The sky was empty.There was no moon. No clear stars either—just a thick darkness pressing down over the fields.
Jake walked slowly along the dirt road, the sack digging into his back. Each step kicked up dry dust that clung to the sweat on his hands. His fingers were hardened, calloused, and his back ached more than usual.
"Good yield today," the other man said beside him, some energy still left in his voice.
Jake snorted."Today."
They walked a few more steps in silence.
"They'll keep coming," Jake added, not looking at him. "And we'll still be the same."
The other clicked his tongue."The boss will figure something out. He won't keep things like this forever. This foregneirs keep coming and we need to put them to work at some point."
Jake thought about the newcomers. The way they looked at everything as if nothing had weight. As if hunger didn't exist.
"They don't work like we do," he said at last. "They don't even get tired the same way."
The other let out a short laugh."They'll learn."
Jake wasn't so sure.
The sound of the sacks set the rhythm of the road. Drag. Lift. Drag.
Then he saw it.
A light.
Far away.
Jake frowned and stopped.
"You see that?"
The other took a second."…Yeah."
It didn't look like a torch.
It was brighter. Steadier.
Something settled in Jake's chest. Uncomfortable.
"It's late for there to be light in the village."
The glow didn't flicker.
It grew.
Jake let the sack fall. The dull thud against the ground broke the silence.
"That's fire?," he muttered.
And then the light split open.
Jake ran.
The road lit up with each step, long shadows stretching around him as the glow grew stronger.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He reached the village and saw it.
Thatched roofs burned violently, spitting sparks into the dark sky. Shadows twisted along the walls as villagers ran in every direction.
Screams.
Too many.
Jake barely registered them. His mind couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.
A sharp blow jolted him.
"What the hell are you doing?" the man beside him shouted. "We have to help!"
Jake blinked, as if waking up.
His gaze shifted.
Something steadier settled behind the exhaustion.
He had been a soldier. Not for long. Not gloriously. But enough.
He moved without answering, grabbing a sickle from the ground in one motion.
If someone was doing this…
He would stop them.
He reached the well.
And stopped.
There were bodies.
Too many.
And among them, three figures.
The foreigners.
They moved without order. Without formation. Without fear.
Cutting. Striking. Laughing.
"Damn, these graphics are insane!" one shouted, clumsily dodging a villager before running him through.
"Dude, this is GOTY," another replied. "Every hit feels real."
Jake didn't understand.
But he understood enough.
They weren't soldiers.
And that made them more dangerous.
He lunged.
The sickle cut low and fast.
The first didn't even react.
The blade tore his throat open.
He fell, still wearing a stupid smile.
Jake turned without slowing.
The second raised his sword in time.
Metal clashed against metal.
"Hey!" the boy said, taking half a step back. "This NPC hits hard. Hidden miniboss?"
Jake didn't answer.
He attacked again.
Blow after blow.
The other held, but without technique. Without rhythm.
Then he felt it.
He shifted just enough.
A spear brushed past his head.
The third.
Jake stepped back, breathing harder now.
"What do you want?" he growled, voice breaking.
The one with the sword tilted his head.
"Look at that face…" he said to the other. "The AI keeps getting better."
Jake clenched his teeth.
And moved again.
But there were two of them.
And he no longer had the advantage.
They pushed him back.
Step by step.
The exhaustion hit all at once. His hands trembled.
His foot slipped.
Just one step.
It was enough.
He felt the point before he saw it.
Cold.
Precise.
The air left him in a sound he didn't recognize as his own.
He looked at the boy.
There was no hatred on his face.
No fear.
Only… curiosity.
Like he was testing something.
Jake tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
Then—
A whistle.
An arrow.
It pierced the boy's neck.
He dropped the spear, hands going to his throat, more surprised than hurt.
The last one turned.
Too late.
A figure was already on him.
The movement was clean.
Precise.
A dagger cut across his neck without resistance.
Silence.
Only the crackle of fire.
The man didn't look at the villagers' bodies.
He looked at the others.
At those who left none behind.
Light began to spill out.
Faint at first.
Then devouring everything.
It wasn't the first time he had seen it.
But something was wrong.
Too fast.
Too soon.
He exhaled slowly.
"Two years…"
The light vanished.
Empty.
The man closed his eyes for a moment.
"…too early."
When he opened them, there was no doubt left.
This wouldn't follow the course he remembered.
And that…
was a problem.
-----------------------------------------------------------
I had a vision.
Like so many before.
They started when I was a child. Fragments. Places. People I didn't know, yet saw again and again.
My mother said it was a gift.
I believed her.
When I showed her what I saw, she smiled as if the world had finally given something back. She went straight to the village chief. It didn't take long for them to decide.
A mage born in a small village… meant protection.
Or so they thought.
We traveled to the nearest city. I remember the temple more than the road. Cold. Silent. Too large.
The priest used an artifact on me.
The heat came without warning. It climbed through my body until it settled behind my eyes. I felt something open… or break.
"Holy eyes…" he said.
I didn't understand.
But my mother was crying with happiness.
That was enough.
-
The Church took me.
Years of training.
Sword. Spear. Bow.
Magic at night, discipline by day.
I wasn't the best with spells.
But I learned how to survive.
Until I saw something I shouldn't have. A vision so vile I fear it today.
The Pope. The highest figure in the Church.
Kneeling before something that wasn't human.
Tiamat.
Death itself. Demon-god of desctruction
I didn't hesitate. I went to my master.
I thought I was doing the right thing.
I was an idiot.
They locked me up before the day was over.
Heretic.
Madman.
Corrupted by my own visions.
No one questions the Pope.
No one ever does.
The cell was barely large enough to stand in.
I learned to sleep without falling.
I learned not to scream.
The heated iron stopped hurting after a while.
Or maybe I stopped feeling it.
I don't know.
Days stopped existing.
Only hatred remained.
Chaos set me free.
Ironically.
The same ones the Pope had sought… came for him.
During the attack, a guard fell in front of my cell.
The keys gleamed in the blood.
I didn't hesitate.
I didn't think.
I ran.
Looking for home. For my mother.
Going back was a mistake.
I knew it was my house before I saw it.
The smell.
The door was gone. Blackened wood, splintered inward.
I took a step.
Then another.
I didn't want to look.
But I did.
The stake stood in front of what remained of the doorway.
There was no body.
Only ash gathered at its base.
And a crooked sign.
Mother of a heretic.
I didn't cry.
Not yet.
There was nothing left in me that could break.
I understood something, standing there.
The world doesn't shatter all at once.
It rots… slowly… until nothing is left.
I ran.
I survived.
I learned.
I stopped asking if it was right.
I started asking if it worked.
Not what I wanted.
What worked.
At twenty, the visions changed. My eyes took a runic form.
My visions... they weren't fragments anymore.
They were warnings.
People… young.
Too young.
They killed. They died. They came back.
They always came back.
White light.
No bodies.
No consequences.
"Players."
That's what they called themselves.
And they were supposed to arrive when I turned thirty-three.
--
So… why are they here now?
I watched the village from a distance.
The laughter.
The clumsy movements.
The way they held their weapons.
I recognized them instantly.
Players
They weren't strong.
Not yet.
Two melee. One at range.
Disorganized.
Careless.
Dangerous.
I waited.
When the villager fell, I moved.
One first.
Fast.
Silent.
The second didn't understand until it was too late.
The man on the ground looked at me.
His eyes… locked on mine.
"Heretic… Severin Voss… is this your doing?"
I didn't answer.
It didn't matter.
The bodies began to dissolve.
Light.
Always light.
They vanish.
And they return.
Two months.
Always two months.
For a moment… I felt fear.
Then I understood.
They are chaos.
But even a rabid dog…
can be controlled.
And that is what I will do.
From a low hill, I watched another group of players fighting each other.
"You stole my kill!" one shouted with a fury I didn't understand.
Weak.
Clumsy.
Poor positioning.
No technique in their movements. Just insistence.
I felt contempt. Despise
They would be a threat. In time.
But now…
they were nothing more than animals swinging steel.
And still…
the unease remained.
I knew what they were.
What they would become.
I was too slow.
By the time I moved, they had killed another villager.
Useless.
Another life lost.
Killing these players was easy.
But…
I was wrong.
Not in the strike.
Not in the execution.
In the judgment.
The world can hate me.
It doesn't matter.
We die. We stay dead
Every body that falls… doesn't return.
Every hand and arm lost… is gone.
They don't. They come back
That was my mistake.
I thought of my mother.
Not her death.
What she would have said.
The world doesn't stand on the strong.
It stands on those who remain.
I exhaled slowly.
This isn't the time for revenge.
Not yet.
When this is over…
when those things stop walking among us…
then- yes.
But not before.
I left without looking back.
The screams changed.
No longer fear.
Loss.
Pleading.
Men who still believe someone can save them.
They don't understand.
This isn't a war you win with swords.
Or magic.
Because death…
Its not the same for all of us.