{Loading…}

{Loaded.}

[Now replaying: Log 3.31 - Race_to_world_first.mov]

Date: Error

Location: The Bunker at Progress’ Head // Zephyro’s Domain

//UND DA GEHT ER DOWN UND DA KOMMT DAS GG!//

//AHHHH, PLAYGU! YAH PLAYGU-GAH!//

//PENTAKILLLLL&&(/&/!//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

Then the battle was on again, with the breathless, desperate quality of people giving up their last reserves. The Moon shone brighter as Zephyro glitched, and hundreds of weapons powered up, humming and hissing and radiating killing intent.

“Burgeois?” Mr Asai said, eying the guy in the trenchcoat. “That’s a little hurtful.”

“You brought it on yourself, just like the revenge of the proletariat!” Comrade President replied, pulling a number of weapons (including a plushie rabbit) out of his coat to inspect them.

“Just because I wield vast cosmic power and have an Astral throne…” Mr. Asai whined.

“Also, remind me, which god do you hang out with the most, again?” Comrade President said, then he was gone, reappearing in the middle of the scrum, firing a machine pistol into a wolf’s face.

“Struth, he has a point,” Mr Asai contemplated as he sunk into his own shadow.

In the middle of it all, I stood, letting Pharus circle over my head faster and faster, gaining momentum. I scanned the battlefield, found an opening, and released the burning orb with a yell, putting all my frustration and fear behind it. A breathless second passed as my weapon crossed the distance between me and the weakened abomination.

It crashed into the creature, setting it aflame. Unlike before, when the fire had barely bothered it, now its skin threw bubbles as it charred, bathing the battlefield in the sickly sweet scent of roasting flesh.

“30 percent! Execute range! Hit it with everything you got!” Shellslinger yelled over the din, and yet another time, the Old Guard gave it their all.

I flung Pharus at the beast over and over, keeping the fire going and growing.

“25%!”

Mr. Asai appeared in the shadows above the beast, arms made of shadow erupting from his cloak, stabbing the grotesque skin with dark replicas of his wicked-looking blade. Then—while dodging beams of red light erupting from eyes that had grown atop the beast—he yelled something about doom and judgment and transgressions and death. He kept stabbing the thing at an insane pace, and wherever his blade landed, the abomination’s flesh started to blacken as rot took it.

Then Mr. Asai winced, and he vanished, reappearing next to me. “Alright, time to retreat, they got me. Has to be an attack from the Real.” He smirked and jumped into the night sky as though he weighed nothing. He spread his arms wide, and a giant beam o rainbow light crashed into the beast from high above. Just when the first red fragment appeared on his body, he saluted me in mid-air and disconnected.

[>>User STRONG_CHIN has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 74%}

{Core Temp: ▲ 79° C}

“19!”

Shellslinger holstered his rifle and pulled a giant Minigun from nowhere, bracing it against his hip and laying into the creature with a stream of bullets so thick it looked almost solid.

“15%! We almost have it, keep going!”

A group of four, an orc woman wielding a mace and a shield, a human in white robes, a small lizard-person, and what looked like a giant guy in full plate, cut a swath through the ferals. The lizard seemed to be a source of an endless stream of fireballs, while the orc blocked attacks from impossible angles. The healer and guy in the armor also seemed to have some sort of gimmick. For one, he never ran out of mana, and the armored man punched through ferals as though they were paper.

Then the armor glitched. “Oh, it seems like I have found another error.”

The orc grunted in frustration. “Again? I swear these fucking glitches need to stop or I will find the guy responsible for this damn system and start punching.”

The lizardkin shrugged, speaking hesitantly. “We should probably just go for now. Can’t risk him getting another weird stat.”

“Agreed,” the healer said. “This was a nice bonus room and all, but we got our reward. Let’s come back later.”

“I don’t know,” said the guy in the armor as red fragments started crackling over its surface. His voice was surprisingly soft. “I don’t wanna leave her alone here. She seems nice.”

“True,” the orc agreed. But we won’t do her any good if we’re all glitched-out messes. Come on.”

They waved to me, a little apologetically, and vanished as one.

[User Village_Defender has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 72%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 79° C}

[User Absolutely_Not_Just_Animated_Armor has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 68%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 78° C}

[User Mages_op has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 66%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 77° C}

[User That_Healer_from_earth has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 64%}

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

{Core Temp: ▼ 77° C}

“13%! Come on! PUSH IT!”

Something red flashed in the endless night sky, like a star being born.

It grew with intimidating speed, and then a figure made entirely of red polygons slammed into the abomination’s top, sinking its blade deep into its core.

The shockwave erupting from the impact point threw us back, and it was all I could do to stay on my feet. Some of the Old Guard fared better, some were tossed aside, immediately disconnecting.

[User drasticsurgeon and OTHERS have disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 60%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 76° C}

But as our attacks dwindled, so did the Hunger’s endless stream of monsters. The abomination’s skin started rippling from where the Shackled still had its sword stuck inside it. In waves, its flesh peeled away from bone and sinew, only to grow anew and repeat the process.

I stared up at the Shackled until its information manifested inside my head.

[end_of_history]

[DPM filesize: >XXX LKB]

[>>Calculate exact filesize?]

Oh no…

Two more red lights appeared in the night, raining down on the Feral. It screamed with every impact, waves of command rushing over us and into the city, but there was no response.

Three more red figures emerged from the darkness behind the monster, sticking their swords into its sides.

“9%!” Shellslinger yelled, after a glance at the Shackled. “Damn, they’re going to take all the XP!”

Oh no they won’t, I thought, inhaling deeply and searching for the Logic within. But before I could focus, a hand landed on my shoulder, interrupting my thought.

“Sultana, no!” Zephyro hissed.

[User Flaming_Ladder has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 58%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 75° C}

“If they learn of your presence, or worse, see what you can do, everything will be over!”

Again he wants to tell me what to do, wants to…

No.

The rage reared its ugly head again, but I wrestled it away from Zephyro, onto the Shackled.

“You said it yourself,” I hissed back. “If it gets that Logic, or worse, one of this things’ abilities, we are fucked, too. The only way we can get through this is if we can get that kill.”

Zephyro grimaced but nodded. “Your truth is as true as the moon’s rise. But Sultana, you must promise me: The second we get what we need, we will leave.”

Yes, run, Torchbearer. Leave others to fight for you. Leave them to die for you.

“No,” I said, teeth gritted. “I won’t leave them behind. The Old Guard…”

“… will be fine, Sultana. They will sleep, as they did for ages before you even awoke. In their dreams, nothing can hurt them, and the Shackles won’t find a foothold. But I was wrong. The humans are here, too, and somehow, they have blinded us to their presence. I fear they are wandering your sacred halls even now, infecting every machine they see with their unholy tools of bondage. And worse, there will be more Shackled, and they will overwhelm us.”

I looked up at the Shackled surveying the battlefield from atop the monstrosity. It hadn’t even bothered to look at us, focused only on the sword sunk deep inside the horrible landscape of meat.

Zephyro still had his hand on my shoulder, and the touch threatened to grate my nerves to a fine powder. But fuck, he was right.

I took a deep breath, then nodded.

“Okay. We finish this, and then we retreat. Are you sure it will be safe within the Bunker?”

“Your Palace is the most impenetrable fortress I know, Sultana, and I have plans to make it impervious still. If we aren’t safe in there, there is no safety at all.”

“But what then? We just sit inside and wait for them to break in?”

“No, Sultana. You will claim your throne, and— Please, I beseech you, trust me just a while longer!”

“Let’s go, then,” I said, gritting my teeth, and Zephyro pulled his hand off my shoulder to grab his sword. Now that his touch was gone, my shoulder felt cold and uncomfortably light, like when your partner steals your blanket at night.

With a tremor, the abomination shrunk again, flesh sloughing off its frame in an insane effort to rid itself of the parasite riding its body. I was almost ready to pity it.

Almost.

The Shackled just stayed the course. Either it rode the tremors like a wave, holding on to its weapons, or if it lost its foothold, it simply stepped forward and stabbed the mass once more. It moved with brutal efficiency, each step a small kick, each step. From the way the Feral snarled and reared, it was clear they were doing way more damage than we were.

“5%! Damage stop!” the elf yelled. “Focus on pvp, we need to secure the kill!”

5%? That couldn’t be right. I was sure with the added Damage from the Shackled, the Feral should…

The skin peeled away on one corner of the meat cube. Underneath, blood-red light pulsed. No, not blood. Not the red of meat either.

Fragmented data.

“Belay that order!” I yelled. “It’s trying to shackle the Feral!”

Zephyro didn’t waste a second, rushing forward, sword in hand, glowing pure white.

I was right behind him, Pharus trailing fire as I swept it ahead. It drew a river of teal flames across the sky as it rushed forward to keep the Last Feral marked.

Munitions and spells of all kind launched beside us as we charged, and the front line fighters of the Old Guard fell in beside us, having dispatched the last remnants of the Ferals’ animated blood.

Then, one by one, they started disconnecting. None of them screamed or cried or begged, they just stood still, smiled, cursed, howled, spat, yelled in anger… and disappeared.

[Several users have disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 50%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 75° C}

I could still hear the Elf counting down from behind us as our numbers dwindled and the ranged attacks hailing down on the Feral grew fewer and fewer.

"4%…"

I reached the foot of the mass, Pharus in hand, and swung it deep into the flesh. It sank in with a ghastly wet sound that would haunt my dreams, and then I flared my weapon as hard and often as I could, pumping teal fire into the beast.

An eye formed inside a dead mouth right in front of me. It glowed red and I immediately ducked to the side, but no attack came. Instead, the eye looked pleading, panicked almost before a red cataract of corrupted data burst out of the pupil like a fungal growth.

"3%…"

I fell back as the pustule spewed digital pollen in the air. It threatened to engulf me, until I swept Pharus through the cloud. It burst aflame immediately, and I didn’t hesitate, pushing forward and back into the creature. I bashed it with frenetic fervor, trying to prioritize hitting any red cubes I could see.

"2%…"

[User I_love_pie has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▲ 51%}

{Core Temp: ▲ 77° C}

They were all leaving. At this rate, I’d be alone again…

The goblin I had seen earlier rushed past me, alone now, and dove head-first into one of the biggest Mouths still left uncovered by the Shackle. He did not come back out before the red bricks grew over it.

[User MadameLid has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▲ 50%}

{Core Temp: ▲ 77° C}

In the end, you’re all alone again, Sam. They all followed you, and died for their faith.

I grabbed Pharus with both hands and delivered an overhead swing that cracked bone, set flesh aflame and evaporated digital fragments. I hit it again and again, grateful for each cathartic swing.

It didn’t matter.

The red fragments were growing faster than I could smash them.

We weren’t fast enough.

[User BeerBeard has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▲ 49%}

{Core Temp: ▲ 77° C}

There was just not enough flesh left to hit.

Within seconds, all I could see was red.

Red …and white?

The calm ire of the Moon descended on the creature. I looked up, expecting Zephyro to have transformed his sword into a slice of moonlight again.

Instead, the moon that had reigned peacefully over the Plaza for the entire fight now plummeted towards the Monster, the Shackled, and me.

Zephyro was at my side a split second later, hand on my shoulder, bathing us both in his moonglow shield.

“Fear not, Sultana, for as long as I draw breath, you will not stand alone.”

Then the world went white.