God Slain
The words appeared across the gaming monitor, glowing with an almost triumphant brilliance that cut through the dimness of the room.
For a fleeting second, everything seemed to fall still.
Then the man staring at the screen burst into life. His face lit up with unrestrained joy, his hands shooting into the air as he shouted at the top of his lungs, "I DID IT!!! I beat the game without taking a single hit!"
Laughter followed, loud and breathless, spilling out of him as if he could hardly believe it himself. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart pounding hard against his ribs, still caught in the lingering tension of the final moments. The victory felt unreal, almost dreamlike.
He had just conquered his favorite game, a title feared and revered in equal measure. It was known as one of the hardest games in the world, yet also praised as one of the greatest ever created.
Its name carried weight among those who knew it.
Elden Bracelet.
But his triumph was not his alone.
On the second monitor, messages flooded in relentlessly, one after another, forming a rushing tide of reactions. The chat seemed alive, pulsing with excitement as viewers poured in their praise.
Viewers: 9,274
Loremipsum:
I've been following your journey from the very beginning, and I still can't believe you actually beat it!
TrafalgarDLow:
Goddamn, you're insane! I never thought you'd pull it off. Congrats, you've officially been crowned a true Goon Lord!
DonySignGuy:
Holy moly… take these signs! I'm sending them to you for free, don't forget to review them when they arrive!!
Asmonbronze:
GG, I was here!!!!
Watching the flood of messages, his smile only grew wider. The energy of the crowd seeped through the screen, feeding his excitement.
"Thank you, everyone. Seriously, thank you, thank you. Spread the word to the world that I, the great 'Let Me Impregnate Her,' have cleared this game from start to finish without taking a single hit!"
The man behind the screen was a streamer, known by the outrageous username Let Me Impregnate Her. He had built his reputation around brutally difficult games, thriving where others failed. Over the past week, he had undertaken a merciless challenge, a marathon attempt to complete Elden Bracelet without taking a single hit. Every failure meant deleting his save file and starting over from nothing.
UsedBoxer:
For your hard work, I grant you permission to impregnate my mom.
"Ey, chill out, guys," he replied, laughing.
TrafalgarDLow:
My mom too.
"Alright, alright, line up. I didn't know you were all this eager to become my adopted children," he joked.
He had spent years in the streaming world, grinding his way up from an unknown nobody into a recognized name with a loyal audience. People were drawn not only to his skill, but to his personality. He was chaotic, unfiltered, and shamelessly eccentric, often leaning into humor that bordered on absurd and inappropriate. Combined with a username that defied all logic, it was no surprise people had given him a fitting title.
The Goon Lord.
As usual, he continued the stream, chatting with his viewers, throwing out his signature jokes while subtly encouraging donations. It was a rhythm he understood well, a balance between entertainment and survival.
People often said that viewers reflected the streamer.
In his case, it was undeniably true.
His audience was just as chaotic, constantly throwing strange and outrageous challenges at him, testing the limits of what he might actually do.
Caseyo:
If I donate 400 dollars, would you dare to masturbate in front of camera?
He raised an eyebrow, a grin forming slowly.
"Four hundred dollars? Who do you think I am?" he said.
Then, without hesitation, he added, "I'd do it for free."
The chat exploded in response.
Asmonbronze:
Based! That's my streamer!!!
UsedBoxer donated 30 dollars.
DonySignGuy donated 10 dollars.
"Thanks for the donations. You guys are really generous," he said, his voice warm as his eyes continued scanning the endless stream of messages.
Among the countless comments rushing past, one caught his attention.
RonaldDump:
By the way, did you know From Hardware is releasing a DLC for Elden Bracelet?
He blinked, leaning slightly closer to the screen.
"A DLC? Since when? I haven't heard anything about that."
The chat responded almost instantly, as if waiting for his reaction.
KKKattendance:
What, you seriously haven't heard? It was announced thirty minutes ago, and there's already a trailer on MeTube.
A spark of curiosity flickered in his eyes.
"Do you guys want me to react to the trailer?" he asked.
The moment the question left his mouth, the chat erupted. Messages flooded in even faster than before, mixed with the sharp, familiar chime of donation alerts echoing through the room.
RonaldDump donated 50 dollars.
Caikenat donated 30 dollars.
UsedBoxer donated 1 dollar.
Loremipsum:
Come on, watch it!
TrafalgarDLow:
Go, go, go!
Caseyo:
I'm still waiting for you to do that thing!
"Alright, alright, I'll check it now," he said with a small laugh.
He opened MeTube, the bright interface casting a pale glow across his face. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as he searched for the trailer. A flood of results appeared, reuploads and reaction thumbnails scattered across the screen, but one video stood out immediately.
It was from the official channel, NandaiBamco.
The title read, Elden Bracelet Shadow of the Lightree.
Uploaded only thirty minutes ago, yet it had already reached one million views.
Without hesitation, he clicked on it.
The video began to play.
For three minutes, the room seemed to grow quieter, as though even the faint hum of electronics had withdrawn to make space for what unfolded on screen. The trailer revealed glimpses of new lands, vast and haunting, cloaked in an atmosphere that felt both beautiful and oppressive. Strange new bosses appeared in brief flashes, their forms towering and grotesque, their presence radiating a silent menace even through the screen.
Behind him, the chat continued to surge.
TrafalgarDLow:
This is sick!
UsedBoxer:
Epic!!!!
Forseen:
Oh my… there's something tense but not this trailer but my dick.
The messages kept coming, overlapping and relentless, as the trailer moved toward its end. Then, as the final scene faded, words emerged against the darkened screen.
March 28, 2026
Pre-order now
He frowned slightly.
"Hmm? March 28? Isn't that… tomorrow?"
UsedBoxer:
Yeah, tomorrow. You can play it right away.
RonaldDump:
Buy it, please.
DonySignGuy:
O great Let Me Solo Impregnate Her, your journey is not over yet.
He fell silent for a moment, staring at the screen. The excitement of the chat continued to surge, urging him forward, but something else crept in beneath it. A quiet exhaustion settled into his body, heavy and unavoidable.
Slowly, he reached toward the stream controls.
The energy that had filled him moments ago began to fade, replaced by a weight that pressed down from within.
"Alright, guys, I'll play the DLC tomorrow. For now, I'm ending the stream. I need to reset my body a bit before tomorrow's session so I can finish the DLC properly. Make sure you all get some rest too. I'll try to stream at the usual hours, not a marathon like today. Stay healthy, everyone."
The moment he said it, the chat erupted again, reactions flooding in from every direction. Messages overlapped and blurred together as they rushed down the screen, too many to follow all at once. He tried to read them, his eyes moving quickly, but only a few managed to stand out clearly among the chaos.
UsedBoxer:
Don't forget to goon before sleep.
Caseyo:
I'm still waiting for you to do it on camera.
He laughed at that, a wide grin spreading across his face as he raised his hand and waved casually at the camera. With a final glance at the screen, he ended the stream.
The moment the broadcast stopped, everything changed.
The bright, cheerful expression that had filled his face vanished instantly. The wide smile collapsed as soon as the camera went dark, leaving nothing behind.
His face became still. Empty.
His eyes dulled, lifeless, like those of a dead fish left beneath shallow water. Even his posture seemed to wilt, as though whatever force had been holding him upright moments ago had quietly withdrawn.
He leaned back into his gaming chair. The room felt colder now, stripped of the noise and energy that had once filled it. Only the faint glow of the two monitors remained, casting pale light across the walls and reflecting softly against his unmoving face.
"Man… this life feels so empty."
The words slipped out quietly, barely louder than a breath.
After a moment, he pushed himself up from the chair and made his way toward the bed. His steps were slow, uneven, marked by the presence of the prosthetic attached to his right leg. Without hesitation, he let his body fall onto the mattress, the soft surface yielding beneath his weight as if welcoming his exhaustion. The sheets were cool against his skin, the faint scent of fabric softener lingering in the air.
His consciousness wavered, hovering on the edge of sleep.
He lived alone, not by choice, but by necessity.
Years ago, when he had still been a child, a car accident had taken everything from him. His entire family had died in an instant. He had been the sole survivor, left behind with a wound that would never truly heal. His right leg had been lost, replaced by something artificial, something that never quite felt like a part of him.
Since then, his life had drifted in quiet isolation.
He had no friends, no close companions, no lover. People avoided him, whether openly or in subtle ways that were just as painful. His awkward appearance, his strange behavior, the faint absence of vitality in the way he carried himself, all of it had shaped how others saw him. To them, he was simply someone easier to stay away from.
A freak.
The prosthetic leg only made it worse, a visible difference that pushed people further away before they could even come close. Conversations rarely lasted, connections never formed, and over time, he stopped trying.
The world outside had quietly closed its doors on him.
He rarely socialized with people. Most of his interactions existed within the glowing boundaries of his stream, or in brief, hollow exchanges, such as with the female cashier with big breasts at the supermarket when he bought his stock of instant noodles. Yet the looks she gave him were never warm only thinly veiled disgust, her eyes flickering with disdain as she scanned his purchases. It made his fingers itch with frustration, his gaze lingering just a second too long on the swell of her breasts beneath her uniform.
He had spent his entire life untouched, a virgin in every sense of the word, his only solace the fevered fantasies that played out in the dark of his room. There, with his own hand as his only companion, he would imagine pressing his face between those soft mounds, squeezing them until his fingers ached, his mouth hungry for the taste of her skin. The cashier's disdain only fueled the fantasy, twisting it into something raw and desperate, a hunger that gnawed at him long after he left the store, his purchases clutched tightly in his hands.
Desire, crude and unfulfilled, clung to him like a shadow he could not escape. He had lived his entire life without intimacy, and the loneliness twisted itself into thoughts he never voiced. In the privacy of his own room, those thoughts became fantasies, empty and fleeting, the only outlet left to him. They brought no comfort, only a deeper awareness of the void he carried within.
By all logic, his exhaustion should have pulled him into sleep.
Yet for some reason, he could not close his eyes.
He lay there for a while, staring into the dimness, before suddenly forcing himself up. The apartment was silent as he made his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a small bottle, shook several pills into his hand, and swallowed them dry without hesitation. The bitterness lingered faintly at the back of his throat as he returned to his bed.
Once again, he lay still.
Thoughts began to surface.
They moved slowly at first, then gathered into a relentless current, dragging fragments of his life into view. From the moment he was born, to his school years, to his first job. None of it held warmth. None of it held pride.
Everything had fallen apart.
At school, he had been bullied without mercy. At his first job, he had been fired without hesitation. Failure followed failure, each one closing a door behind him. Unlike in games, there had been no chance to start over, no opportunity to erase mistakes and try again.
That was why he escaped into them.
Games were the only place where his failures did not define him. Soulslike games, in particular, became his refuge. In those worlds, every mistake carried a lesson, every defeat allowed another attempt. There was always a second chance waiting, something the real world had never offered him.
Within those digital realms, he could release everything he held back. He could grow stronger. He could become someone else entirely, someone who mattered, someone whose actions shaped the course of a story.
But in reality, he was nothing more than dust at the edge of the road, ignored and unseen.
Becoming a streamer had improved his life, at least on the surface. It brought him enough money to survive, enough to keep going. It gave him a voice, even if it only reached others through a screen. Yet money could not change everything.
It could not turn back time to save his leg.
It could not bring his family back to life.
And as people often said, money could not buy class, nor could it buy belonging.
He had tried to change things.
Once, he attended a streamer event, hoping to find connection, to stand among people who lived in the same world as he did. Instead, he found himself pushed to the edge of the room, left alone while others formed circles he could not enter.
When he returned home that night, the silence of his apartment swallowed him whole.
He cried quietly, with no one to hear, and in that moment, the truth settled in once again. Nothing had changed. He was still the same failure.
"Why do I have to go through this?" he whispered softly into the darkness. "Did I… commit some terrible sin in a past life?"
His eyes grew moist, a few tears slipping free before fading into the fabric beneath him. They were not many, but they carried the weight of everything he could not say.
Slowly, he forced a smile onto his face.
The same smile he wore during his streams.
Bright. Carefree. Alive.
A lie.
A mask he had built to survive, worn so often it had become second nature. Everything about it was false, yet he clung to it because he had nothing else.
At last, the medicine began to take effect.
A heavy drowsiness spread through his body, dulling his thoughts, softening the sharp edges of memory. One by one, the fragments in his mind faded, their voices growing quieter until they disappeared entirely.
His breathing slowed.
His body relaxed.
And at last, surrendering to the weight of exhaustion, he drifted into sleep.