The morning sun bled through ash-choked clouds as Rage stood in the armory, squinting at the mangled remains of a sword taller than Ignia. Its blade—if it could still be called that—resembled a rusted railroad track chewed by a category 6 Kaiju.
“You want me to turn this into a weapon?” he muttered, kicking the hilt.
Ignia leaned against the doorway, her relic Balmung now reforged into the black gauntlet clinging to Rage’s right arm. She gnawed on a charred lizard leg, nodding at the heap of metal. “Make it big. Make it sharp. Make it mine.”
Rage crouched, fingers brushing the corroded metal. Code flickered:
<System> [ITEM: Shattered Colossus Blade | CONDITION: 12%] {ATTACK: 8 -> (ORIGINAL: 200) | DURABILITY: CRITICAL}
His smirk widened. “Let’s overclock this relic.”
Lines of JavaScript spiraled through his vision. He rewrote the sword’s DNA:
function berserkOverride() { this.MASS = 300kg; this.EDGE_SHARPNESS = “Dragonfang”; this.STYLE = “GutsFromBerserkPleaseDontSue”; }
The blade erupted in white flames, molten steel screeching as it reforged itself. When the light faded, Ignia gripped a monstrosity of black iron—a slab of death with serrated edges and a hilt wrapped in irradiated wyvern hide.
She swung it once, cleaving an anvil in half. “Perfect. Now I can call this mine.”
<hr>
Noon brought a tide of leather and hatred.
Thousands of bandits choked the horizon, their war drums pounding like a faulty heartbeat.
At their helm rode a woman masked in jagged steel, her armor stitched from irradiated lizard scales. Though not Ignia’s sister, her stance and smoldering glare mirrored the Fire Queen’s bloodline—a distant cousin warped by wasteland savagery.
<SYSTEM>[Aselia – Lv. 53][Class: Flame Bandit Leader][Loyalty: -0.99%]
“Aselia,” Ignia growled, hefting her new colossus blade. “Still scavenging scraps from better warriors?”
The bandit leader sneered, her voice muffled behind the mask. “You let our ancestors burn. I’ll enjoy watching your kingdom crisp.”
Rage stepped onto the ramparts, chest thrust forward like a bad Shakespearean actor. “Spears shall be shaken! Shields be splintered!” He paused, fingers snapping as he blanked. “…Uh. Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden!”
Silence. A soldier whispered, “Who’s… Theoden?”
His voice cracked into a roar: “DEATH!”Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
The troops stood in attention.
“FOR KALIMDOR!” Rage bellowed, pointing Balmung at the horde.
The troops erupted—half in war cries, half in existential confusion. Gates crashed open.
Ignia leaned over, snarling, “Who in the Scorchlands is Kalimdor?”
“Motivational metaphor!” he lied, shoving her toward the fray.
<hr>
Chaos descended.
Bandits swarmed the gates like ants on syrup. Rage leapt into the fray, Balmung blazed as he tagged enemies like defective softwares:
<ul>
<li>A raider swung an axe—Rage tapped his chestplate: function brittleAlloy() { this.DURABILITY = 0; }. The armor crumbled to dust.</li>
<li>An archer nocked an arrow—Rage yanked the bowstring: setInterval(() => { ARROW_SPEED *= 1.5 }, 100);. The arrow ignited, spiraling into a tent full of gunpowder.</li>
<li>A berserker charged—Rage sidestepped, whispering: console.log(“Goodnight.”);. The man’s legs kept running without his torso.</li>
</ul>
Ignia carved a path toward Aselia, her new blade shredding bodies like molt. Their clash shook the battlefield—flame against fury, steel against spite.
“You’re weak!” Aselia spat, flail grazing Ignia’s cheek. “Still clinging to dead traditions!”
Ignia headbutted her, snarling. “Better than licking demon boots!”
Aselia staggered, mask cracking. With a roar, Ignia ripped it off—and froze.
Aselia’s face was a masterwork of violence. High cheekbones sharper than Ignia’s sword framed eyes like smelted silver—cold, luminous, utterly unrepentant. A scar split her left brow, carving a pale river through sun-bronzed skin that spoke of decades surviving beauty in the wastes. Her lips, full and cruel, curled into a sneer.
“Like what you see, cousin?” she spat. Blood trickled from her split lip, glistening like rubies.
“Kill me,” Aselia hissed. “Or are you as soft as the elders?”
Ignia’s jaw tightened. “…Drop your weapons. Kneel.”
Rage materialized behind Aselia, Balmung plunged into her neckline. “Insurance policy.”
if (LOYALTY < 100) {CORRUPTION_LEVEL = “FatalException”;}
<SYSTEM>[Status Update][Ally Added: Aselia][Loyalty: 100.01% !important]
Aselia convulsed, a glowing <Betrayal_Protocol_Active> sigil burning into her spine that’s only visible to Rage.
<hr>
That night, the fortress reeked of blood and ale.
Ignia slumped on her throne, bandages peeking beneath her armor. “Why spare her?”
Rage shrugged, reprogramming a dagger to spit confetti. “She’s your kin. Sort of. Figured you’d want closure.”
“Kin.” Ignia spat the word like poison. “Her blood’s as rotten as Varkas’.”
“But your blood’s in there too. Buried under all the crazy.” He tossed her the dagger. It erupted into glitters. “Now she’s a puppet. Pull her strings right, and she’ll gut your enemies for free.”
Ignia snorted, tossing him a wineskin. “You’re a sentimental rat.”
“And you’re stuck with me.”
She jabbed a finger at his chest. “Explain Kalimdor. Some lost kingdom?”
Rage smirked, swirling his drink. “A place that never was. But it’s ours to steal.”
Their laughter echoed through the halls, sharp and fleeting.
Outside, Aselia—now dubbed “Loyalty-Enforced She-Dog” by the troops—glared at the stars. Her flail lay broken in the ash, its code quietly rewritten:
this.DESTINY = “RedemptionArc?”;
<System> Corruption Level: 31%.
<System> New Quest: [Survive Again].
Somewhere beyond the edge of maps, a man with a salt-weathered beard leans against the creaking rail of a battered ship. His eyes, sharp as flint, pierce the seamless union of sea and sky—a horizon too stubborn to bend. With a grin that whispers of buried treasures and broken compasses, he rasps to the winds, “Fetch me the horizon, It’s late for our rendezvous.”