Leo spun around. Standing there was a man clad in bronze greaves and a red chiton, holding a massive hoplite shield. His face was weathered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

The soldier looked up, a fierce grin breaking across his bearded face. "They have already frozen the outer farmlands, My Lord. But with you to command the favor of the gods, we fear no frost."

Leo smiled, gripping his glowing hands into fists. The game had become his reality, and he was ready to win the match.

He rested his chin in his hand, watching a squad of Egyptian Axemen desperately trying to hold back a relentless tide of Norse Frost Giants. Golden sand met crushing ice in a clash of pixels and code. Leo smiled. He had been playing this game for over twenty years, transitioning from the scratched CD-ROMs of his childhood to this digital, polished version on his PC.

Suddenly, the screen flickered violently. A sharp, high-pitched frequency pierced the room, causing Leo to wince and cover his ears. The blue glow of the monitor intensified, blinding him. When the light subsided, the ambient hum of his computer's cooling fan was gone. Instead, he heard the heavy, rhythmic crunch of footsteps on gravel and the smell of ozone and burning cedar.