Dear Diary,


    Supposedly writing about everything that happened will make me feel less shitty, so here goes.


    A Godstrike blew up our planet, and the System put it back together, poorly. It not only resurrected us but gave us superpowers too. I picked the weapon mage class mostly by accident. What followed was a desperate survival, capstoned by the moon exploding. It was overwhelming, stretching my sanity to and fro. Sedentary corporate chain smokers and the post-apocalypse do not mix.


    Worse, a scratch right at the beginning became infected, culminating in a fever. I somehow survived a delirious wander and met a small group of fellow survivors, who died before my recovery finished. My own failures stared me in the face. Had I walked faster, been less reckless and never gotten the infection, or any number of other possibilities… perhaps they might have lived with my help.


    I didn’t realize either at the time, but the hubris effect from increased stats held me together, barely. Especially so immediately at the beginning, from gaining ten in each. Moreover, witnessing the end of all instilled an adrenaline addiction within me. Unfortunately, the two created a positive feedback loop which kept escalating at an unnatural pace, scattering my thoughts and recollections in the process.


    It also helped me out for a while. I fought through the daggerclaw infested Underway and made my way towards an expedition camp, where I met Barry. We came to an arrangement and killed a lot of shit. Once we returned to the village, things proceeded smoothly for a while, even as more pseudo-Godstrikes rained from the sky. I got to know Jen, my anchor and sanctuary in a sea of horrors, and a bunch of other people.


    Repeated incursions into the daggerclaw tunnels and snakedrop-rock slaughtering raised my levels at a steady pace, although the self-reinforcing loop peaked for the first time during an Underway trip. Alas, everything went to shit when the eclipse happened. The Errant assaulted us, even offering battle like in olden times. We also found out what likely hit our world during the starfall. A fuck-off sized dragon torched our homes and killed most of our people, including our strongest. May Kristen and her party rest in peace, along with the other fallen.


    We fled southwards, transformed by accumulated trauma, both personal and communal. As our first trial, we had to fight a veritable army of Errant, seeming to spawn from a deadly pentagon shaped ice fortress. There the song of adrenaline and statgain induced madness reached a true crescendo, only to be outdone later.


    Eventually we found a shithole of a city called Freeport and neglected to integrate with them. Jerry, sole survivor of the frontrunners, left us then. He didn’t contribute anyway, the prick. We built a nice little compound and prepared for the Ascension Games. My romp went well, technically. I had a nasty fight, entirely my own fault, with a bird person and ended up miraculously surviving mutually assured destruction. Nonetheless, reinforcing human connection and no levels to increase kept my rushes from spiraling out of control.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    A month later, everyone else finished their sessions. We lost a lot of people getting there, some in the games, most during the eclipse. By then, word reached us about the outsiders who appeared on Earth, apparently set on conquering it or some such. None of us shied away from the truth at this point. We were murderers all, having killed sentient aliens, and sometimes humans, in the games. Even those who didn’t play loose with life and death recognized that the old ways were gone. Still, we developed camaraderie among our own and it fueled us forwards. We’d do anything to keep each other safe from then on, no matter the cost. It was yet another trauma bond to unify us.


    Mel organized us. Jen spied for us. Breathless researched for us. Jeb crafted for us. Barry brewed booze for us. Viktor made traps but never finished them. In truth, a lot of stuff happened in the background but I was a little preoccupied at the time. We’d just formed slayer squad, our true elite. Having become something of a paramilitary force, we embarked upon a proper campaign.


    We breached and destroyed the ice fortress, with a little help from the System. We butchered variants along the way, clearing zones of excessive danger, while a b-team did the same elsewhere. Finally, we reached the site where we’d take our vengeance. We wanted the dragon from the eclipse dead.


    It worked too, even if slayer squad lost a member, technically two. It wasn’t even a real dragon. That was just an outer shell. We were getting our asses kicked until Breathless sprang a revelation on me. Fully giving in to my escalating addiction for a second time proved fatal, nearly for me and definitively for the affliction itself.


    Whatever had originally broken within fractured again, this time to no positive effect whatsoever. Quite the opposite, really. Everything that had been so easily repressed before flooded back and never really stopped. Despite the support of my found family, things still aren’t quite right, even if it helps greatly. I think the old me died that day. It’s hard to think of myself as human anymore and even harder to find someone who hasn’t reached the same conclusion. It sucks. No one wants to become something else against their will.


    Nonetheless, time marched on. The grand plan came together, executed flawlessly. We annexed Freeport, decapitated the former leadership, rained benevolence on the people and got rid of any potential trouble. We sent out a few of our own infiltrators while keeping a close watch on supposed refugees. To cap it off, we decided upon becoming a mercenary company.


    The outsider peoples were simply way better at System shit and fighting than we were. They squabbled over territory and enforced their weird customs on whomever they could, if not outright slaughtering the locals. It was hard to overstate how strong the rumors claimed they were. Apparently their bigshots all completed the games right after arriving here, coinciding with the eclipse, so that’s probably their fault too or something.


    Thus, the birdperson I faced in the games wasn’t even a warrior. The implications were terrifying. We weren’t anywhere near as good, even in slayer squad, and me in particular - now without a crutch to rely on. The other human city states, going by our limited communications, are getting fucked left and right. Confrontation was only a matter of time, so we got ahead of things.


    Now we recruit heavily, exploit the freed territory around our lake-centered bowl and prepare for war. Working as a mercenary group should provide us controlled access to System-enhanced battle, connections, favors, knowledge to steal and everything else needed to function within the brand new geopolitical landscape. Some things just never change.


    Thus Dragon Company was born.


    Okay, I feel a little better.


    Bye dear Diary.