Gradus Ascensionis XV

As Tenza rejoined her virtual friends, Woomilla, Pinchitavo, and Firelez, at the imposing gates of the Necrohova, a wave of warmth washed over her. Their avatars stood waiting, glowing with anticipation, their sincere smiles radiating through the digital facade. Even in this crafted world of pixels and data, their happiness to see her felt as real and grounding as sunlight after a storm.

For a moment, Tenza let herself feel it—this rare, unfiltered connection. In real life, she often felt like a shadow, her presence overlooked, her voice drowned out by the noise of survival. But here, in Eschenfrau, she was seen, heard, valued. The sincerity in her friends' voices was a lifeline, pulling her from the abyss of her doubts.

A pang of memory surfaced, bittersweet and raw. She thought of Bairon, her late boyfriend, who had first coaxed her into video games at a noisy cybercafe. His laughter, his unshakable faith in her potential, lingered in her heart like a distant melody. And then, inevitably, came the thought of Camilla. Would her daughter ever look at her this way, with warmth and pride instead of the simmering resentment that now defined their relationship?

The Necrohova loomed ahead, its foreboding arches a stark contrast to the lightness in her chest. Yet, surrounded by her friends, she felt an unfamiliar flicker of optimism. This place, this strange, treacherous game, had become more than an escape. It was a proving ground, a crucible where she could test her limits, face her fears, and channel her frustrations into something tangible.

As they approached the gateway, the group's banter broke through her reverie. Woomilla cracked a joke about skeleton knights with bad dental plans, and Pinchitavo countered with an exaggerated battle cry. Firelez stood slightly apart, his gaze fixed on the shadows beyond the threshold.

"Ready?" Firelez asked, his voice steady, yet carrying an undertone of urgency.

Tenza met his eyes and nodded. She wasn't sure if it was his quiet confidence or the sheer force of the group's belief in her, but something had shifted. The weight of her memories didn't feel quite as heavy. Instead, they felt like fuel, propelling her forward.

Together, they stepped into the Necrohova, not just as players, but as comrades bound by something deeper than the game itself. For Tenza, this wasn't just an adventure—it was a chance to rewrite her story, one challenge at a time.

The labyrinthine corridors of the Necrohova pulsed with an eerie, shadowy glow. The party plunged headlong into battle after battle, facing hordes of skeletons, death knights, and spectral wraiths. The air was thick with tension and the clang of steel echoed like a relentless drumbeat.

Shaelyn led the charge with Firelez's voice cutting through the chaos, sharp and clear. "Remember to snapshot! Position and attack intentions are crucial! Keep an eye on server timings!" His words became a rhythmic mantra, guiding their movements as they synchronized with the server's relentless cadence. Each clash grew more precise, their teamwork tightening with every skirmish.

After an especially grueling encounter with a death knight and its summoned wraiths, Firelez called for a rest. The group sank down against the cold, stone walls, exhaustion visible even in their virtual forms. Firelez's guardian force, a magnificent manifestation of his will, crouched protectively nearby, its flickering glow dimmed as if catching its breath.

Woomilla settled beside Shaelyn, her eyes wide with admiration. She glanced at Firelez and whispered, "I still can't believe I'm sitting here with you. I've watched your streams so many times; it's surreal."

Firelez chuckled softly, his usual stoic demeanor melting for a moment. "Streams don't win battles, Woomilla. Practice does. And we've got a lot to cover." His tone shifted, the urgency in his voice unmistakable as he turned to the group. "I may not be here forever, so listen up."

Tenza adjusted her position, leaning forward. Pinchitavo stopped fiddling with his spellbook and focused intently. Firelez began, his words deliberate but charged with passion.

"As a rule of thumb," he started, "instant cast attacks—those without a cast bar—will snapshot positioning, damage, and aggro simultaneously. This happens right before you start moving to attack. Once you've committed, there's no going back. Sky would say that you can cancel your attack, but pros do it instinctively. To reach their level, you'll need to practice. A lot."

Pinchitavo, accustomed to spell mechanics, nodded thoughtfully. "So it's like anticipating movement, not reacting to it?"

"Exactly," Firelez replied, pleased with the insight. "Now, here's a critical exception: HP is never snapshotted. If a death knight casts a spell that deals 10,000 damage and its cast bar finishes when you're at 5,000 HP, you won't die as long as you're healed to 10,001 HP before the damage lands."

"That's why healers always scream at me to stop moving!" Woomilla exclaimed, a mix of embarrassment and realization lighting her features.

"Not just healers. Everyone," Firelez said with a faint smirk before continuing. "Enemies in PVE usually commit to one action at a time, but bosses—and players—break this rule. For example, a boss might cast a spell, then immediately attack while the spell's effects persist. If you notice multiple things happening, those effects often come from untargetable entities."

"So you can't mitigate them in the usual way?" Tenza asked, her brow furrowing.

"Correct. Standard mitigation debuffs won't work on those effects. In cases like these, you'll need player-specific buffing mitigation," Firelez explained.

Pinchitavo's eyes widened with understanding. "So I should prioritize using party buffs when we're dealing with those entities?"

"Exactly," Firelez said, leaning back against the stone wall. "These nuances aren't just tricks. They're survival. The more you internalize them, the better your chances."

The oppressive glow of the Necrohova seemed to dim as they absorbed his words, the weight of its dark corridors fading into the background. Despite their exhaustion, the group shared a renewed sense of focus.

Tenza, nestled among her friends, found herself reflecting on Firelez's urgency. It wasn't just about teaching them to survive this dungeon. It was as if he were preparing them for something far greater, a future she could barely comprehend. A strange comfort settled over her. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was learning not just for the game, but for herself.

As other player parties trudged back out of the Necrohova, their spirits were visibly broken. The vibrant avatars that had once radiated hope and determination now moved with a heavy, defeated gait. Each step was a silent nod to the trials they had endured, the shadows of the Necrohova clinging to them like a dark shroud.

Their gazes inevitably drifted toward Firelez and his guardian force, Shaelyn, standing resolute amidst the chaos. The contrast was striking—Firelez, with his unwavering presence and aura of calm confidence, seemed almost otherworldly. Shaelyn, his guardian force, shimmered with ethereal strength, her radiant form a beacon of hope in the dim, oppressive surroundings.

Yet the defeated players didn't carry disappointment or resentment in their expressions. Instead, they exuded a quiet air of self-reflection and regret. They understood that their failures weren't because Firelez wasn't part of their parties but were the result of their own limitations. It was an acknowledgment of the harsh truths of their reality—victory demanded more than determination; it required skill, strategy, and cohesion.

Their march out of the dungeon was somber, the atmosphere thick with unspoken understanding. Each bore the weight of their struggles, their silence a poignant reminder of their shared challenges. As they passed Firelez and his companions, there was no bitterness in their looks—only admiration and, in some, a glimmer of determination to one day return and triumph.

When the last of the defeated parties disappeared into the Necrohova's yawning exit, Firelez exhaled slowly, breaking the stillness. His eyes followed their retreat before he turned to the group, his voice steady but tinged with purpose. "That reminds me," he began, summoning a flickering holographic map from his inventory. It hovered in the air, lines of light tracing the jagged edges of a floating fortress suspended in an endless sky. "I found where the invaders took all the techcrystals."

The group leaned forward, their gazes drawn to the imposing stronghold dominating the hologram. It floated at the edges of Eschenfrau, an end-game zone where only the most seasoned players dared venture.

Woomilla's eyes widened in recognition. "A sky island? And that architecture… It's practically screaming pay-to-win. I bet they've got walls of raid-ready consumables, premium mounts, and gear reforging services in there." Her tone was a mixture of disdain and resignation.

Firelez nodded, his expression grim. "It's not just this server, either. Every store on every server sells the same things. The invaders? They're pulling the strings everywhere."

Pinchitavo frowned, shaking his head. "Why would we even bother? A single mount costs a hundred dollars. That's half our grocery list for the week." His voice carried the quiet frustration of someone accustomed to making hard choices.

The weight of his words hung in the air, the reality they represented stark. For many like Pinchitavo, the luxuries of the game's pay-to-win economy were laughably out of reach. Survival came first, always.

Firelez met his gaze, his tone gentle but firm. "I'm not saying we should buy anything. But knowing how they operate gives us an edge. Understanding their tactics, the traps they set for players, helps us level the field—even if we don't have the wallets for their game."

Tenza studied the map, her thoughts swirling. The stronghold represented more than just another challenge—it was a symbol of the larger forces at play, forces designed to exploit and control. But it also carried the promise of something greater: a chance to strike back, to reclaim what had been stolen.

The group fell silent, each of them lost in their own reflections. Above them, the labyrinth of the Necrohova loomed, its dark corridors whispering promises of trials yet to come. But for now, their focus shifted for a moment to the floating fortress on the edge of the horizon—a new frontier, both daunting and exhilarating.

The holographic map rotated slowly, casting faint blue light over the group as they studied the imposing sky island. Firelez zoomed in on a section of the fortress, revealing towering walls reinforced with energy barriers that shimmered faintly, even in the simulation.

"This place…" Woomilla's voice trailed off, her expression darkening. "It's more than just a stronghold. Look at the defensive layers. Those shields aren't just for show—they give infantry armor bonus shielding and boost their poise stats. That means even if we manage to stagger one of their guards, they'll recover faster than we can react."

Pinchitavo leaned closer, tapping a section of the map that displayed a cluster of stalls near the main gates. "And here are the mounts. Regenerating HP pools, probably faster than we can dish out damage. What do they think this is, a single-player game? It's ridiculous!" His frustration boiled over, but Firelez placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Stay calm," Firelez said evenly. "This isn't just about overwhelming us. The invaders know exactly what they're doing. The consumables over here"—he highlighted several glowing icons—"are anti-raid potions and buffs. Stuff that keeps their forces practically immune to normal strategies. And see this?" He pointed to a small, nearly invisible grid scattered around the fortress perimeter. "Autonomous patrol units. They're equipped with AIs that learn player patterns, probably using machine learning to counter us in real-time."

Tenza squinted at the display, her brow furrowed. "And these traps?" She gestured to small red dots peppered across the map.

"Not just regular traps," Woomilla chimed in, her voice edged with bitterness. "They're tied to offline griefing prevention systems. Even if we retreat and log off, these traps will reset automatically to prevent anyone from setting up ahead of time. They want to make this fortress impenetrable unless you're part of their elite. It's only featured here, on the Latin American and African servers. They're preparing for the server fusions."

"Server fusions?" Tenza asked.

Firelez nodded grimly. "It's inevitable. Latin America and North America will merge, just like Africa and Europe. The invaders are fortifying this stronghold as a strategic choke point. Once the fusion happens, they'll control the flow of resources and raids between servers."

Pinchitavo clenched his fists. "So, we're their testing ground? Their playground to fine-tune these nightmare designs? Just because we don't throw money at the game?"

"It's not fair," Woomilla muttered, but Firelez's voice cut through her frustration like a blade.

"Fair doesn't matter," he said, his gaze fixed on the fortress. "What matters is whether we're willing to fight back. This stronghold isn't impenetrable—nothing is. But to take it down, we'll need more than brute force. We'll need strategy, patience, and, most importantly, each other."

The group fell silent, the weight of the challenge sinking in.

And as the group strategized in the fleeting safety of the Necrohova's halls, the faint sound of footsteps began to echo. At first, they were soft, like whispers against the stone, but they grew louder, heavier, until the sound seemed to reverberate through the very fabric of the labyrinth. Each step was a harbinger of dread, a metronome of their impending doom.

The air itself seemed to shift, turning cold and dense as if the dungeon were bracing for what was coming. Firelez was the first to notice the change. His sharp senses honed through countless battles, picked up on the oppressive force. It wasn't just the footsteps—it was the silence between them, heavy and unnatural, that set his instincts alight.

"Shaelyn," Firelez said, his voice low and urgent, "which way to the final boss arena?" He scanned the shadowy corridors, his breath steady but his heart pounding. "It's the only place we'll stand a chance."

The guardian force didn't hesitate. Her shimmering form flared with urgency as she pointed down a narrow, twisting passage cloaked in darkness. Firelez nodded, his hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon.

Behind them, the sound of footsteps shifted, becoming an otherworldly cadence, a rhythm that didn't match any mortal movement. It was as if the dungeon itself was resonating with Godslayer's shadow—a being so powerful it warped the code of the game into submission.

The darkness around them deepened, not like the absence of light but an all-consuming void, pulling at the edges of their minds. Shadows grew longer and thicker, moving with a will of their own, as if eager to deliver their prey to the hunter.

"Is this what Sky's enemies feel?" Tenza whispered, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep up with Firelez. "Like the ground isn't ours anymore... like the universe itself wants us to lose?"

Firelez's jaw tightened, his eyes fixed ahead. "No," he said grimly. "His enemies are worse. They feel like a black hole—you don't even get to run. You just… fall."

The realization hit them both like a tidal wave. This wasn't just a chase; it was a lesson. A cosmic predator didn't need to hurry—its mere presence was enough to crush hope.

The labyrinth began to betray them. Paths that had once seemed clear now shifted subtly, forcing them to question every step. The walls pulsed faintly, as though the dungeon itself were alive, conspiring with the shadow. The air grew heavier, each breathing a struggle as though the Necrohova was feeding their panic into Godslayer's shadow.

Ahead, the twisting corridor led to the faint glow of the arena's threshold, a beacon of hope in the smothering darkness. But the shadow behind them closed the distance, its presence no longer just a physical one—it was existential. It wasn't just chasing them; it was absorbing them.

For a fleeting moment, Firelez allowed himself a glance back. The shadow was there, a swirling mass of darkness that seemed to suck in the light, warping the edges of reality. It was no longer bound by the rules of the game, an avatar transcending its player—a godslaying entity in every sense.

The group pushed forward, driven by desperation. Every step felt heavier as though the dungeon itself favored their pursuer, slowing their movements while guiding the shadow ever closer. Firelez clenched his fists. "We're not just running from Godslayer's shadow," he thought. "We're running against the dungeon itself."

As they crossed into the faint sanctuary of the arena, the oppressive force behind them halted, lingering just beyond the threshold like a malevolent storm. They knew it wasn't retreating—it was waiting, biding its time.

For a moment, the group caught their breath, but the weight of what they had just experienced hung over them.

"Now I get it," Tenza said, her voice barely audible. "This isn't about beating us. It's about making us understand—we're nothing compared to them."

Firelez's gaze hardened, his determination cutting through the fear. "Then let's make them regret underestimating us, starting with Ardor."

The arena loomed before them like a rift in reality, a place untethered from the constraints of time and space. Crossing the threshold felt like stepping into another plane of existence. The oppressive corridors of the Necrohova fell away, replaced by an expansive battleground suspended in the void between stars.

The air here was alive, crackling with an energy that vibrated in their bones. Overhead, constellations shimmered and shifted as if bearing silent witness to the momentous events about to unfold. The ground beneath their feet pulsed faintly, not with malice but with anticipation, as though the arena itself recognized the gravity of what was to come.

Behind them, the shadow halted at the boundary of the arena. It didn't retreat or dissipate; it simply stood, an unrelenting force waiting its turn to enter the arena. The group realized, with an unsettling mix of relief and awe, that they had not been its prey. The shadow hadn't been chasing them—it was advancing toward its true purpose, heedless of anything in its way.

"That's why it felt unstoppable," Tenza murmured, her voice trembling. "It wasn't even trying to kill us."

Firelez clenched his fists, his eyes darting between the waiting shadow and the glimmering expanse of the arena. "This wasn't about us," he said grimly. "We were just… collateral."

The weight of their insignificance settled heavily on the group. For a moment, they stood in silence, their breaths shallow, their limbs trembling. The chase had been more than a test of endurance; it had stripped them bare, exposing their deepest fears and vulnerabilities.

But as their gaze shifted forward, they saw him.

Ardor, the Sunken King, stood at the center of the arena, his form as grand and imposing as the statues of ancient heroes. His armor gleamed with an otherworldly sheen, worn and battle-scarred but still magnificent. A crown of molten gold hovered above his head, a symbol of a ruler long past his prime yet clinging to his defiant glory.

"Welcome, challengers!" Ardor's voice boomed, echoing through the infinite expanse. It was not the voice of a tyrant or a conqueror, but of a gladiator who relished the fight. "You stand now not as prey, but as warriors! This is not a place for survival—it is a celebration of strength, of resolve, of glory!"

His gaze flicked briefly toward the shadow and its master beyond the arena. A flash of hatred burned in his eyes, sharp and tangible, cutting through the regal veneer. "But I am no mere curtain-raiser," he snarled. "Do not think you can pass through my domain without proving yourselves worthy."

Firelez's grip tightened on his weapon, his fear transforming into a fiery resolve. He exchanged glances with Tenza and the others. They had felt the crushing weight of the shadow's presence, the insignificance of their place in the grander design. But here, in this arena, they had a chance to stand tall, to carve their mark, however small, into the infinite void.

"We might just be the opening act," Firelez said, a fierce grin breaking through his grim expression. "But let's make sure we're unforgettable."

Tenza smirked, the tension easing from her shoulders. "No one's calling us warm-up fodder after this."

The group's spirits began to rise. The arena's electric atmosphere seeped into their hearts, filling them with an unshakable desire to prove themselves. The looming presence of the shadow and Godslayer was no longer a source of fear—it was a challenge. The duel between them had already begun, their titanic conflict rippling through the void as though the arena itself strained to contain it.

But Ardor stood before them now, a relic of greatness, his power undiminished and his pride unbroken. His words rang in their ears: This is a celebration of strength.

"Then let's celebrate," Firelez growled, stepping forward. His weapon gleamed under the ethereal light of the stars. "Let's show them what the opening act can do."

Ardor's laughter echoed, rich and deep. "Yes! That's the spirit! Come, gladiators! Show me your fire, and I shall answer with mine!"

The group charged, their weapons blazing with determination. The Sunken King raised his molten crown, the arena itself roaring to life as they clashed. Behind them, at each of the arena's thresholds, the shadow and Godslayer waited, patient and unyielding, their mere presence a reminder of what lay beyond this battle.

But for now, Ardor was their world. The Sunken King welcomed their strength with open arms, and they will fight with every ounce of their being, determined to rise above insignificance and etch their names into the stars.