Ren's screen faded in from blue, and with it came the wind – dry, stale, and sharp with the scent of metal.
> LOCATION: EASTBOARDEN MOUNTAIN CAVERNS, FINAL GATE
The sky above was already gone – replaced with jagged stone and flickering torchlight that basked the entire staging area in golds and reds.
He blinked.
Whoa…
Players were everywhere – squads assembling in tight formations, mages chanting buffs, assassins running gear checks, and tanks comparing shield loadouts.
Katanas. Bows. Giant hammers. Magic staffs glowing with ominous neon blue.
This wasn't a strike force. This was a goddamn army.
It's just like Avengers Endgame.
"Like what?"
We'll watch it when we get back.
Boots crunched behind him. Another login.
"Yo." Haruki's voice, unmistakeable.
Ren turned. Haruki stretched his arms, 'Celeste' slung on his arm already calling for him.
"Think we might be late." Ren said.
"Nah. We're dramatically on time. The heroes never show up first."
"And you're the hero in this scenario?" Futaba interrupted.
"Fuck! You're already here? Did you see her, Ren?"
Ren chuckled. "Yeah. I actually did this time. I just thought it'd be funny to see your reaction."
"Asshole."
Ren diverted the conversation. "So, Futaba, just about how many people are here?"
"If my sources are correct – about 150."
"150?" Ren and Haruki replied.
Haruki continued. "How'd they even gather that many people?"
"Well, all the major guilds were part of this, so a big portion of that is them. But they couldn't send everyone, so they decided to send their elite. That makes up about 70% of the strike force… and the other 30% are people like us: small squads, solo players, etc."
"Wait," Ren interrupted. "Why couldn't they send everyone?"
"Think about it. A thousand players in a cave like this? First, it'd be chaos – half of us would die from friendly fire alone. Second, the scouts only confirmed three commanders. There could be a death trap waiting at the entrance. And third – no guild wants to risk everyone on a maybe. One wipe, and they're done."
So we could all just die as soon as we enter the dungeon. Brilliant.
"Damn." Haruki answered. "Imagine trying to organise this thing. Must've been hell. Who's in charge of this operation anyways?"
Right on cue, a crackle of static burst from a nearby platform as a figure stepped up – white armour, black trim, no flair. His gear screamed elite, but quietly. A single white pauldron rested on his right shoulder, marked only by the subtle curve of a white serpent - coiled and primed to strike.
"That's the Tohma Ishida!" Haruki's eyes practically popping out of his head. "The White Serpent!"
Who?
"Listen up!" Ishida's voice echoed, calm but commanding. "We know this, people: there are three orc commanders in there – so we go in three strike groups. Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Fifty people in each. We begin in 15 minutes. Your group leader will tell you more, but know this. The Orc King dies today. Good luck everybody."
Everyone's UI flashed:
> YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED: STRIKE GROUP ALPHA
> POSITION: CENTER
> GROUP LEAD: ISHIDA
Great. I get the hotshot commander.
Ren turned to Futaba and Haruki. "What'd you guys get?"
"Charlie. Got some 'BloodSamurai' guy as my group lead. Sucks. Really wanted Ishida."
"I got Bravo." Futaba added.
"So we're all separated?"
"Looks like it." Haruki commented.
"Well, I'll see you all later, then. Try not to die." Futaba said, rye bread in hand, turning away for Strike Group Bravo.
Haruki followed suit. "Yeah. Good luck out there guys."
"See ya."
You ready, Soren?
"Of course."
> LOCATION: STRIKE GROUP ALPHA
"Alright people," Ishida announced, silencing the crowd. "We're Strike Group Alpha. The vanguard. If we collapse, the entire operation fails."
Ishida had an authoritative voice. Military, almost.
"We strike the center, and are in charge of Vorgal. From what our intel has gathered, he's the most well balanced out of all of them. Good defence. Good speed. The smartest. It'll be tough. But if we persevere – he's going down."
Cheers of agreement could be heard from the crowd.
"This man oozes leadership. How valiant."
Keep it in your pants, Soren.
"We'll further subdivide into three groups. Assault, tanks, and mages. Please see your respective sub-group, and report to your team leader."
> SUB-GROUP: ASSAULT
> TEAM LEADER: ISHIDA
***
"Alright people, we're the assault team. I handpicked most of you because the fighting will be the worst here…"
Handpicked me?
"...I know you all fight differently, so I won't tell you what to do. Just strike them fast and strike them hard."
Ishida concluded his speech with a solemn bow.
Ren turned to check his gear when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Ren, right?"
It was Ishida.
"Yeah. That's right."
"I've heard the stories. I'm not gonna hit you with that 'Emerald Flash' crap, but I've seen the clips. You're legit…"
Oh the praise! Keep it coming buddy.
"... I'll be relying on you out there."
Ishida gave a wink, a thumbs up, then jogged off.
"You really must compose yourself."
***
Ren stood before a towering, forty-foot gate of splintered wood and blackened iron – the very front of the army.
Sword in hand.
Knight in mind.
Ishida stood only a few paces ahead – stoic as ever.
"I can't believe we have The White Serpent in our group," someone whispered from behind.
"Not just that, The Bloody Samurai, The Widow, and Emerald Flash are here too!"
"Do not let it get to your head, Ren. You are one badly placed step away from death."
Thanks Mr. Optimistic. And, for your information, I wasn't letting it get to my head. Just… fuel to the fire is all.
CREEEEAK.
A sharp shriek rang out from the massive gate. Wood straining. Iron moaning from the pressure.
"Alright people! Gate's opening!" Ishida's voice cut through the noise.
The call echoed down the ranks in waves:
"Gates opening!"
"Move up!"
"This is it!"
Ren exhaled.
Guess this is it.
The doors groaned open – inch by inch – until the path was ten-men wide.
Darkness bled from the tunnel beyond. Torchlight drowned against the damp stone. The stench of smoke, sweat, and something fouler drifted out to meet them.
Ishida raised a fist. "Alpha – move in!"
Boots hit stone in unison. Shields up. Swords drawn. Mages training behind with already glowing staffs.
Then came Bravo – flanking left.
Then Charlie – sweeping wide on the right.
Three groups. Three flanks. Three points of pressure. Textbook formation.
The tunnel widened into a vast, dark, abyss.
"I can't see shit." a voice murmured next to Ren.
Then – light. Piercing, terrifying light.
Bright blue flames lit up in a clockwise movement, revealing an underground chamber – massive, circular, with spiked stone pillars and blood-stained banners hanging limp on the walls.
At its center, on jagged thrones of bone and rusted iron, sat the warlords.
> SKARM: THE FANGRUNNER
> VORGAL: THE HOLLOW-CROWNED
> BRAGGUL: THE EARTHMAW
Surrounding them?
An entire garrison of orcs, crouched in perfect silence – red eyes gleaming, blades drawn, breathing in sync.
BA-DUM! BA-DUM!
Drums.
Okay, I'm officially creeped the hell out.
BA-DUM! BA-DUM!
BA-DUM! BA-DUM!
BA-DUM! BA-DUM–
They stopped as quickly as they'd started.
Then – a single horn sounded. Not from the players. From the enemy.
SKREEEEEEEEE–
All hell broke loose. The orcs charged.
Alpha surged forward, Bravo was swallowed in a thick, black smoke, and Charlie scattered. Formations shattered. Spells detonated early. Screams mixed with steel and fire.
The entire raid had become a meat grinder. And they had just been thrown in.
***
> STRIKE GROUP BRAVO
> POSITION: LEFT FLANK
Futaba couldn't see a thing.
The smoke was dense – unnaturally so. It didn't swirl or drift. It hung. Heavy. Oppressive. Magical.
Shouts rang out around her, muffled. Spells fizzled into the dark. Metal clashed, but the enemies may as well have been ghosts.
Figures darted through the smoke. Friend? Foe? She didn't know.
She felt it. A shift in the air. Like a breath on her neck.
"Move!" Futaba shouted, throwing herself sideways.
A curved blade scraped across the space she'd just vacated.
Too close.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She hit the ground, rolled, staff already raised.
"Wind Surge!"
The spell ripped out from her center like a shockwave, thinning the smoke just enough for shapes to return – twisted silhouettes, blades drawn, eyes glowing red.
And Skarm.
He was perched on the wall. Claws dug into the stone. Grinning.
He leapt.
No time to think. No time to react. Pure instinct: "EARTH PILLAR!"
A column erupted, launching her skyward – not high enough to escape, just enough to buy a second. Skarm landed below, blade cleaving through the stone pillar. Chunks exploding out,
A fireball flew – wide.
The caster opened their mouth–
And collapsed. Just like that.
Gone. No Skarm in sight.
More blurs. More of Bravo Group wiped out.
Reverse – Skarm went for Round 2. Futaba, still falling, summoned another Earth Pillar.
It plowed into her stomach, flinging her across the battlefield, but saving her life.
That hurt. A lot.
She got up. Two more lone, headless players fell.
"Everybody! Group up!" she shouted. "It's targeting stragglers!"
She ran for a lone swordsman. Too late. He dropped dead. Skarm zipped left, then zipped right.
Futaba gritted her teeth.
You want misdirection? Two can play.
She slammed her staff into the ground.
"ICE SHARD!"
Dozens of tiny shards of ice appeared midair – a dome of glittering magic, casting fractured reflections across the smoke.
You like hiding? Let's see how you like guessing.
Now it was his turn to lose track.
From one shard, a blur. From another, nothing. Then–
There.
She turned – just in time to catch the glint of his blade.
"Overgrowth!"
Snaking vines surged up and around Skarm – not enough to hold him, but enough to slow.
"Now!"
A guild assassin flanked left. An axe-wielder to the right. Skarm darted – slashed – took out the assassin–
But the axe hit. A clean strike through the ribs.
He staggered.
Three arrows in the back.
Stagger again.
A firebolt to the face.
Skarm stumbled, bleeding fear.
Futaba raised her staff one last time.
"Frost Lance."
A shard of ice pierced his chest.
> SKARM: THE FANGRUNNER DEFEATED
It was far from silent.
The smoke began to lift. The battle still roared . But Bravo had done it. Futaba cast an Earth Wall, then dropped to a knee. Panting.
"That was insane," the axe-wielder said.
A relieved sigh.
She nodded. "Don't mess with mages."
***
> STRIKE GROUP CHARLIE
> POSITION: RIGHT FLANK
CRASH!
The first shockwave split Charlie Group in two. The hammer coming down like judgement. Bodies flew. Stone cracked. Ten of Charlie Group disappeared in a single swing.
Haruki hit the ground like a meteor, tumbling through a sliced in half orc and a discarded shield.
Ow. My ribs felt that one.
He spat dirt, rolled to his feet, and winced. Something was definitely bruised. Maybe everything.
A second quake hit – distant this time. Another slam. More silenced screams.
Looks like he's moving again.
The battlefield was a mess. The formation was gone, replaced with panicked pockets of resistance trying to fend off Braggul.
Leadership? Gone. BloodSamurai? Nowhere to be seen.
Ren's not here. Futaba's not here. Just me and you, Celeste.
He adjusted his grip. Celeste warm in his hands. A little chipped, a little stained – but still solid. Still his. Still Celeste.
He took a breath, and stepped forward.
Not fast. Not frantic.
One-one-one. That's what we do best, Celeste.
The dust cleared. Braggul came into view – a hulking slab of monster, skin like boulders, muscles like tree trunks. He towered over the other orcs, dragging his hammer behind him like a bad habit.
Braggul noticed him. Turned . Stopped walking.
Challenge accepted.
Haruki rolled his shoulder. He charged.
BOOM!
Braggul's hammer came first – wide swing, horizontal. Haruki ducked under it, boots sliding against stone. Sparks flying as metal tore across the floor behind him.
Bit too close for my liking.
He surged forward and swung Celeste up – full force, right into Braggul's gut.
CLANG!
Braggul barely flinched.
Alright, Celeste. Time to hit–
Braggul slammed a fist into the ground. A shockwave rippled out – cracks surged through the stone.
Haruki rolled – barely clearing the edge as jagged rock tore upward beneath him.
Fucking trendhopper – that's my ability!
Another ridge exploded upwards, bolting towards him.
Haruki slammed 'Celeste' into the ground. "Stone Edge!"
His own ridge stormed towards Braggul's, and both met in the middle, with a resounding:
CRASH!
The shock tore through the battlefield. Dust exploded skyward, obscuring the view – but Haruki didn't wait to see who won the head-on.
He charged, boots thundering up the Stone Edge. Every instinct screamed don't. Every muscle protested.
But 'Celeste' agreed.
Braggul emerged from the dust like a monster from myth – staggered, yes, but not falling. A crack ran across his stone-plated shoulder.
Haruki used it. He leapt, slamming his heel into Braggul's leg to launch higher. He spun 'Celeste' in a full arc.
"Take this!"
CLANG!
Braggul roared – not in rage. In pain.
His knee buckled.
"YEAHHHHH!" someone shouted behind Haruki.
"Let's get this fucker!" another added.
A flurry of attacks came next – swords, magic, arrows – other players had joined the push. Inspired. Brave. Suicidal.
Didn't matter. Haruki had opened the crack and boosted morale.
Strike Group Charlie was relentless. Braggul was getting worn down.
Tried to raise his arm? A hammer to the elbow.
Tried to raise his foot? Sword to the shin.
Alright, Celeste. Let's finish this.
"Stone Edge!"
Haruki leaped from peak to peak, careful to avoid the occasional arrow and fireball.
Braggul raised his arm one last time – wild, desperate, futile. Only able to watch as Celeste came crashing down.
CRASH!
…
> BRAGGUL: THE EARTHMAW DEFEATED
***
> STRIKE GROUP ALPHA
> POSITION: CENTER
Steel clanged. Sparks flew.
Ren spun low, blade carving through the kneecap of a howling orc berserker. He backstepped just in time for its club to miss his face by an inch.
Soren.
"I'm here."
Have I unlocked the special code for Steelthorn yet?
"No."
Great.
Ren pivoted, then slipped on a blood-soaked stone beneath his boots. An orc brute charged him.
So this is how it is – I go down to a rock.
WHOOSH!
A fireball roared across Ren, burning a hole through the brute's chest.
He looked behind him.
…
The mage noob?
"Thanks bud! I owe you one!"
The mage noob sent that same yellow-faced smiling emoji, then carried on slinging fireballs.
Talk about a redemption arc.
Ren jumped to his feet, parrying a club then slicing high.
He glanced around – bodies, players and orc alike, broken gear. It wasn't going well.
CLANG!
One, two. Another orc down.
His UI pinged:
> SKARM: THE FANGRUNNER DEFEATED
Holy shit. She actually did it.
"Perhaps the metal summon aided her."
Ren exhaled.
> BRAGGUL: THE EARTHMAW DEFEATED
…No way. Haruki too?
"That buffoon is a competent fighter after all."
Ren allowed himself one, single fist pump.
That's my team.
But then came the tremor.
The chamber shook – not like before, not just shockwaves. Collapse. The chamber walls collapsed in areas, revealing large, sprawling tunnels. From them, hundreds – no, thousands, of orcs emerged.
Soren?
"The Orc King. He is awakening."
"Fall back!" someone shouted.
It was Ishida.
Ren whipped around to see him – bleeding from his temple, armour scorched, sword cracked – standing before Vorgal, still standing, but swaying, leaking black-red ichor.
"I'll hold him," Ishida called out to the frontline. "Everyone else – back! We can't sustain this any longer. Not with their reinforcements!"
Vorgal slashed at him, clean, precise – but Ishida sidestepped with impossible grace, retaliating with a thrust that lodged into Vorgal's exposed side. The orc commander roared, but it didn't fall. Ishida pulled back.
Ren ran to Ishida's flank.
"What happened?!"
Ishida's mouth was tight. "I can beat him, but that won't win us the war. As long as the Orc King is alive – we'll be bled dry. He's the real target."
Ishida turned to him.
"Form a strike group. Small. Fast. Tactical. The rest of us here will keep these monsters locked down as long as we can. You finish it."
Ren swallowed.
"Are you… sure?"
"I've seen you fight. You've got the instincts. The edge. You won't be alone. I'll send some of my best men with you."
"He is right, Ren. You are worthy of this mantle."
Ren blinked.
Ishida turned and shouted:
"Form up! Ren, you're leading! Take who you need – get to the throne room."
Ren nodded, then turned to his UI:
> FORM PARTY
***
"You ready, Ren?" Haruki asked, arriving with a few new bruises and a fresh layer of dirt.
"Born ready."
Futaba nodded, already chewing rye bread like it was her last meal.
The Widow said nothing, checking her blades.
And the five other party members: an archer, tank, paladin, necromancer, and, of course, the noob mage were checking their gear.
"Alright then, let's–"
"Yo!"
Ren turned around.
Meat skewer guy?
He had a battle-axe in one hand, sack in the other. "Take these!"
Ren caught it and looked inside: a couple dozen potions.
"Wow. Thanks, man! You wanna come?"
"Hell no. I sell meat, not suicide.
"The meat skewer man is wise. He knows his place in this world."
Fair enough.
He jogged off back to the battlefield, decapitating an orc on his way over.
"Ahem. Alright, let's go kill a king."