The red glow of the system's countdown lingered in the broken sky long after the announcement faded, an oppressive reminder of time slipping away.
Arin sat in silence, his mind caught in an endless spiral of dread. The forest, usually filled with the glitchy hum of monsters respawning, felt empty. Dead. Almost as if the system itself was holding back its breath, waiting.
Lyra stood with her back against a shattered stone pillar, her corrupted arm twitching with faint static. The flicker in her eyes betrayed the storm inside her. She finally spoke, her voice low.
"We don't have much time."
Arin forced himself to look at her. "You're saying… we just wait for the patch and hope? That's not an option. You heard what the system said—players with exploits will be erased. That means me. That means you."
Lyra's lips tightened. "I know."
Silence again. But it wasn't hopeless silence—it was the kind that felt like a knife's edge, waiting for a decision.
Finally, Lyra stepped closer, lowering her voice as if the forest itself might be listening.
"There's one place. A rumor, a legend told between corrupted fragments. They call it… the Glitched Core."
The name itself sent a pulse down Arin's spine.
"What is it?"
Her corrupted arm flickered as she gestured vaguely toward the sky. "The heart of this world. The place where the system's rules bleed raw, unshaped. Every monster, every zone, every patch command—it all comes from there. If we could reach it…"
Arin's eyes widened. "We could stop the patch?"
"Not stop," Lyra corrected, her tone sharp. "But… override it. Twist it. Survive it."
The thought clawed at Arin's chest. Control the rules of the game? Rewrite his fate? It sounded impossible—but then again, so did surviving a bug exploit.
He frowned. "Where is it?"
Lyra hesitated, then looked away. "Deep. Too deep. Beyond the corrupted abyss. Past the zones that even Kael doesn't dare send his followers. The closer you get, the more unstable the world becomes. Some say reality doesn't even… make sense there. You walk forward, and end up backward. Monsters that shouldn't exist respawn endlessly. And the system's guardians—"
She stopped.
Arin's jaw clenched. "Guardians?"
Her eyes met his, glowing faintly with corrupted static. "It's said that the system itself spawns protectors. Not monsters, not bosses… but pure code given form. They exist only to erase anyone who tries to touch the Core."
For a moment, fear stirred in Arin's gut. Then—Kael's smug voice echoed in his mind.
"You're weak, Arin."
Arin's fists clenched so tight his knuckles popped.
"Then we'll go," he said. "We don't have a choice. If Kael gets there first—if he controls the patch—this whole world is his. We'll just be… shadows."
Lyra tilted her head, studying him. There was something unreadable in her gaze, almost like admiration buried beneath caution.
"You sound certain," she said softly.
"I'm not," Arin admitted. "But Kael isn't going to write the rules of my life. Not again."
He rose, gripping his weapon tight, and the corrupted edge of the blade shimmered faintly.
Lyra gave the smallest of smirks. "Then let's move. The countdown has already started."
The two began their journey, slipping deeper into the corrupted forest. Each step carried them closer to zones no player was meant to tread. The trees grew jagged, their roots looping endlessly like broken code. The sky above flickered, freezing frames of sun and night in uneven bursts.
They encountered their first trial sooner than expected.
A glitch storm.
The sky tore open in a vortex of red static, swallowing entire trees into nothingness. Monsters spawned in waves—wolves with two heads, spiders with human faces, and distorted figures of players who had been erased long ago.
Arin fought viciously, but this time, he relied not on brute force, but on creativity—using his glitch-skill to bend gravity, pulling monsters into the storm itself. Lyra backed him with fluid precision, her corrupted arm devouring the fragments that lunged for her.
When the storm finally died, Arin collapsed against a broken boulder, panting.
Lyra crouched beside him, silent. She didn't ask if he was okay—she knew better. Instead, she whispered, almost to herself:
"The Glitched Core… if it exists, it'll either save us—or kill us faster than the patch."
Arin looked up at the flickering sky. The countdown still burned across it, each second a reminder.
"I'll take those odds."