Gradus Ascensionis XVIII

Pinchitavo's liberation unfolded like a protest song, each note resonating with decades of longing, defiance, and imagined triumph. The simple act of standing, unsupported by pirated devices or begrudging charity, transcended victory—it was a visceral reclamation of agency, a vindication carved from the ruins of a lifetime spent sidelined. Every dismissive glance, every muttered insult, every barrier imposed by flesh and fate now fueled his incandescent transformation.

His first steps were jagged, unfamiliar—a creature newly born into a freedom he'd never known. Yet, each movement carried a surging momentum, a declaration to the world: I am here, and I will not be stopped. As he broke into a clumsy run, the wind collided with his face, sharp and cold and breathtakingly real. The sensation was alien, an unearned privilege in the world outside the game. But here, in this digital realm, he claimed it as his own, the sheer rush of air becoming a hymn of rebellion.

"MOVE ASIDE!" he roared, his voice rippling through the chaos like a thunderclap. Enemy mages faltered as he barreled into their ranks, arms sweeping them away like an unstoppable tide. Some tumbled to the ground, staring up in bewilderment at the figure they had dismissed—a mere sorcerer, tethered to the backlines. Not anymore.

He surged forward, an untrained but unstoppable force, driven by the raw inertia of willpower. Each stride was a revelation, unpracticed yet firm. He didn't care for elegance or speed; he only cared for the movement. The ground blurred beneath him, and for the first time, he felt the world race to meet him, the wind singing past his ears. Each ragged breath filled his lungs with an exhilaration so pure it bordered on pain. He didn't just run—he broke free.

Pinchitavo's emotions churned with euphoric chaos. He had no technique, no mastery of the mechanics that allowed players to sprint and leap with precision. His movements were wild, raw, unrefined—but they carried the primal power of rebellion. He outpaced the nimblest assassins, his erratic, careening strides cutting through the battlefield like a comet's tail.

Every step shattered the narrative of the backline spellcaster. The game had always relegated sorcerers like him to stationary roles, support characters who existed to bolster the "real" heroes. But with each thunderous footfall, Pinchitavo rewrote the script. He wasn't just defying expectations; he was annihilating them.

The battlefield stretched before him like an unclaimed frontier. He was no longer bound by mechanics or conventions, no longer confined by flesh or prejudice. He was momentum incarnate, an orchestration of defiance and willpower, a force unleashed upon a universe that had dared to confine him.

Ahead, Tenza's form wavered, bloodied and relentless, holding the line with the last vestiges of her strength. She didn't see him coming—none of them did. To the world, he had been invisible, irrelevant. Now, he was a storm, a sorcerer-turned-revolutionary, and nothing would stop him.

The distance between them narrowed, each step bringing him closer to the fight, closer to the promise of a world reshaped by his defiance. Pinchitavo wasn't running to reach her. He was running to reach the truth of himself.

Tavo's elemental magic surged from his fingertips, a song of destruction erupting across the battlefield. Flames roared to life, carving pathways of fire that split enemy ranks, clearing the way for Tenza to keep fighting. Jagged pillars of ice erupted beneath advancing tanks, freezing them mid-charge, their shields screeching to a halt. Bolts of lightning danced in chaotic arcs, leaping from foe to foe like a storm tethered to his will. The once-imposing barriers that shielded his enemies splintered and fell, forcing them into frantic retreat. Too late, they understood the folly of underestimating a sorcerer unbound.

Firelez stood back, arms crossed, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He made no move to intervene. This was Tavo's moment, and Firelez had no intention of stealing it. Meanwhile, Shaelyn's glowing frame trembled as she clenched her fists, her programming constraining her from joining the fray. Yet, deep within her, the spark of self-awareness burned brighter, an ember defying the cold logic of her code.

Above the chaos, Woomilla became Tavo's shadow, moving with the precision and poise of a master archer. Her father's teachings guided her hand as she notched not one but three arrows simultaneously, a daring maneuver no ordinary archer would attempt. She shot them in rapid succession, the projectiles streaking across the battlefield like comets. Each arrow found its mark with impossible precision, curving and slicing through the air to strike foes who had foolishly believed themselves safe. "All I can do is keep him safe," she murmured, her resolve unshaken. Positioned just outside the reach of every enemy, she kept them all firmly within hers.

Enemy tanks, desperate to halt Tavo's advance, thundered forward, their hulking avatars intent on bringing him down. But Kraftaja's magic wrapped around him like an impenetrable cloak. His buffed speed rendered him untouchable, his movements a blur of agility and intent. The tanks lunged, but their efforts fell short; he was already gone, weaving through their ranks with the grace of wind through trees. Strength wasn't his weapon—his speed and determination were.

Tavo's heart thundered in his chest, each beat a drum of exhilaration. Elemental magic kept pouring from him, fueled by defiance, a vibrant manifestation of his willpower. Around him, the battlefield became a living, chaotic tapestry—his canvas—and he painted it in strokes of flame, ice, and lightning. Each strike, each movement declared his defiance of the limits imposed upon him, transforming the digital warzone into an arena of liberation.

His journey from the forgotten backlines to the forefront of battle was no mere act of rebellion. It was a profound metamorphosis, tangible proof of the unyielding power of belief in oneself. Each step brought him closer to Tenza, closer to standing beside her in the heat of battle.

The distance narrowed. Tavo, the sorcerer once confined to the shadows of others, now stood at the edge of his triumph, his magic blazing, his will unbroken.

Tavo charged through the final line of tanks and damage dealers, his resolve an unstoppable force. But as he pressed forward, his legs faltered, the strain of Kraftaja's enhancements overwhelming the limitations of his pirated DRD. His magic flickered, sputtered, and failed. Momentum carried him forward for a fleeting moment before his body slammed against the ground with a sickening thud.

A hush swept across the battlefield, broken by scattered gasps and cruel laughter. The sorcerer who had defied the conventions of fate, game mechanics, and even his own body had fallen.

Blood seeped from the corner of Tavo's mouth as he grimaced in pain. He dragged himself forward, inch by agonizing inch, his fingers clawing into the earth. Each pull of his battered frame left a faint, desperate trail behind him. The battlefield stretched infinitely ahead, yet his determination burned brighter than ever. This was no longer just a fight against enemies; it was a rebellion against the universe itself.

Pain rippled through every fiber of his being, not just physical but metaphysical. It was as though existence itself bore down on him, mocking his audacity to challenge its immutable laws. Yet in his black eyes, there was no surrender. Only defiance.

"Is this all you've got?" Tavo snarled, his voice hoarse and guttural. His words were not just a challenge to his enemies but a declaration to the cosmos itself.

He forced his head up, his vision blurred by blood and sand, and locked eyes with the towering figure of Ardor. The godlike boss loomed over the battlefield, his massive form casting a shadow over Tavo. Players scattered around the arena, frantically repositioning and launching their futile attacks, yet Ardor remained still. His focus was on Tavo alone.

For a moment, the battlefield froze. Ardor's flaming gaze narrowed, his colossal weapon lowering slightly, as if in contemplation. His voice, a deep resonance that reverberated through the very code of the world, carried an uncharacteristic note of awe.

"Countless challengers have come before me," Ardor mused, his tone like the rumble of a distant storm. "Strategists. Warriors. Tacticians. All of them predictable, bound by mechanics and fear. But you…" His fiery eyes burned brighter. "You do not fight with mere skills. You fight with the raw, unyielding energy of your existence. You challenge not my power but the very algorithm of limitation itself."

Ardor lowered his blade further, not in surrender but in reverence. For the first time in the game's history, the god of strength saw a mortal not as a mere challenger but as a reflection of himself—a warrior who refused to bow.

Outside the arena, Godslayer watched the scene unfold with clenched fists. The temptation to intervene gnawed at him, his every instinct screaming to break through the system and help Tavo rise. But this was not his battle. It was Tavo's fight—a rebellion written in blood and fire.

"You don't deserve to bear this alone," Sky murmured, his voice low and trembling with suppressed emotion. "But if anyone can rewrite the rules of this universe, it's you, Tavo. Get up."

On the battlefield, Tavo stretched a trembling hand toward Tenza, now only meters away. He could barely see her, his vision clouded by blood and tears. But she didn't laugh. She didn't reach for him, nor did she doubt him. She simply stood, unwavering, trusting him to rise.

The weight of failure clawed at Tavo, but his fury burned hotter. His scraped hands dug into the ground, pulling him forward with every ounce of strength he had left. The dirt clung to his face, mingling with his tears and blood. His body screamed for him to stop, but his spirit roared louder.

"I won't stop," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Not until I rewrite the story."

Suddenly, Ardor stomped the ground with a seismic force, unleashing a massive sandstorm. The battlefield disappeared in a blinding torrent of grit and chaos. Players were hurled away, their cries drowned by the storm's fury. Tenza, too, was swept from sight, her form vanishing in the swirling haze.

Yet when the dust settled, only one figure remained. Tavo had clawed into the earth, his hands bloodied but steady. The storm's relentless power had battered him, but he had held his ground, his unrelenting defiance anchoring him against the tempest.

Ardor watched in silence, his towering form now motionless. His blazing eyes regarded Tavo not as an adversary but as a kindred spirit. The god of strength, the sunken king of this realm, saw a gladiator who begged not with words but with the fiery embers of his will. Ardor's smoldering gaze softened, the faintest hint of respect flickering across his face.

In that moment, Tavo's actions declared a truth no system could deny: the true measure of strength was not in power or speed but in the refusal to yield—even when every force in the universe demanded it.

Tavo lay sprawled on the ground, his vision blurred, his pirated DRD flashing urgent warnings across his HUD. His body was failing. Every nerve screamed in agony, his magic reserves mostly depleted. Yet Ardor, the relentless sunken king, showed no mercy. A god acknowledged defiance but never yielded to it. Raising his colossal weapon, Ardor struck with unrelenting force.

Summoning the last vestiges of his will, Tavo began casting protection spells, layering one shimmering barrier over another. The shields flickered and fractured under the crushing weight of Ardor's strikes. Cracks spiderwebbed across the magical defenses as each one shattered into glowing shards. Still, Tavo refused to let go. His trembling hand, raised high even as he lay prone, held the final shield aloft—a fragile, flickering defense against the inevitable.

But then, something extraordinary began to happen. His avatar glitched and distorted, the digital world struggling to process the unrelenting defiance of its occupant. His virtual robes flickered, revealing the truth beneath: the frail, skeletal form of Tavo's real body. Machines connected to his legs materialized in the digital space, their cold, metallic presence stark against the battlefield's chaos. The truth was laid bare for all to see.

Tavo's real body trembled uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face as he fought to maintain the shield. Blood pooled beneath him, both virtual and real, blurring the line between the two worlds. His avatar gritted its teeth, its defiance burning even as the shield began to crack under Ardor's relentless assault.

And then, the shield broke.

The arena fell silent. Players watched, their breath caught in their throats, expecting the worst. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring Tavo from view. When it finally settled, there was no sign of him—only a crimson smear where he had been.

Godslayer's fists clenched, his knuckles white with tension. Firelez's eyes burned with determination, his grip on his weapon tightening. Yet before despair could take hold, a shadow moved across the battlefield, drawing every gaze upward.

From the sky descended a figure bathed in radiant energy. Shaelyn, the ethereal guardian, had broken free of her code, defying the very constraints of her existence to save him. In her arms was Tavo, battered but alive. Her light wove through his form, intertwining with his essence, lending him a strength his failing body could no longer provide.

Even Ardor paused, his fiery gaze narrowing. A god of strength did not abide interference, yet what stood before him was no mere intervention. This was rebellion made manifest. The sunken king's lips curled into a grin, his deep voice rumbling with amusement.

"So, you've broken the code to grant him legs to stand." Ardor's laughter shook the arena. "Good. Let us see if he can carry that strength to its end."

As Shaelyn descended, the battlefield held its collective breath. Tavo, now grabbing Shaelyn's shoulders, radiated an energy unlike anything they had seen before. The guardian's presence stabilized his broken form, her luminous power fusing with his own. His skeletal legs, once a symbol of weakness, were now encased in radiant armor forged by her defiance.

Tavo raised his gaze to Ardor, blood still streaking his face, his expression hardened. He took a steadying breath, his voice carrying across the battlefield, raw and resolute.

"You think I've reached my limit?" he called out. "Then watch as I surpass it."

The battlefield erupted into a storm of awe and anticipation. Players stared in stunned silence, their own struggles forgotten in the face of this display of defiance. Tavo, carried by Shaelyn's power, stood ready to continue the fight, his pirated DRD's warnings flashing frantically in the corner of his HUD, begging him to stop. But he ignored them. This was not about survival anymore. This was about rewriting the story—his story.

Ardor raised his massive blade, the ground trembling beneath his feet. His grin widened. The god of strength saw not a challenger but a force equal to himself. He roared, his voice shaking the heavens. "Then come, mortal! Show me the strength that defies even the stars above!"

Tenza stood at the edge of the battlefield, chaos raging around her. The arena had become a war zone where alliances dissolved into desperation, and even the strongest seemed powerless against the cataclysm that Ardor unleashed. Amid the storm of destruction, a truth struck her like lightning: the Jotunn hadn't awaited the arrival of so-called "chosen ones." No, it had waited for this—a defiance that transcended titles and chosen paths. The "stars of fire" weren't destined heroes but those who burned brightest in their rebellion, their refusal to yield to an uncaring cosmos.

Tavo, his vision blurring, clenched his fists and called out to Shaelyn. His voice trembled with exhaustion, but his resolve was iron. "Bring me closer… I have one spell left."

Shaelyn nodded. Without hesitation, she surged forward, weaving through the battlefield, her movements a blur of ethereal light. Ardor, sensing their approach, unleashed devastation on an unimaginable scale. A storm of world-ending fury engulfed the arena, meteors the size of fortresses raining down with the force of collapsing suns. The winds howled, each gust like a blade, slicing through the air and hurling players aside like ragdolls. The ground itself ruptured, massive fissures opening to swallow entire teams whole. The arena shook under the weight of the sunken king's wrath, his attacks not meant for individuals but designed to annihilate entire armies.

Tavo clung desperately to Shaelyn's shoulders, his mind racing as he constructed his spell within the interface. Every input felt like a monumental task; every second stretched into eternity as he fought to focus through the tempest. The wind lashed against his face, the bitter sting of digital and real blending into one. Shaelyn's movements were extraordinary—dodging each meteor, slipping through falling debris, her energy blazing brighter with every leap. She pushed forward, defying Ardor's cataclysm with a determination that matched Tavo's own.

But Ardor had begun to see through their plan.

Tavo, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, clung to Shaelyn's shoulders. His body was broken, his interface flickering as his pirated DRD groaned under the strain of rendering his ultimate spell. Yet Shaelyn carried him forward with breathtaking grace, dodging meteors and blasts that tore through the battlefield.

From afar, Firelez watched the chaos unfold, memories flooding back to his own clash with Pulverizer and the Ironclad Crux. He remembered Shaelyn then, dodging frantically but failing, falling beneath the unrelenting onslaught. But this time was different. She wasn't moving because of a command or a line of code; she was moving because she chose to fight for Tavo. Her form shimmered, almost alive, every dodge and turn imbued with purpose. Firelez gripped his weapon tighter, a silent prayer forming in his mind.

The battlefield was an eruption of madness. The other parties, seeing Ardor's health whittled down to its last precious slivers, threw themselves into the fray. Players turned on one another in a desperate, frenzied bid to claim the final blow and the rewards it promised. Lightning spells cracked through the air, fireballs roared like infernos, and weapons clashed with earth-shaking force. Allies became enemies as greed consumed them. The arena devolved into a maelstrom of energy, betrayal, and chaos.

Amid the pandemonium, Ardor roared, his voice a thunderclap that silenced even the most desperate cries. He raised his colossal weapon high, its blade glowing with a searing, molten energy that seemed to bleed reality itself. With a swing, he unleashed a shockwave that tore through the battlefield, obliterating players and sending others sprawling. Towers of fire erupted from the ground, spiraling into the heavens, as if the arena itself were being pulled into the heart of a dying star. Ardor's strikes were no longer attacks—they were cataclysms, each one rewriting the battlefield into a scene of unparalleled destruction.

And yet, through it all, Tavo remained focused. His fingers worked tirelessly within the interface, the spell forming slowly but steadily, a glowing sigil of unimaginable power beginning to take shape. Shaelyn carried him forward, her movements precise despite the storm of devastation around them. Tavo's breath came in ragged gasps, his mind teetering on the brink of collapse, but he refused to stop.

The chaos reached its apex as meteors rained down in a blinding cascade, Ardor's wrath consuming everything in its path. Players screamed, fighting not just for the prize but for survival itself. Shaelyn dodged and weaved through the storm, her form glowing with defiance, her every step bringing Tavo closer to his target.

And then, through the frenzy, Tavo's spell was complete. The sigil in his interface pulsed with a radiant, fiery light, a beacon of raw, unbridled power.

Then, as if sensing the tide turning against him, Ardor let out a guttural laugh. "Enough!"

With one titanic leap, Ardor retreated to higher ground—a colossal, crumbling pillar surrounded by searing flames. His weapon ignited, the blade glowing like a piece of the sun itself. He raised it high, summoning a wave of molten fire that cascaded across the battlefield in an apocalyptic surge.

Shaelyn had no time to dodge.

The inferno struck her head-on, engulfing both her and Tavo in an explosion of blistering light and heat. The force sent players flying, their screams drowned out by the thunderous roar of Ardor's attack. When the flames receded, Shaelyn stood frozen in place, her once-glowing form dimmed, her virtual code fragmenting before their eyes. A moment later, she crumbled to her knees, shards of her essence scattering like embers into the wind.

Tavo was gone.

Ardor stepped down from the crumbling pillar, his towering form casting a shadow over the battlefield. The players who had vied so fiercely for the prize now recoiled in awe and terror. Ardor's laughter echoed across the arena, his victory assured.

"It was a valiant effort," he sneered, his molten blade carving arcs of fire into the air. "But all rebellion meets the same end—annihilation."

Then, faintly, a sound broke through the silence.

Clap.

The sound came from directly beneath Ardor's feet. He froze, his blazing eyes narrowing in disbelief as he looked down.

Tavo.

In the final moment, Shaelyn had thrown him forward, hurling him beneath the towering sunken king. Now, with his legs trembling and his body broken, Tavo lay on the ground, staring up at Ardor. His hands burned with the sigil of the spell he had fought so hard to complete.

Tavo grinned through bloodied lips, his voice rising in a defiant scream.

"Världsslut!"

The sigil exploded in a kaleidoscope of light and fury. A column of pure energy surged upward, engulfing Ardor and the battlefield in a cataclysmic vortex. The magic tore through reality itself, bending the very fabric of the digital realm. Time seemed to slow as the spell's destructive force radiated outward, unraveling everything it touched.

The ground disintegrated into stardust, and the air ignited with the fire of creation. Världsslut was no ordinary spell—it was the end of all things and the birth of something new. The arena became a swirling void where reality and illusion collided, where the rules of existence were rewritten in the language of cosmic destruction.

Ardor roared, his molten form disintegrating under the onslaught. His weapon shattered, the pieces vanishing into the void. The players shielded their eyes, their HUDs flashing warning after warning as the system struggled to process the spell's magnitude.

And yet, at the center of the chaos, Tavo lay.

His broken form was silhouetted against the blinding light of the spell, his outstretched hand glowing with the final remnants of its power. His defiance was a beacon, the blinding light of the spirit that burned within him. Even as the world crumbled around him, Tavo's fire did not falter.

When the light finally faded, the battlefield was unrecognizable—a wasteland of scorched earth and silence. Ardor was gone, his titanic presence erased from existence. In the eerie calm that followed, the players stared at Tavo, their faces a mix of awe and disbelief.

Tavo closed his eyes, his body giving out at last.

The silence broke with a deafening cheer, a roar of triumph from the players who had witnessed the impossible. Tavo's gamble had paid off, his defiance shining brighter than the flames of Ardor's wrath. He had risked everything—and in doing so, had become a legend.

The curtain has risen. Let the true battle begin.