The sky above the Neutral Wastes had turned the color of a three-day-old bruise—a swirling mix of purple, black, and sickly green. The ground, which had previously been a stable arena floor, was now the heaving chest cavity of a god who had just woken up from a thousand-year nap and was decidedly not a morning person.
Typhon the Undying was not merely large; he was geography given animosity. His skull scraped the clouds, his ribs were mountains of ivory, and his fingers were jagged pillars of bone that raked through the desert sand like a gardener weeding a flowerbed.
Down on the ground—or rather, on the shifting tectonic plate that was Typhon's sternum—the tiny alliance of darkness stood in a ragged circle.
"Okay, listen up!" Elara shouted, her voice amplified by the megaphone she had pulled from her inventory. She ignored the pain in her side and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Adrenaline was a wonderful drug, and right now, she was swimming in it. "This is a standard Raid Boss encounter! If you want to live, you listen to me! No solo plays! No heroics! We do this by the numbers!"
Grog, the Orc Warlord, scratched his massive chin with the flat of his axe. "What is Raid Boss? Is it type of sandwich?"
"It means he has a massive health pool and telegraphed attacks!" Elara yelled, pointing at the Titan. "Grog, you are the Main Tank. Your job is to make him look at you. Be annoying! Be loud! Hit his toes!"
Grog grinned, revealing tusks the size of daggers. "Grog good at annoying. Grog very good at toe-hitting."
"Vex! Malacor!" Elara pivoted to the two defeated Lords. They looked like wet cats—Vex's hair was a mess, and Malacor was missing several important ribs after being flattened by Valdred. "You are Range DPS and Debuffs. Malacor, slow him down. Freeze his joints. Vex, aim for the eyes. Blind him. Keep him confused."
"I do not take orders from a human," Malacor rasped, straightening his crumpled robe.
"You will take orders from the human," Valdred stepped forward, his voice low and vibrating with menace, "or I will finish what I started and turn you into bone meal right here."
Malacor looked at Valdred, then up at the Titan, then back at Valdred. "The human makes compelling points," the Lich decided quickly.
"Leo!" Elara turned to the Hero, who was currently trying to hide behind a small rock.
"I'm ready!" Leo squeaked. "I shall use my Holy Smite of—"
"No!" Elara cut him off. "You are the Bait."
" The what?"
"You radiate Holy Energy. To an Undead God, you shine like a flashlight in a dark room. You are going to run around and make sure he doesn't step on the rest of us. Just run, Leo. Run like you're late for a date with a supermodel."
"I... I can do that!" Leo nodded, looking weirdly inspired.
"And Valdred," Elara turned to her Demon Lord. The fierceness in her eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "You are Heavy DPS. Wait for the opening. When Grog gets his attention and Malacor locks him down... you break him."
Valdred nodded. He didn't need to speak. He simply gripped Night-Eater until his knuckles creaked.
"BREAK!" Elara clapped her hands.
The Raid of the Black Sun began.
The battle started with a roar that shattered windows in kingdoms three hundred miles away.
"I HAVE AN ITCH," Typhon bellowed, his voice sounding like mountains grinding together. "AND YOU ARE THE FLEAS."
He raised a fist the size of a castle and brought it down.
"GROG SMASH!" The Orc Warlord didn't run away. He ran toward the impact zone. He activated his Berserker Rage, his skin turning a deep, violent crimson. He slammed his axe into the ground and braced himself.
BOOM.
The impact created a shockwave that knocked Elara off her feet, but Grog held. He caught the tip of the God's pinky finger on the shaft of his axe. He groaned, his boots sinking deep into the rock, veins bulging on his neck.
"GROG STRONG!" he screamed. "YOU HIT LIKE VEGETARIAN!"
The insult worked. Typhon was offended.
"INSOLENCE," the God growled, lifting his hand to squash the Orc like a bug.
"Now, Leo! Run!" Elara commanded from her vantage point behind a ridge of bone.
Leo popped out from behind his rock. He activated his Aura of Sanctity. A beam of pure, golden light shot up from his armor.
"Hey! Over here, you overgrown calcium deposit!" Leo shouted, waving his arms. "I have milk! Don't you want milk for your bones?"
Typhon paused. The Holy Energy was irritating. It stung his necrotic eyes.
"SHINY THING," Typhon grumbled. He shifted his weight, turning away from Grog to swat at Leo.
Leo shrieked and sprinted. He was fast—Heroes usually were when they were running away. He dashed between the Titan's legs, leading the massive hand on a chase across the arena floor.
"Phase One complete," Elara muttered, checking her mental stopwatch. "Malacor! Vex! Now!"
From the eastern ridge, Malacor raised his staff. He began to chant in a language that sounded like dry leaves crumbling. "Ancient Hex: Arthritis of the Soul."
A grey, sickly beam hit Typhon's knee. The joint stiffened. The necrotic magic of the Lich interfered with the necrotic magic of the God. Typhon stumbled, his leg locking up mid-step.
Above, Vex was flying. She was a blur of black leather and bat wings. She didn't use magic; she used precision. She threw a handful of Shadow Dust into the Titan's face.
"MY EYES," Typhon roared, flailing blindly. "IT STINGS. IS THAT CINNAMON? I AM ALLERGIC TO CINNAMON."
"It's cursed chili powder!" Vex yelled back, cackling.
The Titan was distracted. He was blinded, limping, and annoyed by the shiny man running around his feet.
"Valdred!" Elara shouted into the megaphone. "The knee! Hit the knee!"
Valdred moved.
He didn't run; he launched himself. He used a gravity pulse to catapult his body into the air. He soared upward, a black comet against the sickly sky. He reached the apex of his jump right at Typhon's locked knee joint.
"Night-Eater," Valdred whispered. "Feast."
He swung the greatsword. The blade extended, coated in pure void energy. It wasn't a cut; it was an erasure of matter.
CRACK.
The sound was sickening. Valdred severed the magical ligament holding the God's knee together.
Typhon howled. The massive leg buckled. The Titan crashed down onto one knee, the impact shaking the teeth in Elara's skull.
"Yes!" Elara punched the air. "Damage phase! Pour it on!"
But Raid Bosses never go down in one phase.
Typhon, despite having a severed knee, was still a God. He slammed his hands into the ground.
"ENOUGH," he hissed. "ARISE, MY CHILDREN. DINNER IS SERVED."
The ground around them began to bubble. From the cracks in the arena floor, skeletons began to crawl out. But these weren't normal skeletons. These were the ancient dead—warriors from the Age of Myth. They wore rusted gold armor and wielded weapons that glowed with cursed light.
There were hundreds of them.
"Adds!" Elara screamed. "He's summoning adds! Protect the DPS!"
A skeletal warrior lunged at Elara. She didn't have her staff ready. She raised her clipboard instinctively.
The sword hit the clipboard. The clipboard, reinforced with Bureaucratic Wardings, didn't break. It sparked.
"Do you have a permit for that sword?" Elara yelled, kicking the skeleton in the shin (which hurt her foot more than the skeleton).
Valdred landed beside her with an earth-shaking thud. He decapitated the skeleton with a casual backhand swing.
"Are you hurt?" Valdred asked instantly, scanning her for new wounds.
"I'm fine! Ignore me!" Elara pushed him. "The adds are swarming Grog! If the Tank goes down, we wipe!"
Grog was indeed in trouble. He was covered in a pile of undead warriors, like a frantic hill of ants.
"GROG NOT LIKE THIS PARTY!" the Orc yelled, throwing skeletons left and right.
"Malacor!" Valdred barked, taking command. "Field control! Vex! Air support on the Tank!"
"I am running low on mana!" Malacor complained, firing weak bolts of energy. "I am an old man! I need a nap!"
"If we die, you sleep forever!" Elara reminded him. "Use a potion!"
"I left my potion bag in the green room!" Malacor whined.
"Useless," Valdred growled. "Elara, buff me. I will clear the horde."
"I can't buff you!" Elara checked her belt. "I used my last mana potion on the Iron Skin! I'm running on fumes, Boss!"
The situation was spiraling. Typhon was regenerating. His knee was knitting back together with sickening wet crunching sounds. The horde of skeletons was growing. Leo was currently climbing Typhon's back, screaming something about "stabbing the brain," which was brave but statistically unlikely to succeed.
They were losing momentum.
Elara looked around. She needed an asset. Something big. Something chaotic.
Her eyes landed on the Arbiter.
The massive brass construct was hovering at the edge of the battlefield, still glitching out, muttering about "Refund Policies" and "OS Updates."
"Valdred," Elara grabbed his arm. "Can you throw me?"
Valdred looked at her as if she had asked him to decapitate himself. "Absolutely not."
"Not at the God!" Elara pointed at the Arbiter. "At the Ref! I have an idea!"
"That machine is broken," Valdred argued, parrying a skeletal spear.
"It's not broken, it's confused! I speak Bureaucracy! I can fix it! Just throw me!"
Valdred hesitated. A skeleton aimed a bow at Elara. Valdred caught the arrow out of the air and snapped it.
"Trust me!" Elara pleaded.
Valdred gritted his teeth. "If you die, I will resurrect you and kill you myself."
He grabbed her by the back of her ruined coat. He spun once to build momentum.
"Go!"
He launched her.
Elara flew through the air. It was terrifying and exhilarating. She soared over the heads of the skeletal army, her glasses pressed against her face by the wind pressure.
She collided with the Arbiter's hovering chassis. She grabbed onto a brass gear and pulled herself up onto the machine's shoulder.
"HEY! SIRI!" Elara screamed, banging on the Arbiter's metal head with her wand.
The rotating face spun wildly. "ERROR. UNAUTHORIZED USER. TICKET NUMBER REQUIRED."
"I am the Administrator!" Elara lied, channeling her inner Karen. "This event is in violation of safety code 7734! The arena floor is attacking the patrons! Activate Defense Protocols!"
The Arbiter paused. The face spun to a 'Thinking' icon (an hourglass).
"SCANNING," the Arbiter buzzed. "LIFEFORM 'TYPHON' DETECTED. ENTITY CLASSIFICATION: HAZARD. PROTOCOL: EVICTION."
"Yes! Evict him!" Elara yelled. "He's squatting! He hasn't paid rent in a millennia!"
The Arbiter's eyes turned a brilliant, angry red.
"NON-PAYING TENANT DETECTED," the Arbiter roared. "ACTIVATING BOUNCER MODE."
The brass machine transformed. Its arms shifted, folding and reconfiguring into massive Gatling guns. But instead of bullets, the barrels glowed with pure, condensed Law Magic.
"EVICTION NOTICE ISSUED," the Arbiter announced.
BRRRRRRRT.
A torrent of golden energy beams erupted from the Arbiter. They slammed into the skeletal horde. Every skeleton hit by a beam didn't just break; they were legally mandated to cease existing. They popped out of reality, un-summoned by the power of red tape.
"Thank you, bureaucracy!" Elara cheered, holding onto the vibrating machine for dear life.
The Arbiter then turned its aim to Typhon.
"CITIZEN TYPHON. YOU ARE DISTURBING THE PEACE."
The Arbiter unleashed a beam of concentrated gravity-lock directly at the Titan's chest.
Typhon roared as the golden chains of Law wrapped around his ribs. He struggled, but the Arbiter was fueled by the magic of the Neutral Wastes itself—the absolute power of contracts.
"I AM A GOD!" Typhon screamed. "I DO NOT PAY RENT!"
"Valdred!" Elara shouted from atop the machine. "He's pinned! Finish him!"
Valdred didn't need to be told twice. The path was clear. The skeletons were gone. The God was bound.
He looked at Grog. "Orc. Give me a boost."
Grog nodded. He cupped his massive hands. "UP YOU GO, LITTLE BOSS!"
Valdred ran. He stepped into Grog's hands. Grog heaved upward with all his strength.
Valdred shot into the sky, higher than before. He passed the knee. He passed the hip. He passed Leo, who was clinging to a rib and waving.
Valdred reached the chest cavity, where the Arbiter's chains were holding the God in place.
He didn't aim for the head. He aimed for the heart. Or where the heart used to be. Inside the ribcage, a massive, pulsating core of purple necrotic mana swirled. The God's Core.
Valdred raised Night-Eater. The sword was screaming now, hungry for divine energy.
"This is for the paperwork," Valdred snarled.
He drove the sword into the core.
"NOOO—"
The impact was silent for a second. Then, a supernova of purple light exploded.
Valdred held on. He channeled every ounce of his mana into the blade. He poured his rage, his frustration, and his desire to just go home and have a bath into the strike.
Night-Eater drained the core. It drank the God's mana.
The purple light turned black. The massive skeleton of Typhon began to crumble. The magic holding the bones together dissolved.
"I... WAS... JUST... NAPPING..." Typhon whispered one last time.
Then, the God fell apart.
The collapse was catastrophic. Imagine a mountain turning into a landslide instantly.
"Take cover!" Malacor shrieked, burying himself in the sand.
Vex flew up, dodging falling ribs the size of suspension bridges.
Grog just punched the falling rocks.
Valdred was in freefall. He had destroyed the core, but now he was falling three hundred feet amidst a rain of giant bones.
"Valdred!" Elara screamed.
She aimed the Arbiter's arm. "Catch him! Protocol: Safety Net!"
The Arbiter fired a net of energy. It caught Valdred ten feet before he hit the ground, bouncing him gently. He rolled off the net and landed on his feet, smoking slightly, sword still glowing with digested god-mana.
The dust settled.
The arena was gone. The stadium seating was gone. In its place was a massive crater filled with bone fragments and confused demons.
Silence reigned for ten seconds.
Then, Leo popped out of a pile of dust. He coughed. "Did we win?"
Valdred sheathed his sword. He walked over to the Arbiter, which had lowered itself to the ground. Elara slid down the machine's arm, her legs wobbly.
Valdred caught her again. It was becoming a habit.
"You weaponized the referee," Valdred said, looking at the smoking Arbiter.
"I filed a complaint," Elara corrected, grinning through the soot on her face. "Effective management solves everything."
Valdred looked at her. He looked at the wreckage of a God behind them. He looked at the terrified Grog, Vex, and Malacor who were slowly creeping out of their hiding spots.
He started to laugh. It was a deep, rare sound.
"We killed a God," Valdred said. "And we did it with paperwork and a plush toy."
"Don't forget the Orc," Grog added, limping over. "Grog hit toe. Toe hurt."
"Yes," Valdred nodded at the Warlord. "You did well, Grog. You are... adequate."
Grog beamed. "Grog adequate! Grog put that on resume!"
Vex landed, folding her wings. She looked at Valdred with a new expression. It wasn't hate. It was fear, mixed with begrudging respect.
"So," Vex said, kicking a piece of god-bone. "You saved us. Does this mean we owe you?"
"Yes," Valdred said immediately. "You owe me allegiance. The Neutral Wastes are mine. And..." He looked at Elara. "And you will all chip in to buy my Advisor a new coat. This one is ruined."
Elara looked down at her shredded uniform. "It is, isn't it? I liked this coat."
"I will buy you ten coats," Malacor offered quickly. "Silk. Velvet. Human skin? No, wait, regular silk. Just please don't use the gravity spell on me again."
"Deal," Elara said.
Suddenly, the Arbiter sparked. Its eyes turned blue—the color of normal operation.
"EVENT CONCLUDED," the Arbiter announced, sounding remarkably calm for a machine that had just murdered a deity. "WINNER: VALDRED. PRIZE DISTRIBUTION INITIATING."
A chest appeared in the center of the crater. It wasn't a normal chest. It was made of Typhon's bone and bound in gold.
"The loot!" Leo gasped, sprinting toward it. "Legendary drops!"
Valdred stepped in front of him. "Mine."
Leo stopped. "But... I helped! I was the shiny object!"
"You woke him up," Valdred reminded him. "You get nothing. In fact, you owe me for the emotional distress."
Valdred opened the chest.
Inside, there was no gold. No weapons.
There was a single, small, glowing egg. It was black, with purple veins pulsing on the shell.
"What is it?" Elara asked, leaning in.
"ITEM IDENTIFIED," the Arbiter helpfully supplied. "EGG OF TYPHON. REINCARNATION VESSEL. CONTAINS BABY GOD."
Silence.
"Baby... God?" Elara repeated.
The egg cracked. A tiny skeletal hand poked out. Then a small, skull-faced lizard thing crawled out. It looked at Valdred. It looked at Elara.
"Meep," the Baby God said.
It scrambled up Valdred's leg, climbed his armor, and settled on his shoulder, right next to where Val-Jr usually sat. It curled up and went to sleep.
Valdred stood frozen. "Get it off."
"I think it imprinted on you," Elara whispered, trying not to laugh. "You killed its dad, so now you're dad."
"I am not a father to a skeletal abomination!" Valdred panicked. He tried to pry the bone-lizard off. It bit his finger. "Ow! It has teeth!"
"Aw, look at him," Vex cooed, keeping a safe distance. "He has your eyes. Or... lack of eyes."
"We are keeping it," Elara decided. "We'll name him... Bon-Bon."
"We are not naming it Bon-Bon!" Valdred argued. "It is a world-ending threat!"
"It's a baby," Elara poked the lizard's skull. It purred (a rattling sound). "And we have a castle. Plenty of room."
Valdred looked at the lizard. He looked at Elara. He sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders—literally, now.
"Fine," Valdred grumbled. "But you are house-training it."
Leo watched them, clutching his scroll. He looked at the unified Demon Lords. He looked at the baby God. He looked at the unbeatable duo of the Tyrant and the Manager.
"This is bad," Leo whispered to himself. "This is very bad for the forces of Light. They're gathering pets. They're gathering allies. I have to report this."
Leo slowly backed away while everyone was distracted by Bon-Bon. He pulled out a teleport crystal.
"I'll be back!" Leo whispered dramatically. "And next time, I'm bringing a bigger party!"
He vanished.
Elara noticed the flash of light. "Leo escaped."
"Let him go," Valdred said, scratching Bon-Bon under the chin (despite himself). "He is the messenger. Let him tell the world what happened here."
He turned to the desolate landscape of the Neutral Wastes. The sun was finally setting, casting long shadows over the ruins.
"We have work to do," Valdred said. "We have a new territory to manage. We have a council to reform. And apparently, we have a baby to feed."
"Just another Tuesday," Elara smiled, putting her clipboard under her arm. "Ready to go home, Demon Lord-sama?"
Valdred looked at her. He smiled—a genuine, tired, but victorious smile.
"Yes," he said. "Let's go home."
But as they walked toward the carriage (which had miraculously survived), the ground rumbled one last time. Not an earthquake.
A message appeared in the sky, written in burning letters.
"SERVER ANNOUNCEMENT: DUE TO THE DEATH OF A DEITY, THE GLOBAL DIFFICULTY HAS BEEN INCREASED TO 'NIGHTMARE MODE'. HAVE A NICE DAY."
Elara stopped. "Did the sky just patch the difficulty level?"
Valdred stared at the text. "What is Nightmare Mode?"
"It means," Elara groaned, "that the paperwork is about to double."