POV: Unknown Sadarean

  Alnus Hill was burning.

  Everything around me was swallowed by flames, the fires raging in endless, all-consuming waves. My breath came in shallow gasps as I stumbled down the slope, legs buckling beneath me, the raw smell of smoke and blood thick in my nose. Just moments before, I had watched in horror as the blockmen—the unkillable demons—swept through our ranks with terrifying ease, silent and remorseless. They cut down soldiers, smashed through our barricades, and tore through the very heart of our defenses.

  We never stood a chance.

  I barely got away. I could still hear the screams of those who hadn't been so lucky, their voices strangled with terror, calling out for mercy that would never come. Behind me, the Gate loomed—a portal we had once hailed as a doorway to riches, to conquest. Now, it was a curse. A wound torn open in the very fabric of the world, bleeding darkness into our lands.

  The blockmen had taken it. Oh gods, they had taken the Gate.

  My legs gave out, and I fell to my knees, the weight of the moment crashing down on me. They were here now, in our lands, and they would not stop. I had seen them, moving like shadows across the battlefield, their bodies smooth and unnatural, their blank faces void of anything remotely human. They had no expressions, no emotion, only that chilling indifference as they destroyed everything we had fought for.

  They didn't bleed, they didn't tire. Nothing could kill them, and they would not relent until every last one of us was nothing but ash.

  A shiver ran down my spine as I realized the full horror of it. *We couldn't stop them. Only the gods could.*

  With shaking hands, I made the sign of Hardy, touching my forehead and lips, whispering a prayer that barely made it past my lips. "Great Hardy, Goddess of the Underworld, I beg you… close the Gate. Save us from these monsters."

  Silence met my prayer, broken only by the crackling of flames and the distant, cold laughter of the blockmen echoing up from the hill.

  POV: Dave (DaveStation)

  Two Days After the First Battle of The Hill

  The sun rose high over the dense forest, pixelated rays cutting through the leaves in shimmering streaks of light. I was still getting used to how ridiculously realistic everything looked. The trees weren't blocky and looked as if they were near perfect recreations of real trees. Moss clung to the sides of trunks, and the sound of birds chirping wasn't just generic looping audio; it was directional. The deeper we went into the woods, the more immersive it became, almost like stepping into an ultra-HD survival game.

  The only thing ruining this was the fact that I wasn't alone.

  "Dave, Dave, Dave," Joe called out, his blocky avatar spinning in circles, wielding a stone axe like it was Excalibur. "You think we can take down this tree? It's taller than a giraffe on a ladder!"

  Donald, wearing his iconic red tie and blue suit, turned to Joe and groaned. "Joe, that's the third time you've said that today. Nobody's laughing. Work on your material."

  "Hey, that's rich coming from you!" Joe shot back, waving his axe at Donald. "You've been trying to craft a 'best wood' joke for half an hour, and it hasn't landed once!"

  Donald ignored him, walking up to a tree and starting to chop with theatrical vigor. "This, gentlemen, is called resource gathering. You wouldn't understand—too busy eating Ice Cream or whatever."

  "Yeah, real important resource gathering," I muttered, watching his logs scatter to the ground after he misclicked. "You left half of it floating in the air, Donald. Nice job defying gravity."

  "I'm an ideas guy, Dave," Donald shot back, brushing invisible dust off his avatar. "I delegate the details to people like you."

  "Right," I replied, rolling my eyes.

  Behind us, Barack—ever the voice of reason—was taking stock of our inventory. "Alright, team, we've got enough wood and stone to start laying out a perimeter if we want to set up here."

  "Barack," I said, gesturing to the endless forest, "we don't even know what's out here yet. Shouldn't we explore a little more first?"

  "Exploration is key," Barack agreed, pausing dramatically, "but we also need to prepare. A strong foundation leads to victory."

  I stifled a laugh. Even in a game, Barack sounded like he was running for reelection.

  We continued deeper into the forest, Donald and Joe bickering about whose idea it had been to bring only three potions of healing. I kept quiet, focusing on the world around us. The textures, the sounds—it was stunning, but also… unsettling. There was something about this place that felt too alive.

  Then we found the river.

  It was pristine, a winding stream cutting through the forest with sparkling clarity. The sunlight danced on its surface, refracting rainbows across the rocks. But it wasn't the river itself that stopped us in our tracks.

  It was the elves.

  There were three of them, lounging in the shallows, their pale, almost glowing skin contrasting with their long, flowing hair. They looked like something out of a fantasy movie—slender, graceful, and completely unaware of our presence.

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  For a moment, nobody spoke.

  "...Whoa," Joe whispered.

  Donald, for once, was silent.

  Even Barack seemed to have forgotten how to talk.

  "Okay," I said after a beat, my voice low, "nobody move. Nobody say a word. Nobody—"

  "Are they naked?" Joe asked, his voice a mix of awe and panic.

  "Joe!" I hissed to quiet him.

  "I'm just saying!" he protested. "I didn't expect this level of realism! Look at—"

  Donald cut him off, his tone oddly hushed. "Shut up, Joe. You're ruining the moment."

  Barack cleared his throat, his usual composure visibly shaken. "Gentlemen, let's, uh… respect their privacy and… back away slowly."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Agreed. Let's not make this weirder than it already—"

  "TOO LATE, SUCKERS!" Donald yelled suddenly, his avatar jumping. "I ALREADY TOOK SCREENSHOTS!"

  The elves turned.

  Their serene, peaceful expressions melted into looks of shock and then anger and embaresment. One of them, with fiery red hair, pointed a slender finger at us and barked something in a language we didn't understand.

  "She's not happy," Barack said, taking a step back.

  "Yeah, no sh*t," I muttered.

  The red-haired elf's hand began to glow, a swirling ball of flame forming in her palm.

  "Is she charging up a fireball?!" Joe screeched.

  Donald, shouted already running, "RUN, RUN, RUN, BOYS!"

  The first fireball shot past my head, exploding against a nearby tree and sending pixelated embers scattering everywhere.

  "GO!" Barack yelled, sprinting toward the cover of the woods.

  We bolted, crashing through the underbrush as more fireballs rained down around us. Trees exploded, bushes caught fire, and the faint sound of angry elven voices followed us as we ran for our lives.

  "I'm gonna die!" Joe wailed. "I'm too young and handsome to die!"

  Donald laughed maniacally, still clutching his screenshots. "WORTH IT! TOTALLY WORTH IT!"

  "You're the worst!" I yelled, dodging another blast.

  We didn't stop running until we were well beyond the river and hidden in a cave we found. The sounds of pursuit and explosions had faded, and for a moment, the only thing we could hear was background noise.

  "Donald," Barack said between gasps, "delete the screenshots."

  "Never," Donald replied smugly.

  I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Why do I hang out with you guys?"

  We stayed by the outcropping for a while, regaining our composure. Joe had already started a new argument with Donald about who will be editing the boobs out of the video, while Barack half-heartedly mediated.

  I ignored them, my gaze drifting toward the horizon. Something was bothering me—something I couldn't quite place.

  Then I saw it.

  In the distance, just beyond the trees, a figure moved. It wasn't an elf, or a Roman, or even a normal mob. It was… something else. Tall, slender, with a strange, otherworldly glow.

  "Guys," I said, my voice low.

  Nobody responded, too caught up in their bickering.

  "Guys," I said louder, standing and moving closer to the entrance of the cave.

  As I stepped forward, my screen flickered. My controls felt sluggish, my avatar moving slower than it should have.

  Then, out of nowhere, a sharp, blinding flash filled the screen.

  You were slain by Giselle.

  "What the hell?" I muttered, staring at the death message in disbelief.

  Through proximity chat, I heard the others start to panic.

  "Wait, what?" Joe's voice crackled. "Dave just got killed? By who?"

  "WHO'S GISELLE?!" Donald screamed.

  One by one, their voices disappeared, each replaced by the same message in the chat.

  BarackObamaAI was slain by Giselle.

  JoeBiden321 was slain by Giselle.

  DonaldBestPresident was slain by Giselle.

  POV: CodeBreaker1

  The sound of placing blocks filled my headset as I placed another polished stone brick into position. The soft hum of proximity chat buzzed in my ears, players discussing everything from logistics to jokes about the absurdity of this situation. Around us, the skeleton of a new settlement began to rise—a small village at the base of Real Life Hill as what some players were calling it though most called it Gate Town. The hill had been mostly destroyed during the battle, its surface dotted with craters and debris, but here, in the shadow of the gate, we were building something new.

  "Anyone got more spruce logs?" a player called out, their name hovering faintly in the distance.

  "Check chest two near the center," another replied.

  I stepped back, toggling into third-person mode to survey our progress. The walls of the settlement were shaping up nicely, encircling the few homes and storage facilities we'd already built. Lanterns dotted the area, casting pools of soft light that pushed back the perpetual night of this strange world. Well the time did change and there were days but they took real hours for it to change so yeah.

  In proximity chat, the conversation shifted, as it always seemed to these days, to the situation at large.

  "Did you see the subreddit post earlier?" one player asked, their voice crackling faintly through the mic. "People still think this is just a hoax or some big ARG."

  "Yeah," another replied, chuckling. "Because, sure, we're all just part of some elaborate game. Makes total sense."

  "It's insane," a third player added. "People out there think this is fake, but we're in here in what looks almost like real life world fighting Romans AND Elves! Like, how would you even fake this?"

  "Easy," someone joked, "you don't. You just blow everyone's minds and make them think they're in a fever dream."

  Laughter followed but it wasn't as lively as it was days ago.

  I placed another stone block and turned toward a group of players nearby. The Ari Player stood at the center, chatting with someone whose name tag read PolishCrafter13. Their conversation caught my attention when I heard Steve's name mentioned and well he is a legendary player so don't blame me for being curious.

  "Where's Steve from again?" PolishCrafter13 asked.

  Ari turned her avatar's head to him. "U.S. Why?"

  The Polish player hesitated, then replied, "It's past midnight there, right? Almost 1 a.m. Maybe later? I've been on since the battle, and I don't think he's logged off."

  Ari stopped building, turning to face him fully. "He hasn't logged off? Are you sure?"

  "Pretty sure," he replied. "I mean, I've been keeping an eye on the player list. His name's been up there since before the Gate fight."

  Ari was quiet for a moment. "I'll check in with him," she said, her voice tight. "Maybe he just left the game running or something."

  She walked off toward the other side of the settlement, where Steve had been building a tower when I last saw him.

  The players around me started up again, talking over each other, trying to make sense of everything. Then one of them asked the question I knew would come eventually.

  "CodeBreaker, what do you think is going on? Like, seriously?"

  I leaned back in my chair, resting my hands on the keyboard, staring at the screen. For a moment, I didn't answer, watching as my avatar stood frozen in place among the half-built walls.

  "I don't know," I admitted, my voice low. "This… this is beyond anything I've ever seen. As a coder, this doesn't add up. I've never seen code behave like this, let alone world generation this detailed. It's too advanced not to mention its two incompatible games being merged or well put together which shouldn't even be possible. And yet, here we are."

  "Do you think it's some kind of AI?" one player asked.

  I shook my head, even though they couldn't see me. "AI's not there yet. Not like this. Something's… off about it. It feels alive, almost like the game is thinking. But unless someone put SKYNET level AI into Minecraft then games don't think."

  The chat went silent for a few moments. Then someone broke it, their voice cautious.

  "Does it… bother anyone? Killing them, I mean?"

  The air in chat grew heavy, the unspoken weight of what we'd done sinking into the silence.

  "They're just NPCs," one player said quickly, almost defensively. "Right? Just code. No different than killing a pig or a creeper."

  Another voice chimed in, quieter. "They begged me. One of them begged to be spared. I couldn't understand him but I know the signs"

  That line hit like a punch to the gut. Everyone stopped talking.

  I thought of the Romans I'd cut down during the battle, their bodies crumpling, their blood spilling onto the ground. They didn't vanish in a puff of smoke or drop loot like mobs—they just lay there, broken and lifeless. My stomach twisted at the memory of us having to get rid of them after, but I forced myself to speak.

  "We don't know what they are," I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt. "But whatever they are, they're not like anything we've seen before. And until we know more, we have to treat them like enemies. Otherwise, they'll keep killing us and taking our stuff."

  Another silence stretched, the weight of it pressing down on all of us.

  Then someone muttered, almost as if to break the tension, "Let's just finish building."

  The conversation shifted after that, returning to mundane things—block placement, supply inventories, minor squabbles about who had borrowed whose axe. I tried to focus on the building, laying down blocks with mechanical precision, but the unease in my chest wouldn't go away.

  I logged off an hour later, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my temples. My body ached, my mind felt foggy, and a strange tension lingered in my muscles. I glanced down at my hands, resting on my desk.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  Blood.

  It was smeared across my palms and fingers, dark and sticky, as if I'd just walked out of a warzone.

  I froze, staring at it in disbelief, my brain scrambling for an explanation. A hallucination, I thought, forcing myself to take deep breaths. It's not real. It can't be real.

  But the coppery smell filled the air, and no matter how hard I rubbed my hands against my jeans, the blood wouldn't come off. My heart hammered in my chest, panic rising in my throat.

  "Max?"

  I spun around to see my wife standing in the doorway, her face pale as she stared at me.

  Her voice trembled. "Why are your hands… covered in blood?"