[Hogun POV]
Ash storms swirled behind us, kicked up by the hooves of Red's absurdly oversized warhorse and his half-unhinged cavalry. Bone trees loomed ahead, their branches glinting in the pale light—mirror-like leaves clinking eerily in the wind. The Wastes were behind us now. We'd left the safe zone. There was no turning back.
We were being hunted.
By a damn ancient Pokémon-obsessed robo-mummy from a doomed galaxy.
[Trazyn]: Rare. Uncatalogued. Narrative significance: High.
I swore and ducked under a low-hanging jawbone branch.
[Hogun]: We don't have time—Red, Queen, cover me. I need to check the map!
I dropped to a knee behind a jagged stone and pulled the map from my inventory. A flickering, tattered hologram projected above the paper—our location blinking red, and just ahead…
Two paths.
[Red]: Well, how bad could they be? Pick one and let's go.
[Hogun]: Red… have you already forgotten who built this server?
I jabbed a finger at the left path.
[Hogun]: The Feral Forest. Alessia made it. The same Alessia who was obsessed with zombie animals, plague ecosystems, and cursed virology systems. That forest has wolves with seven eyes, fungal bears, and birds that scream in binary. If we so much as inhale, we risk turning into skinless deer-things.
Queen blinked, not even bothering to hide her disgust.
[Hogun]: And Cannibal Valley? That was Alex's domain. The guy who binge-watched every cannibal horror film ever made, and ran five D&D campaigns where the twist was always 'you get eaten slowly over days.'
[Red]: With powers, though. They have powers, right?
[Hogun]: Yes, Red. Cannibals with elemental magic and vore-based alchemy. Do you want to be turned into chili by a fire-witch with a meat cleaver?
Queen just crossed her arms and muttered under her breath.
[Queen]: I still can't believe this server was legal. How did we not get sued or banned?
[Hogun]: We technically didn't. We just got flagged as 'experimental horror-fantasy sandbox RP with light PvP.'
[Red]: I voted for the horse biome.
[Queen]: Of course you did.
Another rumble behind us. The ground cracked. I didn't look back—but I knew what it was.
Trazyn was getting closer.
He didn't need to chase us fast. He was inevitable. Patient. Efficient. He didn't want us dead. No, that would be too simple.
He wanted to trap us in stasis. As part of his damn collection.
[Red]: Wait—how bad does he want to catch us again?
I looked up at him.
[Hogun]: Red… how hard would you try to catch a shiny Legendary Pokémon, if you were a Pokémon Master, and stop asking me?
Red paled.
[Red]: …I once soft-reset 8,000 times for a Shiny Rayquaza.
[Queen]: We're dead.
[Hogun]: Not yet. Choose—Cannibal Valley or Feral Forest.
Silence fell.
Then Red smirked.
[Red]: Let's go Feral. At least zombie animals don't cook you alive.
[Queen]: And I've got anti-virus buffs still running.
[Hogun]: Feral Forest it is.
I updated the map, and we ran straight into the bone-mirrored treeline. Somewhere far behind us, I swore I heard Trazyn chuckle as we entered the Feral Forest.
The deeper we went into the Feral Forest, the quieter it got.
Not peaceful quiet—no, this was that eerie, biological silence you only find in labs after something has broken out. The kind of silence that makes your heart beat louder than footsteps. The trees weren't made of wood anymore. They were made of bone—stacked vertebrae for trunks, spines coiled like vines, and those damned mirror-bone leaves that shimmered every time something watched us.
Which was constantly.
[Red]: You hear that clicking?
[Queen]: No. I hear nothing. That's worse.
My HUD flickered again. Virus resistance was dropping. Fog was settling low along the ground, thick and shimmering with bioluminescent spores.
[System Warning: Nano-plague air density rising. Personal filtration required.]
[Status Effect Applied: Persistent Decay — Immunity Checking… applying antidotes]
I triggered my mask's filters and scanned the path ahead.
[Hogun]: We need to move fast. This fog's the kind that thinks.
[Queen]: Don't let it touch skin. This is Alessia's work—some of the spores read your DNA and try to mutate you based on trauma memory.
Red stopped cold.
[Red]: What the hell does that even mean?!
[Hogun]: It means if you got bit by a dog when you were five, you might grow teeth on your ribs and start barking.
[Red]: …I'm suddenly very aware of my childhood trauma.
We pushed forward, deeper into the fogline, moving from bone-paved ground to swampy marsh riddled with half-eaten mutant animals. Wolves with six legs and a second head growing from their spine watched us from the shadows, eyes glowing with static. One flinched, but Queen turned and hissed at it like a cat. It fled.
[Queen]: Still got the predator tag mod enabled. Thank god.
Then we heard it. Something worse than the mutants.
A low hum. Rhythmic. Deliberate. It wasn't from the forest.
It was mechanical.
[Red]: …Please tell me that's not what I think it is.
I turned. In the mist—shifting, flickering like a glitched hologram, was a golden scarab drone. Trazyn's drone.
I grabbed Red and Queen and shoved them behind a fallen rib cage the size of a truck.
[Hogun]: Trazyn's scouting us. If he finds us again, he'll portal the whole forest and drag it into his museum.
[Queen]: Do we run?
[Red]: If we run, he'll chase harder.
[Hogun]: We wait.
The drone drifted past, its scanning beam sweeping through the foliage and decaying structures. It paused on a skeleton, then floated on, content.
We breathed again.
But I wasn't relaxed at all. I activated my scanner and looked at the map.
[System Notice: Bio-Vault Signature Detected Nearby]
[Logged Memory: Grap Warhammer Sub-Vault (Status: Sealed, Power Active)]
[Warning: Trazyn has entered proximity range. Hide or engage.]
[Red]: You've gotta be kidding me. Why is there a Vault out here?!
[Hogun]: Grap's side-vault. He must've offloaded some Warhammer horror to the forest for 'ecological testing.'
[Queen]: Like a friendly Nurgling test?
[Hogun]: Like a Tyranid nest buried under the marsh.
Suddenly, a massive bipedal shape moved between the trees—chitin-clad, plated, glowing with green ooze. It didn't roar.
It clicked.
[Red]: THAT IS A TYRANID.
[Queen]: IT'S A BIO-TITAN.
[System Alert: Bio-Engineered Apex Lifeform — Norn Queen Class — Approaching Combat Radius]
We bolted.
Bone cracked underfoot. Fog screamed. Something overhead flapped wings made of skinless, stitched meat. The trees groaned as the apex predator of a Warhammer-bred nightmare moved toward us with terrible, alien intelligence. The sound of Trazyn's laugh echoed again, soft, amused, like this was all part of some ancient museum tour.
[Trazyn]: This will make a fine addition to my exhibit.
As we fled, Red shouted back:
[Red]: WHO DESIGNS A SERVER LIKE THIS?!
[Queen]: WE DID!
And in that moment, I didn't know what terrified me more—
The fact that we were being hunted by a galactic collector and a mutant bio-titan…
Or that somewhere deep in my admin memory… I remembered there was something worse ahead.
And it had wings, And it had wings, I hate my life and this server, and the fact that we have to cross the Blades Mountain next.
[Queen]: Hy, look, it's Jeffrey,... OH F#### IT IS Jeffrey the organ-eating butterfly that I named.
[Hogun]: Don't worry, those butterflies like to go after big and dangerous targets like that Titan,... Also, they live in scary big groups.
And on point, hundreds of butterflies went to where the titan screamed, and were following up with a scream of pain and dread of what seemed like a group of bio titans.
Also, Trazyn's comments didn't help with the dread we are feeling.
[Trazyn]: Amazing, those butterflies seem to prefer live prey as they suke the organs out and drink the blood, and they seem to encase them when they are most in pain in the jelly, then lay eggs inside the live ones as they torture and torment the others, I will add them to the exhibit.
God help us, what kind of horrible creatures have we created?
And the butterflies aren't even the worst; they can be considered 'Tame' compared to the other things we have on this server.
[Ten minutes later]
We made it out.
Barely.
Behind us, the rotting trees of the Feral Forest twitched and screeched, still whispering our names. The fog tried to claw back at us as we crossed the last boundary stone—an old admin beacon, now cracked and half-sunken into a mire of dissolving bone.
The wind hit me first. Clean. Cold. Steel-scented.
[Red]: Did… did we survive being hunted by a Tyranid, a sentient virus fog, and Trazyn the Infinite?
[Queen]: Technically, yes. Spiritually, I think I died three times.
I looked up.
Before us rose Blade Mountain—taller than logic, its peak shrouded in spiraling clouds of gray and obsidian. The rain had already begun. Not water. Not snow.
Swords.
Daggers. Axes. Blades of every kind—some ancient, rusted and heavy. Others were glowing with forbidden enchantments. A few were still stuck with arms or hands clutching them. One of the swords embedded in a boulder nearby was still humming with energy—half a runeblade, half a chainsaw.
[Red]: This feels like an RPG loot drop gone way too hard.
[Queen]: It rains swords. Who the hell coded this?
[Hogun]: I did.
They both stared at me.
[Hogun]: I was going through a 'metal as hell' phase. This mountain was supposed to be a pilgrimage trail. You make it through the storm, you earn the Blade Core—a legendary artifact with weapon-level AI.
[Queen]: And let me guess. Nobody ever made it to the top?
[Hogun]: Correct. Everyone either died on the climb or got struck by the 'Swordfall.' Except Alessia and her twin brother, but they cheated with the Admin Dragon transformation.
[Red]: What even is the Blade Core?
I shrugged.
[Hogun]: Never actually finished it. It just whispers dramatic monologues to you and judges your fashion choices.
We stood at the edge of the valley that led to the base of the mountain. Swords were falling at irregular intervals now. A massive zweihander slammed into the dirt six feet in front of us, still crackling with lightning.
[Red]: Okay, that's... mildly terrifying. And also awesome. I'm keeping whatever doesn't stab me.
He stepped forward, boot nudging the hilt. The moment he wrapped his fingers around the grip, a digital chime echoed, and a translucent window flickered into view:
[Item Acquired: Stormhowl, the Thunder-Tongued Blade]
[Effect: Calls lightning on critical hits. Also, it screams.]
[Red]: ...It screams?
[Stormhowl]: BLOOD AND GLORY, FEED ME MORE—
[Red]: Yep. It screams.
[Queen]: Perfect. We're definitely getting caught now.
A gust of metallic wind swept over us, and another wave of blades rained down from above—an elegant halberd embedded itself into a nearby tree trunk, which immediately bled blue. A dagger the size of a machete landed between my boots, humming softly with psychic heat.
Red slung the sword across his back like it was just another Tuesday.
[Red]: So, what's the plan? Try to climb that thing or circle around?
[Queen]: Isn't circling it worse? The Mist Fields are to the east, and to the west is that biome where gravity occasionally forgets to work.
[Hogun]: There's also Fluff Town to the south—looks like a Lisa Frank fever dream possessed by eldritch cuteness—and Horror Academy to the north, where spiders the size of trucks lecture about pain and creative writing. And don't get me started on the Denial River—it flows upstream and steals your thoughts.
[Red / Queen]: We go up.
[Red]: But what about the horde? We barely stopped someone from turning them into Pokémons. I don't think they'll survive dagger rain or lore-ghosts trying to collect them.
[Hogun]: Simple. We soul-stone them.
[Queen]: You mean the same soul stones we used to store an entire copy of the Doomslayer mod? And the dancing Thomas the Tank Engine?
[Hogun]: Exactly those. Soul-sealed. Virtually indestructible. Unless you microwave them.
[Red]: If I open one and get Rickrolled again, I'm feeding you to the pegasus.
[Hogun]: It was once. And it was hilarious.
I pulled out three obsidian soul stones, etched in crimson runes and pulsing with soft violet light. Inside, you could almost hear the chaos bouncing off the inner walls.
Down the slope, the horde thundered into view, banners flying. Dust and wind swirled as the cavalry approached in glorious, chaotic formation. The centaur commander raised his spear high and bellowed:
[Cavalier]: ALL HAIL RED KHAN, KEEPER OF THE REINS, LORD OF THE STABLE, SCOURGE OF UNTAGGED MODS!
[Red, groaning]: Yeah, yeah. Get in the rocks, boys.
With a flick of his wrist, the soul stone absorbed them in a flash of digital light, and silence returned.
[Queen]: I can't believe that worked.
[Hogun]: It's only weird if it doesn't.
Just then, another sword slammed into the earth a meter away—this one looking suspiciously like Sephiroth's Masamune… except serrated.
I looked up. The clouds above Blade Mountain thickened into a swirling vortex, blades forming in the fog like teeth in a grinder. One wrong step, and we'd be turned into kebab code.
[Hogun]: Alright. Enough nostalgia. Let's move.
We started up the incline, staying close to the cliffs and ducking under rusted overhangs and blade-worn ruins. Every few steps, a weapon embedded itself dangerously close, quivering in the ground like a warning.
We weren't even a quarter of the way up when a massive wind gust launched a cluster of knives like a shotgun blast.
[Red]: HOW is this legal!?
[Queen]: It wasn't. That's why the server was shut down twice.
[Hogun]: But it's also why it's fun.
A narrow plateau came into view—half-collapsed stone arches, sword-embedded statues, and a rusted gate flanked by twin obsidian gargoyles.
[System: Sub-Location Detected — "Iron Refuge."]
We had reached the halfway point.
And something… was waiting inside.
[Extra: The Cat and the Traitor]
[Ivan Pov]
[Ivan POV]
My name is Ivan—former commander of the Fifth Citadel Army… and, by some accounts, the greatest traitor to Sniper.
Or Hogun, as he calls himself now.
I was seated comfortably inside the Rhodes Island landship, a guest… or more accurately, a ticking bomb they were pretending was a guest. Hogun had left the Citadel weeks ago, and honestly, I expected his idiocy to finally catch up to him. Self-sacrificial morons rarely retire quietly.
I took a sip of tea—bitter. It needed more sugar. Or less disappointment.
[Ivan]: So, Miss Kal'tsit, go ahead. Ask your questions. I'll answer the ones I like.
She watched me carefully, emotionless as always, surgical with her intent. The cat never blinked.
[Kal'tsit]: I want everything you know about Hogun—and the world you came from.
I let out a soft whistle.
[Ivan]: Greedy, aren't we?
I set the teacup down gently, then immediately crushed it in my hand and ate it. Probably for dramatic effect. Definitely not for nutrition.
[Ivan]: Fine. Hogun—my father, in blood or in bond, take your pick. His old name was Sniper. He's the kind of man who would walk into hell wearing nothing but loyalty if it meant pulling a friend back out. The type who defends everyone else but never lets himself be defended. A stubborn, brilliant fool. A leader of monsters. A man who fights with everything but refuses to let anyone bleed in his place.
I leaned forward, my smile sharpening.
[Ivan]: And I'd kill every one of you to keep him safe.
That made her ears twitch. Good.
[Ivan]: As for our world…
I produced a small, rune-inscribed cube from my coat—activated it. A holographic map shimmered into the air between us, its edges harsh and unmistakably square.
[Ivan]: Our continent? A square. Not metaphorically—literally. Engineered by madmen. It's divided into five types of territories.
I pointed out each color that flared on the map:
[Ivan]: White Zones—blessed ground. Only three exist, and they are the stuff of legends.
A flicker to the green.
[Ivan]: Green Zones. Safe. Mostly. The Citadel was built in one. Monsters might visit now and then, but people still call it home.
The color deepened to yellow.
[Ivan]: Yellow Zones. Infested but survivable. You'll find the desperate, the brave, and the suicidal living there.
The red flared like an open wound.
[Ivan]: Red Zones. Monster nests. Very few live there by choice. Fewer survive long enough to regret it.
And finally, black.
The hologram flickered, glitched for a moment, and then stabilized.
[Ivan]: Black Zones. Dead or dying lands. Poisoned by war, cursed by lore, twisted by… worse. If a place is black, it's already lost. Whiteveil is one of them now.
I snapped the cube shut.
[Ivan]: So, Doctor… how does our world sound to you?"
The smile I wore was wide, toothy, and dangerous.
I was ready to kill this woman if she made the wrong move.
And judging by the silence that followed, she knew it too.
[Extra: The New Identities]
[Dante – POV]
[Dante]:
[Faust]: The system is stable. You may proceed, Dante.
[Heathcliff]: Finally! I'm getting tired of wearing the same bloodstained coat every cycle.
[Ishmael]: Well, Manager? Let's see what fate throws our way.
The pull began.
Golden gears rotated in a halo around the E.G.O. interface, lights dancing in unnatural patterns. The sinners gathered around, curiosity simmering just beneath the surface. Then—click. The first scroll snapped open, revealing the crimson glow of a new Identity.
[Dante]:
Identity Acquired: [Heathcliff – The Great Hunter] ◈◈◈
[Heathcliff]: Bring the meat! Let us feast till the bones crack and the stars fall.
A projection unfolded behind me—Heathcliff adorned in tribal leather armor, a necklace made of human vertebrae draped around his neck. A massive beast lay beneath his feet, skewered by a horn-like glaive. In the background, I saw Don and Hong Lu cheering beside a burning totem. A brutal, primal identity.
Identity Acquired: [Faust – The Fallen] ◈◈
[Faust]: When will those fathers turn white? When will the prince return?
Faust stood solemnly before a towering statue—Sinclair, reimagined with four white wings and a blindfold. Faust wore a shadow-drenched robe, her arms spread in benediction. Two torn angelic wings sprouted from her back, blackened and broken, feathers falling like ash.
Identity Acquired: [Outis – The Fiftieth Captain] ◈◈
[Outis]: Glory to our General. May his orders be eternal.
Outis marched through a formation of gas-masked soldiers, clipboard in one hand, a sabre in the other. She wore a rugged officer's coat and a peaked cap, golden laurels embossed on the brim. The soldiers saluted as she passed—she didn't flinch.
Identity Acquired: [Gregor – Cadet Instructor] ◈◈◈
[Gregor]: Come on! I've seen reanimated corpses run faster!
The projection shimmered—Gregor shouting at a struggling Don Quixote and Outis to move their feet. He wore a sharp instructor's jacket with a dark green cape. A mechanical sword-arm whirred with tension at his side. A holstered wire-launcher dangled from his belt. His eyes, visible behind the lifted visor of a military-grade gas mask, burned with the weariness of someone who's seen too much.
[Faust]: Interesting. These identities… they seem drawn from fragmented timelines of alternate institutions. Possibly conceptual echoes.
[Ishmael]: Is that... Don in cadet training gear? What kind of reality did we pull this from?
[Don Quixote]: Verily! I shall train until my limbs refuse to move! For glory and Instructor Gregor!
[Heathcliff]: That's a nightmare waiting to happen.
The identities shimmered once more, awaiting selection.
[Dante]:
[Chapter end]