V2 Chapter 25: The Countdown (2)
Misery and I shared a mutual agreement that the Demon Lords of Kharigan were easily the scariest things in RTDS. But in ROC, they were no longer scary.
In RTDS, The Demon Lords was URLOX’s most successful attempt at creating the cosmic horror entities for their universe. The Demon Lords were mentioned in small pieces of stories and events that Craxus encountered throughout his journey. Players learned that Managan, the Spawner of Blight was the reason why Niwdar approached Death and made that deal with her. But that was about it, players had no idea what Managan looked like or what her goal was. Players learned that Lust could kill any man by making that man see a red dream. Players knew that Lust was a beautiful woman. But nothing else. Not her purpose or how she used the red dream to kill.
These Demon Lords were presented in a way that players could not grasp the sheer scale and terror that they commanded. Players could not fully grasp their intention or their goal or power. Players could not fully understand how these Demon Lords could warp reality and inflict their damage on Escana. Players could only partially understand what the Reign of Chaos was all about. That was when these Demon Lords were at the peak of their strength, cosmic horror entities that were always greater-than-life and fully capable of destroying Escana at any moment.
Then, in ROC, URLOX gave personality to these Demon Lords. URLOX gave these Demon Lords voices, complete shape, and personalities. URLOX even created the dark cultist faction and granted the unique ability to summon a Demon Lord to this faction.
“ROC was where URLOX killed these Demon Lords,” I spoke my lines as Dr. Reality in that “What’s wrong with these Demon Lord?” episode.
“Absolutely,” Misery agreed.
I had no idea whose decision it was, the executives of PIPE or URLOX, to completely reveal of these Demon Lord. It was a terrible decision. The less the players understood about these Demon Lords, the scarier they were. The less the players comprehended about the power and miracles that these Demon Lords commanded, the more terrifying these Demon Lords became. URLOX was shooting at their feet with this decision. But the decision to grant the ability to summon these Demon Lords to Escana with a Hit Point bar had to be the worst decision if URLOX still had the intention of using these Demon Lords as the cosmic horror entities of their universe.
“If a human can kill or injure beings like Cthulhu or Dagon, even if that was only a hypothesis, Cthulhu and Dagon were already as good as dead.” Misery read his script, “I don’t care how and with what kind method you used to achieve that. Even if, hypothetically speaking, you need a dozen nukes to hurt them and you had none. The thought that you can hurt or kill them, THAT, that was the moment when these beings have already been vanquished as cosmic horror entities.”
Then URLOX just had to make my collision with these Demon Lord an inevitable future.
I had two theories to explain this decision that URLOX made.
First theory, URLOX wanted me to “end” these Demon Lords for good.
Second theory, URLOX was issuing a challenge, “You think our Demon Lords are not scary. How about facing them yourself?”
Regardless of which theory was correct and which was incorrect, the truth and reality remained unchanged.
These Demon Lords ran into me. That was the truth. I was their worst matchup. And this was the reality that I have intended to prove when I ended this Divine Dream.
And yet, before I could end this Divine Dream, I have already proven it, unintentionally. Pride was the first casualty.
Death could kill a man with a black dream.
Niwdar could make a man kill himself after he woke up from a golden dream.
Lust could make a man lived inside a red dream until he expired.
Me, I ended a Demon Lord with my dream. I did not even realize I could do that.
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Pride argued that neither of our worlds was fake. Neither my world nor her world.
Pride was the first and only person to converse and confront me about how weird my current situation was.
“Again? Do you still think that I am a figment of your imagination? How preposterous!” She laughed, stopped playing the elven Sigrean, edging closer to me from her bed. Her finger wiggling.
From my bed, I tossed my guitar away and lazily rolled toward Pride, “That’s a possibility. Otherwise, I cannot explain how I can be inside this ridiculous world.” The distance that separated our beds was now but a line formed by our mattresses. Before our bedroom was a two-royal-bed room, now it was a one-royal-bed room. One king size bed with two separated mattresses.
Pride kept wiggling her finger, delighted by how she could control my movement with but a finger. I kept rolling until I could feel the warmth of her breath on my face. Pride lifted my chin with a finger and gazed into my eyes.
I loved gazing into Pride’s eyes at a close distance. Even the most polished jewels on Earth were far from possessing the mesmerizing and sublime beauty that radiated from Pride’s eyes. Her two colored eyes were simply breathtaking. One was as bright and majestic as a rising vermillion, the other one was cold and mysterious as a dusky sky. Her eyes, they spoke. They were eyes that spoke and sang songs of her character. They were honest in their desire. They affirmed Pride’s words about just how much she wanted to dominate me and claim her possession over me.
“If this is a figment of imagination, it would be my imagination,” Pride said as she straddled my chin with her finger.
“Why?”
Pride brought her lips closer to my ear, whispering in a husky voice, “You, you are like my most hidden fantasy came to life.”
I would challenge anyone to deliver that line without making herself/himself look absolutely cringe-worthy and awkward. And yet, Pride spoke it so natural. Other than Pride, I did not think anyone could. But if Pride was not at least a flirt like this, it would be unthinkable for her to build her impressive harem of that many Demon Lords.
“I’m honored,” I replied.
“Aw, that’s unexpectedly cold,” cooed Pride, “Don’t you have a better answer?”
“In fact I do. Do you want to hear it?”
“No, I don’t. I feel like I might fall in love with you the moment I hear it.”
The way that Pride made such cringe-worthy line appeared so natural and smooth was a talent. I could not help but admire her.
Pride planted a short and gentle kiss on my cheek. “Don’t worry. None of this is a delusion of yours,” she affirmed me with a stern gaze. “For I am Pride, the one and only. I know who I am. I know what I am. I know what I am capable of. Winning your loyalty and heart for instance,” declared Pride.
“It breaks my heart to say this, but you, my dear, you currently lack the qualities that I look for in a leader.” I too made my declaration.
“You think that I am lesser than the King of The Alliance?”
“I think it’s absolutely unfair to compare you to FY.”
Pride broke into a burst of fresh laughter without any hint of ill-intent. Her eyes lit up. “I think it’s about time we settle our differences in opinions.”
“I believe so as well. So how do we settle our difference?” I gave Pride the liberty to choose the contest.
“We both want a Champion. We both think that we make a better leader than the other,” Pride said, laughing, “But I have been a leader of my faction for millions of years. How many years have you been a leader of your own team?”
“Ouch, that’s a hurtful question,” I smiled.
Pride was using the media’s most favorite criticism against me. It was the usual, “You should have your own team,” again.
The Royal Luxury Six, the six of us were considered the ultimate luxury items of our time and in the entire history of the league. Each of us dominated the game in a unique manner. Each and every single one of us was a perfect representation of unfair and unreasonable. We were exactly the kind of monsters that the media has often painted us, “Having one of these six a part of any team’s roster is enough for that team to win a Championship at any era.”
That was the media’s favorite narrative for years. If a team had one of us in their roster and still they could not win a championship, that was definitely the team’s fault. Everlasting Dynasty, FY’s previous team became the perfect target for this narrative.
That narrative then gave birth to another narrative.
“The two of you should lead your own respective team and compete for the Crown fairly. Stop being together.”
“Two members of the Six Royal Luxury on the same team are completely unfair.”
“You are not the greatest. Why? Nightmare, S0rrow, Orithyia and Superior have won Championships by leading their own team. You? How many Championship have you won without FY helping you?”
For that reason alone, FY and me, we were the most controversial one-two combo in the history of the game. These lines of argument became even more heated when our MVP years overlapped on three consecutive years. During two of those three years, we almost have to settle the MVP race by becoming Co-MVPs. I was at the top of my form and so was FY.
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“You two destroy competitions.”
“We sick of seeing the two of you at final.”
“You cannot call yourself the greatest ROC player to ever play this game by playing under the banner of another Great. Greatness is something you created for yourself and by yourself.”
The media and my anti-fans would repeatedly use those stupid lines, thinking that I would leave The Alliance to build my own team due to my giant ego. Therefore, when my contract with The Alliance was about to end, I refused to sign an extension, giving into my anti-fans’ demand. When my contract expired, I met up with various executives of various teams. I gave them positive feedback about their team and rosters. I appeared to be very indecisive about my future choice. Then, on the deadline, I resigned with The Alliance to show them my middle finger. The media absolutely loathed me for that move.
“You can never win a Championship without FY.”
“You have a chance to build your own team and you chicken out.”
And then nobody complain anything when Superior recruited Nightmare and S0rrow to AG.
I saw no complaint on the headlines when that pair, the God of GAM and the Demon Lord of Lavatein un-retired themselves and played for AG. That was half of the Six Royal Luxury on a single team.
A team can never get that stacked, four Superstars for the starting lineup and three All-star for the bench. That kind of line up only appeared in an All-star event.
People showed doubts that such a Star-centric team could even operate. But there was no problem with the chemistry or hiccup in how the team operated.
That dream team operated and fought their battles like a machine of war due to the existence of the most well-oiled and well-designed engine in the history of the game, Superior.
People like FY and Orithyia who could command an arsenal of over 25 warlords on a competitive level were rare, as rare as unicorns. There existed no pro-gamer who could play all 63 warlords on a competitive level. They could play all of them on a serviceable level, but not all of them on a competitive level.
And then, there was Superior who could play all 63 warlords for all positions on the highest level. Ender, Supporter, Raider, Defender, All-Rounder, he could play them all. The Jack of all Trades and Master of All. Superior, the Jack of Ancient God. He was the perfect ROC pro-gamer for any team or any roster and any lineup.
Then, Nightmare was still Nightmare. S0rrow regressed due to his two years of inactivity but he was still a Demon Lord. That 2071 AG team was unreal.
8 Major tournaments of the 2071st series, 8 Major Championship, 8 Perfect-No-Loss records. Throughout the entire 2071 World Cup series, that team did not lose a single battle as they advanced all the way to the Final series of the 2071 ROC World Cup.
At the final series, Misery blew two cigarette packs during the one hour waiting before the first game. Fantasy joined with Merleon for a meditation session to calm his nerves. That prankster could not even make a joke as usual. And I, though I did not want to admit it, but that 2071 AG team was a force of nature. They crushed people’s spirit even when they have yet to play a game.
So, it was FY’s responsibility as a leader to deal with that shit. Strategy wins wars, tactics wins battles. It was FY’s job as our team strategist to get everyone ready and strong for entire series.
The expectation was on him. And FY delivered.
“Guys, this is our test. Be happy guys. This is our ultimate test and our ultimate chance. There is no better chance than this.” FY delivered the most inspiring speech on that day as our team captain. “Beat them and nobody could dispute over our greatness. Beat this team and we will forever be remembered as the undisputed strongest team in history. Beat this team and we will be the greatest team that was, and is and forever will be. We are the greatest. Let’s prove it. Let’s beat them.”
His pre-game pep talk was shorter than usual. But that was enough. FY was just that great. Therefore, it’s difficult for me to imagine myself having a better teammate and captain than FY.
Since Pride used that “You did not lead your own team” to diminish my greatness. I smiled and accepted her criticisms. Then, I roasted her, “I play ROC for thirteen years and won 7 Championships. How many rounds of ROC have you played during your millions years reign? Why haven’t you won the Throne yet?”
Pride smiled without revealing any hint of anger in her body language or expression. In a trash-talking battle, the side that defended and got emotional would instantly lose the battle.
The two of us roasted each other throughout the night and all the way until noon of the next day.
“You are an arrow without a quiver. Without someone like me acting as your leader and your quiver, you will wear yourself out before you could win a single war.”
“If you want a scrub for a Champion, start looking somewhere else. But if you want a bona fide and battle-tested Champion, win him first. Earn him.”
Our nose was touching but we were not kissing each other. We were butting our head.
“You know what? Let’s have it. Your game, ROC as a PC game, your kind of game. I will beat you at your own game.” Pride declared.
I recreated ROC in dreamland and allowed Pride to a taste of it. At the same time, I reinvented the game. Pride talked some mad trash in between. And Blindfold ROC came to be.
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Her right flank was being threatened by Searek’s suicide chargers. Gladiolus took out a page from Merleon’s playbook and rallied her troops to form a circle around her and her HQ. There were very little troop movements or speed. It was unmistakably Merleon’s style of command, a style bore a great familiarity to Nightmare’s signature style.
If I was the sword of The Alliance, Merleon was the shield. My role as an Ender was to takeout enemy warlords. Merleon’s role as a Defender was to defend and protect our team’s territory. Whereas my play style would increase the pace and the speed of the battles, Merleon’s style put a cold track to the paces and movements. It was a cold style, slow, grinding and mechanical. It was the kind of style that stayed away from the highlight reels. It was the kind that its beauty was a very acquired taste. This style was very hard to watch unless Nightmare was the one playing it. Only Nightmare could make this kind of style entertaining.
But Merleon’s style was the perfect tool for the job whenever FY decided that we should strike a mental blow at our opponent’s spirit. We would use my army mainly as a bait to attract attention. Merleon was the real weapon. But since Merleon was a Defender and his warlords often lacked the ability to end the battle in a hurry, it was a grind fest.
Merleon was the shield of The Alliance. And shield was not a weapon. It could not kill an enemy with the efficiency of the sword. But it could be used to push the enemy back. Slowly but steadily, Merleon’s army would push the opposing armies out of their position and territory until they had nowhere else to escape. Being slowly pushed and crushed by Merleon’s army felt like there was an invisible pair of hands slowly choking the life out of your own body. Being defeated by Merleon felt extremely deflating and exhausting in term of mental power. And that was what people has said about Nightmare’s play style.
This style was the most suited style for this Blindfold ROC game, especially when a person playing a handicapped one versus five battle. Gladiolus traded the maneuverability of her army for cohesion and solidity.
As I observed the match, the entire circle of 30,000 troops moved like a wheel of pikes and shields under the command of Gladiolus. That wheel moved like a machine, pushing Searek’s troops to the river with pikes leading.
On the other corner of the training facility, there stood five of Sanguine’s past champions. Searek, the Derange. Isonos, the Broken. Ember, the Mad Saint. Lynx, the Pale Elf. And the most infamous of them all, Sanguine’s most prized champion and trophy, Sasengun, the Wailing Queen.
Searek, the Derange. He was a notorious orc general of his time. His name appeared in the flavor text of the Mad King Adosot, a person who was supposed to be his equal in term of insanity. These two men, an orc and a dwarf, despite the difference in their race and heritage, they were famous for the same thing, butchering and skewering their own men, enemies, captives, slaves, even their family on pikes to strike the terror into the heart of their enemies.
Isonos, the Broken. He was URLOX’s re-imagined version of Ivar the Boneless, that Viking who appeared in the Tales of Ragnar Lodbrok. He was a fantasy version of Ivar the Boneless if Ivar the Boneless was a Garuda and if that Garuda had only one wing. He was Ivar the Boneless if Ivar was less sane and more deranged.
Ember, the Mad Saint. The Kingdom of White Winter knew this man’s backstory better than the man himself. This man struck the match that ignited the mess known as the One Hundred Years War.
Lynx, the Pale Elf. The ancient elven king of Murkwood, Ashtorá the First had to cross the Paredi Ocean from the Long Continent with five thousands of his people and made his home in Murkwood to run away from this lunatic.
Sasengun, the Wailing Queen. This dark elf queen of her time became a tale of horror that every child growing up in the Southern Continent knew about. She explicitly made a pact with Sanguine in order to have her goal fulfilled. With the power she gained from the pact, she fought a war to protect her children and her people. But when she won that war, she drowned her own children while being under of Sanguine’s influence. Since Sasengun’s tale was retold for a millennium until it became a horror story to scare children and taught people not to make a pact with Sanguine. But other than the Champions of Sanguine, nobody knew the truth. No one has ever chosen Sanguine. Sanguine chose them. And when one was chosen by Sanguine, they were fated to suffer his poison and madness.
I was probably the only one who was stupid enough to recruit these five as my military consultants. And shit, I have made a lot of stupid decisions. Making these fives my military consultants had to be my most stupid decision in life.
And yet, I had no better alternative at the moment. A man's junk is another man's treasure.
Inside this Divine Dream, nobody understood the aerial warfare and dogfight more than Isonos. Nobody knew White Winter more than Ember even if his knowledge has become outdated for 100 years. Nobody had the experience to fight in an infantry and a large army like Searek. Lynx was the only one with the knowledge of usurping a crown. And Sasengun certainly knew more about water warfare than me who could only swim.
If only these five were mentally stable and alive, I could not ask for better generals and advisors. But they were neither alive nor mentally stable. Hundreds, Thousands, and millennia years of being at the mercy of Sanguine’s tentacles and poisons left the marks on their souls and their mind.
I treated these five just like them, the other Champions of Sanguine if I could identify all of them as Champions. There were babies of three years old or less who could only speak their babyish language or speak the language of insanity. There were newborns who could only cry. And there were fetuses, unborn babies of different races. But aside from them, I could speak with the rest of Sanguine’s past champions.
Unstrung them from Sanguine’s vice I did. Filtered Sanguine’s poison from their soul I did. Made them remembered who they were I did. Be that one person for them when they needed someone, I, too, did. But they were alone when the memory of their deranged deeds returned to them. They were alone, truly alone when they realized that they were neither a part of the living nor a part of Death’s subjects.
“If you want vengeance, enter the Mirror Hall. Many of the victims of Sanguine chose to return to him to make him suffer. If you want peace, you are welcome to live among my stupid people of dreamland. They will receive you with open arms. But if it was possible, I want you to serve me as my advisor or staff. I want your counsels, your experience, your knowledge, and your strength. I am about heading to fight a war of my own. Yet, I am lacking in everything. I have no army, no provision, no general and no experience of fighting a war. So if it’s possible, I hope that you can support me.
But I will respect you, regardless of which choice you made. I understand that you have suffered a lot under Sanguine’s whims.”
Back then, I could not predict that when I first spoke those lines, over 147 of Sanguine’s past Champions would volunteer to be my advisors. Perhaps even if I told Pride about these people when we only were starting playing Blindfold ROC, she could never believe it. If I told Pride, “If it was not for the help of these 147 insane and broken souls, you would have probably won. PROBABLY. Probably is the key word.” I wondered how she would react. I regretted not telling her about that.
Among these 147, ten rose above the competitions and formed the core of my General Staffs. Five were already with Lust when I sent her off, using her as my messenger and deliveryman. They were chosen for being the most mentally stable people among my advisors. But in fact, their insanity reflected in how normal and mentally stable they appeared.
Suddenly, I remembered Flokí’s question, “Which one is more terrifying? A God, a Demon Lord or a mortal?” Sanguine spread madness as a Demon Lord. I spread madness as a human. I could not help but laugh at myself. If Madness could save a person’s life, why not employ madness?
The other five of the ten, Gladiolus was taking them head-on, all at the same time.
This kind of reckless arrogance reminded me of Pride. But again, I had to remind myself, “Pride no longer existed. I erased her.”