Cast Out Tangled in Pink Scales

Pulled In Part 2

Five months later, Toren sat in the dim glow of his dorm room, surrounded by empty ramen cups and half-finished sketches. His laptop hummed softly, the screen filled with lines of code and a shimmering digital world he had built from nothing.

BeastBound Online.

His world.

His escape.

He rubbed his eyes, exhausted but proud. “Just one more test,” he muttered.

He hit ENTER.

The screen flickered.

Glitched.

Colors bled into each other like melting neon.

A low hum filled the room, vibrating through the floor, through his bones.

“What the—"

The light surged outward, swallowing the desk, the walls, the air.

Toren reached for the power button, but his hand dissolved into pixels.

The world snapped.

He gasped.

He wasn’t in his dorm.

Toren blinked hard, heart slamming against his ribs. The wooden chair creaked under him, solid and real. Sunlight warmed his face, chasing away the dorm's stale chill. His hands—fingers splayed on the table—gripped polished oak, veins pulsing under skin that felt too vivid, too alive. No pixels. No screen glare. Just the clink of a fork against porcelain as Derik speared a chunk of herb-crusted meat.

He turned.

Derik Valor sat at the head of the table—older, sharper, dressed in regal black.

Vex sat beside him, wearing a school uniform embroidered with a golden crest.

And Toren… Toren was seated across from them.

As if he belonged there.

As if he had always belonged there.

Derik looked up from his plate. “Toren,” he said, voice calm and authoritative, “we were discussing the upcoming summoning exams. Your brother expects to call forth a high-rank beast this year.”

Vex's smirk widened, eyes gleaming with that sharp, predatory confidence Toren had coded in—down to the golden crest glinting on his crisp uniform jacket. 'S-Rank, obviously. Father's drilled me since I could grip a summoning orb. Last year? A-rank wyrmling, scales like forged obsidian. This time? Something that'll shatter records.' He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest, uniform straining against broad shoulders.

Derik set his fork down with deliberate precision, wiping his mouth on a linen napkin. His black robes draped like shadows, embroidered with silver runes that caught the light. Older lines etched his face—regal, unyielding. 'Modesty has no place at this table, Vex. But accuracy does. The exams demand precision, not boasts. Toren, you've been quiet. Your preparations? The academy's standards rise each cycle. High-rank beasts don't yield to half-measures.'

Toren's mouth went dry. His throat worked, words scraping out. 'I... uh, yeah. Preparations are solid.' What the hell is happening? Brain raced—code glitch? VR hallucination? But the bread's yeasty scent curled into his nostrils, the table's grain rough under his palms. He glanced down: his own clothes had shifted. Fine tunic, embroidered vest, boots polished to a sheen. No ramen stains. No diner grease. He fit here. Perfectly.

Vex snorted, grabbing a roll and tearing it open, steam rising. 'Solid? That's your pitch? Come on, little bro. Spill. You binding that shadow panther again, or did you finally crack the rift spells Father loaned you? I saw you in the training yard yesterday—your chants wobbled on the third verse.' He buttered the bread thick, smirking around a bite. 'Don't choke on exam day. Academy overseers cull the weak ones first.'

Derik's gaze pinned Toren, calm but piercing. 'Vex speaks truth, though bluntly. Your potential runs deep, boy—deeper than most. But untapped. The Valor line summons legends: storm griffons, abyss krakens. I've watched you falter in simulations. Focus your mana flows. Tonight, we'll review your grimoire in the study. No excuses.' He poured deep red wine into a goblet, the liquid swirling like captured blood. 'Eat. Strength for the trials ahead.'

Toren forced a nod, grabbing a slice of bread to buy time. It crunched warm between his teeth, flavors exploding—butter, herbs, a hint of honey. Real. Insanely real. 'Right. The grimoire. I... reworked the binding sigils last night. Should hold an A-rank easy, maybe push S if the alignment's right.' Lies tumbled out, pieced from his own game lore. BeastBound Online. His prototype. Months of ramen-fueled nights coding beasts, rifts, exams. But this? Them? Derik's voice echoed the stepfather's chill dismissal, yet laced with expectation. Vex's taunt mirrored Levi's smug jabs. Family. His family, twisted into pixels-made-flesh.

Vex laughed, low and mocking. 'A-rank easy? Big words. Remember the mock summon last moon? Your earth golem crumbled like dry clay—nearly flattened the dummy targets and your pride.' He leaned forward, elbows thudding the table. 'Bet you ten gold I out-summon you by two ranks. Loser scrubs the beast pens for a week. Deal?'

'Vex,' Derik rumbled, voice a quiet thunder. 'Wagers sharpen the edge, but rivalry forges the blade. Toren, accept if it steels you. Refuse, and prove your doubt.' His eyes narrowed, assessing. 'The exams loom in three days. Overseers from the High Citadel arrive at dawn. Fail, and you're relegated to lesser halls—scribe work, not summoners.'

Toren's pulse thrummed. Three days? Game timeline synced? He swallowed, forcing steadiness. 'Deal. But when I pull S-rank, you'll be mucking pens and polishing my orb.' The words felt right—defiant, fitting the character's arc he'd scripted. Inside, panic coiled. How do I get out? Power down? No laptop. No dorm. Just this opulent hall, tapestries rippling in breeze from open windows, distant roars echoing from unseen pens.

Vex grinned, fist bumping the table. 'That's the spirit! Father, hear that? Little bro's growing fangs.'

Derik's lips twitched—a rare almost-smile. 'Good. Finish your plates. Training yard after midday meal. Toren, lead the first drill. Show us these reworked sigils.' He rose, robes whispering, chair scraping back.

Toren stood on numb legs, world tilting then steadying. Sunlight gildered everything—Vex's crest, Derik's silver hair, the table's laden platters. Escape? This was escape. No diner grease. No family silence. Belonging, raw and demanding.

As they filed out, Vex clapped his shoulder—hard, brotherly. 'Don't embarrass us, Tor. Valors conquer.'

Derik paused at the door, glancing back. 'Indeed. Or we break.'

The heavy oak swung shut behind them, sealing Toren in the game's heart. His world. Alive. Hungry.

Toren’s heart pounded.

This wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real.

But the warmth of the room, the weight of the chair beneath him, the sound of his own breath — it all felt terrifyingly solid.

Derik’s gaze sharpened. “And you, Toren? What rank do you expect to summon?”

Toren opened his mouth.

But he didn’t know the rules of this world.

He didn’t know the script.

He didn’t even know who he was supposed to be.

All he knew was that the last time he sat at a table with this family, they cast him out.

Now they were waiting for his answer.

And the world he created was waiting too.