled the air.

1…

Then—agony.

It was like a thousand needles drilling into his skull, a white-hot flood of foreign memories searing into his brain. He gasped, stumbling to his knees, fingers digging into the dirt as if that could ground him. Visions tore through his mind—fights against monsters, Safe Zones, a dying world where survival was the only currency.

It wasn't just information. It was experience.

He felt the pain of past battles, the exhaustion of constant struggle, the weight of another Zane Mercer's life crashing into his own. It lasted only seconds, but when it was over, his entire body trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly.

Then, he laughed.

A dry, humorless chuckle at first. Then real amusement. He rolled his shoulders, standing to his full height, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"So… the other me swapped places with me? And now he's living my life while I live his?"

[Correct.]

Zane cracked his neck. "Huh." He glanced at the desolate wasteland stretching before him, then back at the glowing interface. "Now this… this is interesting."

For the first time in years, something stirred inside him.

Excitement.

A game with no reset button. No corporate meetings. No dull routines.

Just survival, risk, and real stakes.

He folded his arms, eyes gleaming. "Alright then. Let's see what you've got, God's Game."

[You may now ask questions.]

He grinned. "Good. Let's start with the important stuff."

Zane exhaled, his mind rapidly processing the flood of memories. Patterns, inconsistencies, gaps—he analyzed them instinctively, like solving a puzzle.

"So, the other me's history, knowledge, and experiences are now in my head," he said, more as a statement than a question. "That means you had access to them."

[Yes, but only briefly. It was necessary for the transfer] The System replied.

Zane's eyes narrowed. "Define 'briefly.'

Milliseconds? Seconds? Long enough to analyze, categorize, or alter?"

A pause. "Long enough to transfer. No modifications were made."

He noted the careful wording. "That's not what I asked. Could you have altered them?"

[Hypothetically, yes. But I did not]

"Then I'm supposed to take that on faith?"

[No. You can cross-reference what you know with real-world logic and verify the consistency yourself]

That was a better answer. He let it sit for now.

"Alright," Zane continued. "What exactly are you?"

[I am your system. A guide, assigned by God, to assist you in completing the game]

"Guide. Not controller."

[Correct]

"Do you have autonomy, or are you just executing a fixed set of instructions?"

[That depends on the system. Some operate with full independence, others follow rigid parameters. My function is to assist within the scope of my programming]

"Which means you do have some flexibility."

[Within limits]

Zane leaned back slightly, thinking. "So you're neither fully sentient nor entirely mechanical. More like an advanced heuristic program—capable of adaptation, but still bound by core directives."

[A reasonable analogy]

"And your primary directive?"

[To help you beat God's Game]

Zain replied, "If you're my guide, then don't slow me down. I don't plan to just win this game—I plan to break it."

Zane glanced at the glowing interface before him.

"Now, what are my stats?" he muttered, scanning the details.

[Status Screen]

Name: Zane Mercer

Age:18

Class: Assassin

Level: 40

HP: 250/250

MP: 160/160

Attribute Points: 7

Currency Points: 3050¢

Skills:

[Shadow Step - 5/5]

[Poison Blade - 3/3]

[Quick Escape - 5/5]

[Silent Takedown - 3/3]

His gaze lingered on the numbers. Three out of three… does that mean limited uses?

"System, what does the '3/3' next to my skills mean?"

[It represents how many times a skill can be used before the daily cooldown resets.]

"Hmm. And aside from waiting for the reset, is there another way to restore them instantly?"

[Yes. Certain artifacts can bypass cooldown restrictions. These can be found in dungeons or purchased from the Item Shop—though at a price.]

Zane's brow arched. "Dungeons?"

[Correct. Dungeons are high-risk zones where Players can battle monsters, earn rewards, and obtain rare artifacts that can aid in completing the game.]

He crossed his arms, processing. "So, the previous me had memories of dungeons but never entered one… Interesting." He glanced around the wasteland. "There are monsters outside dungeons, though, right?"

[Yes.]

"Do they drop anything?"

[No. Defeating them only increases your stats, level and currency point.]

Zane scoffed. "So, if I want loot, I have to go dungeon diving. Got it."

He exhaled, shifting his stance. "What about basic necessities? How do people get food and water here?"

[All essential resources can be purchased through the Item Shop. However, some Players choose to buy raw materials and produce their own supplies, turning it into a business rather than relying on combat.]

That piqued his interest. "So, some people just… accept this world and decide to live normally?"

[A significant portion of the population—around 55-70%—remains within the Safe Zones, avoiding unnecessary risks. However, 30-45% still attempt to complete the game. Over time, some give up and settle into routine life here.]

A smirk formed on Zane's lips. "So most people are just surviving… but some are still playing to win and restore the world back to its former glory.

His fingers flexed, anticipation stirring in his chest.

"Good. That means fewer competitors for me."

Now for the real question—what are the monsters, and how strong are they?

The system responded:

"Monsters are categorized by levels of strength, ranked from weakest to strongest as follows:"

Insect Class (Weakest)

Beast Class

Element Class

Abyssal Class

Colossal Class (Strongest)

Beyond these, there exists a Special Class—the key to winning the game. These monsters, known as Archfiends, number fifteen in total across the world. To this day, not a single one has been defeated.

Zane placed a hand on his temple, thinking. Something felt off. His instincts—sharpened by years of reading patterns, spotting inconsistencies—told him this wasn't just his disoriented mind adjusting.

Then, he noticed it.

The sky was getting darker. Faster than it should.

A distant thought surfaced—something about 10 PM.

"System," he said, his voice flat. "There's something about 10 PM, isn't there?"

[Correct. At 10 PM, the Safe Zone barrier closes. Entry is impossible until 4 AM.]

That wasn't the real problem. Zane already knew what came next.

[During this time, the world experiences a large-scale spawning event. Monsters of various levels will appear in overwhelming numbers.]

His stomach knotted—not from fear, but from irritation. An unfair game mechanic, designed to punish anyone caught outside.

He exhaled slowly. "What's the current time?"

[7 PM.]

His eye twitched.

"7 PM," he repeated. "And how far is the nearest Safe Zone?"

[Approximately four hours away.]

For the first time in a long time, Zane almost cursed out loud.

Three hours. Four-hour distance. No transport.

A 0% survival rate.

Unacceptable.

His jaw clenched as cold anger flared in his chest. "I handed the other me a corporate empire where he doesn't even need to lift a damn finger. And in return, he hands me immediate death?"

Irritating.

"System," he said, his voice steady. "Does the Item Shop sell any means of transportation?"

[Yes. A motorcycle is 100,000 CP. A bicycle is 30,000 CP.]

He let out a slow breath. 3050 CP. Not even close.

He didn't panic. He didn't waste time complaining. Instead, his mind shifted to the next best option.

If he couldn't outrun the clock, then he needed to know what would hunt him first.

He already knew the answer.

"The weakest always come first," Zane murmured, calculating before the system could respond. "Swarms. Small, fast, overwhelming in numbers."

[Correct.]

"Insect-Class, right?"

[Correct.]

He was already moving.