The chant for "Mid Gamer!" didn't just echo throughout the stage; it also pulverised the very air, a mocking anthem sung by a legion of the digitally damned.
"BOUNTY! Take him down! Take him down! Take him down! The Mid Gamer!"
They howled, the shouts twisting into a grotesque form of encouragement. Death threats rained down, sharper and more vicious with each syllable.
"He's ours! Easy prey!"
"Just a glitch to stomp on!"
"Nothing more than a mere insect!"
The air crackled with their bloodlust, their collective gaze, once a confused mess, now fixated on me with an almost cannibalistic hunger. They cheered, not for my defeat, but for the promise of my capture, the way I represented by them as a twisted price..
My facade, already cracking, didn't just threaten to crumble; it shattered. Each cheer was a hammer blow against my skull, each threat a shard of ice splintering against my skin.
