In the dimly lit room, the young man sat hunched over his desk, his weary frame a testament to his tireless dedication. Dark circles clung beneath his bloodshot eyes, evidence of countless sleepless nights he spent battling Margit The Fell Omen. An X-box controller was Clutched tightly in his hands, worn from hours of gripping and maneuvering.
Two weeks had passed since he first delved into the realm of Elder Ring, and despite his efforts, Margit remained an insurmountable obstacle. Each attempt had ended in defeat, leaving him frustrated and disheartened. Desperate for a breakthrough, he sought solace and guidance from the vast online community, turning to Reddit for advice.
To his dismay, the responses he received were not what he had hoped for. Mockery filled the thread, with taunts echoing in his mind, "Git Gud, scrub..." The young man's anger flared, his determination fueling a newfound resolve.
Driven by a burning desire to prove his detractors wrong, he returned to the game, channeling his frustration into an obsessive pursuit of power. He dedicated almost a hundred hours to exploring every nook and cranny of the vast game map, unearthing hidden secrets and defeating hostile NPCs to claim their precious runes.
Standing before Margit's looming figure again, the young man listened to the boss's monologue, his patience running thin, his exhaustion giving rise to sarcasm and triumphant defiance. He couldn't resist voicing his thoughts, his words laced with fatigue and a hint of satisfaction.
"Ah, Foul tarnished, in search of the Elden Ring," the young man muttered, his voice dripping with mock reverence. "Emboldened by the flame of ambition, huh? Well, guess what? My ambition is to beat your ass and get some sleep!!"
As the battle with Margit unfolded, the young man's retorts became more frequent, his frustration fueling his sarcastic wit. When he dodged a hit that would have killed him, the young man scoffed, his voice tinged with defiance. "Put these foolish ambitions to rest? Oh, don't worry, Margit, I plan on it. Right after, I finally put you in your place, you goddamned piece of shit!"
When Margit reached the halfway point of their fierce clash, acknowledging the young man's skill, a wry smile crossed his lips. "Well, well, well, thou art of passing skill, huh? Warrior blood running through my veins, you say? It's amazing what countless hours of mindless gaming can do."
Finally, as the young man emerged victorious, he couldn't help but revel in the satisfaction of his triumph. "I shall remember thee, Margit," he retorted, his voice tinged with fatigue and jubilation. "But you'll be too busy smoldering with my meager flame, eh, eh?!" He muttered, wishing he could get in the game and give Margit's corpse a few kicks as he watched it dissipate.
Yet, the excitement soon gave way to overwhelming fatigue. Darkness closed on him, and he surrendered to the inevitable with heavy eyelids. The young man's vision faded as he finally leaned into his chair. He had won the battle, but the cost had been too great.
...
As the young man gradually awakened, he found himself in a dimly lit chamber, disoriented and struggling to make sense of his surroundings. The air hung heavy with a sense of foreboding, and an unsettling darkness permeated every corner. The young man's gaze swept over the room as he blinked in confusion, taking in the scene before him.
Destroyed furniture lay scattered about, remnants of what was once a place of comfort and solace. The room exuded an eerie stillness, broken only by the faint rustling of dried-up weeds stubbornly growing beneath the feeble rays of sunlight that managed to infiltrate through the cracks in the decaying ceiling. The beams cast uneven patterns, creating an otherworldly dance of light and shadow on the worn stone floor.
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His gaze shifted to the right wall, where an unsettling sight awaited him. There, leaning lifelessly against the floor, was the corpse of a woman adorned in a peculiar dress. Her expression frozen in eternal repose, her presence emitted an otherworldly aura, sending a shiver down the young man's spine. The dots began to connect in his mind, and a realization washed over him like a wave crashing upon the shore.
"This... this is the Chapel of Anticipation. Fuck!" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The starting area of Elden Ring, a place he had encountered countless times during his virtual adventures, now manifested before him in eerie detail.
The familiarity mingled with the disquiet of the scene, leaving him in a state of confusion and unease.
Panic threatened to consume him, but he forced himself to take a deep breath, struggling to regain composure. Reasoning that this must be a dream, a product of the countless hours he had immersed himself in the game, he found a sliver of solace in the notion. "It's just a dream, yup, it gotta be."
He reassured himself, his voice tinged with anxiety as he let out a nervous chuckle. "I must have delved so deeply into Elden Ring that it seeped into my subconscious... I really need to get a life..."
Though a measure of calm settled over him, a lingering unease persisted. The vividness of the surroundings, the tangible reality of the Chapel of Anticipation, seemed too palpable to be merely a figment of his imagination.
Determined to dispel any doubts, the young man summoned the courage to test his conjured theory. He pinched his cheek with trembling fingers, hoping to wake himself from this uncanny dream. However, to his dismay, a sharp pain shot through his face, jolting him back to the reality of the Chapel of Anticipation. Panic surged within him, causing his face to grow pale, and a sense of trepidation washed over his entire being.
Seeking a distraction from his mounting fear, the young man turned his attention to his attire. His hands traced the contours of his armor only to pause as he realized he was wearing armored gloves.
The black leather hood that concealed his features obscured his identity and provided a semblance of security. His eyes roved downward, taking in the sight of the black leather armor that encased his body, providing protection and an imposing aesthetic.
His gaze settled upon his hips, where a broadsword hung at the ready. The hilt gleamed in the dim light. Curiosity propelled him further, and he reached behind his back, his fingers brushing against the textured surface of the kite shield that rested against his spine.
The shield, sturdy and battle-worn, provided a formidable defense that accompanied his warrior's guise.
Muttering to himself, a mix of disbelief and resignation, the young man contemplated his situation. "I must have received the confessor class," he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the chapel's eerie silence. The realization struck him with a sense of awe and confusion.
The young man's hands instinctively sought the pouches adorning his belt, their contents a mystery waiting to reveal itself. His fingers stumbled upon a distinctive, triangular, metallic finger seal as he rummaged through the compartments. He recognized it immediately—a tool to channel the arcane energies of incantations.
A surge of confirmation coursed through him, solidifying his suspicion that this dream was, in fact, an intricate manifestation of the game world he had dedicated himself to.
Uncertainty swirled within the young man's mind as he questioned the truth of his reality. However, he knew he had to confront the unsettling situation head-on. Summoning every ounce of courage, he took a deep breath and approached the lifeless maiden, her hands still clutching the dried-out finger. With a mix of trepidation and determination, he carefully retrieved the finger, its desiccated state a testament to the passage of time.
Clutching the withered finger in his own gloved hand, the young man turned his attention back to the chapel's exit. With a firm stride, he approached the wooden gates, pushing them open with both hands. A lingering unease accompanied him as he stepped out into the unknown, his senses on high alert.
However, as the gates swung open and he crossed the threshold, a breathtaking sight unfolded before him, leaving him transfixed. He stood at the precipice of a sheer cliff, its edge giving way to a vast expanse that stretched as far as the eye could see. The rough outline of battlements and walls hinted at the presence of a colossal castle in the distance, its grandeur commanding attention.
Yet, another majestic sight managed to draw his gaze like a moth to a flame—a towering, radiant, golden tree that stood sentinel over the castle, its branches reaching toward the heavens. Bathed in a resplendent glow, the tree exuded an otherworldly aura as if it held the secrets of ancient powers within its very being.
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"Please, for the love of... just please, make this be a fucking dream..."
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