[ZERO SPACE]
A six-legged, seventeen-eyed beast plowed through a field, bashing four players north, west, south and east.
With a panicked pant, the hulking monster hunched his horned head towards the aftermath.
“I am sorry friends,” said the behemoth. “Was that too rough?”
A dragonoid pulled free from a patch of sunflowers. These sunflowers shone brighter than the sun itself, each adorned with a tiny pair of sunglasses.
“Way too rough, Boonterzode,” said the dragonoid. “Start off with fire breath. Don’t just charge us! You could have hurt someone with those attacks! You’re lucky most players don’t pass this way!”
“I am sorry, my friends,” said Boonterzode. “I thought you might enjoy some variety.”
“Choreography is consistency,” said the dragonoid. “Stick to what we rehearsed!”
A magicoid pulled his face from the dirt. Small eyes peered back at him from the soil, sad to see him go.
“Man, you guys said Glitch Island was good for material farming,” said the magicoid. “The monster NPCs here are heckin’ brutal!”
“I did not mean to hit you so hard, my friends,” said Boonterzode. “The field is foggy. It is difficult to see.”
A pteranoid shook shimmering soil from his fuzzy wings.
“Boonterzode, you schmoe,” said the pteranoid. “You’re supposed to be an easy kill!”
Pale lightning slashed open the sky, ripping through rainbow clouds like stained glass windows.
A leggoid looked upwards, shielding his eyes from sharpened storm shards.
“Weird weather,” said the leggoid. “Do we gotta be worried ‘bout that too?”
“Do not worry, my friends,” said Boonterzode. “Glitch Island is a safe place. We are protected from Zero Space rules and logic. No outside harm will befall you.”
“Those clouds ain’t lookin’ too protected,” said the leggoid.
Boonterzode chewed a mouthful of giggling grass.
“Yes, this storm is from elsewhere, my friends,” said Boonterzode. “Our lightning is pink and gives wonderful massages.”
The magicoid massaged his temples.
“Man, this place confuses the heck out of me –” said the magicoid.
“That’s because you don’t belong here,” said a distant voice. “Stupid players!”
Two silhouettes materialized in the mist ahead. Or maybe it was one silhouette? The fog obscured all details making it look larger or smaller than he, she or they were.
“Oh great,” said the leggoid. “More weirdness on its way.”
“Hey, beat it!” said the dragonoid. “We’re farming here!”
Foggy tendrils relinquished the forms of two purple puppoids. Both skipped in unison like good little children on the way to school. A long strand of fuzzy flesh linked their hips together, melding their movements and minds as one.
“Foolish players,” said a puppoid. “Flee while you can.”
“It’s too late for those stupid players,” said the other. “It’s too late for us all.”
The pteranoid spat a wad of saliva across a rock - the rock spat it back.
“Ugh,” said the pteranoid, wiping his cheek. “Who are these schmoes?”
Boonterzode generated a guttural growl.
“Do not be afraid, my friends,” said Boonterzode. “They’re just the purple twins. False prophets. Glitch Island natives know to ignore them.”
“Yes, foolish NPC,” said one of the purple twins. “That’s why you’re all doomed.”
“Stupid NPC,” said the other purple twin. “We warned you all about the glitch zones, but you allowed them to remain unsealed.”
“We all sealed off Paradise Hotel, my friends,” said Boonterzode.
“You put scary signs around it, foolish NPC,” said a purple twin. “That stopped players from going in; that won’t stop anything from coming out.”
“Stupid NPC,” said the other purple twin. “You let the Strangers break through. Now, far stranger things will break through.”
Both puppoids grinned with bloated lips. Molting fur revealed a seedy underbelly of muscle and bone. Tiny insects ran rampant on their bodies, feasting on what little flesh remained.
“Ew, man,” said the magicoid. “What the heck are these guys? Weird-ass players? More monsters to farm?”
“Foolish player,” a purple twin said. “We are not your playthings. Glitch Island is not your toybox.”
“Stupid player,” the other purple twin said. “Glitch Island is the Glitch Man’s toolbox. And he has finally come for his tools.”
The twins held hands, lighting up the landscape with luminous eyes. Their oily fur desaturated, rendering them in shadows. Both ascended, hoisted up by invisible strings.
With a unified booming voice, they said together:
Three will come to stake their claim,
Cleanse the world in his name.
All four players yelped, huddling together.
The first ascends from earthen sleet,
Heaven’s head and devil’s feet.
Pale lightning struck the north edge of the island, unleashing a scent sensed by all. The smell was indecipherable and all-encompassing, like the aftermath of a scented candle factory explosion.
The second falls from God’s terrain,
Wings like thunder, eggs like rain.
Lightning crackled on cue, illuminating a thick clump of clouds.
Rainbow urchin is the third,
Aging men, mutating birds.
Paradise Hotel will burn,
On the prism-beast’s return.
Pale bolts blasted like ballistic missiles, exploding against a monumental target.
Foul winds swirled around the purple twins - it smelt quite foul.
The prophecy is soon fulfilled,
Foolish players will be killed,
First, they’ll eat our little land,
Then the world, at his command –
Boonterzode stomped forward on all six legs, releasing a bestial roar.
“You two upset are upsetting my friends,” said Boonterzode. “Stop now, or I will charge you. People get hurt when I charge them.”
The wind settled as the purple twins lowered to the ground. Their eyes dimmed, reverting to an indigo hue.
“Foolish NPC,” said one of the purple twins. “You cannot stop it.”
“Stupid NPC,” said the other purple twin. “It’s already begun.”
A conflagration of screams erupted from the north edge of the island, spreading south like wildfire. Their cries were varied and vast, representing everyone and everything. Players. NPCs. The earth and the sky itself. It was a collective suffering, hoarded by something in the distance.
Boonterzode suddenly found himself with four players attached to his legs. A dragonoid, a magicoid, a pteranoid, and a leggoid, clutching him and quivering like the earth itself.
“Holy shit,” said the dragonoid. “What the hell is going on?”
“Man, I don’t like this,” said the magicoid. “Let’s get the heck out of here!”
The pteranoid tinkered with his palm.
“The boat’s gone, you schmoes,” said the pteranoid. “Something sank it.”
“I ain’t about this,” said the Leggoid. “I ain’t about this!”
Boonterzode shielded his player pals with his huge horned head.
“Don’t worry, my friends,” said Boonterzode. “I will protect you.”
Hordes of players and NPCs ran past Boonterzode, tripping and trampling each other in a steamrolling stampede. Players stepped on tiny NPCs. Bigger NPCs smooshed smaller players. It was violence and mayhem on a scale that Boonterzode had never seen.
Three more things Boonterzode had never seen emerged as silhouettes in the fog. Towering, titanic shadows that stretched from the ground to the sky. Scuttling, skittering shades, shifting with unhinged ferocity and velocity.
PSULOPH
The sound was indecipherable, hollow like a flute in a hurricane. Its source edged closer, slurping and crackling like ice sucked through a straw.
“The prophesied beasts,“ said the purple twins together. “They arrive!”
Boonterzode’s seventeen eyes opened wide, witnessing a sight no NPC was designed to see. His programming couldn’t process it. Some faint ghost in his machine pounded at the walls of his fuzzy flesh, like an inmate attempting to escape a flooding prison.
Boonterzode backed up, hissing like a housecat cornered by a lion.
He couldn’t protect his friends.
He couldn’t protect Glitch Island.
And nothing could protect him.
***
Asira zipped through a storm cloud as a pale beam parted the sky. Another close call. That could have been her wing. Or her leg. Or head. Real life damage, though Asira didn’t have wings in real-life. Would a damaged wing hurt her real-world shoulder? Or would the wing just sting in Zero Space? What did intense wing-pain feel like? She shook the thoughts from her mind - what she didn’t know, couldn’t hurt her.
She glanced back towards her monolithic pursuer - a gigantic alien wheel with four serpentine heads. Deadwheel, the forums called it, though Asira had other names for it, such as “you fucking asshole” or “you freaky alien shit!”
That freaky alien shit drifted at a deliberate pace behind her. Dark clouds collected across its colossal body until Asira could hardly see it. Sometimes, she’d spy a jittering snake head peek through a cloudy burrow. Or catch the coral outline of its cylindrical frame. But mostly, she relied on the sound - a tone as consistent as its distance, mowing through the tempest with a low irradiated hum.
All four serpentine heads at last came together, leaning side by side, their mouths stretched into one continuous maw. A bright light glimmered within the monster’s throat. Asira imagined this was the same light people saw in near-death experiences. But this light brought no comfort. No heaven. No peace. It was something beyond death. Ultra-death. The sequel to death. Death Two –
Asira swerved sideways as pale energy pierced the heavens. Another near miss! One of those beams would get her eventually at this rate. And if not, that pale lightning would do the job. The beams and bolts shared a common color - the same color as Master Valdi’s secret dagger; Asira knew all too well what it felt like to be hit by that.
It was time to make a move, and the only sensible move was down.
Deadwheel’s four heads collaborated to craft another pale sphere –
Asira breached the storm as coal clouds above her turned pearl white. Her wings fanned out, stabilizing her above a burning hellscape. Smoke and ash obscured a view of what Asira could only assume was Trader Town.
She cursed between choking breaths; this was the worst case scenario. Those confounding clouds carried her too far west. Straight into the heart of Trader Town, the most populated place in the server. And she’d led this murderous monster right to it.
There were fewer players around than Asira expected. Rats, fire, and fire demons were the sole street occupants. Anyone with enough common sense likely hid away in the remains of the few remaining buildings.
The sky split open with an audible gasp as Deadwheel emerged, clouds dispersing like steam beneath a rising potlid. Asira didn’t complain; she brought this on herself. One beam aimed at her was one less beam aimed at someone else.
And speaking of which –
Asira barrel-rolled beyond another lethal laser. Deadwheel’s new delivery wasn’t for her however - this one was addressed to five fire demons and two rats below. They didn’t see it coming. A growl. A squeak. And then they were gone. Not even ash persisted.
Asira squinted - if her observations were correct, Deadwheel was targeting other enemies. Maybe she could manipulate Deadwheel into cleaning up the streets? Tempting, but she couldn’t risk it cleaning up another player.
“LIGHT BEAM!”
Asira’s spotlight recaptured Deadwheel’s imagination.
She let out an exasperated sigh. There had to be somewhere she could discard this volatile alien cargo. Maybe she could lead it to Stone Tower - cut that pretentious structure down a few pegs. Or guide it straight into that giant fire tornado in Trader Town’s central plaza - few things could beat up a tornado. Perhaps she could lead it past the edge of the world, into the ocean –
– Into the ocean.
Asira gasped.
There was something in the ocean. Multiple somethings. She could see those somethings from all the way up here –
Just past the northern edge of the world lurked a creature with at least two hundred legs. Or was it three hundred? Each time Asira glanced back at it, it seemed to grow a hundred more. Those feet were impossible for human or pteranoid eyes to track, like oscillating blades in a spinning fan. Its cascading curtain of limbs funneled into a singular point in the sky. Whatever ghastly sight awaited at the apex, only the gods could know.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Another beast flew at its side, though calling it “flight” was generous. It had two wings working overtime to compensate for its gargantuan gut. Hundreds of holes riddled its beehive belly, leaking little fleshy orbs. Each orb housed one hundred holes. And each hole held smaller orbs, each hosting a hundred more.
PSULORRIPIH
A third entity arced through the water with a dolphin’s stride; it was a sea urchin with tentacles of every color protruding from a giant cancerous mound of flesh. Each tentacle ended in a miniature mouth, all snapping and chomping as if feeding on invisible carrion. Water bent around its form, solidifying into ice, evaporating into vapor, then flushing inwards like a hurricane tide, geysering the beast through the air.
Asira had no idea what she was looking at. Her brain unraveled, untangling in an effort to unearth this bizarre imagery. Her eyes spun and her head spun faster. She blinked ten, twenty, thirty times, whipping her snout in an attempt to subdue her unsettled mind. “Calm down,” she told herself. “Don’t panic.” “Stay alert.” “It’s real.” Real strange. Stranger than the giant wheel in the sky.
No –
Just as strange.
It was one of them.
Abstract and unnatural glitch monsters, from unseen corners of the world, all converging on Trader Town.
Even at this distance, those creatures were huge. Asira’s fur stood on end - it was impossible to kill even one of these things. Fighting a whole army of them was out of the question.
Unless –
No.
Asira contemplated something ridiculous; it was a Shae-level plan. Dangerous, reckless, and more than likely to result in her horrific agonizing demise. But if she couldn’t stop this, no force in Zero Space could.
This was her last shot at redemption. A chance to make it up to all the people she’d hurt. Danny. Chief. Her old boss Marcen… actually, fuck Marcen. But all the Feather Birds - she would make this right. Even if they couldn’t forgive her, maybe she could forgive herself.
Ninjas weren’t known for their noble sacrifices - that was more of a samurai thing. But Asira was ready to sacrifice everything.
One way or another, she would find peace.
***
In the center of Trader Town, a gigantic tornado teetered in place, surrounded by a spinning wall of food, food carts, and billboards advertising those food carts. Streaks of pale lightning burrowed through its funneling gray flesh like petrified veins, patches of blue fire bleeding from its pores.
Umi paraded up to the tornado, twirling his warhammer like a baton.
“Okay!” shouted Umi. “Let’s kill it!”
Kezzle flapped her wings.
Dalli shoved his spear in the way.
“Idiots,” said Dalli. “We can’t fight a tornado,”
“Mister Dalli,” said Bez. “We have to do something. The wizard flew in there!”
A hoarse laugh blared from a hundred places in the tornado, as if it had swallowed up a megaphone superstore.
“Yesssss,” said the tornado. “I flew in here. Flew in here to destroy you.”
Bez aimed his golden microphone towards the tornado.
“Is that you, Mr. Wizard?” asked Bez.
Dalli slapped his own forehead.
“This is ridiculous,” said Dalli. “Don’t tell me you’re actually a tornado now.”
“Yessssss,” said the tornado. “I am an actual tornado. A tornado that will destroy you.”
“Dear god,” said Dalli.
“Great idea, buddy!” shouted Umi. “Let’s pray!”
Kezzle flapped her wings.
A new sound reverberated, like a monster truck revving its engine. The world itself trembled as the tornado picked up speed and everything else around it. Invisible hands yanked statues and structures from their foundations, hurling them like building blocks in a three year old’s playpen.
“Fall back,” said Dalli. “Fall back!”
Umi literally fell backwards. Dalli jabbed his spear into the ground, wrapping an arm around Bez. Kezzle was just out of reach. Dalli made a grab for her, but the tornado grabbed her first, vacuuming her up like a speck of dust.
The tornado hula-hooped Kezzle around its thickest section before immersing her through five stories of a hotel - short stories, long stories, followed by a painful epilogue in the basement. The hotel fractured around her wrecking ball body, collapsing into a rolling fog of metal flakes.
Dalli gagged, inhaling a mouthful of hotel.
“Ugh,” said Dalli. “There goes Kezzle.”
“Wait, Mister Dalli,” said Bez. “Look!”
Something shuffled in the scrap: dust and dirt, grinding like pepper in a salt shaker. Kezzle’s head sprouted, then her beetle body bloomed in the debris. She skittered forward, shimmying soot from her exoskeleton.
“Holy snap!” said Bez. “Miss Kezzle’s really tough!”
“Yesssss,” said the tornado. “But I am tougher. Tough enough to destroy you.”
Umi nudged Dalli with two arms.
“Try hitting it, Dalli!” shouted Umi. “You have a projectile ability!”
Dalli groaned; he didn’t want to waste SP on a tornado.
“SHADOW STAB!”
A hundred spikes spread across the ground from Dalli’s spear, rooting the tornado with a vortex of spines.
Fire Wizard
“It worked,” said Dalli. “I don’t believe this. The wizard really is the tornado.”
“Great hit, buddy!” shouted Umi.
“It was a terrible hit!” yelled Dalli. “I barely did any damage!”
“Yesssss,” said the tornado. “Now I will hit you with something terrible. Something terrible that will destroy you.”
The tornado deconstructed an expensive house, crafting projectiles from fancy furniture and a few fancy players.
“GRAVITY DOME!!”
Umi’s warhammer relocated those projectiles sideways, furnishing an abandoned home with televisions, beds, crystal chandeliers, and a few fresh corpses.
“We’re never going to kill this thing,” said Dalli.
“Yesssss,” said the tornado. “It is not possible for you to kill me. I will inevitably destroy you.”
“Damn, lazy, incompetent designers,” shouted Dalli. “They made another bullshit boss!”
“Yesssss,” said the tornado. “Only a level three can destroy me. Without one, I will destroy you.”
Dalli paled.
“S-Shae,” said Dalli. “H-He’s got the level three. He was supposed to be here. Then he went off with that other group. N-No. No –”
“Yesssss,” said the tornado.
Tornado winds accelerated like a fan turned from low to high. Chunks of sidewalk, buildings and even the sky itself blended into a chunky tornado smoothie. Players peeked out from distant houses. Rats migrated south. Fire demons hid in the very flames that birthed them.
Umi braced himself, squeezing Dalli and Bez with two arms each.
“Hang in there, buddies!” shouted Umi. “Ledgess is with us!”
“Mister Dalli,” said Bez. “What do we do?”
Dalli peered into the tornado with dry scratchy eyes - this was just like their battle against the Goblin King. Maybe they could whittle the tornado down, one rock at a time.
“Throw stuff at it!” shouted Dalli. “Anything!”
Umi, Dalli and Bez scavenged everything in reach. Pebbles. Picture frames. Boots. Nails. Fingernails. A finger or two. Then together, they lobbed their collections into the tornado’s swirling mass.
Fire Wizard
“Great idea, buddy!” said Umi. “We definitely hurt it a little!”
“Not enough!” shouted Dalli.
“Let’s pray!” shouted Umi. “Ledgess can help us!”
Dalli peered at a massive cathedral. His amphibian eyes lit up.
“Umi,” said Dalli. “You’re a genius!”
“Thanks buddy!” shouted Umi. “I get that a lot!”
Somber organs rattled the cathedral’s stained glass windows and intricate gothic frame. Even at a time like this, a sermon was in session. Two dozen players knelt on their knees, praying to a very specific god. Whoever that god was, Dalli was certain it wouldn’t save them. Not from the tornado. And not the act of blasphemy Dalli was about to commit.
A single Level Two from Dalli could shatter the whole church. Then, with the assistance of Umi’s gravity dome, drag the church’s jagged pieces straight into the tornado’s heart. Death by a thousand cuts - enough cuts to beat any boss. Even a tornado boss.
“Umi, when I tell you,” said Dalli. “Put a Gravity Dome in that tornado.”
“Yessir!” shouted Umi.
Dalli plunged his spear into the ground.
“SHADOW STA –”
Dalli choked on his own words.
The battlefield grew eerie silent around him. Player eyes peered out from darkened windows, unblinking. Umi gripped Bez like a hat snagged by the wind - it was an uncomfortable position, sustained indefinitely. Frozen fire grew from the ground like stalagmites, serpents of smoke slumbering above them like thought bubbles in a comic book.
Reality drifted further and further from Dalli’s grasp, until Dalli realized that he was in fact drifting. Drifting up above Trader Town, past the guildhall mountains, and through the clouds themselves. He splashed down in a sea of stars, bright lights passing like night traffic, rainbow nebulas performing interpretive dances in the sky.
It was all so beautiful. Too beautiful. Was this heaven? Dalli expected death to be more painful. He didn’t even see the killing blow. Maybe he died of old age? That seemed unlikely - Dalli looked younger in real-life, though not by much.
Either way, he couldn’t control this situation; he could only make the best of it. Dalli swam through the stars. Front-strokes. Backstrokes. Breaststrokes. Every type of stroke he could think of. He swirled and twirled in place, giggling unhinged. Most players would never see this side of Zero Space. Assuming Dalli wasn’t dead, he was one lucky leggoid!
And then he looked down –
Below the nebulas and beyond the stars was a giant astral pit. A swirling whirlpool of clouds, funneling into a bottomless black void. White squares cycled through its mass, like monstrous ice cubes in a giant Dark n’ Stormy.
“Dalli,” said the pit. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you.”
Dalli gasped. The pit was talking with the same voice as that damn tornado. In fact –
Dalli hyperventilated. It was that same damn tornado. He was floating above it, getting a Feather Birds-eye view of it.
“I am much stronger now,” said the tornado. “I know more than I did before. I can show you more than ever.”
Dalli attempted to speak, but an icy draft slid down his windpipe, gagging him with frigid fingers.
“You will hear what I have to say,” said the tornado. “You have no choice.”
Wind wormed around Dalli’s body, gripping his frail form with invisible restraints.
“You are a miserable leader,” said the tornado. “Your team disrespects you. You’re unreliable. Unremarkable. You’re no Chief.”
Dalli grunted with what little breath he had. They were just words, and words couldn’t hurt Dalli. Tornados? Those could hurt Dalli. But not a tornado’s words.
“Chief would be disappointed, if she could see you,” said the tornado. “But she can’t see much of anything right now. Would you like to see her?”
Dalli’s eyes widened. Was the tornado about to show him mercy? Was it about to show him Chief? Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.
“Come,” said the tornado. “I will show you.”
Suddenly, Dalli was falling. Falling straight into a massive funnel that swallowed him up like a bug in a drain. There was darkness. Deafening noise. And spinning. So much spinning. Dalli choked on the contents of his stomach, and then, his stomach itself.
Dalli let out a scream. A prolonged endless scream, until his lungs grew raw and his teeth wiggled loose. And then, he screamed louder. Blood gushed from his lips. His nose. His eyes. Brittle bones snapped. Flesh peeled. Organs popped. It was an eternity of darkness. An eternity of pain. A fate worse than death; death was preferable. Anything. Anything to make this stop.
And then, Dalli penetrated the storm, exploding into the crimson sky. His body whipped along an unseen path, ricocheting between buildings and gliding past snapping flames, before diving straight through solid ground. Dalli raced through a dark underground maze as if tied to a chariot of terrified steeds.
Even in the chaos, he recognized this place - these were the catacombs below the city. Wind steered him like a bumper car through torchlit corridors. Hard lefts and hard rights, each turn harder than the last, until finally, Dalli drove through a brick wall. Beyond it lay darkness. A smothering darkness that consumed Dalli for several minutes until his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Here sat an armoroid, barely visible, if not for a small thread of luminance that teased her from a ceiling hole.
This armoroid was larger than most, and this room was smaller than most. She sat cross-legged, both knees leaning against opposite walls. Her wings folded across her shoulders, unable to extend. The ceiling compressed her skull, bending her neck at an unnatural angle. A dribble of dirt trickled across her buggy eye; she shook her head, unable to squeeze an arm up to wipe it away. Jagged rocks pierced her sides, scraping away flakes of exoskeleton with each minor movement.
“Chief –” Dalli managed to mutter.
“She can’t hear you,” said the tornado. “And no one can hear her. She waits in the darkness for someone to set her free. She’s confused. In pain. Unaware that she’s been banned. No one will give her the answers. Banned players can’t chat without a guild.”
Dalli thrashed against his invisible restraints. He would do anything to absorb some of her agony or siphon even a small portion of her suffering.
“The devs placed her in a prison room when she was banned,” said the tornado. “Until they decide what to do with her, she’ll stay here. And with the way things are in the Haven, she’ll be here for a long time.”
Chief’s mandibles chittered in the darkness. She looked cold, and more terrified than Dalli had ever seen her. Anything that terrified Chief horrified Dalli.
“Her days will be endless,” said the tornado. “Darkness. Isolation. Terror. And yet, she’ll endure. Because she has hope. And fear. She’s afraid to leave Zero Space. Her Haven body is frail and in constant pain. Suffering here is preferable.”
Dalli wheezed, attempting to make a sound. Any sound would do.
“She will remain in darkness,” said the tornado. “Or she will give up and accept the pain of reality. Either way, you’ll never see her again. She never had a chance to tell you where she lived in the Haven, and it’s too late now. You’ll never find her. Your days together are over.”
“No –” Dalli managed to utter.
“Say goodbye to Chief,” said the tornado. “This is the last time you’ll ever see her.”
“No –” Dalli cried. “No, please, God, no –”
Dalli stuttered in stunned silence – he was back on solid ground, his spear impaled through two layers of concrete. His wounds were gone, but he could still feel them, his astral body sore with phantom pain. Umi and Bez stood next to him, watching with eager eyes. Sparks bounced across the battlefield like shimmering snowflakes, the screams of a thousand players orchestrating the blaze.
“Mister Dalli,” said Bez. “You were talking to yourself.”
“Still waiting for your orders, buddy,” said Umi. “I love using Gravity Dome on evil tornadoes!”
Dalli opened his mouth, but only a whimper came out. Then a choke. Then a cry. Then a full-on sob. He told himself to be strong; he had to be a leader, just like Chief. But he just couldn’t. Not while Chief was like that. She wasn’t just banned; she was suffering. And all Dalli could do was watch. Hell, he couldn’t even watch anymore.
He was alone and Chief was even more alone. The only thing Dalli cared about in this world was locked away in the worst part of it. It wasn’t a dream; it was real - the only thing real to him in this entire god-forsaken game.
Dalli screeched towards the sky. His pain and Chief’s pain - it all came out at once. A single elongated wail that could be heard from anywhere in Trader Town. Maybe even Chief could hear his cry. Dalli would scream until she could; he’d reassure her with his own misery.
Bez reached towards Dalli with his microphone.
“Mister Dalli, are you okay?” asked Bez. “Talk to us –”
Umi reeled Bez back.
“I think Dalli needs some space, buddy,” said Umi.
“But we need him!” shouted Bez.
Umi patted Bez’s shoulder.
“It might be the two of us for now!” shouted Umi. “And Ledgess!”
Umi gripped his warhammer tight enough to break it. Bez’s microphone trembled in his hands as they both stared up at the tornado like insects gawking at the feet of titans.
“Yesssss,” said the tornado. “Your leader is out of commission. It’s down to two players. Two players that I will easily destroy –”
“BLACK WAVE!!!”
The words rang across Trader Town, skipping across each stone rooftop, rebounding across thatched walls, and drifting through every open window. Ambient birds flocked in the crimson sky, the harbingers of some unseen calamity. Rats migrated north, back towards the tornado - the comparatively safer option. Pale lightning went on strike, leaving nothing but empty clouds in the sky.
“H-Holy snap,” said Bez. “I-It can’t be.”
“It is!” shouted Umi. “Praise Ledgess!”
A new sound grew in the distance. It was a low gutteral rumble, familiar to the collective subconsciousness of all sentient life. It was a compilation of nature’s greatest hits, played backward in a demonic medley.
Pebbles and debris skated along concrete. Buildings wobbled as if ready to faint. Sheltering players sought higher-elevations. There was a crash. An explosion. And then, something tore through the skyline, rising like the cloak of night –
– A titanic wave, blacker than storm clouds and higher than the tornado itself. It ripped through clouds that drooped too low and struck down buildings that peaked too high. The wave was indiscriminate, oblivious to the cries of players, fire demons, and rats alike. Dark water crescendoed into a foaming claw, lashing out at the tornado’s hurricane heart.
“Nooooo –” said the tornado.
CRASH
Water met wind in a bliding black spray. Needle droplets hailed across every exposed surface. Flames extinguished. Pale lightning short-circuited. The tornado itself folded in half, snapping like a severed spine.
BOOM
The entire entity erupted into a violent onyx mist. Water evaporated into steam. Gales steadied into breezes. And a slender red figure catapulted out like a falling star, slam-dunking through a cylindrical skyscraper.
Fire Wizard
Umi, Bez and Dalli opened their eyes – they floated in mid-air, suspended in a translucent blue bubble. Its shape conformed to their bodies, chill and smooth against their bare flesh.
Between them stood a tall slender musicoid, his eyes redder than the ashen sun, and his flesh darker than its absence. Even fire demons cowered at the sight of him.
“Holy snap,” said Bez. “Master Valdi!”
With a gentle poke of his black dagger, Master Valdi ruptured the bubble. Master Valdi and Dalli landed on their feet. Umi landed on his head. Bez landed on Umi’s head too.
Umi nudged Bez aside with a hearty shove.
“Hi Master Valdi!” shouted Umi. “I love it when you actually do something useful!”
“Bah, I was waiting for the right moment,” said Master Valdi. “Your team clearly needed the help. Shae’s team is doing… okay. And I can’t see Syadd’s team or Asira. Their live-replays are glitching.”
Kezzle emerged from a cloud of smoke, shaking water from her tiny beetle body.
“You,” said Master Valdi. “You’re still alive?”
Kezzle flapped her wings.
“You survived my Black Wave?” said Master Valdi.
Kezzle flapped her wings.
“Bah,” said Master Valdi. “Silent and useless as ever. Typical Kezzle.”
Master Valdi’s blood-red eyes met Dalli’s bloodshot eyes.
“Your temporary leader failed you all,” said Master Valdi. “Typical Dalli.”
Dalli gritted his teeth. A thousand thoughts cycled through his head, each one imagining an inventive demise for Master Valdi.
Master Valdi brushed by Dalli, nearly knocking him down.
“I’ll be taking over from here,” said Master Valdi. “The wizard fell to the north. Let’s end this quickly.”
“Yessir!” shouted Umi.
“S-Sure, Master Valdi,” said Bez.
Kezzle flapped her wings.
The Deadly Skulls marched alongside Master Valdi, but Dalli stayed behind, contemplating murderous fantasies. Those fantasies grew more numerous, more vivid, and more boisterous, until Dalli couldn’t stand it anymore. It was time to make one of them a reality.
Master Valdi made Chief suffer.
Now, Dalli would make Master Valdi suffer.
Even if it was the last thing he ever did.