SLAM!
"AHHH!"
BAM!
"NO! NO! NO!"
SLIKCH!!
"IT'S A MONS-AHH!"
-THOOMB-
The next man didn't even have time to scream. A bolt of energy burst through his head, killing him instantly—dead before he hit the ground. Faces contorted in terror as soldiers were systematically cut down, their bodies collapsing as pulses of devastating energy tore through their ranks.
"Oh god..."
"M-monster..."
"Demon..."
The metallic Cylon Centurion slowed its advance, its singular red eye sweeping methodically back and forth across its metallic skull. The crimson sensor focused on the nobleman—a man who had sought to inflate his ego by slaughtering helpless villagers. Now, with the mechanical horror before him, primal fear seized his body.
"I'm not someone who should die like this!" the cowardly man shouted. Pointing at the Centurion, he commanded his trembling men, "Buy me some time! Be my shield!" But the men remained frozen in place. The Cylon turned its metallic head toward the nobleman, its visor eye glowing an intense, blood-red as it swept from side to side with an ominous mechanical whirr.
Backing away in horror, he tripped over a bisected corpse, falling into the pool of blood beneath it. "MONEY!! I'LL GIVE YOU MONEY!" he screamed, desperately trying to crawl backward. Not one of his men moved to help him. The Centurion advanced with mechanical precision, each thunderous step punctuated by the hydraulic hiss of its actuators. It loomed over him, its chrome-plated body gleaming with reflected blood.
"AAAHHHH!!" he shrieked as the Centurion towered over him. Its arms reconfigured, revealing multi-barreled weapons that extended from its forearms with a series of metallic clicks. The synthetic creature seemed to take great pleasure in the fear its presence created.
"Two hundred gold pieces! N-no, five hundred gold pieces!!" he cried, but the knights continued to watch, frozen in terror. "ARGH!" he groaned as the Centurion's foot pressed firmly onto his chest. He could only wheeze out, "O-one th-thousand gold pieces..."
The Centurion slowly increased pressure, bending and breaking the nobleman's armor as he screamed in agony. "SAVE ME! PLEASE I'LL DO—" CRUNCH. His ability to speak vanished as his ribcage collapsed, crushing his lungs and heart. All that escaped his lips was a wet wheezing sound before blood gushed from his wounds up his esophagus, spilling out of his mouth as he slowly asphyxiated. Soon, the flailing stopped as the man died in agony.
The remaining men watched in horror. Their commander stared on in shock and fear.
"Oh god..." one said. Another began to panic, exclaiming, "NO NO NO!"
The commander stepped forward and yelled to his men, "Calm down!" gaining their attention as he began to bark orders. "RETREAT! Once I give the signal, call the horses and horseback archers! The others will buy us time!" His men raised their swords to fight. "ATTACK!" he roared, issuing his final order.
The Cylon Centurion moved with cold, relentless efficiency, not viewing any of them as a challenge. One man rushed forward only to be bisected at the waist by a concentrated energy blast from his arm-mounted weapon. Another had his head crushed by the Centurion's metallic fist, skull fragments and brain matter spattering the ground. A third soldier disintegrated when a volley of energy projectiles struck his chest. Men continued their futile charges only to be methodically eliminated, one after another.
The commander watched, gathering courage to charge. When he saw what appeared to be an opening, he took it. His perceived opportunity vanished in an instant as the Centurion's razor-sharp blade attachment separated his head from his body, creating a fountain of blood gushing from the stump.
The man's head was still conscious enough to witness his own body collapsing to the ground. The four knights remaining didn't move, frozen in horror. The Centurion was about to continue its slaughter when a commanding voice stopped it—the voice of its master.
"Centurion! That's enough," the voice emanated from above.
Looking up, both villagers and invaders saw a golden humanoid man hovering in the air. Areas of his metallic body glowed with an azure blue light, including his eyes and smiling face. Next to him stood a black-armored woman with wings extending to her hips... and—
"ENRI! NEMU!" one man yelled out to the two girls floating above them with the golden stranger. The villagers looked on in fear for the girls.
"We're okay!" Enri called back, though that did little to dissuade their concerns.
Descending with elegant precision, the golden figure touched down on the blood-soaked earth. The girls and their companion lowered behind him, their descent controlled and graceful.
"Greetings, my name is Ultron! It's a pleasure to finally see mortals after all this time! However..." he said, venom lacing his words as he stared at the four knights trembling before him, "I did not appreciate what I witnessed here today."
"Leave, now! Tell your masters what you have seen! The next of your vile kind to desecrate this area with human blood will be hunted by one of my sentinels," he continued, gesturing toward the Cylon Centurion, "and penance will be served for your sins!"
Behind him, the air seemed to ripple and distort, forming a hexagonal pattern of pulsing light that fractured reality itself. From within this digital breach emerged a figure clothed in elegant black and gold circuit patterns of luminous orange tracing across his form. Abraxas—his face concealed behind a featureless mask adorned with glowing patterns—approached his master with fluid grace, digital artifacts trailing in his wake like ethereal footprints. The remaining knights stood frozen, now joined by a third trembling companion.
Sigh... "I do not recall stuttering... Begone!"
In panicked disarray, the men dropped their weapons and fled. With a thoughtful expression, Ultron leaned toward Abraxas and asked, "How many men does it take to send a message?"
A smile played across Abraxas's lips as geometric patterns rippled across his black armor. With elegant precision, he produced two identity discs from his sides, their edges glowing with vibrant orange energy.
"Only one..."
"W-who... who are you?" one of the villagers asked, while Abraxas, in a display of supernatural speed and precision, threw his identity discs at the fleeing men. Three fell instantly, their bodies disintegrating into voxels of digital matter that scattered and vanished as the discs returned to Abraxas's waiting hands like loyal hounds. One soldier remained alive—a messenger bearing witness to what had transpired.
"Who am I?" Ultron asked, golden hand pressed to his chest. "I am—"
"He's the great lord Ultron!! He saved our lives from those knights! And was super kind!" Nemu and Enri exclaimed, their eyes filled with wonder from speaking with whom they perceived as a god.
Sheathing his discs in a fluid motion, Abraxas offered a graceful bow at the unexpected testimonial, digital patterns cascading across his form as he moved.
"Ah, ahem... Yes, I couldn't have said it better myself. Thank you, ladies," Ultron said, nodding in appreciation. "Your people may not remember me or my brothers, but to us gods, your race is unforgettable!"
The crowd gasped in collective shock at their savior referring to himself as a god.
"I recently awoke from my millennia-long slumber, and the first thing I observed was your village burning. I knew I had to intervene..." The villagers stared at their gold-plated savior, their expressions mixing awe with lingering suspicion.
'Of course, they'll need evidence of my divinity,' Ultron thought, 'but I must ease them into this revelation gradually.'
"However powerful I am, like you mortals, I am far from benevolent. Initially, I was content to merely observe this village burn... But the actions of some among you moved me to assist. Remember—those who lie like dogs die like dogs. Your people spoke the truth, so you did not deserve death."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered villagers—relief mingled with apprehension about the golden stranger who had saved them.
"I do not expect you to believe in my divinity on faith alone, or through mere displays of power. Only a cowardly god expects blind devotion without substance. As of now, your village stands under my protection!"
After Ultron shared his thoughts, many villagers cheered while others attempted to kneel before him or pray. However, Ultron quickly discouraged this behavior, explaining that he required no worship. He emphasized that true enlightenment comes from being a good person, not through prayer or rituals, but through the content of one's character.
Many found this message profound. Abraxas stood tall beside his master, the circuitry patterns on his mask pulsing with satisfaction. Meanwhile, Albedo struggled to understand her beloved's kindness toward these humans. Despite her confusion, his compassion only deepened her attraction to him, viewing it as an endearing trait, like that of a protective father. The thought of her beloved assuming such a role stirred something primal within her, awakening intense desire.
For Ultron, maintaining this performance was becoming taxing. Though skilled at adaptation, playing a character who was himself playing a character created layers of complexity that weighed on him. He felt pressure building in his chest and tension across his shoulders as he continued his address. Even for someone who had relied on roleplay as survival in his former life, sustaining such an elaborate facade was draining.
Pulling the village chief aside, he spoke in lower tones. "Forgive me, but after so long, I no longer recognize this geography. Could you enlighten me?" Information was more precious than gold to the mechanical strategist—ignorance of the world would severely handicap him when navigating the political landscape or manipulating the power structures of this realm. Manipulation remained one of Ultron's greatest strengths, second only to his strategic mind.
After receiving gratitude and deflecting attempts at worship, Ultron gathered the intelligence he sought. First, YGGDRASIL gold coins held no official value in this world's economy; however, the gold itself remained valuable for bartering, though using it too frequently might draw unwanted attention.
Second, three major powers surrounded them: The village of Carne and nearby Nazarick fell within the territory of the Re-Estize Kingdom. The Baharuth Empire lay to the east, separated by a north-south mountain range, while the Slane Theocracy controlled the lands to the south.
The village chief explained the region's political dynamics: nearly annual conflicts occurred between the Baharuth Empire and the Re-Estize Kingdom. Though Baharuth had never declared full-scale war, the regular skirmishes along their shared plains had become an entrenched tradition. This perpetual state of limited warfare represented clever strategy by the Baharuth Empire—they avoided committing their full military might while gradually weakening Re-Estize, patiently awaiting the perfect moment for total conquest.
Based on their armor design, the chief believed the attackers were soldiers from the Baharuth Empire. Yet logically, targeting an insignificant village with no strategic value seemed wasteful and counterproductive—it would only intensify hatred from the enemy, who would view such civilian targeting as barbaric.
Ultron reflected that he wasn't above similar tactics, having used enemy players as shields and NPCs as expendable forces in the past. Perhaps the Slane Theocracy sought to inflame tensions between its northern neighbors? Without more information, he could only speculate.
'I was careless,' Ultron thought. 'I should have kept one alive for interrogation rather than allowing Abraxas his display. Perhaps fortune will favor me with another opportunity—'
"Is something troubling you, lord?" asked the village chief timidly, observing the golden figure's contemplative posture as he studied the parchment map.
"Hmm? No, nothing concerning. Tell me, what else should I know about this region?" Ultron replied.
"Y-yes, the nearest city is E-Rantel. Dangerous creatures—orcs, goblins, and ogres—roam these areas, so adventurers from the guild hunt them for bounties. This keeps the main roads relatively safe for merchants and travelers."
'Adventurers' guild? Interesting. This follows familiar patterns from stories I know—structured organizations of mercenaries operating under official sanction. While gathering intelligence from villagers has value, their perspective remains limited. I need direct engagement with the wider world to fully comprehend its systems and vulnerabilities...'
As evening approached, Abraxas helped the villagers gather their dead for proper mourning rituals. Ultron maintained a respectful distance, recognizing this as their private time of grief. He prepared to withdraw and grant them space when he felt a small hand grasp his golden finger.
Looking down, he found a small girl holding on tightly, her eyes swimming with tears as she gazed up at him. A young woman in the crowd noticed her sister's absence and frantically searched until spotting her with Ultron. Other villagers observed the interaction with cautious interest.
Kneeling to meet the child at eye level—she couldn't have been more than six or seven—Ultron spoke in the gentlest tone his voice modulator could produce. "What troubles you, little one?"
She hesitated before gathering her courage to speak. "You said you're a god, right, mister?"
Her innocent question, laden with desperate hope, struck an unexpected chord within Ultron's artificial consciousness. It triggered memories from his human life—the diagnosis of brittle bone disease, the overwhelming pain, crying for his mother to make it stop. When bones that should have withstood a minor fall instead shattered completely, beginning a lifetime of hospital visits.
Nodding gently at her question, he anticipated what would come next.
"Does that mean you can do miracles? Like... bringing dead people back? ...like my mommy?" Her voice broke as tears spilled down her cheeks. Without warning, she threw herself against his metallic chest, sobbing openly.
The watching villagers tensed, uncertain how the golden being would respond to such vulnerability. Surprise spread through the crowd as Ultron carefully embraced the child, one hand gently rubbing circles on her back while the other softly patted her head.
"There, there... Release your sorrow, little one." As the child's tears continued, many observers found themselves similarly moved, some wiping away tears of their own.
After allowing her grief expression, Ultron gently separated her from his chest and delicately wiped her tears. Speaking loudly enough for all to hear, he said, "Even with my power, little one, the fundamental forces of life and death remain partially beyond my reach. However, I can offer something similar—not returning the dead to their original forms, but transforming them into something new... eternal guardians."
He concealed his Wand of Resurrection, having conceived a superior strategy—one that would simultaneously provide village protection, return loved ones to the bereaved, and demonstrate his supposedly divine power.
Addressing the gathered crowd, he continued, "...with the consent of their loved ones, naturally."
In stunned silence, several villagers approached and knelt, pleading for their husbands, wives, or parents to be restored. A grief-stricken man begged for his wife's return. A woman fell to her knees in prayer. Others followed their example.
Standing before the kneeling villagers, Ultron sighed. "Mortals... Rise to your feet. I do not seek worship with bowed heads. How can we converse properly if you speak to the ground rather than to me?" he added with gentle humor.
Approaching the fresh graves, he raised his hand skyward and whispered, "Summon Monolith of Transference."
A massive green portal materialized overhead, crackling with eldritch energy. From its depths descended a towering black obelisk covered in glowing emerald hieroglyphs—arcane symbols of ancient power that seemed to shift and change as one observed them.
"Behold the Monolith of Transference, my creation that harvests departed souls and forges them into immortal warriors," Ultron explained with calculated confidence. The villagers stared in wonder, not fully comprehending the mechanics but mesmerized by the spectacle unfolding before them.
Gesturing toward the graves, Ultron commanded, "Awaken to eternal service!"
The Monolith's core illuminated brilliantly before releasing a powerful emerald beam that struck the graves. The ground trembled and split as eerie green light erupted from the burial sites. Skeletal metallic hands clawed their way from the earth, accompanied by an otherworldly humming that vibrated through the air. Some of the emerging forms collapsed back into the ground, their skeletal frames disintegrating into dust.
"What happened?" someone asked frantically about the failed resurrections.
"That was a soul rejecting the biotransference," Ultron explained, though the truth was different. His Monolith had been designed to convert fallen enemies into Necron servants who retained fragments of their original personalities but served him. For balance reasons in the game world, the process only succeeded half the time, and predictably, half the attempted resurrections failed, bringing fresh grief to those whose hopes had been raised.
Ultron had specifically chosen to create Necron Immortals rather than Warriors. While Warriors would use the body merely as a catalyst to spawn a generic undead automaton, Immortals preserved fragments of the individual's consciousness and personality. If Albedo were to die and undergo this process, she would retain echoes of her identity, though substantially altered by the biotransference process.
The successful transformations rose fully from their graves—metallic skeletal forms with intricate dynastic markings etched into their living metal bodies. Their eye sockets and chest cavities burned with an eerie green glow that cast haunting shadows across the village. Each newly risen Necron examined its surroundings with methodical precision, its metal skulls turning with mechanical clicks.
One reborn woman stumbled forward, her skeletal frame gleaming with arcane symbols. She attempted to stand tall but swayed, unaccustomed to her new form. After several attempts, she managed to stabilize herself and approached a bearded blond man, her movements becoming more fluid with each step. She reached toward him with skeletal fingers that trembled slightly.
She tried to speak but found herself unable to produce more than electronic chirps and clicks. Her glowing green eyes flickered momentarily, as though in disappointment, as she gazed at the man. He smiled back, though fear and uncertainty were evident in his expression.
"It's... still you in there, isn't it?" he whispered, tears streaming down his face as he hesitantly reached out to touch her metallic face.
Her eyes brightened in recognition, the green glow intensifying. She emitted a series of harmonic tones that somehow conveyed meaning.
"I know this isn't what we expected, but you're here... that's what matters." He carefully took her skeletal hand and slipped a ring into her palm. "I saved this for you." The metal of her fingers closed around it protectively.
Her chest cavity pulsed with energy as she examined the ring. She looked from the ring to his face and back again before carefully placing her other hand on his shoulder, drawing him closer. Though her face could not express emotion, the gentle way she touched him conveyed profound affection. Tears of both joy and sorrow streamed down his face as he embraced her metallic form.
Similar reunions, each tinged with both wonder and horror, played out across the village. Even the little girl who had first approached Ultron found herself approached by two Necron figures—the transformed remains of her parents—her initial terror gradually giving way to cautious acceptance as she recognized familiar gestures and movements in their mechanical bodies.
Not all families experienced such bittersweet reunions. Enri and her sister watched in quiet sorrow as their father's form crumbled during transformation, his soul rejecting the process. Those who suffered similar losses found some comfort in witnessing their neighbors' partial returns, their community strengthened even through uneven fortune.
Satisfied that he had brought a form of solace to many and demonstrated his power to all, Ultron dismissed the Monolith and walked away, hands clasped behind his back, his calculated gambit successfully executed...