Lazarus Crane, the man the world feared as Old Crane, Guildmaster of the Crimson Dominion, one of the only three guilds given the 'high-tier' designation in the United States of America, was watching a stream.
He was doing this from his couch.
In sweatpants.
Surrounded by beer bottles.
His username was Divine Light. His daughter had made the account for him after he'd spent forty minutes trying to figure out the process, and she'd chosen the name herself because - in her words - 'irony builds character.' Lazarus hadn't understood what she meant by that and still didn't.
On the screen projected by his interface, a petite woman with purple hair screamed down from the sky with a crackling blade above her head and buried it through the skull of a level 78 Granite Tyrant that had been alive for longer than most nations.
Forty-one seconds. Start to finish.
Lazarus reached for his beer, found it empty, and opened a new bottle without looking.
