We Fight as a Story

There was a sound of complete finality when the dungeon door clanged. Nicolas staggered into the suffocating darkness after being pushed back into the common cell. They were sealed in a tomb of cold stone and even colder despair when the hefty bar slammed into place. There was silence for a moment. Their wordless queries hung in the stale air as the others simply stared at him, their faces displaying a mix of fear and hope.

"What took place?" There was a low growl in Hector's voice, raw with stress. "What was his desire?"

The reality weighed heavily on Nicolas's stomach as he drew a slow, strained breath. He gazed at them all: at Hector's exhausted strength, at Maris's brittle optimism, at Bruno's complete defeat, at Harmon's silent shame, and at Katrina's determined glance. They were exposed and defenseless, the last of their might gone.

With a voice that was almost audible, Nicolas stated, "He didn't want anything." "He already has everything." He looked directly at Katrina. You were correct to never put your trust in anyone. The man who usurped our authority, the King, is not an NPC. He is not a Zinox at all.

He took a moment to process what he was about to say. "He's Dr. Aris."

Like a guillotine, the name fell. The sole reaction was a sudden, collective intake of air. All along, they had been confronted by the ghost in their machine, the architect of their jail, posing as a kind master. The spider had been residing in the web with them, so it was more than simply a cage.

"The author..." Slumping back against the wall, Hector let out a breath as the fight finally left him. After that, it's done. He is aware of every regulation and flaw. The code was written by him.

Katrina let out a sour, shattered chuckle. That's the cosmic joke's punchline, then. After we slay the beast, its creator puts us in a cage. Excellent.

They were surrounded by despair that was deeper than the gloom of the prison. They had lost their abilities. Their adversary possessed omniscience. A candle glowing in a hurricane was their hope. They waited for the inevitable conclusion while sitting in silence, each engrossed in their own personal hell.

Hours blended together. As the guards switched shifts, their emotionless masks and footfall reverberated across the hallway. Something different occurred during the third shift change. Their modest lunch of old bread and water was not simply shoved through the slot by the new guard, a man with a sympathetic gaze and a weary face. He stayed. When he looked at Nicolas, a brief flash of something—appreciation? conflict?—crossed his face before he continued.

It wasn't until the same guard passed their cell again during his patrol an hour later that Nicolas gave it considerable thought. There was a slight metallic click this time as he went by. Everything was so silent that the sound of the water dripping from the ceiling nearly drowned everything out.

Katrina's eyes were sharp, and her head snapped up. She gazed first at Nicolas and then at the cell door. They exchanged a question in silence. Nicolas got up and made his way to the iron bars, his heart racing. He pressed a hand against the door.

With a low, moaning protest, it swung inward.

It wasn't a trap. They had disengaged the lock. It was an open way. They had been granted a chance by the guard.

"Why?" From the corner, Bruno uttered a disbelieving whisper.

"The thylacines," Nicolas replied, the insight hitting him like a morning light. "That guard... He was on the market square when I saw him. I was protecting his daughter.

It turned out that his "stupid, pointless act of heroism," as Katrina had described it, wasn't that pointless. In a world of forgotten humanity, it had been a human act rather than a move in a power struggle. It had also sown a seed.

"We must leave. Hector was already standing when he said, "Now," his voice coming back into control.

Their escape differed greatly from their earlier conflicts. It was the passage of a phantom. As they made their way into the castle's lower floors, they were prepared for ambushes and alarms at every turn, but instead they encountered stillness. When they spotted a lone kitchen worker, he looked at them, turned his back on purpose, and busied himself with a rack of pots. As they sneaked past, another guard in a long hallway appeared to be absorbed in examining the masonry on the ceiling.

Fear and lies had been the cornerstones of Aris' kingdom, but Nicolas had demonstrated something different to its citizens. I hope. They were able to discern the veracity of a selfless deed without having to comprehend the game's programming. With a thousand silent acts of disobedience, rather than a spectacular explosion, the King's story was starting to fall apart.

They melted into the familiar, suffocating blackness of the forest as they snuck out of the city through the smuggler's market. They continued until the first rays of morning broke through the canopy, and they eventually collapsed in a rocky, isolated cove miles away from the City of Anomaly.

They had no restrictions. They also had no power.

They sat around a tiny, roaring fire that night, the flames driving back the vast blackness. A silent, brittle resolution had taken the place of the hollow shock.

Katrina said, "He'll hunt us," not out of dread but rather as a reality. On a whetstone, she was honing one of her tantos; the soothing sound of steel scraping stone filled the silence. "We won't be able to survive without our powers."

With his eyes on the flames, Nicolas remarked, "Then we don't fight him with power." He sensed that everyone's eyes were on him. The observer, the journalist, had evolved into the tactician. The next chapter of the story was revealed to them.

Nicolas went on, his voice firm, "We can't beat him in his game." Therefore, we must modify the regulations. Being a king is both Aris's greatest strength and his biggest weakness. His people's belief is what gives him power. On our way out, we noticed it. They are beginning to wonder. They are beginning to notice the holes in his story.

He raised his head and peered into each of their eyes. We are no longer able to combat him as players. However, we can fight him as a narrative. We are no longer Zinox. We are specters. We are a rumor. The King has lied, and we are the living evidence of it.

In Hector's eyes, a new kind of light started to emerge. "We reveal him."

For the first time in what seemed like an age, Katrina continued, "We become a legend," a slow, deadly smile growing across her lips. We demonstrate to the world's inhabitants that their kind creator is really another man hiding behind a curtain. We tell them the truth.

They were no longer searching the code for an escape route. The goal was to instill a revolution in the thoughts and hearts of those who were confined with them. They had never tried a proposal as risky and unfeasible as this one. The god of their universe was up against six helpless humans.

The hunter, the assassin, the gentle giant, the timid force of nature, and the silent technologist were among the faces Nicolas observed around the fire. They had lost all that had made them unique, and they were scarred and broken. Nevertheless, for the first time, they were genuinely a team, bound together by a decision rather than a method.

With the firelight flashing in his eyes, Nicolas whispered, "Aris believes he has won." "He's going to discover that the game has only just started."