The supreme admin Andrew was gone. In his wake, a new power had risen, casting a long, oppressive shadow over the entirety of the VR WORLD. Sayler. The name now tasted like ash in the mouths of many, for he had not merely inherited power; he had seized it, forging a dictatorship where his word was absolute, his authority unchallenged. He was the sole supreme admin now.
From the ranks of his most trusted allies, those who had clung to his side as his ambition grew, Sayler forged his iron fist: the "admin hunters." Five individuals, the closest to his dark heart, became the five commanders of his personal army. A rigid hierarchy was established, with Sayler perched atop like a malevolent god, his five commanders beneath him, then the seasoned veterans of countless virtual battles, and finally, the rank and file, the common fighters who now served his grim purpose.
A decree echoed across the digital landscapes, a bounty placed on the heads of all remaining admins in the VR WORLD. A hefty reward awaited any who brought their virtual demise. The admin hunters, Sayler's grim creation, became the harbingers of fear, their sole purpose to terrorize the player base and relentlessly pursue any admin who had managed to survive the power shift. And so, the regime of Sayler began, a suffocating blanket over the once vibrant world.
The VR WORLD itself began to mirror its new ruler's heart. The once familiar skies bled into a perpetual orange-red, a constant, unsettling sunset that never truly set. The vibrant virtual flora and fauna withered, replaced by a monotonous gray, a testament to the joy that had been leached away. Homes and villages, once symbols of community and life, twisted into sprawling, ramshackle slums, monuments to desolation. Many players, their hearts heavy with despair at the fate of their beloved world, chose to log out, perhaps forever. But some, their love for the VR WORLD a stubborn ember in the encroaching darkness, remained, clinging to hope in the face of overwhelming odds.
The admin hunters were efficient, ruthless. In a matter of days, countless admins, their powers weakened in the chaotic aftermath of Andrew's death, were hunted down, their virtual lives extinguished, their accounts permanently banned. Yet, in the shadows, a flicker of defiance remained. A few admins, resourceful and wary, had managed to evade the initial purge, and in secret, they began to weave the threads of a resistance.
Amidst the skeletal remains of the slums, where few players dared to tread, a lone figure darted through the decaying structures. The avatar of a young man, clad in a distinctive red jacket adorned with gold buttons and black pants, his black hair partially obscured by a bandage covering his right eye, clutched something precious in his hand. It was a brown, spherical object, pulsing with an inner light, a galaxy of shimmering crystals contained within.
Joel, for that was the player's name, fled with desperate urgency, his breath catching in his virtual lungs. But his escape was not to last.
"Hey, you! Where are you going?" a voice snarled from behind.
Joel froze, his heart pounding. Slowly, he turned his head, his one visible eye widening as he took in the two figures blocking his path. They were players, but there was an unsettling air about them. One had short, meticulously styled white hair, his eyes like polished stones – white sclera, silver irises, and pupils as black as a starless night. He wore a sleek black jacket and tight black leather pants. His companion had long, flowing black hair that cascaded down his back. His attire mirrored the white-haired player's, but his eyes burned with a different intensity – white sclera, crimson irises, and black pupils that seemed to pierce through Joel.
"My name is Joel," he stammered, clutching the sphere tighter. "And if I have this sphere, it's because I defeated a high-level beast. Why are you following me?"
A cruel smile stretched across the lips of the long-haired player. "As you well know, little bird," he said, his voice laced with a mocking tone, "this virtual world is now under the benevolent command of the great Sayler. Everything within it belongs to him, by right. Even that beast core you clutch so tightly."
Joel instinctively took a step back. "Who... who are you?!"
The white-haired player stepped forward, his silver eyes glinting in the dim, red-tinged light. "My name is Pesyl," he stated, his voice cold and precise, "and this is my brother, Rahdryt. We are mid-grade hunters. And now that we've seen you carrying that… acquisition… we cannot simply allow you to walk away."
Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through Joel. Rahdryt and Pesyl exchanged a chilling grin, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. Their shadows stretched long and distorted across the ruined buildings, twisting into grotesque shapes that seemed to writhe with malevolent intent. In his panic, Joel's grip loosened, and the precious beast core slipped from his grasp, falling to the cracked ground and shattering into a thousand glittering fragments.
A sound like a collective gasp escaped Rahdryt and Pesyl. Their smiles widened into something truly monstrous. Rahdryt coiled his fist, ready to deliver a crushing blow to the terrified player. But before his knuckles could connect, a booming voice echoed through the desolate street.
"Stop right there!"
As if summoned by the command, a figure materialized from the oppressive gloom. A bald man, his face framed by an impressive handlebar mustache, stood between Joel and the two hunters. His muscular arms were bare beneath a simple white tank top, and he wore faded blue jeans. His eyes, though normal in color – white sclera, brown irises, black pupils – held a fierce determination. It was Rabajen!
"Aren't you ashamed," Rabajen growled, his gaze fixed on Rahdryt and Pesyl, "to prey on a defenseless player like this? You were no different before Sayler's iron grip choked this world."
Rahdryt sneered. "We knew that by stirring up the ants, some of you old-world admins would crawl out of the woodwork."
Rabajen's jaw tightened. "If that was your pathetic goal, then here I am! I am Rabajen, a mid-level admin. Boy," he said, glancing at the petrified Joel, "run. Get out of here. I'll handle these two."
Joel didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, darting behind Rabajen and fleeing in the opposite direction, the image of the shattered beast core burned into his memory. Rahdryt and Pesyl didn't pursue him, their attention now fully locked on the imposing figure of Rabajen.
Rabajen settled into a fighting stance, his muscles coiling. Across from him, Rahdryt and Pesyl mirrored his posture, their bodies radiating power. A visible red aura pulsed around Rahdryt, while a chilling blue aura emanated from Pesyl. Just as Rabajen was about to make his move, another voice, smooth and cultured, cut through the tense air.
"Hey Rabajen, did you really think I'd let you have all the fun with these two… novices? Allow me to lend a hand."
Another figure emerged from the shadows, stepping beside Rabajen. This one was clad in an elegant black suit, the dark fabric embroidered with intricate white patterns. A black bandage concealed his right eye, and his black hair was styled with a dramatic sweep to the right. Strapped to his back was a longsword with a wickedly curved blade. It was Grimborg!
Grimborg's hand flashed to the hilt of his sword, drawing the polished steel with a soft hiss. "Let's give these two a proper introduction to the old guard," he said, a hint of a dangerous smile playing on his lips.
"Yeah," Rabajen rumbled, cracking his knuckles. "Let's show them what real admins are made of!"
Rabajen moved to face Pesyl, while Grimborg positioned himself before Rahdryt. The four combatants stood poised, their eyes locked, each assessing the other, the air crackling with anticipation.
Without warning, Rabajen exploded forward, a blur of motion aimed at Pesyl. His fist, hard as granite, shot out, but Pesyl reacted with surprising speed, his left arm rising to intercept. The moment their limbs connected, a visible frost bloomed across Rabajen's skin, his fist encased in ice. He recoiled, grunting, but with a surge of raw power, he shattered the icy prison. "Your skin is truly cold," Rabajen remarked, flexing his numbed fingers. "Don't you think?"
Pesyl's skin had now turned a stark white, an intense aura of frost radiating from him. He flicked his wrist, a seemingly casual gesture, but the air shimmered with cold, and a barrage of razor-sharp ice stalagmites erupted from the ground, hurtling towards Rabajen. The larger man roared, crossing his arms in a defensive stance. His heavily muscled body absorbed the impact, the ice shattering against his flesh.
Simultaneously, Grimborg and Rahdryt engaged in their own furious dance. Grimborg, a whirlwind of swift movements, danced just out of Rahdryt's reach, his curved blade flashing in rapid, deadly arcs that Rahdryt narrowly evaded. Heat shimmered off Rahdryt's body, visible flames licking at the edges of his skin. With a guttural inhale, Rahdryt unleashed a torrent of fire from his mouth, a searing wave aimed at Grimborg. The elegant admin sidestepped the inferno with practiced ease, closing the distance with blinding speed. But Rahdryt was ready, his hands lashing out with whips of pure flame, forcing Grimborg to retreat.
Back to the clash of brute force and chilling precision, Rabajen endured Pesyl's relentless icy assault, using his own formidable physique as a shield. But Pesyl gave him no quarter, no opening to land a decisive blow. In a desperate move, Rabajen focused his power, a section of his skin on his right arm hardening, forming a partial, rough-hewn armor. Ignoring the biting cold, he weathered the ice attacks and, with a thunderous roar, unleashed a devastating punch that sent Pesyl skidding backward.
Meanwhile, Grimborg and Rahdryt continued their fiery exchange. Rahdryt's flames kept Grimborg at bay, but the agile admin danced through the inferno, each movement precise and economical. Suddenly, Rahdryt unleashed a massive explosion of flames, engulfing the area around him, hoping to catch Grimborg in the fiery blast. But Grimborg was already in motion, his azure energy coalescing around his blade. With a blinding flash, he executed a lightning-fast slash, the green energy of his attack tearing through Rahdryt's defenses, leaving a searing wound on his flank and sending him crashing towards his brother.
The elemental brothers, battered but not broken, stood back-to-back, their breathing ragged. They were struggling to match the skill and power of Rabajen and Grimborg. "We haven't lost yet," Rahdryt gritted out, his voice strained. "The powers granted to us by the great Sayler… they are more than just this."
"The power of the corruption fragments…" Pesyl added, his voice a low growl, "it is something far beyond your pathetic 'admin mode installs'!"
A primal roar tore from their throats. "Fragments Frost Claw and Free Flame!!"
A visible transformation swept over Rahdryt and Pesyl. In the center of their chests, where their hearts would be, a brilliant light ignited – red for Rahdryt, blue for Pesyl. Their bodies shimmered, then erupted with intense auras of their respective elements. Pesyl's form seemed to dissolve into pure blue energy, which then solidified into a sleek, black, chitinous body. Razor-sharp claws extended from his hands, his teeth elongated into black fangs, and his hair darkened to a deep, glacial blue. He crouched low, a predator ready to strike.
Rahdryt's transformation mirrored his brother's, but his entire being blazed with fiery red. His limbs and torso solidified into a jagged, black, rock-like material that pulsed with the same intense red aura. His eyes glowed like molten embers, and his hands and mouth twisted into the same fearsome shapes as his brother's. "We are the elemental brothers!" Rahdryt declared, his voice a guttural inferno.
Rabajen snorted. "Elemental brothers? What a childish name. Only brats would call themselves that."
Grimborg's lip curled in disdain. "With a name that idiotic, I'm almost tempted to end this quickly. Their transformations are… interesting, I'll grant them that. But they haven't faced the caliber of opponents you and I have, Rabajen."
In unison, Rabajen and Grimborg unleashed their own transformations. "Admin mode install!" they roared. "Armor of the supreme demon!" "Lightning of blinding light!"
A crimson energy erupted around Rabajen, solidifying into a bulky, menacing armor that covered his entire body. Intricate lines of red energy pulsed across its surface, from his horned helmet down to his armored boots. He settled into a powerful stance, ready to meet the elemental onslaught.
Above Grimborg, the sky crackled, and a massive bolt of emerald lightning descended, striking him directly. The black bandage over his eye shimmered, and a symbol of a vibrant green eye materialized upon it. His azure electricity surged, morphing into a brilliant lime green, and behind his back, six wings of crackling green energy unfurled. His elegant saber elongated, its blade straightening and narrowing, now humming with potent green electricity. Both admins stood ready, their power radiating outwards, prepared to face their dramatically transformed foes.
Rabajen moved first, placing himself squarely in front of the transformed Pesyl, his armored fists clenched. Pesyl, a blur of icy energy, lunged forward, unleashing a rapid-fire barrage of frozen punches. But Rabajen, despite his bulk, moved with surprising agility, parrying and dodging the chilling blows with practiced ease. Pesyl then conjured two massive ice stalagmites from his hands, aiming to crush Rabajen's skull. The veteran admin reacted instantly, dropping into a lightning-fast crouch, the ice whistling over his head. With a thunderous counter, he unleashed a devastating punch to Pesyl's gut, the force of the blow sending the ice-wielding warrior crashing into the crumbling facade of the building behind him.
Meanwhile, Grimborg engaged Rahdryt in a deadly dance of speed and fire. The elegant admin became a green blur, darting around the fiery elemental, his electrified blade leaving trails of emerald light in its wake. Rahdryt, frustrated by his inability to land a hit, unleashed a massive wave of fire, hoping to engulf Grimborg. But the agile admin simply vanished, reappearing instantly directly in front of Rahdryt. Before the fire elemental could react, Grimborg delivered a devastating slash of green lightning, the energy tearing through Rahdryt's defenses and sending him slamming into the same ruined building as his brother.
Grimborg and Rabajen stood victorious, the dust settling around them. But their respite was short-lived. A new figure descended from the sky, landing gracefully atop the building opposite them. A woman with long, flowing black hair, she exuded a palpable azure aura. Her eyes, like Grimborg's, possessed white sclera, but her irises were a piercing azure, and her pupils were black. She wore a sleek black bodysuit that accentuated her lithe form. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over the fallen elemental brothers.
"Fools," she stated, her voice cool and commanding. "You dared to challenge opponents who are far beyond your capabilities. These are Rabajen and Grimborg, two veterans of the war against the glitches."
The fallen hunters remained silent, their transformed bodies still and broken. The woman then raised her hands, azure energy gathering at the tips of her index fingers. With two swift, precise movements, she unleashed twin beams of pure energy, slicing through the throats of both Rahdryt and Pesyl. Their transformed bodies dissolved into shimmering particles, their existence in the VR WORLD extinguished.
"And who might you be, miss?" Rabajen asked, his voice wary.
The woman turned her gaze towards them, her azure eyes piercing. "I am Sephvia," she announced, her voice resonating with power. "One of the five commanders of the great Sayler."
An immense aura erupted from Sephvia, a wave of pure power that washed over Rabajen and Grimborg, making the very air crackle. They could sense the raw strength emanating from her. But before they could respond, a shadow stretched beneath their feet, tendrils of darkness coiling around their legs. From the depths of the shadow, a familiar voice slithered into their minds.
"The playtime is over, boys. Time to come home." It was Sting.
Grimborg glanced at Sephvia, a hint of regret in his green eyes. "It would have been a pleasure to… engage… with such a stunning lady," he said smoothly, "but duty calls."
Rabajen grunted, his gaze still fixed on Sephvia. "If you're one of the five commanders, you'll be a formidable opponent. I hope we get to clash in the future."
In the blink of an eye, both Rabajen and Grimborg vanished, swallowed by the encroaching shadow. Sephvia watched their departure, her azure eyes narrowed, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"So," she murmured to herself, the red-tinged sky reflecting in her intense gaze. "They are the resistance."