Vrock

"What a carefree bunch of newbies..." Perched on a ridge overlooking the village, Lonely as Snow lit a cigarette and sighed wistfully as he watched the novice players frolicking below. Once upon a time, he had been an ambitious novice player himself. Now, he was a thoroughly qualified meat shield. Clad in heavy adamantine armor and cradling a steam shotgun with an absurdly large bore, Lonely as Snow left a cracked depression in the ground with every step he took. Calling him a walking tank was hardly an exaggeration. "Still, this quest probably won't be a walk in the park... Leading this many greenhorns to the front lines—no matter how you look at it, it feels like we're just cannon fodder to plug the gaps." Lonely as Snow scratched his head and glanced down at his interface. [Main Quest: Slay the Demons!] [Demons have crawled forth from the Abyss. Despising all creation, they spread chaos and evil without restraint in a bid to plunge the entire cosmos into formless turmoil. The first target these greedy, raving abominations have set their sights upon is the kingdom newly risen upon the Great Anzetta Waste—the Cinder Empire. To this end, Cassius, the Cinder Emperor, is incandescent with wrath. He has issued a great summons, sparing no effort and mobilizing every resource to annihilate the demonic scourge. And you, the Starfallen, will march to the very vanguard to serve as the Empire's first line of defense against the demonic invasion. Warriors, slay the demons!] [Quest Objective: Hold your ground and slay the demons.] [Quest Rewards: Players will receive Faction Contribution and gold dinars scaled to the strength of the demons slain.] [Note: Dretch: 5 Faction Contribution, 25 silver dinars Quasit: 20 Faction Contribution, 1 gold dinar Babau: 500 Faction Contribution, 20 gold dinars Vrock: 1,500 contribution, 50 gold dinars ... Balor: 1,250,000 Faction Contribution, 200,000 gold dinars] It was the Empire's signature style through and through, listing every reward with clear, explicit price tags. Lonely as Snow's eyes lit up at the generous bounties. "Holy crap, that much? If someone managed to kill a balor, wouldn't they instantly be set for life?" Daydreaming, he wiped the rough barrel of his steam shotgun and gazed toward the nearby woods. "Whatever. Who cares if we're cannon fodder? As long as there's contribution and coin, anything goes!" *** Down in Leo Village, the busy figures of players were everywhere. They were not constructing defensive fortifications, however. Instead, they were looting—or rather, engaging in a bit of five-finger discount, the ultimate joy of any RPG player! "A chest! Hurry, pop it open!" "What is this crap... damn it, a common iron hoe with no quality tier. What the hell is this good for?" "Look at this one—undergarments belonging to the widow on the east side of town! Who'd even want this?" "What about the cabinet?" "It's... organic mash and half a loaf of black bread. Unbelievable. Was this tiny scrap of garbage really worth hiding so deep?" "Check the basement! I refuse to believe we can't dig up a single piece of good loot!" "Smash that jar! I've got a feeling something's dropping!" "Could this be... hidden gear? Wait, hell no, it's just a damn pickle!" In little more than ten minutes, the players had turned the entire village upside down. Every cabinet and cellar in the villagers' homes had been ransacked; the players looked ready to pry up the floorboards just to check underneath. Unfortunately, the villagers' homes contained nothing beyond the most mundane daily necessities. Anything of even slight value had long since been carried off by the fleeing residents. The meager haul left the players sorely disappointed. "Dammit, wouldn't it make total sense to pull some demon-slaying artifact out of a villager's house? Even if not that, it ought to cough up a few hundred gold coins!" "I told you already, Elezerg is all about realism! Use your brain for a second—did the villagers back in your hometown keep AK-47s in their closets year-round?" "Hmph, I still bet the devs left some hidden perks behind. I'm going through it again!" *Bang!* A door was kicked wide open. A novice player clad in rough cloth clothes bearing the username Joyride roared with boundless enthusiasm, "Open up, room inspection!" "Holy crap!" Joyride threw his hands up in an immediate surrender. Before him stood an old man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, leveling a hunting shotgun straight at his chest. Weathered eyes glared with a lethal edge, looking ready to pull the trigger without a moment's hesitation. This was Old White's house! Whether they were Starfallen, demons, or whatever else, nothing changed that. Anyone who dared barge in would get a fight to the death! Facing the dark, gaping muzzle, Joyride froze like a wooden post, cold sweat beading on his forehead. This villager was packing serious heat! Keeping his hands raised, Joyride forced a stiff grin. "Hey there, neighbor! Total misunderstanding! I thought nobody was home, so I just peeked in. If I'd known you were here..." Old White raised the barrel a fraction. "Get out. And tell the rest of them: nobody sets foot in my house! Or else... or else my buckshot won't know the difference!" "Right, right, wouldn't dream of bothering you! I'm leaving right now!" Joyride laughed nervously, nodding repeatedly before bolting out the door as if running for his life. *Click.* The door shut gently. Old White lowered the shotgun. His hands were trembling slightly, but he had refused to show any sign of fear during the confrontation. Even though he had mentally prepared himself, the beings outside were legendary "undying warriors," after all. "These so-called Starfallen aren't all that impressive..." Yet for some reason, more and more silhouettes began congregating outside his door. Old White grew uneasy again, especially since he could not make heads or tails of the Starfallen's chatter. "I heard there's an old guy with a gun in there?" "Could he be a hidden NPC? Who's gonna try interacting with him next?" "You think he's one of those concealed masters in starter villages who gives you a divine sword once you clear his quest?" "Damn, that actually makes sense! He's the only one left in this whole village right before a demon invasion. There's definitely something fishy going on!" "What does that tell you? He's probably an absolute powerhouse who can solo demons!" *Creeeeak—* The door was pushed open with utmost caution. Old White instantly tightened his grip on his shotgun, nerves drawn taut. To his surprise, an obsequious smile peered through the crack. "Good day, sir! Do you require any assistance?" Old White hesitated for a moment before testing the waters: "Go... chop some firewood for me?" "You got it!" The player accepted the chore without hesitation, spun on his heel, and dashed off. "You... go fix the bridge in the village." "You, grind some flour." "You, cook a meal." "You..." As player after player departed, Old White grew increasingly proficient at handing out tasks, casually brushing them off one by one. In the eyes of the players, this effortless dismissal was nothing less than the unmistakable demeanor of a supreme, hidden master. When Old White finally stepped out of his house and announced that he had no more tasks to give, the players who had failed to snag one looked crushed, while those assigned menial chores strutted about in triumph. "This is Elezerg for you! Opportunity knocks but once!" "Sir, please, just one more quest!" "I'm crying here, I stood in line for ages!" "I beg you, just give me one errand!" *So this is what the Starfallen are like? Are they all this 'eager to help'?* Hearing the pleading shouts behind him, White sneezed and muttered under his breath. "I've lived this long, and it's the first time I've ever seen people fighting over chores. What a bunch of weirdos." Shouldering his gun, Old White set off along the path leading toward the forested hills south of the village. "Hopefully I can bag a deer today. Even a rabbit would do," Old White murmured to himself. Every day around this hour, he headed into the woods to hunt, rarely returning empty-handed. Over the decades, it had become second nature. Following the familiar trail, Old White ventured deep into the dense forest. *Rustle, rustle...* A faint scratching sound caught his ear. Old White surveyed his surroundings with practiced vigilance, his brow furrowing. "Something... isn't right here," he muttered under his breath. It was an old hunter's instinct. White had walked this trail thousands of times. Every tree and every stone was etched into his memory; stepping into these woods had always felt like coming home. Yet today, the forest felt eerily foreign. A murky, sickly film seemed to coat the leaves and underbrush. Tree branches jutted out like withered arms, seeming to reach toward him. Vines coiled around the boughs like venomous serpents, dangling so low they brushed against his shoulders more than once. The woods were dead silent—an unnatural, suffocating quiet devoid of birdsong. *Caw, caw, caw...* Several terrifyingly massive crows flew overhead, their raspy, grating cries casting erratic shadows across the canopy. Old White looked up at the birds, overcome by an unsettling sensation—they were watching him. Within their dull, gleaming eyes lurked a grotesque mockery, along with naked greed and ravenous hunger—the unmistakable gaze of a predator sizing up fresh meat. Looking closer, he saw sharp, exposed fangs jutting from their beaks, flecked with dried patches of blood. "Dammit, those aren't crows!" "Those are monsters!" Old White gasped. Though his hands trembled slightly around his shotgun, years of habit took over as he raised and aimed at the flock. *Bang!* *Caw, caw, caw...* A sharp gunshot cracked through the air. Flapping their wings, the "crows" continued their harsh, discordant shrieking as they melted into the forest shadows, leaving behind only a few drifting black feathers. As the feathers drifted to the forest floor, they hissed and dissolved the earth, scorching jagged pits into the soil. "What in the world... happened here?" Old White turned pale, sweat drenching his back as he stared nervously down the path he had walked countless times. This forest—it had grown so alien that it terrified him, as though the very trees had come alive. Vines swayed in the wind like severed arms suspended in midair. An overwhelming malice and a suffocating, twisted pressure pressed in from every direction, rattling Old White to his core. *Rustle, rustle...* Foliage shifted, and a blurred silhouette flickered among the trees, caught by Old White's sharp gaze. "Who's there?" Old White whipped around, only to find nothing before him—nothing except the increasingly grotesque woods. Standing frozen, he fished a cigarette from his pocket and shakily lit it. *Phoo—* "Calm down. No... don't panic." Suddenly, Old White caught his breath, his entire body stiffening. Instinctively gripping his shotgun, he felt the sweat from his palms turn the wooden stock slick and clammy. Directly on the ground before him stretched a massive shadow—the silhouette of hideous, outspread wings. With his vast experience, Old White could tell at a glance that this was no vulture, no giant eagle, nor any bird native to Anzeta. In times like these, there was only one possibility—a demon. "What..." Old White turned around stiffly, his eyes going wide and his jaw dropping open. The half-lit cigarette tumbled from his lips to the dirt. Before him loomed an emaciated, humanoid creature. Most of its skin was bare, patchy with tufts of black down, and its limbs ended in razor-sharp talons. A pair of pitch-black wings spread behind its back, casting a colossal shadow that completely engulfed Old White. Most chilling of all was its head—it resembled the rotting skull of an enormous crow, its lifeless pupils gleaming with a twisted, sadistic grin. It was a vrock. To Old White's eyes, the abomination before him surpassed anything he could have imagined. Its warped, irregular frame radiated an aura of pure chaos; the mere sight of it flooded his senses with bottomless malice. "D-demon!" Driven by sheer terror, Old White summoned his remaining courage and pulled the trigger. *Bang!* A gunshot rang out, and crow feathers drifted down. The vrock beat its wings, effortlessly dodging the blast, and closed the distance until it towered right over Old White. Its fanged beak parted slowly, the corners curling into a smirk, and a low, raspy voice grated from its bare, wrinkled throat. "Human..." "How pathetic. Your struggles are nothing more than the bleating of a lamb led to slaughter—fragile, helpless..." Old White collapsed onto the ground, scrambling backward on hands and knees to get away from the terrifying monstrosity. "No... stay back, you monster..." In that instant, his survival instinct flared to its absolute limit. "I... I have to get back..." Struggling with every ounce of strength, Old White hauled himself up from the ground and sprinted along the familiar trail, running blindly for his life. *Caw, caww!* Countless corrupted crows surged from the thickets, filling the air with grating shrieks as they trailed behind White like a black tide. Vines and branches twisted and whipped through the air, blocking White's escape route and carving bloody gashes across his flesh. *Khehehe...* "Run. Run with everything you have—and then die in exquisite terror." A low, raspy voice echoed through the woods. The vrock trailed right behind him in the sky, flapping its wings like a phantom so its looming shadow never ceased to smother the fleeing mortal. *Heh... such fragile mortals. Lord Jezralslak's task is far too easy.* The vrock relished the sensation. It loved playing cat and mouse, letting its prey die in sheer horror, or even frightening them to death outright. Besides, this human's flight would lead it straight to a settlement, setting the stage for a massacre that would make the entire Empire tremble. *Let these humans... feel true terror!* The vrock anticipated the slaughter with glee. It knew these mortals all too well. Confronted by an incursion from the Abyss, they would do nothing but tremble like sheep awaiting the butcher's knife. The vrock could already picture how they would scream and wail as they slid down its gullet. Before long, Old White was covered in wounds and bathed in blood. Under the corrupting influence of chaotic power, his torn flesh had even begun to rot. Yet at that moment, he finally reached the edge of the forest and caught sight of a glimmer of hope. Just ahead lay Leo Village. His home. Old White stumbled forward a few trembling paces, but another corrupted crow swooped down, tearing a great chunk of flesh from his leg and gulping it down with relish. *Thud.* His strength gave out completely, and he crashed to his knees. By now, Old White had been battered nearly beyond recognition, sustained only by a single shred of unyielding conviction. He had to let the Starfallen kill this demon—kill the monster that had tainted this land and deformed his beloved woods beyond recognition. Old White raised his head and screamed with the last dregs of his strength: "De—mon—!" The vrock flapped its wings and sneered mockingly. "Do you think that will save you? They cannot escape. Your kin, your friends—all of them will be devoured by the Abyss in terror. Your wife will be torn to shreds by my talons, your children crushed between my fangs, your companions blinded by pecking beaks... and you... Heh, I will make you watch every single second of it." Yet the scene inside the village was nothing like the panic-stricken wailing and frantic fleeing the vrock had anticipated. Hundreds of players came pouring out from every alley and corner, brandishing obsolete muskets and clad in coarse cloth garments. Not only was there not a shred of fear on their faces, but their expressions were flush with manic ecstasy—like hunters spotting a prize buck. "Holy crap! A big mob!" "It's a vrock!" "This bad boy is worth a full 1,500 contribution plus 50 gold dinars! Whoever bags it is set!" "Get him, boys! Today's the day we strike it rich!" "Awoo—for the Empire!" The mocking smirk on the vrock's face froze, then slowly melted away—things were not going as planned. How did these insolent mortals dare treat a demon of the Abyss like this? They were supposed to be terrified! At the thought, the vrock opened its fanged beak and rasped in a low, grating hiss, "Ignorant mortals, you have no idea what you are facing—" *Bang!* A gunshot cracked. One player muttered under his breath, "Man, this thing sounds like absolute garbage. Hurry up and drop him, my ears are bleeding." "For real. How does it even make that noise? Sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard." "Cut the chatter and waste him! I want the contribution and the gold!" The vrock erupted with uncontrollable fury. "You worthless—" *Bang! Bang!* *Bang! Bang! Bang!* In an instant, a volley of gunfire erupted. Bullets poured forth like a torrential downpour as hundreds of players opened fire simultaneously on the vrock hovering in midair. "Disgusting bastard..." Old White offered a derisive smirk, then slumped face-first onto the dirt, stirring no more. And the battle between the players and the demon had only just begun.