"Hey, Hector," Rodrick says as we make our way through the forest. "By the way, I should probably mention—each day you spend here is just an hour over there."

I stop mid-step, spinning to face him with a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "What?! You couldn’t have told me this sooner?"

Rodrick shrugs, his grin infuriatingly nonchalant. "Slipped my mind. But hey, at least you know now, right?"

I groan, shaking my head. "Unbelievable. Anyway, I still need to head back. This whole adventure has been one big rollercoaster, and I could really use a break. You know, actual rest. Maybe even eat something that isn’t… whatever counts as game food."

"Fair enough," Rodrick says, nodding as he motions for me to follow. "Come on, Luka Town’s not far."

We emerge from the dense forest, the sunlight breaking through the canopy and revealing a sprawling open field. And at the edge of it, perched on a gentle hill, is Luka Town. But this isn’t like the towns I’ve seen before.

At first glance, Luka looks simple—quaint even—but as we get closer, the game’s flair for the fantastical becomes clear. The town has a modular feel, like it’s constantly evolving. Buildings aren’t just built—they’re growing. Tendrils of glowing vines crawl up the sides of stone structures, their bioluminescence casting a soft, ethereal glow. Some of the houses are perched on mechanical legs that slowly shift positions, as if the buildings themselves are alive. One structure even floats a few feet above the ground, tethered by shimmering chains of light.

"Welcome to Luka Town," Rodrick says with a flourish. "One of the weirdest little towns in this game."

The streets are lined with smooth, reflective tiles that shimmer faintly as we step on them, lighting up in soft colors that ripple outward like water. A faint hum fills the air, and I realize it’s coming from the street itself, almost as if the town has a heartbeat. NPCs and players move through the streets, their steps leaving behind brief trails of glowing footprints that fade after a few moments.

"What’s up with the buildings?" I ask, marveling at the combination of natural and mechanical elements.

"Luka’s famous for this kind of stuff," Rodrick explains, gesturing to a house with mechanical shutters that open and close like blinking eyes. "They call it 'bio-mechanical architecture.' Half magic, half tech. The town’s designed to adapt to the environment—kinda like a living organism. Cool, huh?"

I nod, watching as a vendor’s stall reshapes itself to accommodate a new display of goods. The table splits in two, glowing seams appearing as the pieces shift seamlessly into place. It’s mesmerizing in a way that feels uniquely game-like, a blend of fantasy and sci-fi that you’d never see in real life.

We pass a group of kids chasing what looks like a ball of sentient light, its movement erratic as it zips around the plaza. They laugh and shout, trying to corner it, but the light always seems one step ahead, dodging their every move.

"And over there," Rodrick says, pointing to the town square, "is Player’s Haven. It’s where you’ll find your log-out portal. Trust me, you’ll love it."

We walk toward the center of town, and the futuristic vibe becomes even more pronounced. The square is dominated by a sleek, spherical building made of a material that seems to shimmer and shift in the light. It’s as if the structure is made of liquid metal, constantly moving but never breaking form. The portal itself, housed within, glows a bright, pulsing blue, its energy radiating outward like ripples in a pond.

"Here it is," Rodrick says as we stop in front of the entrance. "Inside, there’s a portal that’ll take you straight back to the last TV you entered from. Easy as pie."

I glance at the building, then back at Rodrick. "Thanks," I say sincerely.

He grins and extends a fist. We brofist, the gesture feeling like a promise of more adventures to come. "Catch you later, dude. Don’t stay gone too long. We’ve got plenty of chaos to cause."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply with a laugh, turning to head inside.

The interior of the spherical building is just as impressive as the exterior. The walls pulse with light, shifting between shades of blue and silver, as if reflecting the energy of the portal at its center. The air feels charged, like static before a storm, and the faint hum of the portal’s energy fills the space. I step toward it, feeling its pull even before I’m close.

The portal itself is mesmerizing—an ever-shifting vortex of light and color, its surface rippling like liquid glass. I hesitate for a moment, letting the awe wash over me. Then, with a deep breath, I step forward and let it take me.

The familiar sensation of falling through endless colors hits me again, the vortex pulling me in with dizzying speed. It’s chaotic yet oddly comforting, like I’m being cradled by the very fabric of the game.

And then, just like that, I’m back.

I land with a soft thud in my living room, the warm glow of home wrapping around me like a blanket. The sounds of reality—the faint hum of the fridge, the distant bark of a neighbor’s dog—hit me all at once. It’s almost overwhelming after the vibrant silence of Luka Town.

But then I notice something. A trickle of wetness runs down my nose. I touch it and find blood on my fingers. Right. My dumbass hit my nose too hard before all this started.

I laugh, shaking my head as I wipe it away. My stomach growls loudly, snapping me back to the present. "Okay, okay, food first," I mutter, heading toward the kitchen. "Existential reflections later."

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I eat, shower, and let the exhaustion of the past few days catch up with me. By the time night falls, I’m too drained to even think about playing games. My console sits untouched as I crawl into bed, my body sinking into the mattress like it’s the first time I’ve ever rested.

As I close my eyes, the memories of Luka Town, the Seven Endeavors, and everything else drift through my mind. But one image lingers longer than the rest.

Her smile.

The night was unnaturally still, the kind of silence that preceded calamity. The village of Ormath, nestled in a quiet valley, had once been a haven of life and warmth. Now, it sat under an oppressive hush, its streets empty, its doors locked, its people praying for safety they would not find.

The sound came first—a deep, rhythmic pounding that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Then, the horizon glowed red with an unnatural light, casting long, jagged shadows. The Demon Army was here.

They were a force beyond comprehension, a tide of devastation that consumed all in their path. At the forefront marched the foot soldiers, twisted monstrosities that seemed cobbled together from nightmare and reality. Their bodies were malformed, their flesh marked by jagged scars and pulsating wounds. Their glowing green eyes burned with primal hunger as they advanced, their guttural growls merging into a single, deafening roar.

Behind them came the beasts—hulking creatures whose grotesque forms defied reason. A giant with flesh that looked like molten rock swung a spiked club large enough to level buildings. An insectoid horror scuttled alongside it, its pincers clicking in eager anticipation. Above, the sky was darkened by winged demons, their screeches cutting through the night as they circled like vultures, waiting to descend.

The village’s defenses, meager at best, were swept aside with brutal efficiency. Doors splintered, walls crumbled, and screams pierced the air as the horde descended. The foot soldiers tore through the streets, dragging villagers from their homes and slaughtering them without mercy. Some were chained and hauled away, their fates sealed. Others fell where they stood, their blood painting the cobblestones.

And amidst the chaos, he stood.

Shrouded in shadow, the leader of the Demon Army was a figure of terrifying presence. He did not move with the mindless ferocity of his horde but with the cold precision of a predator. His bladed limbs pierced the ground as he walked, trampling the dead with chilling indifference. The glowing crystal embedded in his face cast an ominous purple light, illuminating his path as he surveyed the carnage with quiet authority.

With a single gesture, the tide surged forward, and the true massacre began.

The beasts wreaked havoc with terrifying efficiency. The giant swung its club in a wide arc, leveling an entire row of houses in one blow. The insectoid creature scuttled through the streets, its pincers snapping up villagers like prey. A winged demon swooped down, snatching a fleeing child from the ground and vanishing into the night.

By the time the first light of dawn broke, Ormath was nothing but ash and ruin. The once-thriving village was a graveyard, its streets littered with the bodies of those who had called it home. The Demon Army moved on, their march unrelenting, their hunger insatiable.

Miles away, the Band of the Cardinals gathered around their campfire, their spirits high as they shared stories and laughter. They spoke of strategies and battles to come, their confidence unshaken. But they had no idea. No idea of the storm that awaited them.

The Demon Army was not just an enemy. It was annihilation. And the Cardinals, for all their strength and resolve, were marching blindly into the jaws of despair.