MMORPG : Ancient WORLD

The moment stretched for Alex, his Ancient Eyes seeing what ordinary sight could not. His mind dissected every strand of the silken sphere encasing him, each thread pulsing faintly, weaving itself deeper into the world’s unseen rhythm.
The construct’s influence wasn’t immediate, as it grew quietly, insidiously, like a beast extending its limbs through the fabric of reality itself.
This was the danger of facing an element as elusive as Fate, since its power did not strike like fire or ice, but rather it decided, rewriting what was meant to happen long before one even realized it.
So, instead of blindly planting Error into the lattice of diamond-like strings, Alex focused entirely on his attack, his mind sharpening to a single, lethal point.
He brought his blade down upon Zarach, a torrent of erasing darkness and unified blade intent crashing forward like a devouring wave.
Zarach met it with a web of silver threads, diverting part of the blow while enduring the rest head-on. The impact tore through his quickly conjured strings, drawing a shallow wound across his left hand, yet he merely exhaled, the shimmer of fate strings weaving the damage shut as though it had never been there to begin with.
Above them, looming far from the reach of the Dark Enclave, the Moth Empress loosed a volley of spectral arrows, each one carrying a fragment of her soul’s light.
Alex countered with Nihility Purge, the attack dissolving into nothingness before reaching him. The wings of darkness that appeared like a stygian cloak spread wide, forming a tenebrous shield of nothingness that absorbed all harm, leaving him free to focus entirely on Zarach.
The current point of focus for Alex was the Fate Crucible. Even as he unleashed a barrage of relentless attacks on Zarach, the latter relied solely on techniques like Fate Reflection and Fate Evasion, suffering only minor injuries with every other strike.
It painted a clear picture that Zarach was waiting for something, and that something could only be the construct of strings he had woven around them.
Alex suspected that the Moth Empress was preparing her own move. Her attacks were light, deliberate, meant more to support Zarach than to harm him directly.
Yet, despite his vigilance, Alex couldn’t spare more than fleeting glances in her direction. His Ancient Eyes found no clear anomaly, and his Void sense could only trace the faint ripples of her presence through the fabric of the void.
From what he could tell, she wasn’t preparing any large-scale attack at the moment. Instead, she lingered on the outskirts of the enclave, ever-shifting her position, raining down a few ghostly arrows each moment, each one targeting his soul.
As seconds passed, Alex landed more and more strikes, but he knew that his success was not a result of his elevated strength. He could see that Zarach was deliberately leaving openings for him to use, prompting Alex to use less and less strength with each passing moment, yet the results remained the same.
Zarach was up to something, but Alex couldn’t understand what, as all around him the weave of fate was as it should be.
In his white and gray world, he saw fine, silver threads stretching from Zarach’s body, delicate filaments that connected him to the great weave surrounding them both.
One by one, those threads snapped, leading Alex to assume it was Zarach’s doing. He was trying to evade any major destined wounds, severing connections that foretold his own great suffering, and only allowed minor suffering to play out.
But then, as a few more seconds went by, Alex saw the anomaly.
Alex’s gaze shifted subtly, and what he saw made his breath still. The fate strings stemming from him, hundreds of fine lines, each no thicker than a strand of hair, spreading outward like veins of light.
Yet unlike before, they weren’t stable.
They pulsed erratically, twisting, thickening, slow at first, not noticeable even to his keen eyes, but they suddenly grew much worse and even began tangling around one another.
The longer he watched, the heavier they grew, dragging against him as if his very existence was being weighed down by unseen hands.
This was when the realization struck him. Zarach was simply stalling for time, since he had executed his trap long ago. The disturbance originated from the construct itself.
It was only now that Alex felt it —a silent, grinding pull on his very being, his fate —as he saw the shifting rhythm of the world around him grow by the moment.
The web of fate trembled, its countless threads pulling taut as though in preparation for judgment.
It took mere moments for every piece to click into place, the realization sinking into his bones like cold iron.
Fate Crucible.
It was a domain where every being within its bounds was dragged toward an inevitable fate, either good or bad. It was clear which fate Zarach had chosen.
The effects also appear not to be simple. It appeared that the more one resisted their fate, the heavier the burden became. Denial did not free one from destiny, and instead, it only twisted it tighter, compounding it until the full weight of their inevitable fate came crashing down like a tidal wave.
He understood now.
That was why Zarach allowed some of his fate to play out, minor injuries, brief moments of weakness, offerings to balance the scales, to prevent fate’s retribution from spiraling into something catastrophic.
By embracing parts of his end, he delayed the greater one, while Alex kept resisting it unknowingly, falling further and further into the trap set for him.
The worst part is that even if Alex had used error to disrupt the construct’s inner workings, the results could still not have panned out in his favour, since its effects were so uniform.
Alex also realised that while the effect of skill was only serious enough to affect him for a moment, when he suffered a fatal setback, the crusible would restart its effect from zero. But a single attack was enough to put an end to this battle.
He also couldn’t use Error on the mounting fate since there was so much of it, and similarly, concept erasure would take even more time, and by then Zarach would be done with the final act of his plan.
As if confirming his thoughts, the sky trembled. A low hum rippled across the battlefield, making Alex’s eyes flicker upward.
The Moth Empress floated high above, wings spread wide, glowing with hues of pale lilac and dusky white. Her presence seemed to blur her surroundings, and with every flutter of her wings, she shed motes of luminous dust that drifted like drifting souls.
In her spectral bow, woven entirely of soul-light, a shimmering arrow took form from the luminous particles that she shed. The very air bent under the pressure, as the arrow she conjured was no mere projectile but a shard of her essence, a condensed piece of her soul, singing with unbearable intent.
Alex clenched his sword tighter, understanding that avoiding the incoming arrow would be a challenge, and if he did somehow avoid it, he would only delay the inevitable.
He needed to destroy the Fate Crusible, but Zarach also knew that, so he wouldn’t allow him to achieve it so easily, not after luring him so deep into a trap.
As this thought crossed his mind, Zarach was already preparing for every possible scenario that would unfold in mere seconds.
Zarach stepped back, building distance from Alex, his fingers twitching as a dozen silver threads extended from them, weaving outward into the tapestry of the world’s fate.
His action sent tremors through reality itself as he took control of strings of existence. One by one, the lines of fate connected to earth, space, wind, and other forces came under his control and were fastened into weapons in his grasp.
The air shimmered as a great web of wove around Alex, every strand thrumming with potential calamity. It was clear that Zarach was preparing to unleash jujment on him, all the while cutting off any route of escape.
Alex felt like a cornered rat, and the bitter memory of his last defeat under Zarach’s hand was quick to surface in his mind. The taste in his mouth turned metallic, sharp, and grounding. He realized it wasn’t fear or anger, it was simply blood, drawn from his own clenched teeth.
Alex felt calm, unerringly calm as he made his decision, ’I am done playing cautious.’
The tension drained from his face, replaced by a cold stillness. Two quiet words slipped from his lips, carrying a weight that rippled through existence itself.
The reaction was immediate as the darkness around him deepened, no longer mere absence — lifeless and cold — but something denser, a viscous vapor that flowed like liquid dark yet breathed like smoke.
It writhed with silent hunger, an aspect balanced between substance and nothingness, and its transformation was not limited to form alone. Its very nature shifted, and with that change came an immediate, undeniable effect.
The air turned frigid and still as the Darkness —lifeless and absolute —began to spread. True to its nature, it devoured all it touched, matter, light, and even the fabric of space that defined existence.
Within three heartbeats, the world around Alex had fallen silent. A vast section of the battlefield had become a domain of nothingness, where even the strings of fate strained to resist, before bending, fading, and finally bowing to erasure.