Metaverse of Mechas

📘 Chapter 1

Veltronia was a world of marvels and machines—its cities stitched together by steel highways, floating towers, and aerial networks of mecha-driven transport. Artificial skies glimmered with auroras born of Krono particles, and mechanical beasts roamed beneath glowing billboards that whispered dreams to children who could already code before they could walk.

But not all children dreamed.

Some simply survived.

Zeron adjusted the strap of his second-hand workbag, its seam long torn and stapled with cheap synthetic fiber. His shoes, scuffed and waterlogged, squeaked every third step as he walked the cracked sidewalk leading toward the towering structure ahead: The Voxen Guild—Veltronia's most revered Mecha Guild.

It wasn't the shining monument of power people imagined.

Not for someone like him.

He passed through the chrome-glass gates, head low, as Cogknights zipped by on hoverboards, their Krono-powered cores trailing streams of light behind them. No one noticed him. They never did.

The reception scanner didn't even beep as he walked in.

Because Zeron had no Krono.

Not a flicker. Not a pulse. Not even a data trace.

He was a ghost in a world of digital gods.

The office he worked in was buried three floors underground, past the glossy weapons labs and into the forgotten chambers labeled "Non-combat Clerical Division." He sat at his terminal, fingers dancing over holographic keyboards, processing mission logs, expenses, and requisitions for pilots who didn't even know his name.

The room smelled like recycled air and stale coffee.

"Zeron," came a sharp voice behind him. "You're late."

It was Veyna Alcor, the department supervisor—young, brilliant, smug.

Zeron stood immediately. "Apologies. My transit pass didn't scan—"

"Excuses don't build mechas," she snapped. "File the new weapon specs before lunch. Or don't bother coming back tomorrow."

He nodded. "Understood."

As she walked away, a whisper trailed her lips, meant just loud enough: "Deadweight."

He didn't respond.

Not because he couldn't.

But because if he stopped to argue with every person who looked down on him, he'd never move forward.

By evening, the world above had turned from neon glare to silver twilight. Zeron stepped out with his back bent, limbs sore. His meager credits for the day transferred to his chip: 12.4 KC—barely enough for food.

He stopped at a vending stall near the mag-line station. One rice packet. Two water cubes. That would do.

"Brother!"

A joyful shout collided into him.

Zui, his little sister, wrapped her arms around his waist. She wore her school uniform like a badge of honor, her smile radiant. Behind her stood Zake, silent, hands tucked into his hoodie, eyes observing everything.

"Did you eat, Zui?"

"Not yet! I was waiting for you. We got results today—I passed the Mech Modeling Exam!"

Zeron's face lit up. "That's amazing! I'll cook something nice tonight."

"Zake too!" she added.

The boy gave a quiet nod.

Together, the three walked home. It wasn't much—a cube-sized apartment in a stacked tower of worn-out prefab units—but it was theirs.

That night, Zeron made soup from scrap vegetables and synthetic soy blocks. They ate in laughter, under a flickering ceiling light, surrounded by shelves of broken robot parts, half-finished projects, and dreams paused by poverty.

Later, when Zui and Zake were asleep, Zeron sat alone at the small workbench in their cramped living room. He stared at a small, rusted metallic cube.

It was all he had left of his father's prototype mech core.

He held it gently, as if it might shatter from memory alone.

"Why did you both get on that plane?" he whispered.

His parents had vanished in an 'accident' an route to the World Tech Conference three years ago. The report said mechanical failure.

But Zeron had seen the footage.

There was no failure.

There was an explosion—from outside.

And every year since then, more explosions. More "incidents." Disappearances.

Something was attacking Veltronia.

But no one would listen to a powerless orphan buried in paper trails.

Until today.

The next morning, Zeron didn't make it to work.

Because a loan shark from his past showed up.

Ralph Dox, a grizzled man with cybernetic arms and a sneer built of rage and rot, blocked him in the alley near his tower.

"You owe me, Zero-boy. 30 KC."

Zeron stepped back. "I—I paid you—"

"You paid interest. The rest's still hanging."

Zeron didn't flinch, but his voice cracked. "Give me a few days. I can—"

"You have until tomorrow. Or I take your sister's tuition chip. Or worse."

The threat was clear.

Zeron returned home silent. At dinner, he lied and smiled. But inside, he was hollowed.

That night, he made a decision.

He couldn't wait for the world to recognize him.

He had to force it to.

🪐 [1 WEEK LATER]

Inside the alien slums near the outskirts of District Nine, Zeron stood in an old combat arena—illegal, rusty, forgotten by law.

He had registered under a fake ID to fight in Alien Hunt Trials—underground battles against captured low-tier invaders.

For money. And hope.

A robotic voice echoed:

"Next Participant: Z-427. Weapon: None. Krono Detected: None. Status: DISADVANTAGED."

A locked gate hissed open.

And through it, slithered a Dregon—a low-level alien drone, all jagged claws, segmented armor, and glassy blue eyes. It screeched, lunged.

Zeron dodged. Barely.

His breath was ragged. No weapon. No training. No Krono.

But his will to survive burned hotter than anything.

He ducked, grabbed a broken pole from the arena floor, and slammed it into the Dregon's leg joint. The beast shrieked. Sparks flew.

A sharp swipe ripped across Zeron's arm—blood. Pain.

But he struck again. And again.

And again.

Until the core in the creature's chest cracked.

And it exploded in a burst of blue flame.

The crowd was silent.

Then roaring.

Zeron collapsed to one knee, gasping.

The announcer stammered, "...Victory... Z-427…"

Zeron didn't hear it.

Because inside his chest—near his heart—something pulsed.

A warm, violet glow.

For the first time in his life.

🟣 Preview – Chapter 2: "Debt of Blood, Flicker of Violet"

"A strange AI begins whispering inside Zeron's mind. An offer. A choice. Meanwhile, the underworld takes notice of the Krono-less boy who just killed a Dregon with a stick. And someone… someone watching from the shadows… recognizes the glow that shouldn't exist."