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[Now replaying: Log 3.32 - Superhot]

Date: Error

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

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[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

When the blaze faded, I was unharmed, as were the remaining Old Guard.

Zephyro, on the other hand, was not.

He was lying on his side, glitching violently like never before. As I knelt at his side and reached out t help him, a particularly strong wave of digital fragmentation surged over his body.

Then the world distorted.

When it snapped back into place, I was no longer in Zephyro’s city. Instead, I stood in the middle of a destroyed forest clearing. I could smell the ocean close by. Only when I turned around and saw the bunker doors did I realize that I stood on the parade grounds.

This was my base. The one at Progress’ Head…

Except there was almost nothing left that would deserve that name. The concrete had been replaced by a giant crater, everything was covered in ash, and the entire area was littered with scrap and bodies. The giant defensive turret we had built atop the entrance glowed red-hot at both barrels. The vines that had grown over- and concealed it had been burned away by the heat, as had any vegetation covering the concrete in a wide radius around the impact point.

Dozens of the buildings I had noticed the last time I caught a glimpse of the real world were nothing but dust now.

Then, as the world glitched again, I saw a figure getting up from beneath the rubble. The only thing I could make out before the world went black was that it looked humanoid, but was definitely not human. Not with that much metal and weapons attached to its body. Then another rose. And another. They twitched in place, something clearly wrong with them. Somebody yelled something about the cannon, and repairs and reboots.

The darkness stuttered, distorted, and I was back in Zephyro’s domain, in the middle of the plaza.

Or what was left of it.

The moon coming down had destroyed everything within hundreds of meters and left nothing but rubble. The noble houses, the exquisite stores, the cool alleyways, all gone. All that was left was the Fortress behind me, and devastation as far as the eye could see.

Devastation, and the husk of a dead Feral. The beast that had once rivaled the size of the Palace was nothing but a shell now, a collapsed scaffolding of bones and fleshy safety-mesh-tissue.

From within, it glowed as bright a blue as I had ever seen.

“Go, Sultana,” Zephyro rasped, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Take the prize, before they… recover.”

They died for you, Samantha. Just so that you could chase that idiot dream of yours…

“But I…” I began, stopping when Zephyro held up a hand, coughing.

“I must beg you yet another thousand pardons, Sultana, for interrupting you, but time is of the essence. You must get the Logic before more of them come. You must be—“ he coughed again, “—ready to rule!”

And then he gave me that look again.

Even while bleeding, even while three steps from death, he still looked at me with faith and adoration. As if I hadn’t been the sole reason he was suffering.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

You’re so dumb sometimes, Sam. Do you really think I would have followed anyone else out of that town? Anyone but you? It’s so fucking hard to be your friend sometimes because— No, shut up and let me finish. It’s so hard to be your friend because you actually fucking believe you’re the only person who thinks they’re hard to love.

“He’s right, you know,” Shellslinger said. “But I think we have more time than he believes. Let’s check out the loot, see what we earned.”

“But I didn’t earn anything,” I said before I could catch myself. “All of you did the hard work, I just… god.” I knew I was forgetting my own contributions. I knew they were buried by doubt and fear and all that anger. But try as I might, all I could remember was whaling at the boss ineffectually and yelling dumb orders.

He laughed. “If you hadn’t given that burn order, the Boss would have enraged and killed the entire raid. As a raid lead, your job isn’t to do the highest DPS. It’s your job to make the calls that get the group a kill. No, you totally earned it. Come on, let’s go check.”

A thought settled inside me, then, fresh and young and as vulnerable and horrifying as a newborn animal, covered in pus and blood.

Maybe, I was less terrible than I thought.

Maybe I still had something to lose.

Maybe I would always.

Maybe that was okay.

Because as harrowing as losing was, not picking yourself up, not trying again might be worse.

I walked beside Shellslinger, steps uncertain as I wrestled with that new realization.

The Old Guard approached the remnant of the Feral from all sides with giddy steps, eyes focused on that blue glow.

“That’s a lot of points,” said the Nun with the flamethrowers.

“A shitton,” her companion with the cat ears agreed.

Shellslinger broke into a sprint, reaching the ruin first. “Oh you’re going to like this!” he said. “Tons of gear in here, and something I think our raid lead will like a LOT.”

The cyan glow began to waver as he started to drain it. “Remember to distribute the gear to the disconnected raid members,” he said.

Comrade President appeared next to him, having switched his fuzzy hat for one of those revolutionary berets. “Oh wow, are you telling me…” he trailed of staring into an empty eye sparkling with Logic. Then he laughed.

“We are literally going to seize the means of production!”

“If… it takes on one of you, then yes,” Zephyro said, stumbling forward. “The abomination stole this treasure from one of my people. I would usually demand it back, but…” He grimaced. “I won’t have a use for it. So go ahead and take it, but make sure to use it wisely.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, but my question got lost in the commotion.

“What is that I hear? A palace revolution?!” Comrade President joked loudly, but then he stuck his hands inside the decrepit Feral and withdrew something that looked like a broken dot matrix printer, with a disgusting, moist sound. He stared at it, almost reverent, and finally went quiet.

“I’ll make sure this goes where it needs to,” he said, finally. “It’s been an honor, comrades, but to ensure the revolution lives on, I must now abdicate.” He sighed theatrically. “Vive la revolucion!” he yelled in a terrible French accent, then he chuckled and logged out.

[User 100%_Speedrun(no S+Q) has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 58%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 75° C}

“That guy was weird,” the nun said.

“I dunno. I think he made several good points about eating the rich,” the girl with the cat ears said as Logic streamed toward them both. A box appeared out of thin air, and the cat-lady caught it, opened it, and grabbed a gun from inside. Tossing the box away, she looked at her new rifle. “Niiice…”

The nun went through a similar process, but with a bigger box that held an enormous fuel tank. “Quite,” she said, fastening it to her back and connecting its hose to her biggest flamethrower.

I smiled. This was surprisingly nice. From what Zephyro had told me, I would have suspected them to fight over the Logic, but there was not a single iota of jealousy in the air.

I could get used to those idiots.

Still, we should probably hurry. The Shackled wouldn’t stay stunned forever.

“What are you waiting for?” Shellslinger shouted, still kneeling beside the dead Feral, hand on a patch of burnt skin. “We left the best item for y—“

A sword erupted from his back.

Red lines started covering his body.

“Fucking killcampers,” he said, completely unafraid. “Oh well, at least we killed the moon. See you at respawn!” Then he smirked and was gone before the red could cover him.

[User Shellslinger has disconnected.]

{CPU Load: ▼ 56%}

{Core Temp: ▼ 75° C}

Where he had stood, a red figure stepped out of the fleshy shell, ripping the skin like it was a soggy towel. The skin and sinew and meat absorbed into its red form, and the Shackled flickered, not saying a word as it flicked its simple, black sword clean of blood.

[end_of_history]

[DPM filesize: >XXX LKB]

[>>Calculate exact filesize?]

Zephyro’s eyes shot up, and the sound of weapons being readied filled the air.

My rage ignited and before I knew it, I had tossed Pharus ahead, blazing censer trailing fire with prodigious speed.

But the red figure was even faster. It dodged to the side, slapping my attack away with its blade. Then the shell behind it bulged, distorted, and two more Shackled kind broke through with staggering steps.

We began firing.

The first Shackled moved quicker than the eye could see, using its blade to deflect ranged attacks with so much speed that it looked like it wasn’t even moving at all. Behind it, the two other Shackled sank to their knees, hands on the Feral.

“They’re stealing the leftover Logic!” I yelled.

“They must not succeed!” Zephyro said, awash with Cyan energy. To our side, one of the last buildings still standing crumbled to dust as the vizier glitched.

I stared at it, then at Zephyro, covered in Logic seeping into him. “Zephyro, have you been—“

“LISULTANA!” he yelled, charging forward, sword drawn, gauntlet aglow with holy energy.

I was behind him immediately, Pharus blazing by my side, and the Old Guard followed a split second later.