The text wasn't the usual calm blue. It was blood red, flashing like the whole server was about to crash.
DESIGNATION: THE UNREMEMBERED.>
Flee? Me? My "Overwhelming Pride" attribute flared up like a bad debuff.
I don't flee.
I figure out the boss mechanics and I win. That's what I do.
THUD.
The ground kicked up like a cheap special effect, and the shockwave almost knocked me on my ass. My ears popped. The air suddenly felt thick, like I was trying to breathe underwater.
Then came the sound.
CRACK!
It wasn't a sound; it was the world breaking. The Great Hall doors—two solid chunks of wood that could probably tank a siege engine—didn't just break. They vaporized. A hurricane of splinters and dust blasted through the room.
The pretty chandeliers didn't just sway. They shattered. A waterfall of useless, sparkling glass rained down.
The party was officially over.
The room, which had been frozen in a state of high-class terror, finally broke.
Full-on stampede. A total wipe.
Nobles who were sneering at my gear five minutes ago were now trampling each other to get to the back exits. Silk dresses tore. Fancy hairstyles came undone. It was chaos.
A beautiful, pathetic, panicked mob pull.
They were all running away from the big, dark hole where the doors used to be. Away from the aggro radius.
Which is why I noticed her.
She was the only one running the wrong way.
A flash of a red dress against a tide of cowardly yellow NPCs.
Lyra.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a terror that made her look more like a real person than I'd ever seen. But she wasn't running for the escape tunnels.
She was running straight for me.
She shoved past some fat noble, tripped over a chair, and didn't even slow down. A heat-seeking missile of pure panic, and I was her target.
My raid-leader brain took over. A non-combatant NPC was running into the boss arena. This is how you fail an escort quest.
"Get back!" I yelled, but my voice got swallowed by the screaming.
She didn't listen. Of course she didn't.
She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "You have to stop them!" she gasped, her voice a total mess. "You're the Commander! You saved us before!"
She was clinging to me like I was a high-level tank. She saw the new title, the one lucky kill, and decided I was the server's designated hero.
Crap. This was the worst kind of aggro.
And I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Across the room, Gandalf was trying to form a shield wall of Royal Guards around the throne. He was in his element, his voice a roaring command that cut through the noise. He was the hero this place was supposed to have.
But as he barked an order, his eyes flicked over to us.
He saw Lyra. He saw her holding on to my arm.
For one second, the professional tank vanished. His face, which had been a mask of grim focus, tightened. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed into slits of pure, burning resentment.
It wasn't just jealousy. It was the look of a guy watching his entire guild bank get looted, and the only person the girl he likes runs to is the new guy who just showed up. It was a look that said a thousand words, and every one of them was a curse aimed right at me.
He snapped out of it a second later, but I saw it. Yael, who had moved to my side like a rogue coming out of stealth, definitely saw it.
This wasn't just a world boss fight anymore. It was a soap opera. Great.
Over by the throne, the Queen was yanking on the King's arm. "Eldros, the tunnels!" she begged. "We have to go, now!"
But the King didn't move. He just slumped in his chair, all the fight gone out of him. His face was blank. Defeated.
"It's no use, my love," he whispered. "Vex is back."
Vex. The final boss. The guy whose name was in the system logs.
Seeing his King completely broken seemed to flip a switch in Gandalf. The personal drama was gone, replaced by pure, desperate duty. He took command.
"CANNONEERS!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the stones. "TO THE BATTLEMENTS! BRING THE DRAGON'S BREATH!"
A squad of guards broke formation and ran. A moment later, they came back, wheeling out these massive, ornate cannons. Dragon's Breath. The kingdom's ultimate weapon. Their server-first epic gear.
While they were setting up, Lianna moved to my other side. She should have been escorting the princess, but instead, she had two long, wicked-looking daggers in her hands. They looked like they belonged there.
"No," she said, her voice low. "My place is here."
Just then, Yael returned. She must have shoved the last of the royal brats into a tunnel. She didn't say a word. She just took her place beside Lianna, holding that ridiculously small dinner knife like it was a legendary sword.
There we were. Me, the glass cannon mage. Yael, the high-dex griefing expert. Lianna, the tactical genius with a grudge. And Gandalf, the grizzled tank leading the charge.
A pickup group, formed in the middle of a server-ending wipe.
The screaming died down. All that was left was the heavy, rhythmic THUD. Closer.
A shadow fell over the ruined doorway, blocking out the sky.
It stepped into the hall.
It was a giant, shaped like an elf.
It was an elf.
Its skin was the color of a dead, grey sky.
And it had one eye. A single, massive orb in the center of its face, glowing with a hungry green light. It scanned the hall, its gaze full of an ancient, terrifying intelligence.
It smiled.
This wasn't some mindless beast. This was a player.
And we were the NPCs.
"AIM FOR THE EYE!" Gandalf roared, his voice cracking. As he gave the order, his gaze flicked to Yael.
I saw what he saw.
She wasn't scared. A slow, unnerving, ecstatic grin was spreading across her face. Her amethyst eyes were sparkling with a light I hadn't seen since we were kids, about to pull a world-first boss.
She was thrilled.
Gandalf's eyes narrowed. What kind of person smiles at the end of the world? Yael caught his look. Her grin didn't falter. Her eyes just met his, and I could practically hear her thoughts.
He knew. They all knew this was coming.
Near them, a guard captain turned to the silent champion at the foot of the throne. "Champion Dareth! Your orders?"
Dareth didn't even look at him. He just gave a grim nod. "You heard my son."
The cannons roared. A wave of fire blasted through the hall. The shots were wild. Most of them missed.
But one got lucky. It hit a second giant, right in its glowing eye. The creature shrieked and thrashed, its flailing arm destroying an entire city block.
Another shot hit the first giant in the chest. No effect. Not even a scratch. Its body was like a solid piece of the game world's code.
Unbreakable.
Outside, the real horror was starting. More giants were wading through the city. They were bending down, scooping up handfuls of screaming elves, and just… eating them.
Consuming them. Deleting them.
Then, a new one appeared. It ran on two legs, faster than the others, its movements almost graceful. It had long, flowing hair the color of fire.
Seeing the cannons fail, seeing the absolute futility of it all, my pride took over. I wasn't going to stand here and watch.
I stepped forward.
"Quinn, no!" Yael yelled.
I ignored her. I raised my hand.
The System flared in my vision, a desperate attempt to warn me.
To hell with the probability.
My Mana Bolt, the spell that had punched a hole through a Juggernaut, shimmered into existence.
I fired.
The bolt of pure blue energy shot across the hall. A perfect arc. It struck the red-haired titan directly in its glowing green eye.
The titan stopped. It let out a low, pained groan.
And then… it chuckled. A deep, rumbling sound that vibrated in my bones.
It looked directly at me. A faint, intelligent, and deeply amused smile touched its massive lips. And as I watched in absolute horror, the ruined eye began to heal. The green light swirled back into existence, the wound sealing itself in seconds.
Regen. Of course it had regen.
The look of profound, soul-deep shock on Gandalf's face was something I'd never forget. Dareth took an involuntary step back. Even the King, in his haze of despair, looked horrified.
This wasn't just an enemy. This was impossible.
The red-haired giant held my gaze for one long, terrifying moment. It was an ancient, powerful thing acknowledging an insect that had managed to sting it.
Then, it dismissed me.
It turned its full, terrifying attention away from me, and back to the one thing in the room it considered a real threat.
The broken old king, sitting on his useless, golden throne.