I am Samael Silas Vane. And today, I will burn the heaven of the gods.
"Target locked. 150 players from the 'Holy Expedition' alliance have entered the slaughter zone on the 3rd floor," PanicTaco's cold voice echoed through the party voice channel. "Samael-san, you have the green light. Wipe them out before they have a chance to use teleportation items."
I stood at the peak of an obsidian cliff, looking down. Below, a group of players in shimmering golden armor, those nauseating "Heroes of Justice", were attempting to storm our base. They thought numbers were everything in Honor of Legends.
"With pleasure," I replied. I could feel a wicked laugh catching in my throat.
I raised my right hand. The world-class item I wore began to emit a dense, violet glow. The air around my avatar vibrated, distorted by the massive consumption of mana.
In the mechanics of Honor of Legends, there are skills known as trump cards. Mine was the worst of them all. I wasn't just attacking them; I was erasing their existence from the server.
"You who hide behind the mask of morality... feel the suffering of those you trample in the real world!"
I chanted a high-tier spell. Blades of code and black energy began to congregate, forming a giant vortex that blanketed the virtual sky of Helheim.
[ Singularity Collapse ]
It wasn't just area-of-effect magic. It was a waste of mana so inefficient for a normal player, but for me, it was a declaration of war. A blinding white light exploded from the center of the enemy formation. Damage numbers skyrocketed on my screen. Thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands—surpassing the maximum HP limit even for a level 100 Tanker.
"What?! How can one person—"
"Damn it! This is Samael's AOE magic from Acropolis Commando!"
"Run! Don't let him—"
The voices on the public channel were cut off instantly. The avatars shattered into light particles, leaving piles of dropped high-tier items scattered on the ground as loot. One hundred and fifty people vanished in a single breath.
"Always overdoing it, aren't you?" A knight in shimmering silver armor landed beside me. HikariBlade. He always appeared exactly when the dust settled, like a hero arriving late.
I snorted softly, staring at my hand which still smoked with black soot. "Just taking out the trash, Hikari-san. You know I hate seeing that fake golden shimmer. It reminds me of the corporate executives you defend in that other world."
"It's just a game, Samael," he replied calmly, though I knew he disliked my brutal playstyle.
"To you, maybe. To me? This is the only place where evil can win fairly." I turned away, ignoring the piles of top-tier loot. "Dreadora! Take that junk for the clan treasury. I need a mana recharge."
I walked through the corridors of the magnificent Parthenon Palace, greeted by rows of NPCs bowing stiffly. In this world, I am king. In this world, I am an inevitable disaster. And as long as the Acropolis Commando Clan stands, no light shall be permitted to enter this place.
This world is an error, and Honor of Legends is the place where I can fix it by burning it to ash.
I stood in my private torture chamber in the basement, observing three players from the Righteous Wings alliance captured in the earlier ambush. They weren't dead (not yet) . I used a special item to lock their HP at 1, a "half-dead" condition that prevented them from logging out due to the in-combat status constantly triggered by my passive magic.
"Please... let us go. This is just a game, right? Why are you doing this?" one of them, a female Priest, sobbed. Her voice trembled violently.
I stepped closer. My heavy footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor. I didn't see humans in front of me; I only saw stacks of data that needed deconstructing.
"Just a game?" I whispered, my voice low and sharp. "It's precisely because this is just a game that I can show who I truly am without needing to wear that nauseating social mask."
I activated the skill [Corruption of the Soul]. A dense black light began to crawl from my feet, coiling around their bodies. This wasn't a standard offensive spell. This was magic designed to mess with their virtual pain sensors up to the maximum limit allowed by the system.
"You call yourselves heroes because you help newbie players? No. You just need validation to feel better than everyone else," I laughed, a dry sound that resembled metal grinding. "Here, there are no heroes. There are only predators and prey. And today, I am hungry."
PanicTaco sent a message through the voice channel: "Samael-san, their negotiator has reached the front gate. They brought a compensation of 500,000 gold coins for the release of the prisoners."
I stared into the fear-filled eyes of the Priest.
"Tell them, PanicTaco. I don't need their gold. I want them to send one more of their members to enter this place voluntarily, or I will permanently delete the accounts of these three using the Mystic Item I borrowed from Dreadora."
"Isn't that a bit too cruel, Samael," Dreadora's voice interrupted, sounding hesitant but not forbidding.
"Cruel? No, this is pure justice, Dreadora. I want to see how far that 'heroic' friendship lasts when one of them must be sacrificed."
I looked back at my captives. I could have killed them in a second, but that would be too generous. I wanted them to feel what it's like to be betrayed by their own morality. This is what it means to be a World Enemy. This is the role I chose.
I will be the monster that makes them wake up in cold sweats in the real world. I will make them think that death is the most beautiful freedom.