At the center of the nuclear crater.

The once-vomiting maw had already retracted back into the depths, leaving behind only a vast, bottomless pit, and the two men standing beside it.

The two stared at each other for a moment. Eventually, Old White was the first to break the silence, coughing lightly before he spoke. “So... what now?”

Ample Time looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘what now’?”

“I mean... Uhhh, what’s the next step of the plan?”

Ample Time’s face carried the expression of someone thinking, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Scratching at his helmet awkwardly, Old White rephrased himself.

Though he was technically the commander, this sort of situation, something completely outside any real-world experience, was well beyond his expertise.

That was when Ample Time’s wild imagination and vast gaming experience usually came in handy.

But judging by Ample Time’s deadpan expression, it was clear he wasn’t going to get a real answer.

“There isn’t a ‘next step’... if anything, all of this was completely off-script.” Ample Time sighed, walking toward the crater’s edge and peering down into the dark.

The endless abyss below seemed capable of devouring everything. And, in fact, it nearly had, with a single gulp, it had almost wiped out their entire squad.

To be honest... If he hadn’t been a player, there’s no way he would have dared to dive into a place like that, let alone come up with such an insane plan.

But precisely because he was a player, he not only dared to take on a near-suicidal mission, he could even throw his teammates into that pit without hesitation, and none of them would think twice about it.

Smart people think too much sometimes, and he often caught himself wondering, maybe his thoughts, his choices, even standing where he was, had already been decided long ago.

But then again, that made sense.

It was a game, after all.

Players were just pinballs rolling across the designer’s board, and a good designer made them forget that fact as long as possible.

Still, he couldn’t help wondering what Falling Feather might find down there.

Hopefully not nothing. That would just be embarrassing.

“So... We’re just gonna wait here?” Old White asked from behind.

Ample Time shrugged. “Seems that way.”

“That... might be a problem.”

“A problem?” That peculiar tone made Ample Time pause. He turned around and froze.

Around the crater’s rim, countless spawn had gathered, a dense, black mass surrounding them entirely.

There were original Evolved Types like Tyrants and Creepers, as well as Assimilated Exoframe Types, Assimilated Armored Truck Types, and a whole menagerie of grotesque creations.

When it came to recycling junk, nothing in the wasteland could rival the Slime Mold.

They didn’t just slap scrap together as armor. They reconstructed it, using their genetic archives and adaptive evolution to create entirely new, unthinkable organisms.

A few of the converted minibuses nearby, for instance, functioned as launchers that fired self-detonating flying bugs.

“... We’re screwed,” Ample Time muttered, pulling the Daybreaker mechanical composite bow off his back, scalp prickling with dread.

“Yeah,” Old White nodded helplessly. “Guess we’ll talk about it on the forums later.”

That was 2 vs 10,000. Or maybe even more than 10,000

Their odds of survival weren’t even one in a trillion.

Just as they prepared for battle, something unexpected happened. The creatures didn’t rush in to swarm them.

Instead, they simply surrounded the pit, watching silently.

As the two puzzled over what the creatures were waiting for, the ground beneath them began to tremble.

Before they could react, a mass of pink tendrils shot up from the crater, intertwining and climbing skyward for over 10 meters, forming a tower. At the top, they wove themselves into a strange, throne-like seat.

Seated upon it, striking a rather flamboyant pose, was Falling Feather, the same man they had thrown into the pit moments ago.

The moment the tower emerged, the creatures crowding the crater’s edge grew restless. They let out rasping, guttural cries and shuffled anxiously, as if torn between awe and fear.

They were confused, terrified, and utterly unable to comprehend what they were seeing.

On the other hand, Falling Feather wasn’t surprised to see so many creatures staring back at him.

He saw everyone one of them clearly, and he could even feel their thoughts.

A wave of thoughts washed over him. All their instincts, all their emotion, pouring through the air.

He released a wave of his own.

For him, now that he commanded the Hive, commanding every one of them was as natural as breathing.

“Do not be afraid.”

“It’s over.”

“This war that has lasted two centuries... has ended.”

The rippling psychic signal spread through the spore clouds, soothing the storm of emotion almost instantly.

The restless Mutant Slime Mold froze, then slowly stretched out their limbs, raising them in a bizarre, celebratory chorus.

That familiar psychic wave! It belonged to their mother!

All their fear and unease evaporated, dissolving into joy that swept across the battlefield like a tide of spores.

Recognizing that familiar presence, they accepted their new ruler in a heartbeat.

Watching them submit, Falling Feather couldn’t help but smile.

So this... This is what power feels like.

It was intoxicating.

Should I tell them all to kneel? Hehe.

As he pondered how best to show off, Ample Time and Old White, standing below the woven pink Slime Mold tower, both tilted their heads back in astonishment.

“... What the hell is this?”

“Bro... are you even human anymore?”

Falling Feather coughed awkwardly, looking a little embarrassed. “Of course I am. As for what happened, that’s a long story. It starts with a planet called Gaia... but that’s not something I can explain right now. Let’s save it for the forums.”

Ample Time blinked, then nodded.

That made sense.

A story so wild was better shared publicly. Why keep the fun to themselves when everyone could enjoy it? Though he still didn’t quite get how this all connected to a planet called Gaia...

“Alright then... By the way, where’s Night Ten?”

Before Falling Feather could answer, a string of curses rose from below. “I’m down here! Damn it, couldn’t even make me a damn chair! Fuck this tentacle guy!”

Below the pink tower, Night Ten was clinging to a tendril, struggling to climb up.

The other guy had already finished his heroic entrance, and he was still stuck halfway up the tower he made himself.

Hearing his complaint, Falling Feather flushed with embarrassment and coughed again. “I swear, I was in a hurry to save you! If I had been any later...”

“Cut the crap! Just pull me up already!”

“Right, right. Little Feather, please.”

“Yiwuu!”

At the cheerful response, a red tendril uncoiled from the tower, wrapped around Night Ten’s ankle, and yanked him upward with tremendous force.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” he managed to blurt before being launched skyward.

Thankfully, Little Feather didn’t just fling him into orbit, another tendril whipped out just in time to catch him as he fell, barely lowering him onto solid ground.

After a brief, chaotic struggle, Night Ten finally returned to the surface, covered in dust and frustration.

The moment his boots hit the soft soil, he bared his teeth and roared, “Damn it! I’m a great contributor to this operation, not a damn ragdoll! Are you trying to kill me to steal my merits?!”

Little Feather, thinking he was saying hello, chirped happily in response. “Fuck!”

Night Ten’s eyes widened. “Fuck? Fuck you!”

...

At the edge of the second ring, acrid smoke filled the ruined streets.

Corpses lay scattered across the shattered highway, mingled with wreckage from the explosions.

Leaning against a cracked wall, Sideline Slacking panted heavily, tossing aside a bent rocket tube.

Not far away, Construction Boy dangled from a broken streetlamp, his body mangled beyond recognition. Eye Owe Money had it even worse, half his body gone, only his head and shoulders were left on the ground.

He didn’t seem too bothered, though. As he always joked, “Three days later, I get to call myself a virgin again.”

Sideline Slacking gave a bloody grin, then coughed up another mouthful of blood.

The battle had been brutal beyond words.

They hadn’t faced just 20-odd Rotten Knights, That was merely half of what appeared the first time.

Earlier, 47 Rotten Knights had charged out from the ruins, engaging them in brutal close combat.

Desperate to block the way to the underground tunnels, and to keep them from reaching Thea, the Evolved Types had fought like lunatics, throwing themselves into the fray.

But as the New Alliance’s most fearless unit, these men didn’t back down either.

When rockets ran out, they used rifles.

When rifles emptied, they fixed bayonets on their rifles.

When bayonets snapped, they grabbed steel bars, rebar, crowbars, even bricks. Sometimes, they even fought with their bare fists.

They threw everything they had, holding nothing back, determined to inflict as much damage as possible before dying.

And they succeeded. All 47 Rotten Knights were destroyed.

Of course, the cost was horrific.

Nearly 2,500 players had fallen. The remaining 500 were wounded, some barely standing.

Any normal army would’ve shattered under such losses. But not them. Not the player Corps.