Bryn rubbed his sore temples.
Clack clack clack clack clack
His mechanical keyboard, blue switches of course, cackled out the highschooler's every frustrated keystroke adding an extra layer of annoyance to his younger brother Terrance's life. But the dark skinned teen mercilessly paid his brother's plight no concern, his only focus was the dungeon he was currently facing, and it's final boss, whom he was currently very close to beating.
His mouse was a custom built, wooden and stainless steel steampunk marvel. Bryn had paid for it with money he'd saved up from working odd jobs around the neighborhood. Normally it was the gentle centerpiece of his desk, now, it was a mad flurry. Sounds akin to a swarm of angry locusts rang aloud, belying an almost virtuosic symphony of right and left clicks. Side clicks, of the many buttons scattered along the thumb side of the large, heavy mouse, allowed Bryn to pop potion after potion to sustain his spells.
He was going through quite a lot of spells.
In the game's desire for reality, if a player suffered severe, debilitating injuries in game or took on massive amounts of damage, their avatar would respond in kind. Moving sluggishly, reacting slower, and not hitting as hard.
Normally, at the late game levels Bryn had managed to rise to over his 11 years of playing the game since it's open beta, battle fatigue wasn't something Bryn worried about much often anymore.
However, as he was currently missing one of his wings, severely battered, heavily bleeding, lacking a left hand and on the last tenth of his health bar, Bryn found himself sorely wishing the Devs had just stuck to a simple, beautiful 3D, open world MMORPG. Instead, they just had to go the extra mile, because they could of course, and now Bryn's almighty spells were missing more often, failing to cast more often and hitting far weaker than they were supposed to. And he was facing one of the most important bosses in the game.
Volrab was the name of the guardian of the Gates of The Deific Planes. Calling Volrab gigantic wasn't enough. He was a golden and black, crystal dragon that was so big that if a player wasn't able to fly by the time they got to his dungeon, they had literally no chance of winning. Volrab had 12 majestic heads. Upon each was a massive emerald crown. The titanic dragon was golden and black and it guarded the gates with all of its divine power. Volrab was supposed to be the way of introducing end-game mobs to powerful players, and did so perfectly.
Very few mobs held as much unanimous fear and hatred as the crystal dragon, and yet as the game's story denoted, Volrab was only a minor deity.
Behind the Gates of the Deific Planes lay multitudes of normal mobs that made Volrab look like a level 3 slime. And that wasn't even mentioning the fabled bosses of the Deific Planes. Nonetheless, defeating Volrab was the only way the gates would open, allowing the player to enter the Deific Planes. Upon killing the gate guardian, the game code would finally allow the player to finally reach level 800, and crossing the beautiful, golden gates, would allow them to choose a divine class. Ascending from a mortal player to the terrifying divine existence known as a ranker. And currently, Bryn was finally about to kill Volrab for good.
No matter what choice a player made at any prior point, none were allowed to advance to level 800 unless they defeated Volrab. If they failed, not only would they have to rerun the entire 2 hour-long, solo dungeon to defeat Volrab, they would also suffer a harrowing 30 level deduction as a penalty. At the level 700's, the deep, wide chasm known as the exp bar was a truly arduous task to fill. Many endgame celestial players who'd suffered the 30 level deduction, upon confirming it was real and irreversible unless they regrinded the lost levels, promptly logged out and never logged back in.
Another drop of sweat fell into the teen's eyes, obscuring his vision slightly as he struggled to search for where the boss had ran to. For a massive, 12 headed crystal dragon, it certainly moved quite quickly.
Bryn's Celestial Storm Reaper began to glow, releasing a mass of purple and black aura. Axelrod's body was brimming with incredible power as Bryn readied his last spell, his Final Script. A mage's Final Script was their signature, strongest spell. Wizard's Quest allowed players the right to craft their own unique spell whenever they would master a class. Wizards had the ability to choose a new class every 100 levels based on the affinities they had chosen and the classes they chose before. However it took players so long to climb to the top of the 700s, that the devs allowed end-game players two celestial classes so as to not loose too many players to the grind. Thus, at the peak of level 799, wizards were expected to have 8 unique, exalted spells. Their 8 Supreme Scripts. Upon leveling each of these spells to their peak, it was then and only then, that a player could craft a Final Script. It was the sign of complete arcane mastery over a player's mortal classes and affinites. Without one, defeating Volrab was basically impossible.
For the Final Script, the game had a few rules: it had to be based on the main principles of both of the player's celestial classes, and the Final Script could only incorporate two Supreme Scripts to boost its power. But make no mistake, the Final Script was akin to a love letter from the game's devs to their incredibly few, hyper determined players that had managed to reach the max mortal level of 799 and planned to attempt to bust through ascension.
To become divine rankers.
As a mage that had specked down the slow, but steady path of dual affinites, maxing a death sub affinity with a storm main affinity, Bryn's elven character Axelrod, had eventually become one of those blessed few players at the edge of becoming a ranker himself. He was a level 799 calamity wielding nothing but a single, long, crystale bladed sword. Carried aloft by jet black wings, he was wearing a stormy gray chestplate that had lightning flashing inside it, and had on a black battle robe underneath. Axelrod was a Celestial Storm Reaper. Though his gear was currently in shambles and his health and mana bars were severely depleted, Axelrod was still a celestial, a peak mortal wizard. And his Final Script was something to behold.
"Provided it hits," the boy prayed silently.
He had been hunched over his desk with a blanket taped over the top of his dark oak desk and its sides, obscuring his monitors and his hunched figure. Both in a futile attempt to save his brother from at least some of the lights of the game and to not alert his parents that he was still awake at 3 AM.
The 18 year old cracked his neck and prepared himself. Spotting Volrab preparing to spring at him from across the wide battlefield, Bryn pressed the spell icon and watched his character perform the Final Script.
The body of Bryn's avatar began rippling with mighty, celestial power. The tall, brown skinned elf, reared back the long sword he wielded in his right hand. The weapon was soul bound to him, as it was the only weapon his current class allowed him to wield, offensive or defensive. It was his reapers' tool, a fated, legendary weapon his best friend Alan had crafted for him. In fact, Bryn's entire gearset was fated, legendary gear carefully crafted by Alan. The half Filipino, half Korean boy was a deeper cavedweller player than Bryn had ever been, and so had long since attained divinity. Alan had struggled 8 harrowing times to kill Volrab, and after finally tasting the awesome power of a ranker, had used his new duel divine affinities in both fire and alchemy, to craft Bryn the priceless gear set he currently wore. But even with the gear, it was still Bryn's 11th time attempting Volrab.
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Bryn could tell that if this attempt didn't succeed, he likely wouldn't be attempting the dungeon again for a long while.
Alexrod hefted his blade and righted his floating stance. His sword was called Neverwinter. Within itself, the sword held a portion of the raging storm of the Fimbulwinter, a horrifying, continent sized storm that signaled Ragnarok. Alan's ranker character had trapped it in a glass vile, as easily as taking a nap. The ranker had also taken a jug full of the waters of the River Styx from the Greek world's Tartarus to quench the blade, and then forged it within the epicenter of a God-Storm that Bryn had to maintain for an hour while sitting atop of a raging pestilence that Bryn also had to maintain for an hour. Maintaining both simultaneously had been one of the hardest things Bryn had ever done, but they hadn't even begun to compare to what his friend was doing. Before his ascension, Alan and Bryn had been each other's biggest rival, but now Alan was casually achieving feats Bryn had previously believed impossible. Not to mention Alan had confirmed, in front of an awestruck Bryn, that the sheer power of ranker classes now made Volrab incredibly easy to beat.
If Bryn hadn't seen his friend 2 shot the boss, with what was apparently basic, early stage ranker spells, the boy would never have believed it.
Yet, the dual arduous task for both the Ranker and the celestial, had eventually created not only a sword, but the rankers' skill truly shone when he also produced an accompanying set of gear that was thoroughly amped both of Bryn's celestial grade storm and death affinities to absurd degrees when all pieces of the set were equipped.
Alan's explanation for how the gearset came to be, when Bryn had only been expecting the single sword, was that he just got the sudden feeling it might be possible. Bryn shook his head incredulously and chuckled briefly. After all, he was currently fighting for his life with the very gear that had earned Alan the unique title, "The God of Blacksmithing."
The devs didn't hand such a title out easily. Seeing as these were hyper unique, 1 of 1 titles that also came with accompanying tremendous stat boots, unique titles were almost never handed out. But once it was known all throughout the servers that Alan's character U'sel had somehow combined the devastation of the ancient divine river of death and sorrow, with the merciless wrath of the Nordic god-killing storm, the game was never the same. For an entire year afterwards, millions of players worldwide would struggle in vain to attempt to recreate the event that would be later redubbed U'Sel's first miracle.
Miracle was no hyperbole.
The tremendous, across the board stat increases Alan's gear had brought Bryn, bringing Axelrod's magic output, defense, and agility to almost Early Stage Ranker levels, was the first time in the game's then 10 year history that such an event had ever happened. Once it was proven that not even any of the other incredibly few rankers could recreate even a fraction of what U'Sel had achieved, the devs more than qualified Alan for the sacred title. With the gear, Bryn had gone on to achieve legendary fame in his past playing the game.
Nowadays, however, with new updates, school and responsibilities, a girlfriend, the seemingly never ending wallets of the whale players and the fanatic obsession of the cavedweller players, Axelrod was eventually dragged from his once lofty, fabled position among the top players. But, Bryn wasn't dethroned before the ex-beta player had finally managed to complete the hardest secret event in the game himself, getting his own official title from the game devs. The Storm Executioner. And he was going to show this piece of shit boss, just why he got it.
Neverwinter's beautiful, crystalline sheen began to be eaten up by an inky blackness that swarmed over and enveloped the fabled weapon. The steel gray eyes of Bryn's wizard turned a harsh, stark crystalline blue. Inside them, the god storm raged, making the mage's eyes begin to glow brightly. A massive, sickly looking, black magic circle manifested itself in front of where Bryn's character hovered in the air. As Volrab got closer and closer, an equally massive, beautiful and painstakingly crafted, diamond blue magic circle suddenly appeared behind the massive, multi-headed crystal dragon.
Volrab's multi-voiced thunderous roar shook the massive cavern they were battling in and threatened yet again to deafen Bryn through his headphones. For the umpteenth time, Bryn wished he could mute the damn game, but hearing the boss' movements within the large, dark cave riddled with blind spots all over due to very limited lighting, was far too necessary.
"Final Script: Ride the Lightning!" Axelrod called out in a game adapted version of Bryn's prerecorded voice, "Executioner's Calamity Bolt!"
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Bryn chanted feverishly from underneath his blanket as he rocked chaotically in his gaming chair. He was trying to be quiet, but his excitement, tiredness and rage that had been building up in him throughout the harrowing fight, were so close to vindication that the teen couldn't hold it in anymore. As long as that bastard dragon died, Bryn could deal with the consequences later.
Axelrod's reared back arm whipped forward and the largest stream of lightning Bryn had ever seen immediately exploded forward from his character's hand, roaring thunderously as it traveled. Guided by the targeted missile that was currently Neverwinter, the titanic stream of chaotic, black lightning raced to meet the black magic circle. Upon the river of black lightning crashing through the black magic circle, it transformed into an even more massive serpent, bearing 6 titanic, rotting wings, rivaling the size of Volrab itself. It was completely made of starry, inky black lightning and parts of its skin were falling off in some areas, exposing the violent storm of black, dead lighting that raged within the creature. The black dragon was a horrific entity known as The Zombie Storm dragon, The Storm Executioner's first blade.
The black dragon roared a terrifying battle cry, resembling millions upon millions of moaning and wailing souls, as it raced forward at blinding speeds to intercept the many headed dragon. The massive blue circle began to glow, and another dragon appeared. This time, it was a blue, majestic looking creature. It radiated a deep ocean of soft, whitish-blue lightning. But contrasting its shining, regal exterior, were a set of completely hollowed, black eyes that leaked diseased, bubbling tar. This dragon was also a massive serpent, also bearing 6 titanic wings. In contrast to The Zombie Storm Dragon, this dragon instead had wings that were so beautiful they almost seemed too beautiful. Indeed, looking at them emanated a mental plague that slowly rotted the minds of its victims long before it mercilessly destroyed them, lacing disease in every lightning bolt. It was The Virulent Storm Dragon. The Storm Executioner's second blade.
Giving its own resounding war cry, this time it was a horrific skreetch filled with unending struggling and a deep sea of cries of pain, the blue dragon also began speeding forwards to meet it's twin. Both storm dragons hurled themselves forwards at incredible speeds. Catching Volrab between both their outstretched, gigantic jaws, the two massive storm dragons crashed into one another. In an epic thunderclap that soon turned into a deafening explosion so humongous it began heavily lagging Bryn's gaming pc, the two titanic, diseased storm dragons self-destructed, taking Volrab's last remaining dregs of health with them. Finally the massively large nuclear explosion began to clear, forming massive black storm clouds that heavily poisoned anything that managed to survive the initial explosion with an unyielding sea of death and disease magic.
Bryn stared in shock as his character, shakily floating with a single remaining wing, single digits of health left, began to glow with purple energy. The energy of leveling up.
A big, "CONGRATULATIONS WIZARD!" was spinning on his screen.
His level turned to 800, and the massive Gates that had been solemnly standing behind Volrab, began to slowly swing inwards, beckoning the battle ragged celestial forth. Almost as if in a compelled motion, Bryn felt his body push the buttons to fly shakily, slowly, forward with his remaining wing. To Cross the gates. To get his divine class. To ascend. That was exactly when the power to his PC shut off. Just as Bryn let out a loud, horrified shriek, he threw off the sheets and spun around to meet the very angry face of his mother standing in the bedroom doorway, finger still resting on the room's power switch which she'd just flicked off.
With just a look, Bryn could tell that she had finally had enough of his antics, and so the teen quickly reasoned within himself, he probably had about 5 seconds to start making 1+1=2 before he wasn't allowed to game again until he was 27.
"What. The fuck. Were you doing awake this late boy?" the short, caribbean woman asked her son. Her voice was still croaking a bit from just haven woken up recently, but the threat of violence was still very palpable.
"Dumbass," Terrance mumbled as he turned over, satisfaction clear on his face even in the darkness of the room as the younger boy gleefully, silently watched his brother be punished from the safety of his bottom bunk.
Bryn gulped, internally he planned his response as fast as he could. His mother's anger had a grace period, albeit, one which was rapidly depleting. Going over the facts, Bryn reminded himself that she hadn't seen what he was doing, he had been under his sheets, also he had been wearing headphones, so the actual sounds that had attracted her were his animalistic noises and the clacking of his mouse and keyboard, not the game sounds.
'Think fool, think,' he thought desperately as sweat began to roll down his face. Even in the dimly lit room, he knew that even if his mother couldn't clearly see his fear, she could certainly smell it.
"Uhhhh, um, well I woke up to make sure all my college apps and documents for early apps were done ma," the boy started cheekily, hopeful that the darkness of the early morning mixed with his mother's sleep laden, half open eyes were making it hard to see how obvious the lie was. "You know how computers are ma, it started acting up and I panicked cause I thought all my work was gone," he continued, working his way into the lie, convincing even himself, at least if only to hide his own anxiety at the memory of not having actually crossed the gates, not knowing what that would mean for Axelrod. Bryn shrugged his shoulders, facking a nonchalant, relaxed attitude, "some parts of my personal essay vanished for some reason, and I had to quickly rewrite them. Didn't want Terry being bothered by the light, so I was under some sheets I put up."
For a long time no one said anything. Bryn stared at his mother's face, his attention unbroken. Both to not alert her to his deception, but also to ignore Terrance's current look of silent shock, disgust, betrayal and hatred at Bryn's lie. It would've definitely made Bryn break out laughing. And also would've made him go to sleep with a sore behind and a significant loss of PC privileges.
After a while of silent deliberation, his mother just yawned, humphed and murmured something about all computers being spawned by "El Diablo himself," and left to go back to sleep. Not before telling Bryn to get his ass back to bed immediately, to which the 18 year old immediately obliged, climbing into his top bunk bed with gusto.