Player PillowHorror, in the regal reptilian form of a Consul clad in robes of silver and ebony, met with Ikit. The messenger bowed low, his small form nearly disappearing in the folds of his own humble tunic. Only when PillowHorror flicked his tail in a measured, hierarchical gesture of permission did Ikit straighten, his eyes darting nervously to meet the Consul's. The Lunar Empire thrived on such strict protocol. PillowHorror, unlike so many other players, found it exhilarating. To truly embody a role, to think and act within the intricate web of custom and consequence - that was where the true thrill of Ludere Online lay. Far too many players charged in with blunt force and predictable tactics. A bit of finesse, a touch of cunning, a deep understanding of the subtle dance of power - that was what it took to master the game.
A series of translucent windows materialized before PillowHorror's eyes, displaying his current character stats:
Player Name:PillowHorror Level: 42
Class: Preator Subclass: Advisor
Profession: Advisor Specialization: None
Currently Active Title: Consul
Most used Skill: Intimidation
Alignment: Despicable
Health: 250/250 [R:10] Mana: 600/600 [R:10] Stamina: 100/100 [R:11]
Points Earned: 0
Reputation:
Soohan: -660
Lunar Empire: 8450
Draggor: -1400
Red Fox Caravan: 5 (Neutral)
Attributes:
Strength:12 Constitution:20 Dexterity:51 Intelligence:20
Wisdom:60 Charisma:65 Piety:40 Luck:10
Karma:-5
Combat:
Attack:30 Accuracy: 25 Agility:35 Speed:25
Critical: 8.82 Endurance:10 Focus: 20 Defense: 30
Magic Def:55 Armor: 9 Hygieian Meter: 400
Active Status Effects:
Comfortable
His mana bar, once depleted, now shimmered with a full charge. Good. The recent system update had implemented changes that went far deeper than he had anticipated. The annoying "Points: 0" reminder that used to plague his character sheet had vanished, replaced by a discreet slot within the in-game shop that displayed his remaining character points. A small but significant detail that spoke volumes about the developers' evolving understanding of the game. They were learning, adapting, becoming more adept at catering to the needs of the elite Group C players. A subtle smile touched PillowHorror's lips. They were playing his game now.
With a flick of his claw, he activated the 'Ping' skill:
< Skill Activation >
>Ping - Quality: Adept<
The results were promising, but PillowHorror's attention was immediately drawn to a disturbance near the Consul's position. The Emprinceling, scales gleaming and head held high, had positioned himself close to the Consul, his leg resting precariously on a crenelation as if to emphasize his self-importance. An unwelcome distraction. PillowHorror could tolerate a certain level of incompetence, but this blatant disregard for protocol, this disruption of his carefully crafted narrative, was simply unacceptable.
“Very well,” PillowHorror thought, a sly glint entering his reptilian eyes. “If the princeling insists on inserting himself into the story, then I shall make him a part of it.”
The 'Ping' skill updated, its translucent windows now displaying detailed troop movements: expected positions, arrival times ticking down in seconds, troop emplacements highlighted with a wealth of military information - tactics, troop counts, equipment levels, even the average threat index. It was lower than PillowHorror had hoped, but there was always a way to elevate the stakes. This minor skirmish was merely a prelude, a chance to test the waters before unleashing the full force of his strategic brilliance.
A new thought struck him. Was this the only impending threat? A quick check wouldn't hurt. It would cost a bit of mana, but the expenditure was a small price to pay for comprehensive awareness.
< Skill Activation >
>War Theatre Visualization - Quality: Adept<
His mana expenditure surged, a drain he mentally noted for future feedback to the developers. Balancing was clearly needed, but that was a concern for another time. A new map unfolded before him, pushing his existing screens to the periphery. The segmented world map highlighted regions currently embroiled in Lunar Empire war activity. Selecting the local theatre, PillowHorror focused on the seemingly dull skirmish, his brow rising in surprise as a new layer of complexity revealed itself.
The Consul, as if in deep concentration, moved his claws in a mesmerizing dance, a display that further impressed the image of a high-level magic user upon both allies and enemies. The Legates watched with a mixture of fascination and trepidation. To witness a Consul at work was to glimpse the raw power of the Lunar Empire's arcane might.
And then the world shifted.
< Ding >
>“Schwerer Gustav”<
The air thrummed with a power that seemed to emanate from the very core of the planet. High above the battlefield, the sky tore open, a jagged rent in the fabric of reality that pulsed with a swirling darkness. From the depths of that abyss emerged a colossal machine, its form defying description, its presence radiating a terror that froze the hearts of both attacker and defender. The monstrous tube atop the machine swung towards the oncoming force, its metal skin screaming a promise of annihilation.
PillowHorror, savoring the reactions of those around him, activated yet another skill:
< Skill Activation >
>The Art of War - Quality: Sage<
His mana expenditure climbed even higher, but a satisfied smile played across his lips. He was a master of the game, manipulating its mechanics, orchestrating a symphony of chaos and destruction. The Consul, his tail rising in a gesture of command, directed the unknowable machine, his actions a testament to his mastery of the game's most arcane and powerful abilities.
Horror had spent days trying to persuade the Emperor. With the Empress's assistance no less! That they should establish a new capital. Somewhere away from overcrowded conditions. The vapid fool would not be swayed, content with where his scaled hide currently sat clinging to tradition and claiming that his nearness held the empire together. Horror shook his head with disappointment. The Emperor and Emprince were two peas in a pod. It would be easier to complete his main quest if they did move the capital. No matter. It wasn’t necessary. He would find his own way, as he always did. For now, he needed to deal with the matter at hand.
With a deep inhalation to savor the fresh air coming from the forest, he savored the moment. The breeze outside on the castle walls sharply contrasted the dense staleness of the catacombs beneath. How odd that he so frequently preferred the latter, when this was available.
Glancing down through the translucent screen visible only to him, his gaze shifted focus towards the amassing enemy army. Sizable forces indeed! How he appreciated a predictable opponent. They were even trying to pull a play directly from one of his favorite books. How cute.
When planning a siege, bring a force great in number. When the terrain is unfavorable -and you expect envenomed arrows from above- pack troops tightly in a tortoise formation.
With their shields up, Horror watched the multitudes of packed enemies cautiously approach. They even had little siege machines. Absolutely adorable. There was no reason to be hasty. First, discerning the battlefield.
A soft feminine voice chimed in his ear. Present for only him to perceive as a list of skills fired off one after the other. He so enjoyed hearing the skill system speak. It always meant good tides were coming. He honestly couldn't understand why no one else turned this setting on.
< Skill Activation >
>LAT: Local Area Tactics - Quality: Adept<
Updating once more, the troop movements now detailed expected positions. Complete with lines of likely arrival times that counted down in seconds. Troop emplacements passively highlighted, showing a plethora of military information. Such as: The currently used tactic, troop counts, equipment levels, and average threat index.
It was lower than he’d hoped, but very well. Surely the next movement of troops they sent out would be more of a challenge after this. It’s not like he needed the experience points but the challenge would be nice. Horror tapped his mouth with the still-steepled fingers. Was this the only impending threat? Best to spend the extra energy for a cursory check. It was a touch costly, but his energy bar would recover. It simply meant that during expected upcoming complications, he would have to rely on more… mundane solutions.
Screens swapped places, the Alpha shop once again front and center. Ticking in a long code, Horror felt a wry smile wrench itself onto his face. No search results automatically came up, but that was to be expected. Once he finished adding information into the search bar, still no results showed. Without concern, he pressed the search button anyway. Confident that he’d gotten it right. Sure enough. His favorite, soft feminine voice welcomed him with success.
< Ding >
<“Schwerer Gustav”>
A confirmation screen formed, even if the detail fields of what he was renting failed to populate entirely. The system didn’t seem to have slated information on the purchase. It existed in the files and, therefore, worked. An item code was present, and that was enough.
Horror pressed the accept prompt. Satisfied the devs still hadn’t patched this out, he folded his arms behind the small of his back. He knew what was coming as the system worked to catch up.
To both the advancing onlookers and friendly troops on the wall, the Consul had made some strange motions in deep concentration, further impressing the image of a high-level magic-user upon all those witnessing. His claws had waxed and weaved through the air. The Legates in charge remained silent, even as their serpentine gazes watched with studious interest. It was always fascinating and strange to watch a Consul work.
< Ding >
>“Schwerer Gustav”<
The air rumbled. Had it been a quake beneath their feet, both attackers and defenders would have felt it with their legs. Instead, they felt the thrumming distortion with their hearts. A crack in space loudly formed high above the Consul. Horrible and unknown, a shrill screech pierced the sky. The spreading tear darkened with visual churning twists, like the doldrums of the deepest sea.
A machination neither side knew how to describe powerfully chugged free from the formless, broken space. The heaving eldritch mass was topped with an impossibly long tube. With terrorizing metal screams, that tube turned towards the oncoming force.
< Skill Activation >
>The Art of War - Quality: Sage<
Pleased with the frightened and confused reactions of those around him. He remained silent as his mana expenditure increased to thirteen per second. He reminded himself that he saved a fifth of those costs, due to having a 20 in his Water Skill. The system simply didn’t show it yet. Horror’s tail rose into the air. Those who could see him observed the Consul demand service from the unknowable thing that broke the sky above.
He didn’t see them. From Horror’s perspective, new screens assisted with mass-effect targeting solutions. Giving the order, the prehensile end of it sharply snapped towards the opposing force. “Fire.”
*Cha-clunk.* Something in the metal monstrosity moved. It was felt, rather than heard. The tube altered with decisiveness previously unseen. Perfectly angling towards the supposedly well-hidden encampment. Regardless of which side of the firing line one stood, dread-filled all the space their hearts could hold. Gustav barged into that void unopposed. Unstoppable and shot in a straight line, the thundering crack of a launched shell sounded. Dread became reality upon impact, and the battlefield became a wasteland with a deafening *BOOM.*
Ears rang, and hearts raced. Hands and claws ineffectually covered ruptured auditory channels, while knees sunk to the ground as morale plummeted. The shrapnel of Gustav’s explosive round rocked the landscape. Tearing brand-new canyons through the local landmass. A camp of thousands was reduced to nothing in a burning flash. The only word that rang across the fields after the ripples settled was an unforgiving encore. “Fire.”
Stolen story; please report.
*Cha-clunk.* The machination’s cannon steamed hot from that initial shot. It groaned in complaint, but the rental summon could not oppose the order. Doing as commanded. Swiveling the death-bringer to the new firing solution, it obeyed. Firing once more with another soul-wrenching clap of thunder. *BOOM.*
Troops on both sides fled. They didn’t know what else to do. This skirmish was over. There was only the fate that the Consul rained from above, as a cluster shell split and carpet-bombed the landscape in front of the aged castle walls. Some of the mini-shells missed, and a chunk of nearby wall went with it. The Emprince, having thought himself too invulnerable to run. Was no more.
Horror considered the friendly fire to be acceptable, even if it incurred what some would consider to be some unfortunate losses. He noted that one, perhaps two, of the local Legate commanders still had the strength of soul to speak to him. No doubt to dissuade him from further action. They didn’t understand why this was necessary. They didn’t grasp why total annihilation was how this piece of history needed to be remembered.
One of the Legates shivered in his approach, tail low and curled between the legs in deference. He was cut short before ever being able to speak. Horror towered with a looming presence and leered down. The Legate had not been given permission to voice his opinion. Sustaining unyielding eye contact with the frozen commander, Horror’s only comment to the forgetful Legate rumbled as a dismissive: “Fire.”
*Cha-clunk.* The Legate leapt for cover. His claws clamped to his helmet, just to pull it down over his eyes. Huddled behind the remaining crenelations, the Legate did not see the second shrapnel shell wildly pepper and pulverize the remaining forces. After the machination clapped as thunder for a third time. He did, however, feel the blowback of air displacements and heart-rending distortions. The Legate steeled himself. Ground quaking from the expected, fear-inducing *BOOM.*
The Schwerer Gustav let out a shrill whistle as its condition reached critical. Horror wished to fire it for a fourth time regardless but failed. His screens all dropped away as his mana bar hit rock bottom. It flashed at him with an upset pulsing red. Since his mana had reached zero, he incurred the relevant penalty and started losing health at a rate of one per second. *Tsk.*
The weapon in the sky glowed orange-red from overuse while flames licked the muzzle. A shame. He would have loved to shell the remaining not-completely-destroyed encampment, but that wasn’t happening without a guaranteed firing solution. The system calculated missed chances in a way that wasn’t to his liking. If he couldn’t be certain of what that shell was going to destroy, it wasn’t worth the risk. Not that it mattered at this point. The notification came in.
< Ding >
With a metallic screech and churn of the wheels, the Gustav rolled forwards into another doldrum of the dark. Chugging along upon invisible train tracks with barrel still burning, it faded back out of existence. When it finally left, the air equalized once more. Returning the current, awful, tide-twisted sky to normality. Horror’s remaining screens winked out as he dismissed them. Their tasks finished. He could tell, since the experience points were rolling in. As expected, it wasn’t anything to look at twice. That didn’t matter. The greater objective had been fulfilled.
He dismissed the thirty to sixty health he was going to lose until his mana bar ticked, regenerating twenty points. He’d get the health back quick enough with passive regeneration now that all hostiles were dealt with, and the mana was too valuable to spend on healing. Two more minutes of overseeing the battlefield, and he’d gathered enough intelligence to decide on his next move.
A new notification blinked into existence, a message from the developers themselves, their curiosity piqued by his audacious actions. A validation of his skills, a recognition of his ability to push the game to its limits.
With a mental note to respond later, PillowHorror dismissed the message. He had a meeting to attend, a narrative to shape, a game to win. Stepping into the swirling currents of the Tide, he vanished from the battlefield, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation and awestruck silence.
As the swirling currents of the Tide receded, PillowHorror found himself standing once again upon the ramparts of the Sunken Cathedral. The air, still crackling with residual energy from the deployment of the Schwerer Gustav, carried the scent of ozone and scorched earth. Below, the battlefield was a scene of utter chaos. Lunar Empire forces, their ranks thrown into disarray by the unexpected arrival of the colossal weapon, struggled to regroup. The attacking forces, decimated by the Gustav’s devastating barrage, were in full retreat, their cries of terror echoing across the shattered landscape.
The princeling, his composure shattered, stared at the devastation below with wide, uncomprehending eyes. His leg, once casually draped over the crenelation, now trembled uncontrollably. The image of arrogant confidence he had so carefully cultivated lay in ruins, mirroring the battlefield below.
“Magnificent, isn't it?” PillowHorror purred, his reptilian features contorted in a mockery of a smile. “A demonstration of true power. A taste of what is to come.”
The princeling, unable to meet his gaze, stammered a weak reply, his voice barely audible above the din of the retreating army. “But... the protocols... the chain of command...”
PillowHorror’s smile widened, revealing rows of sharp, predatory teeth. “Protocols are for the weak, princeling. True power recognizes no constraints.” He let the words hang in the air, savoring the princeling’s discomfort. This was just the beginning. He had plans within plans, schemes that would unravel the very fabric of Ludere Online. The developers, those arrogant architects of this virtual world, had underestimated him. They had given him the tools, the access, the freedom he needed to reshape their creation in his image.
With a flick of his tail, PillowHorror turned away from the sputtering princeling and surveyed the battlefield below. The Art of War skill, still active, highlighted strategic opportunities, tactical weaknesses, potential vulnerabilities. It was time to capitalize on the chaos he had created, to consolidate his power, to shape the narrative to his will. The front lines, finally subdued, beckoned him with the promise of victory. He would revel in the chaos a moment longer, savoring the taste of his triumph before moving on to the next stage of his grand design.
The currents of the Tide deposited PillowHorror back on the familiar stone floor of the Sunken Cathedral's main hall. The air, still vibrating from the deployment of the Schwerer Gustav, hung heavy with the metallic tang of ozone and the acrid bite of scorched earth. The chamber, once bustling with activity, was now eerily silent. Only the rhythmic drip of water from the vaulted ceiling punctuated the stillness.
Below, visible through the arched windows that lined the hall, the battlefield lay in smoldering ruin. Lunar Empire forces, their initial confusion giving way to disciplined efficiency, were already moving to secure the perimeter, their movements precise and coordinated. The attacking army, shattered and demoralized, had vanished beyond the horizon, leaving behind only the detritus of their failed assault.
The princeling, still reeling from the display of overwhelming force, stood frozen near the Consul's position on the dais. His once-proud posture had slumped, his scales, no longer gleaming with youthful arrogance, seemed dull and lifeless in the muted light filtering through the stained-glass windows. He stared at the devastation below, his eyes wide and unfocused, his mouth agape in a silent scream of disbelief.
"Quite a spectacle, wasn't it?" PillowHorror purred, approaching the princeling with a measured, reptilian grace. He savored the princeling's unease, the palpable shift in power dynamics that hung in the air like a suffocating fog. The princeling, startled by the Consul's sudden proximity, flinched, his gaze darting nervously between the Consul's impassive face and the carnage below. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a choked whisper, devoid of its usual bravado.
"But...the protocols... the chain of command..." he stammered, his words disintegrating into incoherent mumbling.
PillowHorror chuckled, a low, guttural sound that echoed through the silent hall. "Protocols are for those who lack imagination, princeling," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "True power knows no bounds."
He let the words hang in the air, allowing them to sink into the princeling's consciousness like venomous barbs. The princeling, his face pale, his eyes downcast, offered no reply. The lesson, PillowHorror knew, had been delivered. He had subtly, but effectively, dismantled the princeling's carefully constructed facade of authority, revealing the fragile insecurity that lay beneath.
Turning away from the subdued princeling, PillowHorror approached one of the arched windows and gazed out at the ravaged landscape. His reptilian eyes, gleaming with an unholy light, scanned the battlefield, noting the strategic opportunities that lay amidst the chaos. The Art of War skill, still active, highlighted key locations, potential flanking maneuvers, vulnerable supply lines.
PillowHorror turned from the window and strode towards the center of the hall, his heavy tail trailing behind him like a sinuous shadow. The Art of War skill continued to analyze the battlefield data, its complex algorithms processing the ever-shifting variables of the conflict. The information, displayed as a series of holographic overlays projected onto his vision, provided him with a comprehensive overview of the situation: troop movements, terrain advantages, potential choke points, estimated enemy morale.
He paused, considering his options. The princeling, still standing near the dais, watched him with a mixture of fear and fascination. PillowHorror ignored him, his attention focused on the intricate tapestry of the battlefield unfolding below.
The initial objectives of the assault had been achieved. The Schwerer Gustav, deployed in a calculated act of defiance, had shattered the enemy's lines and demoralized their troops. The princeling's authority had been undermined, his carefully constructed facade of command shattered by PillowHorror's display of overwhelming power. The stage was set for the next phase of his plan.
“Inform the surviving legions to begin mop-up operations,” PillowHorror commanded, his voice echoing through the silent hall. “No prisoners. I want every trace of the enemy presence eradicated.”
A ripple of energy emanated from him, carrying his orders through the intricate network of communication channels that linked the members of the Lunar Empire. The princeling flinched, his scales paling further at the Consul's ruthlessness.
PillowHorror savored the moment, the sense of control that coursed through him. He had orchestrated this chaos, had manipulated events to his advantage, had demonstrated the true nature of power within this virtual world. The developers, those self-proclaimed gods of Ludere Online, had underestimated him. They had given him the tools, the access, the freedom he needed to reshape their creation in his image.
PillowHorror turned from the battlefield and surveyed the remnants of the council meeting. The council members, their faces a mixture of awe and apprehension, had gathered near the back of the hall, their usual boisterous chatter silenced by the Consul’s display of power. PillowHorror ignored them, their petty squabbles and political maneuvering held no interest for him. He had greater ambitions, goals that transcended the confines of their limited worldview.
“My duties call elsewhere,” PillowHorror announced, his voice echoing through the hall. “See to the defense of the city. Reinforce the perimeter. And prepare for the inevitable counterattack.” He paused, letting his words sink in.
“And as for you, princeling,” he addressed the trembling figure still standing near the dais, “I suggest you find a more… suitable… position within the ranks. Your talents lie elsewhere. Perhaps in the royal kitchens?”
With a final, dismissive flick of his tail, PillowHorror stepped towards the center of the hall, the currents of the Tide swirling around him. The council members parted before him, their eyes wide with fear and respect, their whispers trailing in his wake.
“Where are you going, Consul?” one of the council members dared to ask, his voice trembling.
PillowHorror paused, turning his head slightly to address the questioner. His reptilian eyes, gleaming with an unholy light, seemed to pierce through the council member’s carefully constructed facade of authority. “My plans are my own,” he replied, his voice cold and sharp. “It is not your place to question them.”
And with that, he vanished, swallowed by the swirling currents of the Tide, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the weight of the submerged city above.
PillowHorror materialized within a secluded chamber deep within the Sunken City. The chamber, carved from black obsidian and illuminated by pulsating bioluminescent fungi, served as his private sanctum, a place where he could strategize and plan without the distractions of the Lunar Empire's court.
The Art of War skill, still active, projected holographic data streams onto the chamber walls, displaying a real-time analysis of the unfolding events in the game. He studied the information, his reptilian eyes scanning the data streams, noting troop movements, resource allocations, and potential vulnerabilities.
The deployment of the Schwerer Gustav had been a calculated risk, a demonstration of power designed to shock and awe both his allies and enemies. It had been a gamble, a blatant violation of the game’s protocols that could have triggered unwanted attention from the developers. But the risk, PillowHorror believed, had paid off. He had solidified his position within the Lunar Empire, had sown fear and uncertainty among his rivals, and had gained valuable insights into the game's mechanics.
He was no longer content to simply play the game. He wanted to master it, to bend it to his will, to reshape it in his own image. The developers had underestimated him. They had given him the tools, the access, the freedom he needed to exploit their creation, to unravel the very fabric of Ludere Online.
PillowHorror turned from the data streams and approached a massive obsidian table in the center of the chamber. Spread across the table's surface was a detailed map of the game world, its intricate details illuminated by the pulsating glow of the fungi. He traced his claws across the map, his gaze lingering on the sprawling territory of the Soohanan kingdom, his next target.
The Soohanan people, renowned for their resilience and adaptability, posed a significant challenge. Their defenses were strong, their warriors fierce, and their magic rooted in the ancient traditions of their land. But PillowHorror relished a challenge. He would break them, would bend them to his will, would add their strength to his growing dominion.
He tapped a claw on a specific location on the map, a strategic choke point that guarded the entrance to the Soohanan heartland. Control of this location would give him a decisive advantage, would cripple their defenses, and would open the door to a swift and decisive victory.
"Yes," PillowHorror murmured, a predatory smile spreading across his reptilian features, "the time has come to unleash the Pale Tide upon the Soohanan kingdom."
PillowHorror, alone in his private chamber, smiled, a slow, predatory grin that spread across his reptilian features like a crack in a carefully crafted mask. He was no longer simply playing Ludere Online. He was shaping it, molding it to his will, pushing the boundaries of the game’s code and the developers’ intentions. He was a force of chaos, an agent of disruption, and he reveled in the fear and uncertainty he had sown within the virtual world.
His ambition, however, extended far beyond the petty squabbles of the Lunar Empire or the conquest of rival kingdoms. He had glimpsed the true potential of Ludere Online, a potential that lay dormant within the intricate network of code and algorithms that governed the game's reality. The developers had created a world, but they had also created the tools for its destruction. And PillowHorror intended to use those tools to their fullest extent.
He turned from the map of the Soohanan kingdom, his gaze drawn to a small, unassuming object that rested on a pedestal in the corner of the chamber. It was a fragment of the Genesis Rock, a shard of the artifact that held the core programming of Ludere Online. He had obtained it through a series of daring exploits, pushing the limits of the game’s mechanics, exploiting vulnerabilities in the code, manipulating events to his advantage. It was a dangerous artifact, a source of immense power that could, in the wrong hands, unravel the very fabric of the virtual world.
PillowHorror reached out, his claws tracing the smooth, pulsating surface of the Genesis Rock fragment. It hummed with a faint energy, a resonance that he could feel deep within his avatar's core. It was a power he was only beginning to understand, a power that promised to elevate him beyond the limitations of a mere player.
A new plan began to form in his mind, a plan so audacious, so dangerous, that even he hesitated to fully embrace its implications. With a few tweaks of his former plans things would play out quite nicely.