The canyon floor and walls came to life as dozens of spiders crawled from holes, de-stealthed, and dropped from high above. Webbing filled the air, fired from multiple directions toward the fool who yelled. In a blink, he was completely encased in a cocoon of sticky, hardened mesh. Chaos erupted in the players’ ranks. Arrows and elemental Blasts flew wildly while warriors hacked at the stray bindings that were clinging to their limbs.

TwistedReligion bolted back the way they came. Richtor leaped at him, grabbing his armor as he zipped past. His heels dug into the hard ground and he grunted with effort. A Blast crashed into the back of his neck. Its heat enveloped his head, then blinded him, filling his lungs with scorching heat as he gasped in surprise. [Critical hit! -27]

Richtor couldn’t decide to laugh or cry through the suffocating pain. He settled on coughing while wildly pointing toward the exit of the canyon on the far side of the ambushing group. KevinsBakon lowered his shoulder and barreled into their ranks without a sound, knocking three of their members directly into the waiting legs of approaching spiders.

Deloralicious leaped, landed on his shoulders, then dove toward the caster who attacked Richtor. She buried a dagger in his neck, a snarl twisting her lips. Richtor regained his senses enough to activate Mend. The ache in his throat and burn in his eyes vanished. He immediately snapped a command, “Out of the canyon, don’t stop to fight!”

They did just that, running bodily through the unknown, lower-level fighters. Richtor’s group were on their fourth weapon masteries, and the difference in their attributes was apparent. Each collision, punch, or kick resulted in someone flying two meters away. The spiders by no means ignored them. Over ten of the quick beasts harried their every step, though many more piled on the helpless ambushers.

Having run from them many times, the group kept an eye over their shoulders, dodging to the side in quick hops whenever webbing was fired their way. While their evasions often put them in a position to take a bite or clawed stab, the weaker beasts near the exit lacked the ability to hurt them significantly. Being webbed on the other hand, would have been a death sentence. In less than a minute, they reached the forest and the spiders chasing them turned back.

Heaving—more from adrenaline than being winded—Richtor spoke in short, concise sentences, “Did you see their colors? Same as the guys from town. Probably scouts from DyingNight. There might be more nearby. Now that they found this place, we can’t stay. Let's head into the hills and loop around to the road.” Checking the party resources, Richtor decided not to heal their minor injuries. He had enough Celestial Power for two more uses of Mend. With the potential for more enemies nearby, hastily spending the slow-to-regenerate resource would be foolish.

“We can’t take the road!” Milkdud hissed, “There’s a war going on, remember? I bet those guys thought we were members of Righteous. There’s supposedly more than five hundred thousand players on each side. We could be completely surrounded already!”

“Damn, you’re right. Okay, we’ll stick to the hills and head toward Vile Peak Town.”

Deloralicious was the calmest amongst them. She bobbed her head in thought, fingers brushing over the hilt of her dagger, “Raine told us not to go there until we hit level ten. I agree that we don’t have much of a choice. We don’t know any other leveling spots and heading to a nearby town would be begging for a death. You’ve seen the posts, anyone caught out in the open in the warzone is targeted, and now that’s us.”

“Good thing we all have Stealth,” every pair of eyes swiveled toward TwistedReligion, their mouths agape at his gall. “Hey! It was an accident. They surprised me is all. Now that I’ve experienced something like that, it definitely won’t happen again.”

“Right…” Richtor shook his head, then led the way northwest.

They reached the edge of the small woods. The coast was clear, but to be safe they Stealthed before slowly moving toward the base of the nearest hillock. Staying together wasn’t an issue with how simple it was to track the soft grass that depressed with each footfall. They traveled around the hill, and with it blocking the canyon from sight, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Two hills later, Richtor was nearing fifty percent Discipline. He stopped and was about to call for a break when he spotted a tall man in a matching armor set come over the top of a rise. He moved with the fluid grace of a martial and every hair on Richtor’s neck stood tall.

Richtor turned the group away from the man and toward the nearest curvature of ground, wanting nothing more than to get out of the clearly dangerous man’s sight. When the man was halfway down the hill, he called out in a strong voice, “That’s far enough!”

The group stopped in their tracks, none daring to move a muscle. Like a drill sergeant, the man’s voice rang out again, “Break twenty!”

Richtor’s confusion lasted all of a second before what must have been three hundred players dropped from stealth around the man. His instinct screamed to run but he held them in check with an iron fist. Right up until a terrified TwistedReligion popped into sight next to him.

The small army froze, hundreds of pairs of eyes zeroing in on the group. The dangerous man’s arm rose slowly until it was straight above his head, he then swung it down toward them. With a thunderous roar, the army of players charged.

“Run!” Milkdud shouted, already in a sprint when he appeared a few steps away.

They head east in a mad dash. With each step, their eager anticipation to get their hands around TwistedReligion’s throat soared. Since they all lived in the house Raine bought for them, he definitely wasn’t going to get off easily this time.

The fastest of the players were only a few dozen meters behind when they rounded the nearest hill. Before them, spread out across a sweeping valley, was easily a thousand players with spots of orange color blooming throughout their ranks.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Dread slammed through Richtor’s veins and he veered to the south, back toward the forest, “The canyon! Go-go-go!”

image [https://i.imgur.com/hpsW3fY.png]

After spotting their one-time friends and joining the chase, Grifden and MourningWood returned to the main force. They were breathing hard by the time they returned to MercilessLee. They snapped a salute and waited.

“Report!” The psychopathic little bastard sneered.

He had made their lives a living hell over the last week, but at least they managed to reach level five and could finally join the war. In DyingNight, it was impossible to be assigned decent leveling areas and meals without merit, and this was a chance neither were willing to squander.

“It was definitely them, my lord,” Grifden would never again curl his lip at the honorifics MercilessLee demanded. One beating per lesson was more than sufficient. “They entered the same canyon that scout seven located. They’re all level eight, so it must be an amazing grinding location.”

“Reports aren’t for opinions! You think I’m dumb?! You want another lesson in respect? Is that it?”

There was only a single acceptable response, and Grifden was quick to reiterate it, “I would gladly accept another heartfelt lesson, my lord!”

MercilessLee rocked back on his heels with a soft smile, “Good. Good. We might have time later, but not now. We’ll deal with the company from Righteous first, then dig their corpses out of that canyon and claim it for ourselves.” He waved them off and they left in a hurry.

They joined up with SanctimoniousNut, retaking their positions at the front of the 205th Battalion—eight hundred and seventy-two men and women ready to lay down their lives for DyingNight as many times as it took to hold their territory. Grifden eyed their powerful army eagerly, dreaming of the day when its command would fall into his hands.

“Was that really them?” Nut wondered, making room in the formation for them to stand beside him.

Grifden nodded solemnly, “Yup. Looks like they found a crazy leveling spot. They’re already eight.”

“What?! Fuck that pisses me off. After everything we’ve been through… We have to survive this fight. I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t kill at least one of them myself.”

MourningWood swallowed hard. Having known Richtor for years, he wasn’t comfortable thinking of their old group as the enemy. Still, surrounded by so many of his new guild mates, he was confident he had made the right choice. If not for the war breaking out, they definitely would have out-leveled his old group. It didn’t matter if they were level eight, twelve, or fifty. There was a point where overwhelming numbers trumped anything that a lone group could accomplish. He would show them that harsh reality sooner or later. Then, they would join DyingNight, and together, conquer this amazing world.

image [https://i.imgur.com/hpsW3fY.png]

Raine nodded along to Richtor’s story, not at all surprised, “Good job making it out of that pincer. Well, do your best to survive. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get there, so don’t count on my help. If you’re captured, use the suicide option in your interface. Unless you want to be tortured… no judgment.”

“Seriously?! That’s all you have to say,” Richtor snarled. The others were crowded around him, their senses trained on the canyon walls.

“They have a battle to win and a war to fight. They probably won’t chase you too deep. Besides, they’ve all been stuck at level five from constantly killing each other. Your situation isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Not as bad? We’re surrounded by level ten spiders with no way out to even take a break! I have no idea how we’re supposed to survive this.”

“Simple. Push deeper into the canyon and kill until you’re strong enough to leave on your own two feet. If you think it's going to get easier than it is right now, you’re dead wrong. Each step in ZL is like a guide leading you down the path of a martial. Keep going, and you’ll naturally progress.”

Richtor's face scrunched in frustrated anger, he opened his mouth to retort but Raine cut him off, “Remember that time Mikey fell from the old tree and broke his leg? You told me when you saw the bone sticking out, you didn’t think, couldn’t think. The next thing you knew you were in the house, calling the medicus. That’s what you have to do. Shut out all the noise and move. Don’t stop, don’t think, just keep moving forward.”

“Pair of tens coming closer,” Milkdud whispered and Richtor spun away from the screen.

Raine ended the call, not wanting to distract him further. He sifted through several VRVods until he found one of a martial using a short sword. He carefully examined the shifting of his torso as he lined up for the edited-out attack and defense. Raine repeatedly visualized himself mimicking the motions in ZionLine, and how he would complete them. He had been at it for hours and was almost out of edited footage.

The sun was straight overhead and his quest log showed thirteen hours until ownership of his soul was transferred to the witch, Zoarra. He was making good time by skillfully sticking to the shifting speed zones. The need to focus on his surroundings while visualizing was an extra layer that kept the activity fresh. His drifter was only down five durability, and two more lifts would bring him to the end of his first flight. If nothing went wrong, he would arrive at the mystic land with an hour or two to spare.

His interface chimed and Raine experienced a moment of shock before answering the call. A professional, feminine voice sounded in his ears, the cadence of her words matching the rushing wind around him. “Mr. Alaric. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” Mrs. Stonewhall wore her usual sweet smile, her piercing eyes seeming to look right through him.

This Vaaterran is almost as creepily realistic as the witch. Did she call to give me a quest…

“Not at all, ma’am. Is there something I can do for you?” Raine almost dreaded asking, but his last reward from the auction house had truly shattered his expectations. There was no reason not to throw himself into the fire in hopes of another.

“Not at this time, but it’s sweet of you to ask, dear. Normally, we would send a message for such a trivial matter as this. However, as our first honorary VIP among the Travelers, I wished to personally extend you an invitation. We were granted the honor of hosting the grand opening of the Celendine Emporium’s Tower of Triumph in Silverlight City on Feastday. I do hope you can attend.”

The Tower of Triumph was a series of tests that players would use to determine their overall combat potential for years to come. As far as he knew, there was no benefit to being the first to clear each floor. There could be other rewards for showing up though, so it was worth going. Feastday was in six days, and Raine saw no reason why he wouldn’t be level fifteen and in Silverlight by then.

“Unless something comes up, I’ll be there. Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Stonewhall.”

“Marvelous, dear. Safe travels, or should I say fly dangerously?” With a too-realistic wink, she ended the call.

Maybe the witch isn’t as unique as I thought. Could ZL be running a few beta versions of what Vaaterran’s become after the third update? Yeah, that must be it.

Setting his suspicions to rest, Raine focused on flying. A short time later, Morty sent him another packet of VRVods. He sorted them, ecstatic to find one with a mostly complete shield movement technique. With tingling fingers, he tapped play and sharpened his focus.