OneHit crouched in the shadows as the raiders hurried past. They were too eager, too blinded by excitement, to notice him lurking. Their grins told the whole story—they weren't here to win. They were here to witness history.
The Defiance Guild had held this fortress for eleven months. If they could survive tonight, they would celebrate their one-year anniversary as rulers of the realm. But one name had put that dream at risk.
The Darklord.
A one-man army. A player who controlled multiple accounts, wielding every job class like a weapon. He declared three months ago: this fortress will fall. It was never idle boasting. It was a challenge. And challenges were the Darklord's currency.
---
The Plan
The guild had prepared relentlessly. Every member had a role—traps, scouts, chokepoint defenders, and reinforcements. OneHit's squad was the latter: eight of the strongest gamers, the guild's sharpest blade.
Their strategy was simple. Let the fodder and raiders draw the Darklord out, learn his build, then descend with overwhelming force. Each party leader carried a rune stone to teleport their group anywhere in the castle. The moment the Darklord revealed his true class, they would strike.
ShadowHunter typed across the guild channel. "He'll wait until the last ten minutes."
Radiance replied, steady as ever. "He'll use the five-minute death cooldown. Five to breach, five to strike. Hold the plan."
Radiance sat in front of her console, fingers hovering over her inventory. Excitement and cold nerves twined through her. She was the realm's most renowned healer—support, buffer, anchor. Players flocked to Defiance because of her.
She owed him more than that.
She remembered being a novice, terrified in the dungeons and hopeless at quests. A lone knight had found her group, carried them through a deadly boss, and walked them out with gifts and advice. He never stayed; he left as if it was charity, not performance. He taught them to play, to survive, to love the game.
She learned later that the knight was the Darklord in disguise. He preferred to help newbies—quiet patience, a soft spot for those just finding their feet. Radiance had followed his streams, read his rare posts, and waited for his next silent lesson. She fell for him then—not because of fame, but because he had handed her purpose.
She had built Defiance because of him. She led because he once led her.
That memory sat under her ribs now, a fragile, secret warmth. If he truly meant to break them tonight—if he chose spectacle over kindness—she would feel the wound personally.
---
The Alarm
Guild chat erupted.
"The Darklord!"
"He wiped our outer defenses!"
"Inferno Maxima!"
"Is he a wizard?"
"No, he tanked a hit—he's a warrior!"
"A tiny slime wiped our team—what the—"
Radiance barked orders. "Fall back to the throne room! Teleport now!"
Forty players assembled beneath the dome she cast—Hallowed Ground, a protective sphere against area spells. The timer read 4:20.
"Hold your ground," she told them. "He'll strike on the count."
And then the music began.
---
A world-music scroll gave the throne room a savage pulse. A vicious guitar riff cut the silence; drums followed like thunder. The sound was not background— it was a presence. White smoke coiled into the chamber, curling around boots and armor.
A frontline knight laughed, nervous. "He brought a concert."
The beat rose. Mist churned. The first monster strode out: an eighteen-foot Orc Commander, shield smashing the floor. A Dragonoid unfurled metallic wings and blasted white-hot fire. Trees erupted from marble as Ceraphine the Nymph rose with her wooden army.
Gasps flooded the chat.
"Those are the last three Supreme Mythical Boss scrolls in the game!"
"He's insane!"
"Focus—don't get distracted by loot!" Radiance snapped, though pride and fear trembled through her.
Then the real entrance: a ripple in the fog, shadows twisted, and the Darklord moved through like a shadow with teeth. He struck with impossible speed. Radiance's constant healing kept their Lord Knights alive. He winked at her as he faded back into the mist, and that small gesture cracked something inside her.
---
The First Clash
The throne room erupted. Orcs slammed the frontline; Dragonoid fire met shield walls; Ceraphine's timber warriors crashed in waves. Radiance's eyes never left the fog.
"OneHit—be ready. He's using the music as timing," she ordered.
"Aye," OneHit replied.
The smoke split. Four Darklords struck in sync, then vanished and reformed. One appeared behind Radiance; her defenses flared. The Darklord's ultimate hit like a hurricane—defense-piercing slashes that chewed through HP.
She screamed, "OneHit! Now!" and activated the Unity Scroll. Her life tethered to seven tanks; their HP replenished every twenty seconds. They would hold. She felt the warmth of the Darklord's old kindness like a bruise: a memory of the knight who had once saved her.
OneHit's squad descended. Monks fell like meteors, smashing the summoned bosses into dust. The battle was live, raw, beautiful and terrifying.
---
Twelve Darklords
The music roared to its peak. When the smoke thinned, Radiance's breath stopped.
Twelve avatars.
Every class. Paladin, Sorcerer, Hunter, Summoner, Assassin, Monk, Smith—each an avatar perfectly controlled by the same hand.
She barked orders fast. "OneHit, take the monk and hunter. Grimmer, down the casters. Nagumi, duel the summoner. Asura, hold the tanks. He can't control all of them at once!"
A horn echoed. Defiance charged. Forty players against twelve avatars—against one silent myth.
Clash after clash battered the throne room. Blades and spells tangled. The arena became a storm of sparks and cries.
---
The Final Countdown
The timer dipped below two minutes. OneHit and the Darklord's assassin danced across the floor in a blur—feints, counters, a deadly chess of reflexes. MannyPenny hammered the Dark Smith. Nagumi's minions swarmed the Dark Summoner. Asura met the Paladin and Knight in an iron dance.
Radiance scanned, searching for the misdirection. She saw it: a ripple in the fog. A mislead.
"He's rigged the emblem," she hissed.
The assassin blurred toward the guild's crest, a detonator clutched in hand. Radiance funneled her lifeforce into the emblem, healing it while it took explosions. She could see the dagger spinning through air toward her chest.
Time slowed.
OneHit surged, breaking sound and logic, a burning fist smashing the assassin in the face, cratering the wall. For a heartbeat, victory seemed within reach.
The Darklord only laughed.
"I am the Darklord," he whispered, and a dagger pierced OneHit's chest.
Light flared. The Darklord disintegrated into smoke. Piles of legendary loot fell where he had stood.
The music collapsed into silence. The world announcer declared Defiance survived.
The emblem flickered but held.
The guild cheered. But radiance—no, Radiance—staggered, tears in her eyes. The memory of a lonely knight, a hand that had once guided her, was a fresh wound. He could have destroyed them and left them broken. Instead he had vanished—leaving questions.
OneHit wandered the battlefield in shock. The dagger had not killed him. Instead, when it pierced his chest, a surge of life-force had flowed into him. The Darklord's departure left more mysteries than answers.
Loot stacked across the courtyard—legendary items once belonging to the Darklord. OneHit found himself weeping as he sifted through prizes he could not value. Radiance stood trembling but alive, holding the emblem with hands that had poured out their last reserves.
They had won. They had survived.
They had also been touched by something more complicated than victory.
And somewhere in the fading mist, a player who once walked the world as a knight had left behind a trail of kindness, challenge, and questions none of them could answer.