As the undead force wails against Hero’s body with dozens of once-fatal strikes every moment, Hero’s vision is a strolling, golden, beautiful monstrosity. All at once upon him is the result of a thousand years of intense grinding, the power spoken of in the most elite message boards in all the land. Until now, Hero’s world was assumed to have no level cap - turns out he’s the second to reach it.
Xing out of box after box telling him how many ridiculous magic trees he can get into, and stat points he has ready, and expansion content he can now access, Hero’s gaze steadily clears out to see his father, just a small, 1x1 pixel box from his blinding H.U.D., he knows he doesn’t have enough time. Hero mentally slams on the tab key in rapid succession. He doesn’t know what it is or how it works, but it’s pretty helpful when you’re out fishing and you want to know where to cast the line.
After tabbing through the enemies, he shakes his head in the realization that he’s using the wrong command. He smacks ctrl+tab a single time to bring up his father, with 12 HP remaining.
“Ten out of ten, would bang!” Hero cries as he struggles forward with a leap. Hero’s hands light aglow, and he lays on hands just in time.
Hero bears the brunt of violence from the mindless undead horde as squad after squad pours in. Hero buckles into the corner to protect his father, positioned on the inner part as Hero slams as many stat points as he can into STR.
Of course, without an END, the undead’s strikes are like they always were, painful, gutting, and easily wounding. Hero receives stack after stack of [bleed] as from his body pops damage numbers that he’s only seen trees take without falling. 12392, 12421, 12458, and onward due to his dozens upon dozens of bleed stacks, all oozing profusely and covering Hero’s backside with decided, voluminous amounts of blood.
Hero spends point after point in his stat pool in STR, until he hits 100, at least thirty level up’s and two job advancements of just STR. It’s time, but he’ll keep pouring more in.
In a blink-fast swing, Hero turns back and slashes at his aggressors. Without ceremony, his weak sword shatters instantly as it fully separates the entire front-crowd of undead. Ludicrously-high damage numbers with the mantling text of “OVERKILL” fills his vision from the obliterated bodies of his enemies. What would have been two levels worth of combat experience to him a minute ago is now fully unregistered as 0 exp each time. Hero realizes he’s going to hit the upper limit. He can’t be stopped now.
Hero tosses aside the now-broken sword as the undead horde reels back in defense, suddenly sobered from their violent trance. The dozens look to their right, upon the mass splattering of undead bodies, draped against the wall, and back to Hero, bloody, but somehow so meaninglessly damaged he carries himself as if he were entirely unharmed. The young lad stands erect and fearless, even as gallon after gallon of his blood pours from his wounds. Apparently HP has a direct correlation to a person’s blood, and Hero doesn’t mind that one bit.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
With a start, he leans forward with his fist held high, causing the forming shield wall of undead to brace for impact. Hero scoffs as he sees his enemies reel back now that they know what he’s capable of. What they’re unaware of is that
Hero’s been pouring more and more of his millions of stat points into STR. Right before hitting 900 STR, Hero passes the highest STR stat of every berserker-class player in all of Aydoss.
Hero leaps forward with all the fury of a man on the brink, though now that couldn’t be further from the truth. He slams his fist into the shield wall as he continues to smash more and more STR into his stat build. The shields do not simply fail, it’s as if the undead were attempting to stop a train.
Dozens fly back, tearing sheerly through the wall behind them as the front-most group is utterly vaporized by Hero’s strike. Unarmed and without combat bonuses to speak of, Hero’s power still questions that of a dragon’s.
He winds up again and sweeps his fist through the crowd, meshing undead flesh and rusted mail together in embarrassing raw heaps of genetic material, iron and gore.
As his father looks on in complete disbelief, Hero lays waste to the group of thirty in the room with hysterical ease, their plate-armored bodies seeming to repel instantly on contact with Hero’s strikes. Once cleared out, the undeads do not return, rather Hero can see them edging out of the house.
“Not so fast, you bastards!” Hero shouts as he swaps putting his points in STR for DEX. As every second he gains five points or more, his quick, athletic sprint rivals a horse at full gallop, then a sprinting cheetah, then a diving falcon. In a blink, Hero is upon the retreating undead, slashing through their entireties of mystic flesh and decrepit armor like a heated knife into butter- they don’t simply get slashed, rather are mechanically separated from the ridiculous force of his strikes, sending a dozen into tangled heaps with every movement for them.
All throughout he ups his DEX more and more, gaining ridiculous amounts of speed when unburdened by armor of any kind. Like a bolt of maverick light, Hero smashes and crashes into crowd after crowd of undead, eviscerating them with his fists. The weight and speed behind his strikes are so great, and the contact point of his fists are so small, that any strike sends them flying in a half-crushed mess of internally-hemorrhaged gore.
He fights on and on and on until the undead pull out of the village entirely in a full retreat, moving up to the long hillside where they had begun their assault.
All throughout their escape, Hero doesn’t let up, throwing all his weight into his punches again and again as he spills them across the countryside in wild, viper-fast punches. At the top of the hill, Hero finally spots an individual, taller than the rest and made taller still by the sizable undead steed it rides upon. Its obsidian-fire gaze is fully focused on the human.