The Titan of Ashen Bark lifted its fists, bark splitting, molten cracks glowing along its trunk-like arms. The sound of its palms colliding rolled through the forest like a thunderclap. Everyone in earshot braced, already seasoned by phase one and two.

Time to check the wristwatch and…

Minions.

Dozens, hundreds. Those thorny wooden bastards (oh hey) unfurling from the ground, tearing themselves free from roots and soil, popping into existent from seemingly nothing.

The instinct was automatic: group up. Tanks forward, ranged behind, supports funneling buffs, healers drawing up mana reserves.

Almost literally every party in the vacinity knows to be back-to-back, cone formation, split lines to avoid being surrounded or backstabbed.

I noticed before logging in that there was a new trending forum post detailing how to survive the raid boss, so everyone must've been doing their homework and knew the drill, so they moved as one organism, tightening into circles across the clearing.

I stuck close to Olga (or Eolga, I don't know which name I like saying more) as her guild swarmed around us like wolves finding the pack, thirty bodies falling into flawless shape. And then, something I'd never felt in my entire sorry excuse for a VR career, ease.

"Oi ya bastards, this one's with us, say hello to C!" Olga barked, jerking a thumb at me.

"Sup C." A few voices came on.

I realized I missed the opportunity to introduced myself as some wacky name like Keith.

But with Olga's reassurance, there was nothing these people had to worry about, so, in an instant, I was folded into their web of protection like I'd always belonged.

"Supports! Recast!" One of the teammate commanded.

And suddenly, oh my god. Oh my actual god.

Buffs.

So many buffs.

There's nothing more of a guilty pleasure than being a damage dealer in a full-fledged party. Everything just get served to you on a silver platter.

It's literally just a linear graph going diagonal, The number of people in the party is directly proportional to the pleasure of the damage dealer.

Alongside many other DPSes; holy symbols bloomed around my avatar, protective veils layering across my armor like glass. Flames rippled at my boots, an aura of swiftness, an icy sigil pulsed at my wrist and a leaf-shaped emblem spun over my head.

I stood there, blade in hand, staring at my own glowing, overfed body like I'd just woken up in someone else's character sheet.

The only feeling that's better than climaxing.

It started like slipping into a dream.

One moment I was shoulder to shoulder with Olga's guild, my blade just another among many, and the next, I was an unleashed storm with thirty funnels spinning behind me.

I cackled like a lunatic. My sword carved arcs of silver light through the wooden mobs, bark and sap exploding in showers, but behind me a fortress of buffs and heals carried me afloat. One more in my lifetime, I was the star striker, a goddamn princess carried in a golden chair.

75 Attack… Plus a 30% stats buff (round up when it's five as aforementioned), plus a 10% output buff… Gives me 98 Attack stat and 108 damage output, literally insane for a raid at this stage of the game.

The tanks locked their shields in a wall of iron, holding the minions back in a bristling phalanx while casters behind them pulsed steady waves of damage as cover fire. My whole body thrummed with layered enchantments until I felt like I'd been crammed full of lightning, every nerve firing bright.

The minions came in waves, grotesque bark-covered mockeries of humans, thrashing and gnashing with snapping jaws. I cut through them like I was the blade of a lumberjack's saw, not even slowing down when ichor splashed across my face, I licked them clean… Bad mistake, taste worse than shit, don't ask how I know… But still, I slash lefted, spun, cleaved down, each 2 hits was enough to take down a minion. My sword sang through the air, each hit shaking with the force of buffs funneling into me.

Oh and the shouting bring back WW3 flashbacks.

"Don't shoot over there! Let the melees have it!"

"Synchronize taunt in 3!"

"They're clumping over here, focus attack!"

The tanks staggered minions into neat kill zones, herding them straight into the arc of my swings. It was like being the lead dancer of some brutal ballet, their formation guiding me like choreography. I didn't even have to think, I just hacked, and the world melted before me.

Yours truly is in the center of carnage, and the drums of bloodshed echoed throughout the galaxy.

Blood and splinters spattered across my dark cloak, some even on my light armor, my boots kicked corpses aside, and I started laughing… Laughing out loud, unhinged, manic, the kind of laugh that didn't sound like it belonged to a human anymore.

Every time my blade slowed, another buff hit me. Every time my health dipped, it surged back. I was drowning in an orchestra of healing lights and enchantments, and the only thing left for me to do was swing and swing and swing.

"They're almost gone, only a handful left, lads!" Olga yelled, and I instinctively said "Oorah!" in response like many others.

I was in heaven, I was drooling, I was absolutely high off my ass on pure combat sugar.

But then, god showed me why we were never among her beloved creation.

Because I heard another clap.

From the Titan of Ashen Bark

Fight or flight kicked in, and I forgot to check my wristwatch.

The forest hushed, unnervingly quiet, only the occasional sound of metal clashing against bark.

Out of what seemed like 200~300 people around this clearing of the woods, only 20 of them were still moving, not understanding why the rest of us was stunned.

…No… What? This isn't right.

"Wait" my voice cracked.

Another clap? No…

It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible.

Raid bosses had rules, that's what made them fair, survivable. For this raid in particular, The Titan of Ashen Bark could only use one skill at a time.

It was like… Waves of challenge, you finish one, then brace for the next. That was the unspoken contract between devs and players: they could throw hell at us, but not a stacked hell.

And yet…

A split second after the clap sounded, I saw fog.

Olga screamed her lungs out, the first one to get out of her daze:

"IT'S THE INTERNAL BLEEDING, EVERYONE, REFORMATI-"

Her voice was cut short by screaming.

I twisted in time to see them, eight players in the guild were on the floor, the farthest out, the support casters who'd hung back near the treeline had collapsed in convulsions. Coughing, splattering red, veins popping, unable to control their own muscles… Not dead, but tortured, and restrained.

Blood poured from noses, from mouths, from eyes, and the forest floor darkened with it, panic crashing through everyone in the vicinity like a hammer.

They staggered, choked, some outright screamed into comms as their HP bars plunged like stones.

"What the fuck?!"

"This isn't possible!"

"It casted ag… AGAIN?!"

"I can't heal fast enough, I can't heal-"

Voices crashed, panic gnawed, discipline shattered. My chest knotted, knowing full well we're in deep shit.

And then, like insult to injury…

CLAP.

This time, I was awake enough to look at my watch.

The second hand pointed at the merciless option… It seemed as though it's going to summon more minions.

And sure enough, the soil split open once more, wooden hulks clawing their way free.

"Alright guys!" I yelled, "It's nothing, reorganize, bring those eight into the middle of the circle, I can tank a few hits for you if need be, we need to focus on pushing towards that tre-"

CLAP

What

The

Fuck

That's the 3 claps in total when the first one haven't even fin-

CLAP

Make that four, consecutive.

And the last 2 claps? I checked the wristwatch… It was the minion spawning claps, both of them.

"You gotta be fucking… Kidding me.

The beautiful night sky was muffled by war.

The battlefield bloomed with monsters, a sea of bark and sap, faces carved with hollow mouths that hissed as they sprinted forward. Creatures as tall as humans, with claws sharp as cleavers.

There were more of them than leaves on a tree, we were outnumbered 1 to 100. An army birthed in seconds, swarming across the clearing, eyes glinting red in the fog.

CLAP

"OH FUCKING COME ON YOU BASTARDS!" Olga yelled.

I feel the need to add, "FUCK YOU, DEVS!"

All those claps were at the exact RNG to create more minions… This seems deliberate.

The sound was deafening: claws clattering, shields shattering, shouts overlapping in chaos. The ground shook under their numbers, the glow of buffs dimmed, smothered in the tide.

My grip tightened on my sword. For once, I had no quip, no manic laughter, no clever observation, my stomach turned to lead.

Slowly, I turned to her.

Olga stood at the center of the maelstrom, greatsword planted into the soil, red hair whipping like a battle flag, face lit by the carnage. Her teeth were bared, not in fear but fury.

"Olga," I croaked, throat dry. "What do we do?"

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