Hogun adjusted the strap on his custom VR headset, exhaling with quiet satisfaction as the digital world blinked into existence. The hum of his server greeted him like an old friend—distant explosions echoed through the air, NPC soldiers marched along the walls, and zombies clawed at reinforced gates.
It was Saturday. His sacred day of creation and controlled chaos.
Or maybe... the last one.
[Hogun]: Good morning, Whiteveil. Morning to my life's work... the kingdom I might be saying goodbye to. I'll regret losing you. Can't believe this might be my last time here.
He walked slowly through the Citadel—his Citadel—built from a madman's dream and a modder's discipline. Every inch crafted by hand, a mix of duct tape, rubber ducky traps, and lines of spaghetti code. His fingertips brushed the pixelated concrete walls, textured by effort and imagination.
His army awaited him, motionless but ready. Familiar faces. Code-born comrades.
There was Shadowy13, his elite assassin squad captain—master of stealth, leader of the snipers, and keeper of secrets.
Mastiff, the hulking wall of muscle and iron, stood tall with his twin war hammers—Tax Evasion and Emotional Damage—leading the shield platoons who smashed through enemy lines like a living avalanche.
Logan, half-cyborg and all speed, flames flickering from his built-in launchers, stood at the head of the runner squads, the fastest units in the Citadel.
And then there was James—his first NPC, his most loyal creation. The second-in-command of the entire fortress. A silent sentinel who had been with him since the server's first brick was laid.
Dozens more stood beyond them, silent and waiting for a command. But today, it wasn't orders Hogun came to give—today, he felt uncertain.
[Hogun]: Looks like they're already logged into the server… Hast will probably bring Ivan with her. Red said he's bringing his eldest son, NPC—guy still insists on roleplaying a khan. Claims 7% of the world population has his bloodline, even though he's only ever touched one woman, and she left him years ago. Light's bringing Dark again—his so-called NPC "son." And Queen... she said we need to meet at SAM'S Bar.
He turned to James, who stood at ease beside him.
[Hogun]: Come on, James. We've got a meeting to attend.
Without a word, James stepped forward and followed his creator.
They walked across the Citadel grounds—past the mech bay, the shattered fountain that still sprayed confetti from an old April Fool's mod, and toward the faded neon glow of SAM'S Bar, nestled between two rusted towers and a hollowed-out tank.
The bar's doors creaked open, revealing warm, flickering lights and the scent of virtual whiskey. The place was run by two NPCs, both named Sam—a joke left behind by their creator, Sam, one of the founding players of the server. One Sam was a red-haired woman in a grease-stained apron, the other a blue-haired man with sunglasses indoors and a permanent smirk. They bantered like siblings, fought like exes, and managed the bar like it was the last piece of civilization left standing.
Queen and Sam had once been lovers, just days away from getting married. Their wedding was already coded into the server: custom animations, fireworks, even a scripted slow dance under pixelated stars. But then came the Whiteveil disaster, and everything changed.
Sam lost his life, and with him, a part of the server's soul.
He left behind a void—not just in the code, but in Queen's heart. She never rewrote him, never replaced him. Instead, she preserved his memory the only way she knew how: through the bar they'd built together.
SAM'S Bar became her sanctuary—a neon-lit time capsule of laughter, sarcasm, and digital warmth. A relic of a friend they'd never see again.
Like so many others.
[Red]: Sniper, you're late.
The speaker lounged in a shadowy booth: a man with two curved horns and ornate Eastern-style armor, his body laced with red and golden runes that pulsed faintly. Beside him stood a teen—his mirror image in blood and youth—sporting demonic red horns, darker armor, and a more savage aura.
[Light]: Red, use "Hogun." Not his Steam profile name when we're in-game.
The voice came from across the table. A man clad in flowing robes reinforced with light metal armor, four white wings tucked behind him like folded judgment. His halberd gleamed under the neon lights of his halo. At his side, a teen with two black wings leaned silently, eyes sharp.
[Hast]: Well, looks like you brought James. Doesn't that make you angry, Ivan? That your dad with someone else?
She sat with casual elegance—a girl with a very flat chest and two tall rabbit ears poking through slits in the wide brim of her feathered black hat. Her uniform was sharp: a tight black jacket over a crimson pleated skirt, leather boots laced high, and a rapier strapped at her side. Long white hair spilled down her back like moonlight over shadow.
[Ivan]: Miss Hast, it pains me more than anything to see someone else take what is mine.
The teen stood beside her, calm and composed. He wore a tailored black suit, and a sleek face mask covered the lower half of his face, concealing everything but the cold glint in his eyes.
[Hogun]: Tell the kid he's a failure. He'll never be like his brother. Or me. And he shouldn't try to be. Not like me. Not like Yore. He's got a better AI life ahead of him than a washed-up dev and a dead algorithm.
Hogun dropped into a booth like a man sitting on old memories. Without ceremony, he ordered two full chocolate cakes, then devoured both in under five minutes, jaw dislocating with a sickening pop as if biology was more of a suggestion than a rule.
[Red]: Still impressive how you dislocate your jaw and inhale cake like that. I mean—wow.
[Light]: No matter how many times I've seen that over the years, it never gets normal. Just more bizarre… and disturbing. Last time it took you seven minutes. Now five. Wonderful. Really gets you thinking about new kinds of nightmares.
[Hast]: As your friend, I'm worried. But we're not here to critique your digestive horrors. You called us, Hogun.
[Hogun]: Just waiting for Queen to get here. Apparently, she's visiting the vaults... maybe for the last time.
The table fell quiet. All eyes turned to him.
[Red]: Hogun... what do you mean "for the last time"?
But before he could answer, the sky above SAM'S Bar dimmed.
A massive red and black ship hovered overhead, casting an ominous shadow. From its undercarriage descended a woman with two sharp cat ears poking through her captain's hat. A saber rested at her waist, twin Uzis strapped to her sides, and a dark halo floated ominously above her head like a storm cloud made of memory.
[Queen]: So, Hogun. You interrupted a business meeting for this? I nearly lost the deal of the quarter. This better be good.
Hogun stood slowly. He looked at his old friend for a long moment, then took a breath that seemed to weigh a decade.
[Hogun]: I lost the rights to the server. I have to surrender it to the company tomorrow... along with all my AI development projects. This might be the last week we have before everything gets wiped. So... this is our chance to say goodbye.
A beat of silence.
[Hast / Red / Queen / Light]: WHAT?!
The shout echoed through the bar like a gunshot. Silence followed—heavy and raw.
Queen's hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her tail flicked in agitation. The halo above her dimmed to a sickly gray.
[Queen]: You can't be serious. You built that server. We built it. They can't just take it.
[Hogun]: They can and they did. Legal seizure. No appeals. No extensions. The moment I hit the end-user license on that merger, everything we created became their property. I didn't even get to say no. It was already done.
Red stood, hands flat on the table, face pale under his helmet.
[Red]: So what? We just let them shut us down? Watch years of code, of memories, of people just vanish? No. Screw that. I say we make them regret ever touching our world.
[Light]: This isn't just code. This was our home. We buried friends in that server. We raised empires. Watched people become more than themselves... and now they want to erase all of it like it was nothing?
Hast risen without a word. She stared at Hogun, expression unreadable beneath the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat.
[Hast]: So... is that why you called us? To mourn? Or to fight?
Hogun didn't respond right away. His eyes flicked toward the flickering neon behind the bar, where old photographs and user avatars were pinned like ghostly memories.
Then he spoke.
[Hogun]: I didn't call you here to mourn. I called you here to burn it all down before they can touch it.
Gasps. A beat of silence again. Then—
[Queen]: You're talking about server sabotage. Suicide. You'll be blacklisted. Arrested. Maybe worse.
Her voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air. The shadows around her flickered with the hum of the ship overhead, like war drums waiting to be struck.
[Hogun]: It was ours. Every line of code. Every bot. Every biome. Every forgotten corner of that world, we bled for it. If we can't keep it... Then they sure as hell don't get to profit off it.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small object—simple, ordinary.
A USB drive. Matte black. Etched with a tiny crimson sigil that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
[Hogun]: With this, he said, I can pull everything. Compress the full structure, user maps, AI evolution logs, core vaults—even the phantom protocols. Then I send it off-grid to one of you. Keep it alive somewhere, anywhere. Let it grow in the shadows if it has to.
He held the drive up, eyes hard. There was no tremor in his hand. No hesitation.
[Hogun]: Yeah, maybe it's a crime. But what do I have left to lose? My career? Gone. My rights? Revoked. My friends? Already halfway deleted. All I've got left is this... and the hope that someone gives a damn enough to carry it forward.
Silence stretched.
Then Hogun broke it with a small, crooked smile.
[Hogun]: Now, enough of that. There's some Zombie trashing the front lot, and I think I saw the Pasta Hydra poking its greasy head out of the back alley. Let's get a drink, load up, and spend the rest of the night doing what we do best—fighting, laughing, and making the dumbest jokes we can before the world ends.
He stood up, cracking his neck.
[Hogun]: Let's go kill that overcooked spaghetti monster. One last boss fight for old time's sake.
Around him, old friends rose one by one, weapons humming, wings unfolding, ears twitching, masks slipping into place.
The bar doors creaked open.
The sound of chaos outside—snarls, moans, and digital screeches—welcomed them like an old song.
[Red]: Callouts or chaos?
[Queen]: Chaos. Obviously.
[Light]: Just try not to dislocate your jaw again, Hogun.
[Hast]: First to stab the eye gets dessert.
They stepped out together.
One last night. One last stand.
Oh, how wrong they were.
Far across the map, where once digital lands stood solid and vibrant, the world began to stutter. A sharp glitch, a flicker in the code—and then a silent rupture. A small black hole opened in the center of the zone, at a place once filled with players, memories, and laughter.
Now, nothing.
Just an abyss where the data collapsed in on itself, consuming what remained.
Elsewhere, a vast library—the Archive of Stories—began to shimmer, its walls and shelves flickering like bad signal. Then, all at once, it vanished. Hundreds of living books screamed as their bindings unraveled, their contents torn from the server and scattered across dimensions.
Worlds that had never heard their names would now know their legends.
One of those worlds was Terra.
A world of infection, war, and survival. The stars fell that night—slow, glowing embers cascading from the heavens.
People gathered beneath them, awe and terror mixing in the streets. But what fell weren't meteors… they were books. Bound stories, leather and magic, and digital soul.
And from the lights emerged people—strangers, survivors of another existence—speaking of Legends, of battles fought on servers long deleted.
In a quiet corner of Terra, beneath a crumbling ruin, two youths with matching pink hair sat beside a fire. Dust swirled in the fading light.
The girl held a book in her lap, eyes wide, voice hushed with wonder.
The cover read: ["City of Paradise: Whiteveil — Rise and Fall."]
She clutched it like it was sacred.
The boy beside her, face shadowed, stared into the fire. His fingers curled around the hilt of a blade.
Her eyes sparkled with hope.
His face darkened with dread.
In the deep desert, wind howled over sand and steel. A lone cat girl—white-haired, green-eyed—stood beneath the burning sky. In her hands, a thick tome still glowed faintly.
She opened it, scanning the pages of myth and ruin.
[Cat Girl]: Looks like the Observers attacked that world… and its people. They won, sure. But at what cost? All that's left is a broken world.
Not far off, blood soaked the stones of a battlefield. A man strode silently among the dead, his form monstrous and noble—two vast dragon wings, twisted horns, eyes burning with mourning.
He bent over a fallen enemy and gently retrieved a half-burned book from their hands.
[Dragon Man]: Not this one too… I have to find them all. I have to rebuild the Library. That is my duty. My promise.
He turned, wings folding behind him like a shroud of mourning flame.
The world would never be the same.
The books had fallen.
And so had the veil between realities.
[Chapter end]
[Note: For those who are looking for the old chapters, you can find them in the other book with the same name, but with The {old} in the end.]