Location – Echo of a Dying Star: Pre-Raid Lobby.
The sky stretched overhead like faded parchment, a pale and faded blue, over an empty world.
Beneath that silent sky sat the towering Colossus—a crumbling god carved in acanthite, seated in a protective position.
And upon that statue, seated on its shoulders, arms, and even within its broken crown… were players. Thousands upon thousands of them, all in unorganised formations. All of them clad in a variety of armours and weapons, carrying various guild banners and sigils of all different colours.
The entire server's elite, gathered in one place.
"This is the largest Raid Team I have ever even seen," said a burly man with pointed ears and silver-blonde hair. His voice was low, yet it carried without effort. He wore a dark, minimalist tunic, designed for speed and archers, and slung across his back was a war-bow as long as he was tall, wrapped in black cloth.
"Let alone being a part of it… This is insane."
He turned back toward his guild — six players camped around a loose cluster of smooth silver stones.
One of them, cloaked in layered crimson robes, flicked open a holographic screen with a motion of his gloved fingers.
[77,261 / 100,000 Players Ready]
The warlock sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
"Looks like we'll be here a few more minutes. That last twenty-three thousand are probably AFK or reconfiguring builds…"
A girl in light silver armour leaned against one of the stones, arms crossed, twin blades sheathed at her back.
"Why the long face, Mordekai? Are you so impatient that you can't wait a few more minutes?"
"It's not that," the warlock grumbled, his eyes narrowed.
"I'm just trying to wrap my head around something. How OP would the Raid Boss have to be that we need a full hundred thousand players just to trigger the fight?" He said with a tired face.
The golden-armoured paladin, standing like a statue beside his shield, couldn't help but agree. As did the titanic barbarian, and the assassin.
That's when the archer — their Guild Leader — spoke again.
"Guys…It's not a Raid Boss…"
The words hit like a hammer. The others turned toward him as one.
"Huh…?" The paladin was the only one to vocalise his confusion. But they were all thinking the same.
The Guild Leader looked between them in equal confusion, as if they were missing common knowledge.
"You didn't know?" he asked, incredulous.
"This isn't a Raid Boss Event… This is a Player Challenge…"
Silence. The words hung like a guillotine.
"A… what?" The warlock rasped, all colour draining from his face.
"That's absurd. We're in a Raid Lobby, there is a raid portal over there. How is this not a Boss Raid?"
"Yeah."
His guildmates murmured in agreement. To which The Guild Leader grinned — not mockingly, but with a trace of disbelief, as if he had the same reaction. He scratched the back of his neck as he explained.
"Apparently, the guy we're up against put up some ridiculous challenge conditions. Full-tier 9 level requirements. A hundred thousand minimum. No resets. No revives. Loser takes a massive penalty."
He paused, letting the list sink in.
"But…" he continued, voice light and casual.
"Our Raid Leader, the real one running this whole thing. BigBallzDeep69. He's got a major vendetta. He's been on a warpath to take this specific player down. For like… Months. Put out bounties. Promised rare loot to any guild that participated. Theres a whole damn forum page just of theories on why this guy hates him so much."
He spread his arms as if to say, See? No big deal.
"So yeah — he's basically paying people just to fill the roster. That's us. We're just seat-fillers. Free gold, easy loot. We're not expected to do jack."
The others just stared.
"You're telling me... All of these players…" The warlock said slowly, turning around to look at the countless players that stretched out like an endless sea.
"Yup."
"And we're not worried about that?" the twin-blade girl asked, eyes narrowing at the Guild Leader and her increasingly composed team members.
"Because that sounds like the setup to a f—ing massacre…" She said, only to stop as she realised the beep that came from her mouth.
"Okay… Which F—ing P—y turned on the profanity filter!?"
The Guild Leader let out a relaxed chuckle as he dropped back onto one of the silver stones, arms spread like he was on vacation.
"Relax, will you? He's just one guy. Just some PvP psycho who pissed off the wrong Raid Captain. I'm telling you. This is a gold-farm gig, man. Trust me."
"Has my expert leadership ever let any of you astray?"
"Yes."
"Definitely."
"Multiple times."
The responses came rapid-fire, deadpan, and far too practised.
The Guild Leader scowled. "That's slander, and I refuse to acknowledge it."
The red-robed warlock couldn't help but interject. He narrowed his eyes as he asked.
"You mentioned the loser has some crazy death penalties. Exactly how crazy are we talking?"
The Guild Leader glanced at each of his members to see that they were also leaning in curiously.
"Seriously? Did none of you read the invite I sent you?"
One by one, his teammates averted their gazes sheepishly.
***
At the centre crown of Colossus, a dark silhouette sat alone before a glowing, seething portal. Scarlet wisps curled from the edges like fire.
He sat motionless, draped in layered black like a living shadow. His face, mostly concealed beneath a tattered hood, revealed only glimpses of onyx skin covered in scars and two faintly glowing violet eyes.
A gauntleted hand broke the silence, tapping his shoulder.
"Hey Ballz. We're almost at ninety thousand."
Before him, Lancelot stood clad in full battle armour, a towering lancer of chrome and black plating etched with runes of past campaigns.
He didn't respond immediately, he slowly rose to his feet. His fingers hovered over a holographic interface materialising from his gauntlet.
[89,867 / 100,000 Players Ready]
"To be honest, Lancelot," he said, his voice low with menacing intent.
"I thought this run would flop like the last two. But here we are—ninety thousand and climbing."
He turned fully to Lancelot, placing a firm hand on his shoulder with more force than necessary.
"We're finally going to get that fucker!"
His violet eyes flared, burning with madness. Not erratic, but a cold, focused rage forged from failure and obsession. Lancelot found his back slick with cold sweat.
"Uh… yeah, man," he said awkwardly, shifting slightly under the weight of BigBallzDeep69's stare.
"We sure are." He tried to laugh, but the sound died in his throat.
Step. Step.
Lancelot and Ballz turned as they heard the familiar heavy clanking footfalls across the ancient platform. And before their eyes was a knight in shining gold armour. Pristine and polished to a mirror finish.
The plumes on his helm flowed like fire, and his cape billowed dramatically despite the still air.
BigBallzDeep69's expression didn't shift, but Lancelot rolled his eyes with exaggerated relief.
"Took you long enough, Pegg," he muttered, sliding out from Ballz's grip and brushing his shoulder.
The golden knight came to a halt, one gauntleted hand raised in greeting, the other resting casually on the hilt of a blade too ornate for practicality.
"So… Hey, guys," Sir Peggington the Magnificent said, his voice bright and chipper, and seemingly oblivious to the earlier tension.
"I have an idea."
The words lingered awkwardly in the air, like someone suggesting karaoke at a funeral. Taking the silence as confirmation to keep going, Pegg continued.
"So... if the Star Sword drops, right? I was thinking... maybe we, you know, give it to me. That way, we don't have to stress about whether I get it or not. Problem solved."
He nodded, as if he'd just proposed world peace.
"You know. For efficiency."
***
Location — Unknown.
The stench of blood and torn flesh hung thick in the air, mingling with the deafening roars of battle. Screams of agony, the clash of steel, the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground—it was chaos.
The battlefield stretched endlessly, a grotesque sea of corpses and shattered weapons. Overhead, the fractured remains of a scarlet moon rained down upon what was once Earth, painting the sky with streaks of fire and destruction.
Then, as if the apocalypse itself had opened its grotesque maw, black portals began to rupture across the battlefield.
Horrific creatures manifest from them, their forms indescribable and insidious. As if manifestations of the most horrible nightmares imaginable.
Corpses littered the ground, blood pooled up to the knees, making it significantly harder to move, let alone fight.
Still, the soldiers persevered.
But convictions meant nothing to Him.
A portal unlike the others tore open, its size alone swallowing the battlefield in shadow. A single, armoured foot stepped through—black steel, etched with ancient scars of war.
He is here.
Clad in abyssal armour, its form pulsed with a crimson glow as if veins of molten fury ran beneath the surface. In one hand, it gripped a massive Zweihänder, its edges permanently stained with the blood of countless victims.
"What the fuck..."
"Nobody told me He was the one we were challenging!"
"It's fucking Anti-Life!!!"
The creature barely acknowledged the soldiers before it. With a single, effortless wave of its sword
SPLATTER!
The front lines were erased. Not cut down, not slain—erased. Only a blood mist was left as proof of their previous existence. Behind that mist, four figures remained, drenched in the blood of their fallen comrades.
"What the fuck, Ballz?!" One of the four figures shouted at their leader.
"I thought you said he was debuffed on this map, bro!" Another shouted.
A third player yelled, "Whose bright idea was it to pick an apocalypse map against the rank-one player running a full-on Demon King Build?! Are you stupid?!"
"IT SAYS HE IS! GODDAMMIT!" The centre figure, the raid leader, shouted in indignation.
Unlike the heroes expected, the demonic figure did not wait for them to prepare themselves.
Suddenly—
BOOOM!
Before they could even move, the battlefield detonated. In an instant, three of them were reduced to dust, their bodies never even registering pain before being obliterated.
The large black figure grins madly, eyes red with uncontrollable fury, as it stands in the centre of the crater it made with a mere stomp of its metal foot.
The last remaining soldier barely turned his head in time—
Shing!
The black blade roared past him, missing his neck by a hair's breadth. But he wasn't fast enough.
CRACK! WHOOSH!
A boot crashed into his ribs with the force of a truck. The sound of bones shattering reached the ears of the violent figure as the soldier's body launched skyward like a rag doll.
The demon was already grinning psychotically.
Eyes ablaze with bloodlust, it bent its knees and shot into the air like a jet, closing the distance in an instant.
"RAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!!"
BOOOOOOM!!
The sword came down like divine judgment. The earth beneath them shattered as a crater swallowed the soldier.
Dust and debris settled in the eerie silence. With a single motion, the demon waves away the smoke, revealing the lifeless body of the hero. Pinned, broken and defeated.
Before the soldier's dimming eyes, a screen flickered to life.
A single phrase appeared, glowing ominously.
[GAME OVER]
Above the demonic figure's head, another screen appeared.
[Winner: BucketHatOnMyHeadLikeABoss]
[Congratulations!]
***
Location — New Caelwyn, Guonstead.
A young man angrily steps out of his Game-Pod, walking over to the half-destroyed punching bag in his room.
BANG! POW! POW! THUD!
He launches a series of random attacks with no technique; his only goal is to unleash the aggression within him.
But he was destined to be disappointed. No matter how much he attacked it, his anger never subsided.
He grabbed his Connector from his desk drawer, and with a single tap on one of the beads, a holographic screen, with a keyboard attached, appeared before his eyes.
-Get every member of the raid team to read all of his profiles. I want every single one of his usernames listed by tonight.
***
Location — Room #1, Year 1 Male Dormitory, Glory Academy | New Calendar, Post-Great Cataclysm. Sunhold. Year 23 (Earth Year: 2224)
Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep.
The frustratingly annoying sound of an alarm fills the room. Ordinarily, this would annoy the teen who is currently walking out of the Game-Pod. However, the sound of a hearty laugh drowned out the sound of the alarm, momentarily.
"Nothing like starting the day with some mass genocide," He mutters, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "It's a good fuckin' morning."
Bam!
The young man smacks the alarm away with a sharp slap that seems to come out of nowhere.
"E.V.E., what is my schedule for today?" He asks his A.I. while gazing lovingly at his Game-Pod.
Then, a holographic screen appeared on his wall by the TV. Which he briefly glances at.
[Schedule for P-GC: Year-23, Sunhold, Day 51]
[Current Time: 72:05]
— 81:00 to 94:30: History with Mr Reidir
— 96:45 to 121:30: Combat Arena with Mavena
— 130:30 — …
The list continued to scroll, E.V.E.'s voice reading it off in the background—but he'd already tuned out
A soft pulse lit up on the beaded black bracelet around his wrist. A message icon appeared on his Connector, stealing his attention.
He opened the message to see the usernames of the players he just killed, spamming him with repeated angry messages.
A 'gentle' smile crept up his face, his eyes filled with 'kindness' as he replied swiftly.
-L bro
-Stay mad
-Skill issue.exe
...
-Loading Screen Warrior
-Brain Patch Failed
-Low-Ping Loser
...
-Fuck you
After coming up with all the insults he could imagine. He clicks send with a hearty chuckle—the rage-filled messages continue, to which his smile becomes even brighter.
'Yes. Keep seething. This is what I live for.'
His attention is brought back to E.V.E., as he finally registers her previous words.
"Did you say arena? Also, who is Mavena?"
He was excited at the prospect of combat class, but he was confused about who this new Combat Instructor was.
E.V.E. judged the first question to be rhetorical, so she elected to answer the second question, and a holographic screen appeared before the young man's eyes.
[Mavena {Surname Unregistered}, Age: 54, Height: 6'8 (207.264cm), Weight: {Unregistered}, Background: Unknown; however, speculation suggests that she may be a retired military official.]
"Hmmm," The young man hums in acknowledgement, nodding absentmindedly as he wanders into the kitchen. He takes out a box of cereal, a bowl and a carton of milk with a casual air.
"Captain Crisp, the breakfast of the gods…" He muttered to himself, his tone dripping with reverence.
He poured the milk first—because, of course, he is a lunatic—followed by the cereal, and then, for reasons no sane mind could comprehend, shoved the bowl into the microwave—to achieve nothing but getting the bowl hot.
***
The young man finishes his breakfast while in the bath.
His wrist buzzed—he glanced at the black bracelet around his wrist, noticing the calling icon flashing on one of the beads.
With a tired sigh, he rolls his eyes, answering the call on his connector.
"Giuseppe, where are you? You should be here by now," The voice on the other end was unmistakably Marcus—his tone flat, the young man, now known as Giuseppe, could almost imagine his friend's deadpan expression without even seeing it.
"Good lord, you sound like a mother. A nagging one at that," Giuseppe shot back, a grin growing on his face.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" Marcus immediately retorted.
"That's not very motherly of you," Giuseppe teased, amused.
"You—"
"Listen, Marcus, you must appreciate the silence of this fine morning. And not ruin it by the ramblings of Mr Reidir."
Giuseppe spun his connector carelessly around his finger, the carefree smile never leaving his face as he made his way out of the bath. The warm steam from the backroom still clung to him.
"You were playing DMO, weren't you?" Marcus asks.
"EoaDS, actually," Giuseppe's voice cut through as he finished drying himself off and stood up, moving toward the bathroom mirror.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Echo of a Dying Star," said Giuseppe, before questioning. "You don't remember that game?"
"Oh, right. I remember now." Marcus said, "But seriously? Echo? You haven't touched that game in months after getting max level."
"I know, right? Some dickheads challenged me, and now they're mad cause they got voided," Giuseppe said with a hearty laugh, admiring his reflection in the mirror.
A tall young man with a handsome face stared back at him. His skin was pale but smooth like the finest marble.
His deep black eyes looked like polished obsidian, and a proud smirk tugged at his lips as he inspected his toned physique. His black hair was still dripping wet from the bath, despite its messiness, it appeared effortlessly styled.
He quickly dries himself off, brushing his teeth while Marcus talks through his bracelet.
"Anyway," Marcus's voice turned more serious, "you should at least get here before Arena. We gotta' be as prepped as possible before tomorrow."
Giuseppe, still brushing his teeth, paused at the sink, looking up with a quizzical expression.
"Why?"
Marcus groaned. "Are you serious? Tomorrow's Genesis Day, you idiot. We're going into Warcraft Online, becoming fucking Storywalkers. You know, the whole damn reason we are at this school?"
Giuseppe paused, raising his head from the sink.
"Was that tomorrow?" He mutters, briefly checking the date.
With a tap of his Connector, a holographic screen appears.
[P-GC: Year-23, Sunhold, Day 51]
Every New Year's Day, upon reaching 16 years old, one has the opportunity to enter Warcraft Online.
Becoming a Storywalker.
A Storywalker. Someone who enters one of the countless realities within The Akashic Library and, through their actions, helps stabilise the universe, ensuring that The Akashic Library doesn't purge the problematic stories, and with it, the world inside altogether.
Warcraft Online acts as the gateway to the Akashic Library. And the Akashic Library is like the origin point that can be returned to after the completion of each expedition through the stories.
"Hmm…" He hummed softly in acknowledgement.
His gaze locked with his reflection in the mirror. He slicked back his wet black hair—his sharp obsidian eyes now intense like black fire, so dark it seemed to swallow all light.
"I'm ready," Giuseppe says firmly.
"I have been waiting for this day for ages," he added, a large grin spreading across his face, showing his sharp teeth.
"..." There was a silence from Marcus's end, his thoughts unclear.
"Anyway, I'm almost done. I will be on time for Arena. So prepare to get your ass handed to you."
"Delude yourself for all I care," Marcus shot back, ending the call before Giuseppe could retort.
"Tsk...Dick."
***
After getting ready, Giuseppe steps out of the bathroom, running a hand through his hair as he walks past the hallway mirror. He stops for a moment, flashing himself a proud smirk.
Dressed in loose white bottoms and a snug black long-sleeved shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned forearms, he radiated effortless confidence.
Slipping on his black sliders and adjusting his white bucket hat, he catches another glimpse of himself as he heads for the door.
"Fuck, I look like a damn kitchen floor," he chuckles to himself.
With a soft click, the door locked behind him as Giuseppe stepped into the spacious dormitory hall.
Upon exiting the dormitory building, Giuseppe was surprised to see not as many people in class as he expected.
Glory Academy's campus was massive—practically a city in its own right. Even after nearly a year, he still found himself getting lost more often than he cared to admit.
Outside, the campus was alive with colour and noise. Decorations hung from every building, and the air buzzed with excitement. The academy was in full celebration mode.
'Not surprising.'
Tomorrow was a big day. Genesis Day. Everyone—students and staff alike—were anticipating it.
A grin spreads across Giuseppe's face as he quickens his pace and strides toward the campus bullet train station.
***
Marcus sighed as he sat on a bench within one of the many campus parks.
Marcus is at a similar height to Giuseppe, with dark skin and deep golden eyes. He has intricately styled braided locks, which are mostly swept back, catching the shining light of the sun and giving off a radiant golden hue.
His physique appeared athletic and muscular. A pair of round, golden sunglasses rests on his face, subtly camouflaging his equally luminous eyes.
His attire consists of a simple grey sweatshirt that hides the ornament on the long black necklace around his neck, and black sweatpants. Clearly, he was prepared for the upcoming training session.
Marcus's overall aesthetic could be considered handsome.
As he sat, his attention was drawn to a large tree nearby. It wasn't the size that caught his eye, but the pair of black boots tied to one of its branches.
"Was that always there...?" Marcus muttered to himself.
"I don't fuckin' know, bro," a voice came from behind him.
Marcus jumped in surprise. "Holy shit! You scared me."
Giuseppe appeared, smirking, as he casually rested his arms on the back of the bench.
"Good Morning."
________________________________________
Author Note: I was definitely on crack writing this.
;)