Chereads / Three Strikes; Friend Or Foe? / Chapter 3 - Chapter Three: The Coyote Guild

Chapter 3 - Chapter Three: The Coyote Guild

After leaving the house, he noticed that banishing the ghost did indeed transport him back to the game world, rather than the dark and damp cave that he found himself in. Was that the shadow realm mentioned in the ghost journal entry's redacted information? What is The Blackshade Institute? Why was there so much redacted information? There were so many questions on his mind, but no way to find out as of yet. He decided to compartmentalise this, and leave it for another time.

Based on his map, there was a village about a mile walk north from the hamlet he was at. So, he set off walking, killing wild creatures on his way for the XP and cooking materials. By the time he arrived at the village, he had levelled up 5 times, on top of the 3 levels obtained from banishing the ghost, and had 17 chunks of raw meat.

The village was much larger than it appeared on the map; in person, it was practically a small town. The streets were bustling with joyous activity, the sound of bright, cheerful chattering came from all directions, accompanied by graceful birds chirping merrily as they danced beautifully in the skies and through the streets, colourful wooden signs swung gently in the breeze above shop doors, making everything feel all the more homey and welcoming, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air, mixing with the rich and calming smell of coffee. Unlike what he had usually expected in such a dangerous game, the villagers here were not clad in armour nor did they wield any form of weaponry. They all wore casual, comfy clothing, their faces were relaxed and content, as if they had made peace with their situation. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, offering hope to those who resided there. Even the central fountain, adorned with delicate engravings of animals and nature, seemed untouched by the chaos beyond the streets. All seemed almost too perfect. Dangerously peaceful. Player 7 kept his guard up as he scanned the calm streets, indifferent to his surroundings, he was not here to relax and settle down, his mind was set on a different goal to everyone else's: gathering information, acquiring loot, and forming alliances.

"Hello." A cheerful young boy was standing in front of him, bright blue eyes staring up at him with a large grin on his face. His voice was bright and sweet. He had fluffy blonde hair, and was wearing generic casual clothes consisting of a white chequered shirt, suspended jeans and black trainers.

"Oh, hello there." Player 7 replied.

"It's a pleasant village isn't it?" 

"Yes, it is. What're you doing here?"

"Looking for allies, it's scary being trapped in a game… games are fun to play, but not when you're actually in one in real danger."

"If you think this is scary, imagine being in a war."

"You're a soldier?"

"Yeah, I was on the brink of death when I got abducted. You?"

"Oh, that's horrible… I was in school." The boy looked down briefly and shuffled a bit before looking back up.

"School? How old are you?"

"14. You?"

"20, I was forcefully conscripted by my family."

"Really? Forcefully conscripted?"

"Yeah, my dad was a soldier."

"Was?" 

"He never came back. Assumed K.I.A." Player 7 said bluntly, as if the words and information held no weight to him.

"Oh." The boy shuffled awkwardly, glancing down at his shoes as Player 7 mentioned his father. He didn't know what to say, so he just muttered, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Player 7 smiled at him reassuringly, "I barely knew him anyway." Player 7 shrugged nonchalantly as if it didn't matter… but it did, and the memories remained. The weight of his father's absence never quite left him, no matter how much he tried to push it away. His father's absence for most of his life so far used to make him feel as if he didn't have a proper family, as he never really felt connected to his mother either. The only people he ever really valued were his friends.

The boy looked up, and gave a little smile too. "If you say so."

"Where did you live back in the real world?"

"Sheffield Darnall, my family works in the steel works to supply ammunition for the military."

"I lived in Sheffield Darnall too."

"Have you heard the rumours?" The boy squeaked, shuffling nervously.

"What rumours?" Player 7 replied, evidently confused.

"Someone killed themselves twice to purposefully get to red." The boy was clearly scared of this fact. To be honest, he's not exactly wrong for it. Who would do such a thing? Red is your last life, die again and you're dead forever, ingame and in real life.

"What? Why?" He was now invested in the topic, curious as to why someone would do that.

"For the redlife vampire buffs."

"The buffs aren't worth being on your last life though, that is quite literally suicide."

They decided to leave that conversation there and move onto a different topic.

"What level are you?" Player 7 inquired.

"6, you?"

"8, I stumbled across a ghost house and banished it. 3 levels from the ghost and 5 from what enemies I killed on my way here."

Player 7 finally thought of something to ask.

"Is there a guild around here we could join?"

"Yes, actually. The Coyote Guild has a base here."

"Awesome, is it any good?"

"Yeah, it's somehow one of the strongest guilds in the world already. The Vice Guild Master, Hono, is one of the strongest players. He's a high level mage that specialises in fire magic."

"What about the Guild Master?"

"Not much is known about him, he keeps all his information and build to himself, and rarely shows up for the guild meetings."

"Oh, that's surely strange. Perhaps he's either insanely powerful or just lazy or perhaps insanely weak." Player 7 replied jokingly, before saying "where is their headquarters anyway?"

"Just round this corner actually, are you thinking of joining?"

"Yeah, let's go," Player 7 said, his eyes narrowing with determination. If this guild was as strong as the boy said, it could be exactly what he needed to tip the scales in his favour.

They walked to the Coyote Guild HQ while laughing and talking the way there, 

"There's a really nice café just across the street from here." The boy pointed out to Player 7, happy that he finally had someone with him. "I'd recommend going there at some point." 

When they arrived the headquarters was much more impressive than they had previously thought. The building stood as a towering presence, overshadowing all the others nearby. Its grand windows were accentuated with intricate patterns framing the frames, while a mighty temple-like arch graced the entrance, exuding an aura of power and importance. It didn't make sense. The Coyote Guild, known for betrayal and backstabbing, shouldn't have a place like this. Something wasn't adding up. If they were as weak as the rumours said, why such a show of power?

The stark contrast between the exterior and the interior was immediately noticeable; a sleek, modern reception room stood in contrast to the Victorian facade. The floor was made of pristine white marble, reflecting the dim light, while the walls were darkly panelled and adorned with a strip of oak wood at the base, bridging the connection to the flawless, polished surface of the floor. Something about the building felt off. It was too pristine, too polished. As if it was hiding something beneath its gleaming surface. Player 7 couldn't shake the feeling that this place held more secrets than it let on.

The receptionist spoke with a kind, gentle tone. "I assume you are here to join the Coyote Guild?"

"Yes, we are." Player 7 replied for both of them.

"Head upstairs, through the door at the end of the hallway."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, please enjoy the rest of your day."

She mustn't be the fighting type then, so it seems she also has accepted her fate in this twisted game. Player 7 thought to himself. 

They proceeded up the stairs to the right of the reception desk, and followed the corridor until they were met by a grand, dark pair of double doors with an insignia above it. It was a shield with the impaled head of a coyote on it, that must be the symbol of the Coyote Guild. Player 7 approached the door, and knocked. He was met with a gentle yet cold voice, a sly air playing with the words, "come in, I won't burn you." 

They slowly entered the room, and the sight of the grand table standing majestically in the room's centre caught their attention. Strangely, not a single candle or lantern could be seen, only a vast window that spanned almost the entire rear wall, casting a chilling, frosty glow across the room. The room was colder than expected, almost unnaturally so. It was as if the room itself bent to the presence of the lone silhouette of the mysterious figure seated at the end of the table, watching them with a chilling gaze as they entered. Player 7 couldn't quite make out much detail of the man, as the only light source was behind him - but he wore a large fur-necked cloak and had medium length, neat red hair.

"Welcome… to the Coyote Guild. I am Hono, the Vice Guild Master." He had a cold, smoky voice, yet managed to sound welcoming. He leant forwards, resting his arms on the table.

Player 7 just stood there for a moment, muscles tensed, contemplating how to reply.

"You don't need to say anything important, just state your usernames and that should be all." The shadow-veiled man replied. Hono's voice carried a weight to it, something which unsettled Player 7. But he couldn't show weakness now.

"I'm Player 7" He responded with a false confidence. He kept his posture open, as to show no signs of submission.

"I'm… uh… I don't have a username…" The Boy replied, fidgeting slightly.

"What?" A confused Hono questioned, leaning back again.

"I don't know my userna-"

"How?! Are you slow?" Hono interjected, shouting and throwing up his arms.

"I don't know." The boy replied, quieter and looking down.

"Ugh, come here." Hono continued, waving an arm to beckon him over, shaking his head with disappointment. This whole ordeal seemed to be a chore to him.

"Okay…"

The boy shuffled over to Hono, his hands trembling as his breath became shaky. The two muttered and fiddled around with their UIs until…

"Done!" Hono exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air and swinging back, evidently infuriated. "You can go now, I'll message you when you have a guild assignment." 

Through the darkness, Player 7 could feel a sly, smirking stare from Hono as they left.

"I'll be looking forward to meeting you again, Player 7"

After they stepped out of the shadowed room, Hono's words lingered. Player 7 couldn't shake the feeling that the Vice Guild Master had plans for him — plans that weren't entirely in his control.

After a few days of levelling, it finally arrived.

"New mail received from 'Vice Guild Master Hono': Guild Quest - The Shipwreck"

Finally, a Guild Quest. Lets see what it's about then… he thought to himself. He opened the mail to see the details. There was a large map with a cross where they needed to go, and a side note that the group would be supervised by Hono himself. 

He arrived at the location to be met by a party of roughly 4 people. The guild is a lot smaller than I would have expected, he thought to himself. In front of them, leaning against a tree, smoking, was a man. He had long red hair, pale blue eyes, glasses, a large red cloak with a fur collar, a blood-red shirt with a black tie, a tailored black waistcoat and black suit trousers. 

"Welcome, members of the Coyote Guild. I am Vice Guild Master Hono. Uragiru couldn't be bothered to get his lazy ass over here to welcome you, so it's just me. But, in all honesty, he can never be bothered to do anything. I'm not here to do everything for you, I'm just here to supervise so you don't all die on your first guild quest. Next time, you won't be so lucky." He slowly looked up at Player 7, before saying "now, let's see what you can do." He gave a cold smirk, then stood up and waved his arm to signal them to approach the shipwreck.

The wreck of the once proud galleon loomed like a spectre before them, a relic of a bygone era. Though time and the unrelenting tides had taken their toll, faint hints of its glorious legacy still remained, whispered in the worn timbers, rumoured in the torn fabrics of a flag - The Blackshade Institute. Hono's grin widened as his pale blue eyes traced the contours of the wreck. To the others, it was a ruin. But to him, it was a promise — an opportunity for something more. The ship's bow was a gaping maw, smashed and scraped away by its battle of attrition with the rocky shore, a testament to the violence of its end. The wind howled through the broken masts like a mourning wail, carrying with it the briny scent of the sea mixed with the stench of rotting wood and something… darker. From deep within the wreck, a faint creaking sound echoed, but it was too slow, too deliberate to be the wind or shifting wood. Something was down there. The wreck loomed before them, a monument to forgotten glory. Like the galleon, they too were adrift, their course unclear in this treacherous game. An unsettling aura hung over the catastrophic wreck, an invisible shroud covering the scene in mystery and a sense of foreboding. And amidst it all, Hono's unsettling grin hinted at unspoken secrets, his pale blue eyes locked in a staring contest with something lurking within the hull. 

Hono slowly raised his hand to his face, and took the lit cigarette out of his mouth.

"Eat this you spectral pieces of shit"

What is he on about? Player 7 thought to himself.

Then, without warning, the cigarette flared to life, and Hono flicked it like a bullet into the gaping gash of the ship. Inside the hull, a great fire flared up, brighter and larger than it had any right to be. The resulting ghostly screams echoed through the silent night, followed immediately by a wild, frenzied stampede of what appeared to be skeletal, ghostly pirates - their bones clattered as they charged, half-transparent bodies draped in tattered coats and belts. Hollow eye sockets burned with a faint green glow, their cutlasses rusted but still sharp, ready to spill living blood once more. Player 7 barely had time to react. One moment, Hono was casually flicking a cigarette; the next, an army of undead was stampeding toward them. Was this some kind of sick game to him?

Hono agilely dodged the ancient cutlass swung at him by one of the skeletons, his movements quick and fluid. With a skilled and steady hand, he swiftly grabbed hold of the skeleton's arm, preventing any further attacks.

"Now be a good boy and stay dead"

The pirate found itself engulfed in a scorching vortex of flame that erupted from Hono's outstretched palm. The pirate's ancient bones cracked and hissed as the flames consumed it, its hollow eyes flaring bright. The force of the explosion sent the pirate flying, but with a flick of his wrist, Hono pulled the skeleton closer, his movements as sharp and controlled as a predator toying with its prey. The flames barely flickered in his calm expression as he delivered a swift, crushing blow, sending it crashing to the ground with a loud thud, collapsing it into a heap of charred bones and ash. The heat from Hono's flames licked at Player 7's face, even from several feet away, while the cold sea air whipped against his skin, sharp and salty. The clash of bone and steel filled the air as the undead rushed them. 

"Right, idiots. It's time to fight." Hono ordered them. Moving as one, they all charged in to fight the undead pirates. Player 7 produced the sledgehammer from his inventory, and swung it back over his shoulder. He then proceeded to powerfully swing it around and watched as upon contact the face of a skeleton shattered and caved in. Fragments of fossilised, ancient bone flew left and right and Player 7 smashed through skeleton after skeleton, slowly levelling up. 

A wave of heat washed over him as another skeleton was incinerated just feet away. Skeletons were dropping like flies across the battlefield, until there were none left. Hono's gaze shifted back to the galleon. The real prize wasn't these long-dead fools. It was something still waiting, deep within the bowels of the ship. "All those damned bastards have been sent back to where they came from. Serves them right for getting ancient dust on my suit. Now, we just have to enter the shipwreck and take all that sweet pirate treasure for ourselves. Maybe I could buy myself a new pack of cigarettes, I'm running low. I wonder if somewhere sells flavoured ones, the regular taste is getting boring. Anyways, into the shipwreck you boring old idiots." Immediately after he takes a cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket, takes a cigarette, snaps his fingers under it, and it lights. He puts it in his mouth, breathes in, and exhales a large cloud of smoke. "For fuck's sake this is my last one." After he's finished whining, Hono smirks, and they all enter. "Sweet treasure and more sweet cigarettes, today couldn't get better. Remember kids, smoking isn't cool… apart from when I do it." 

Upon entry it wasn't hard to miss that the interior that was once the proud domain of a galleon was now left in a state of horrid decay. The once-splendid floorboards and wall panels had succumbed to the ravages of rot and warped with gaping holes and gaps. The lingering, pungent scents of decaying wood and rusted metal mingled with the distinct aroma of the sea, creating a potent sensory experience. Once vibrant, the carpets had faded and become drenched with moisture, clinging to the fabric like barnacles to a sea creature. The entire scene lay in the embrace of deep, dense shadows, enveloping the space in an ominous darkness. Piercing this veil of darkness was a sudden bright orange flame in Hono's hand, not too far from resembling a lantern.

After taking many twists and turns through the ancient abyss, they finally found it. Standing proud and majestic, containing remnants from a bygone era lost to time, was a grand and shining chest gleaming out from the shadows, encrusted with all kinds of jewels from across the realms. This was greater than any chest he could have imagined, and the look in Hono's greedy eyes proved that he didn't plan on sharing much of it.

Hono approached the chest, expecting godlike riches. However, the contents feel quite short of the divine. Indeed, there was an ocean of gold covering the base of the chest along with many jewels. But, sat at the centre of it all, gleaming in the firelight, was a sword. Before anyone could stop to admire the treasures, Hono laughed maniacally while scrambling to grab every coin and stone in sight. After his frenzied raid of the chest, nothing was left other than the sword. "Here, take this." Hono said before tossing the sword at Player 7, which he messily caught and stowed in his inventory.

The dim glow of his cigarette and the reflection of his glasses was all that could be seen of Hono in the darkness of the Coyote Guild meeting room.

"Surely you're not suggesting- "

From the darkness spoke a cold yet commanding voice. "Yes, I am. You like money don't you? There's a lot of it in that castle."

Hono leant forward and took the cigarette out of his mouth to further project his voice. "They're rookies for crying out loud! They can't handle that mission!"

"Then we'll just finish off whatever is left." Replied the shadow-veiled man, still unbothered,  undertones of carelessness could be heard in his voice.

"We cannot send them there, Uragiru."

The man stood up, walking to the door, before looking back over his shoulder. This time he spoke more assertively. "The Undead Peninsula is an ocean of untapped riches. If you do not wish to seek such things, you are free to leave the guild. Just know I have connections to people who could hunt you down and end your life the next day."

Moments later, Player 7 received a message from the system. 

"New mail received from 'Guildmaster Uragiru': Guild Quest - The Undead Peninsula"

Without hesitation, he immediately opened the mail.

"This is an urgent assignment from Guildmaster Uragiru. You shall arrive at The Undead Peninsula, as located on the map below, by 6pm tonight. Failure to do so will have you removed from The Coyote Guild. You are to form a raid team and defeat as many enemies as possible and make your way to the castle upon the mountain at the end of the peninsula, and give all treasure to Guild Master Uragiru and Vice-Guild Master Hono."

A map displaying the location of a long and mountainous peninsula was attached to the message.

6PM - When the raid party arrived at The Undead Peninsula, they were met with a vast expanse that stretched further than they had foresaw with the map. The peninsula seemed to stretch out of sight into the very horizon. Majestic mountains towered over the landscape, reaching up to touch the clouds. An endless, churning tempest of storms encircled the peninsula, lashing out with lightning and downpour. Gravestones marked the land, providing its eerie namesake, however something felt amiss. A frigid presence hung in the air, as if invisible eyes were fixated upon them, following their every move, watching from behind or over their shoulders, as if they were relaying all information to a higher power.

"Hey, where is Hono?" One nervous man shouted.

"Yeah, what about Uragiru too?" Another exclaimed frightfully.

The raid party emitted an aura of unease and lacked self-assurance, which was hardly surprising given their low level and lacking abilities. Many were merely plucked from the 100 total players within the horrible game, making a lot of them weak-minded and inexperienced, thus contributing to their lack of confidence.

Player 7 stepped out of the crowd, in turn declaring himself the leader of the raid party. "We were chosen to represent the Coyote Guild for a reason, so why don't you shut up and show everyone why you were! We were sent here as an urgent guild quest, so you don't have time to tremble in fear. If you're too scared to handle this mission, then you don't deserve to be here. Anyone who wants to act like a complete wet blanket can resign from the raid party right now, but just know that that in turn gets you removed from the guild."

With this, the demeanour of the raid party was metamorphosed from fear and unease to confidence and self-assurance. They were in no doubt ready to face the eerie Undead Peninsula and represent their guild. The howling summits of The Undead Peninsula cried out to them, and they answered. With this charge began the raid of The Undead Peninsula. 

7 PM - The climb had been gruelling, with each step feeling like a small battle against the mountain itself. Time had stretched into thin air, hours blending together, the only sound was their gasping, shaky breaths and the scrape of boots against jagged rocks. Finally, at the summit of the first mountain — The Tailbone — their efforts were rewarded with a view that stole his breath for different reasons.

Below, the Undead Peninsula sprawled out like a forgotten graveyard, its jagged peaks casting long shadows as the sunlight danced along the surface of the sapphire blue, crystal-clear ocean. It shimmered like glass, a vision too perfect, too serene for a place of such horror. There was a stillness here that felt unnatural, a beauty that made his stomach twist. The air was cold, yet beneath it lurked something colder, something wrong.

Without warning, the graves around them began to shake and crack. A rancid stench filled the air as the graves cracked open, the sickening smell of death and decay clinging to the wind. The sound of bones creaking and earth splitting was almost drowned out by the chorus of hollow groans. The graves were one by one shoved and thrown aside by decaying arms, some of the graves were simply knocked over, others were hurled through the air as if they were weightless. Some of the arms were simply just damaged and torn, but others had entire chunks of flesh missing to reveal muscle and bone beneath, wrapped in a mesh of clogged and worn blood vessels. Player 7's breath came in short, struggled gasps as he watched the corpses rise from their graves, their empty, rotting eyes locked onto him. His heart pounded in his chest, instinct urging him to flee, but his feet stayed planted, frozen in place as the undead advanced. It was a gruesome sight. Each putrefied corpse climbed out of the ground to reveal their full, festering form. With this, it was already too much for some of the raid party members to handle, and they fled the scene. Some of the undead wielded swords but others had revolvers and handguns, some even with rusty armour or shields. These were clearly stronger and more formidable than the measly undead pirates from the shipwreck, these have more flesh and muscle.

The undead horde slowly crawled, clumsily stumbled, or ferociously ran at the raid party. The lower level or inexperienced players were having a challenge fighting them off, and multiple of the undead had charged at Player 7. The first zombie lunged with its sword, but Player 7 noticed the sluggish movement of its decaying limbs. He dodged with ease, calculating the perfect moment to strike. Each strike came effortlessly, almost mechanically. His focus narrowed to a singular goal - eliminate the threat. The thrill of battle hummed beneath his skin, but his face remained calm, every move calculated, precise. A quick and powerful jab to the ribs thudded against the zombie's decaying form as it sent bone fragments splintering, and with a precise grip, he twisted the zombie's arm just before it could raise its weapon again, snapping it out of place and stealing the sword. He then proceeded to thrust the sword straight through the zombie's chest, impaling it. Whilst holding the impaled zombie, he noticed the uneven ground beneath him, slick with mud and blood. His footing slid for a second, but he compensated quickly, using the momentum to impale another zombie on the remaining length of the sword. The new zombie kebab was then kicked to the ground, before he grabbed the handle and tore the sword upwards through the zombies' heads. Now, one zombie remained. Without giving it a time to strike, Player 7 charged at it. Using his free arm he grabbed it, hoisted it up onto his shoulder before slamming it into the ground, stabbing it through the stomach. He then produced his sledgehammer from his inventory, held it above his head, then forcefully brought it down on its head. His new 15 points into strength meant the zombie's head was reduced to a red splatter in the crater left by the impact. 

It should be known that at this moment in time, Player 7 is level 15. Players get rewarded 3 stat points per level, so as a result he has 15 points in strength, 25 points in speed and 5 points in defence. 

Player 7 now stood amongst the brutal aftermath displaying his present physical capabilities. The air hung with the metallic stench of blood and the pungence of putrid decay. What was once a clean sledgehammer has  now become a canvas splattered with red paint. Gasping for breath, he looked around to survey all the other ongoing fights. Amongst the riot, something caught his eye. A beautiful woman with blonde hair, a crown of vines and yellow flowers, a white dress, yellow jacket, incredibly skilled in what seemed to be a sort of nature magic. She dodged back from an incoming swing by a zombie, and then several vines shot out of the ground to skewer it, before going back under the ground and burying the zombie. She sighed, before slowly looking around and making eye contact with him. She smiled, he smiled back. However, the moment was cut short by another zombie jumping at him. Before it even had the chance to make contact with him, he coolly dodged its dive, kicked it to the ground, grabbed it by the neck and lifted it up, produced the cursed dagger and slit its throat. The dagger shone brightly, absorbing some sort of mysterious, magical essence from the zombie. He then returned the dagger to his inventory, and dropped the corpse. He looked back to try and see her again, but she was lost in the crowd. Then, more undead began to crawl out of the ground, and continued to do so for another half an hour.

8PM - The undead horde had finally been exterminated and no more would spawn, and it was finally time to continue the raid of The Undead Peninsula. Player 7 had gained an extra 6 levels from the combat, using the points to increase his stats to 25 strength, 25 speed and 13 defence. They gradually regrouped amidst the blood-coated aftermath, all members of the raid party were alive. The boy instantly locked onto Player 7.

"Hello!" The excited boy ran up to him, beaming.

"Oh, hey! Glad to see you survived.

"Barely though, I almost died to a zombie but this kind lady saved me and protected me for the entire battle. However, I did manage to kill one on my own!" The boy signalled to the same woman he had noticed earlier.

"I'm Player 7, nice to meet you. Thanks for saving the kid, I couldn't find him in the raid party since we arrived." He stretched out a hand, noticed it was coated with blood, and changed his mind, wiping the blood off on his jacket.

The woman laughed slightly  as he wiped the blood off, "no problem, I'm Evelien. Evelien Hoven. I was more than happy to save such a kind boy. I couldn't bear to see an innocent soul come to harm under my watch. What is your name by the way?" She turned to the boy.

"That's a good point, kid. You never told me your name." Player 7 enquired too, the thought of his name had completely gone over his head.

"Oh!" The boy squeaked, "my bad! My name is Aster Bonhomme."

"An innocent flower of a good man." Evelien stated.

"What?" Player 7 replied, confused.

"Aster Bonhomme, an innocent flower of a good man." Evelien repeated. "We should continue the raid now, it's starting to get dark and we should try and finish the raid as quickly as possible."

"That's a good point, we should continue." Player 7 acknowledged the thought, and agreed.

"Everyone! Attention please!" Player 7 repeated the idea that Evelien had stated to the entire raid party.

"Since when were you the leader of the raid?" An irritated voice spoke from the crowd. Members of the crowd came together to agree with the point.

"Since none of you had the balls to take the position." Player 7 replied coldly, which instantly silenced all questions to his authoritative position. "Now, let's get moving." 

9PM - The raid party arrived at the second peak, now at the tip of The Undead Peninsula. This one stood higher than the previous. However, blocking a picturesque view of the ocean was a castle. The raid party stood frozen, gazing up at the towering fortress. Some whispered in awe, others shifted uneasily, hands gripping weapons tighter as they felt the storm's cold bite. The imposing, colossal structure of the castle, a masterpiece of gothic architecture, cast an enormous, looming shadow across the surroundings, and the grand raid party. The weathered surface of the castle's fortified walls was meticulously adorned with elaborate stone patterns, exuding a powerful, formidable and impenetrable aura. Inside this grand bastion, vast riches and mysterious treasures lay protected, safeguarded by the intimidating presence of the ancient structure. The castle seemed to watch them, its shadow creeping closer as if to swallow the raid whole. The wind howled through its empty towers, carrying with it a sound that almost resembled whispers.

The maelstrom above churned ever violently, circling the castle like hunting vultures, threatening to strike them down where they stand with lashes of lightning and commanding blasts of thunder. The storm above wasn't just nature's wrath — it was as if the castle itself commanded the skies, the thunder booming like a war drum, rumbling like the growl of an ancient beast. Lightning traced jagged lines across the fortress' spires, casting unnatural shadows down the ancient walls.

The raid party lingered outside, contemplating the best course of action. However, some party members deemed planning to be a waste of time and charged straight in. So, the rest of the party went in afterwards as one great unit.

Through the grand archway marking the entrance of the castle, the interior was complex and dark. The stone walls were cold as ice, the air was frigid and dusty, and ultimately it was difficult to see without a torch. The scent of damp stone and earth filled the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of ozone. These conditions did not seem designed for human residence. What in the world would live here? They continued on for what felt like forever until they reached a spiral staircase, the first sign of human design. However, something felt wrong about it. Player 7 couldn't quite figure it out, until he looked down and saw what seemed to be claw marks on the stairs and walls. The sight left the entire party speechless. Then, they felt the air behind them heat up.

Suddenly, the raid team was hit by a blast of hot air as the walls behind them burst open with a powerful explosion of fire.

"For fuck's sake, all of you useless sods get the hell out of that castle. I can't believe you're all so fucking useless."

Without having to be asked a second time, a waterfall of bodies poured out of the hole in the castle wall, and stood behind Hono's flowing red cloak. Standing beside him was a mysterious figure. He was wearing a white shirt, red tie, brown waistcoat, black trousers, black shoes and topped with a large black trench coat that reached halfway down his shins. He had neat black hair and bright yellow eyes, with a cold, blank face that revealed not the secrets of his emotion. A roaring blaze of fire formed from Hono's outstretched right hand, palm facing towards the sky. He then moved his arm back, leaving a trail of fire that would later form into a sort of javelin of flame. The javelin rapidly increased in size to be approximately 3 metres long, before Hono swung his arm and powerfully hurled at the castle with masterful yet aggressive form. In flight, the soaring javelin changed shape into a majestic phoenix, which let out an ear-piercing, screeching cry before flapping its humongous wings for a burst of speed forwards. The entire area was coated in a rich orange light as, upon impact, a towering column of flame engulfed the entire castle, reaching high into the sky, separating the heavens above. When the explosion died down, all that was left were ruins. Within the scorched ruins, layed a pile of dark, zinc-coated bones, and a grand chest. However, something about the bones seemed amiss.

"How the hell did you need help clearing a castle. It's fucking ancient what could be so challenging? I always have to save you useless low levels from such easy tasks, it's such a hassle."

Hono wined, annoyed by everyone's 'uselessness', leaning back as if he was already too tired to continue fighting, making a big stretch. Then, he leant back forwards and formed a flame from his fingertip, using it to light a cigarette, which he put up to his mouth, took a breath, then exhaled a large cloud of cherry-scented smoke.

"Now this is the real shit, cherry flavoured. I told you I'd get some after raiding that shipwreck. This alone is true bliss."

"Nobody cares, Hono, you chainsmoking fool." Interjected in the man beside him, stepping closer.

"Come on, Uragiru, you cold bastard." Hono replied to the man, looking away and scowling mockingly, waving his hand in the man's direction, continuing to smoke.

So this is Uragiru, the Guild Leader? Player 7 thought to himself. He doesn't seem that fancy…

Before they had a chance to regroup, the bones within the castle stirred like a sleeping animal. Then, they began to float and shuffle, circling around each other, slowly connecting to build a giant and powerful skeletal dragon. Lighting rained down upon its metallic form from the sky as it stretched out its wings and let out a powerful roar. A new health bar could be seen at the top of everyone's UI, The Galvanised Lich Dragon.

"What the hell is that…" Hono said under his breath, his tone laced fear for the first time.

"It's certainly big…" Uragiru observed, speaking with a dead, cold and flat voice, turning away to walk off and waving back over his shoulder, adding "let the raid party handle it. I can't be bothered."

"You what?" A number of furious members of the raid party confronted Uragiru, "you're the guildmaster! Are you not the strongest of-"

"New rule, refuse orders and you die."

Uragiru suddenly appeared behind one of the enraged members of the mob, speaking with a cold and smoky voice, dagger pressed up against her throat as he stared at her from over her shoulder, mouth close to her ear so she could hear every intricate detail of his voice as he spoke.

"You got that?"

He slits their throat, then licks the blade clean of blood, relishing in the metallic taste.

"The rest of you, fight it or die by my blade."

Suddenly, a great blaze rushed through the ruins, incinerating all in its path as it bent around structures like a snake stalking its prey, before colliding with the Galvanised Lich Dragon, exploding some of its ribs and setting it on fire. Due to the melting point of zinc, some of its galvanised coating melted away revealing the bones underneath which simply added more fuel to the fire, dealing internal damage to the dragon.

"Heh, I guess it's not so strong after all." Hono exclaimed cockily, advancing a few steps towards the dragon, all traces of fear having left his voice entirely and a smirk began to grow on his face. 

The dragon roared in retaliation to the fire, lightning crackling inside of its colossal jaws before firing out a wave of chain lightning at the raid party, Evelien however called forth vines to cover many of them to protect them from the incoming attack. 

Without warning, a powerful blast of fire impacted the dragon's face. "HAD ENOUGH YET?" Hono shouted at it sarcastically, starting to get carried away as he began to consecutively shoot huge balls of fire at it while laughing uncontrollably. "JUST AS I THOUGHT! WEAK! A DISGRACE TO THE CONCEPT OF CREATION!"

A rather disturbingly creepy grin was displayed on Hono's visage, wide-eyed and maniacally laughing he continued to blast away massive chunks of bone and metal from the dragon until nothing was left but a pile of ash. But even then, he kept blasting the remains.

"It's dead you idiot." Uragiru pointed out to Hono. But, he continued to blast away the pile of ash.

Uragiru aggressively smacked Hono on the shoulder. "You can stop now."

Hono continued to blast the remains until no more zinc or bone was left, ecstatic with how much destruction he was causing as an aftermath.

Uragiru finally punches him on the shoulder to get him to snap out of it. 

"God you didn't have to punch me, dickhead." Hono snapped in response, quickly turning his head to scowl at Uragiru.

"Well maybe you should've listened when I said you could stop attacking it because it's dead." Uragiru replied to the hot-headed Hono with a blank facial expression.

"Whatever." 

Uragiru slowly walked up to the chest in the ruins, each motion indicating his authority.

"And now, I am sorry to say but this is the end of the road for the Coyote Guild."

10PM - "Do it, Hono." Uragiru turned his head to look over his shoulder, taking in the apparently pitiful sight of the raid team, speaking commandingly, but without a single hint of anger. All that was present in his voice was cold authority, as if this had all been intricately planned from the beginning.

Hono slowly turned, glaring over his shoulder through the white fur collar of his cloak at the raid party, glasses lenses glinting in the moonlight. He then finished his turn and began to chant as he gradually raised his arm, palm facing the sky with a growing, swirling fire above.

"May the flame of calamity take this world and paint the skies ablaze for centuries to come."

With a sudden and violent eruption, the swirling fireball above Hono burst outwards, enveloping the entire peninsula in a raging inferno. Flames spread rapidly, consuming everything in their path, devouring the party members with ruthless efficiency. The blast was so strong that it obliterated everything in its wake, leaving nothing but scorched earth and ash. The Undead Peninsula had become a chaotic hellscape, testament to the devastating power of Hono's attack. Screams echoed across the peninsula as flames tore through the raid party. Some tried to flee, only to be swallowed whole by the raging inferno. A healer reached for a fallen comrade, but the fire swept over them both, turning their silhouettes to ash in the blink of an eye. The air was thick with the sound of crackling fire and the roaring aftermath of the explosion. His ears rang, deafening him to the groans of the survivors and the hiss of the dying flames. Some of the higher HP party members survived, but they were clinging to the smallest scraps of life. Player 7 struggled to breathe, every breath stinging with the heat and smoke of the lingering flames. His skin was scorched, his clothes singed - jacket completely burnt off, and yet his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He could feel the pain — deep, aching — but he refused to let it consume him. The heat pressed down on him, almost unbearable, but he forced himself to move, to look up. Through the haze and smoke, he focused on the figure above: Hono.

As Player 7 glared up at Hono, the pain and destruction around him seemed to blur. All he saw was the figure responsible for it all, and though his body was broken, a dark fire of vengeance ignited in his chest. Hono would pay — he would make sure of it. The taste of ash and blood filled Player 7's mouth as he struggled to rise. His legs buckled beneath him, the weight of his own body almost too much to bear. Every nerve screamed in protest, but the rage boiling inside him burned hotter than the flames that had consumed his comrades. He gritted his teeth, fingers digging into the scorched earth as he pulled himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily. This — this massacre — wasn't just a battle gone wrong. It was a trap, a calculated slaughter. His vision wavered, but he forced himself to stand, each breath more painful than the last. "Was this your plan all along?" His voice was a rasp at first, barely audible over the crackling remnants of the fire. But as the words left his lips, his rage ignited. "To lure a massive group of people to a place with no escape route and kill them all?"His voice cracked, growing louder as fury overwhelmed the pain, making rage fuelled swings of his arms; leaning forwards to further project his voice. Their faces flashed in his mind: the healer who'd tried to save someone, the fighter who had taken the brunt of an attack. They were gone — vaporised. Why did he survive? His fists trembled, and the anger that coursed through him was no longer just for himself but for every life snuffed out by this twisted game. Player 7's mind whirled, his chest heaving with each breath as he watched Hono's cold, detached expression. Was this really happening? Was he really watching his entire raid group reduced to ash, with nothing but silence from the one responsible? "What kind of sick-" he began, but the words were barely a whisper. Then, louder, his voice cracking with fury, shouting with all of the rage of his being. 

"What kind of sick psychopathy is this?" 

Hono carefully took his glasses off, set them on fire, and used the fire to light another cherry cigarette and place it in his mouth. The fire reflected in his cold, unblinking eyes as he surveyed the wreckage below. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face as his gaze fell on the broken survivors.

Hono faced his palms towards each other, forming a ball of fire between them, which he fired at Player 7.

"If you have nothing else to say, then burn like the rest of them."

Player 7 instinctively dodged the projectile, before sprinting in a curved path round the side of Hono, maintaining his distance. Hono, confused by this, enquired, "what the hell are you trying to do by running around? Getting in  a bit more exercise before you die? Trying to survive me, the avatar of flame, Hono Hildebrand, is futile."

He then clapped his hands together, forming a ring of flame around them. The ring of fire began to spin faster and faster, like a flame minigun of sorts, rapidly firing off bullets of fire at Player 7. In response, Player 7 accelerated his sprint, now reaching almost the speed of a sprinting horse, jumping out of the way of any bullets that came close to hitting him. When Hono stopped firing, he saw the opening to attack; charging straight towards him. With a single, unarmed strike Player 7 struck Hono with great force to the jaw. His cigarette fell out of his mouth, flying through the air with tragic grace, before landing on the floor, still alight. 

"Now you've fucking done it you brat. Someone needs to teach you some discipline." Hono said, turning his head and swinging an arm out at Player 7 with ferocity. losing his natural cold temperament yet again. The dim glow of the lit end of the cigarette grew into a huge flame, which was then extracted to form a large sword of fire above Hono.

"I now call forth the judgement of Surtr to cleanse this world."

Hono then raised his arm. Flames from the shattered ruins swirled upwards, coiling like serpents around the growing sword of fire. The heat was suffocating, turning the air into a shimmering haze. The ground beneath Player 7's feet cracked and sizzled as the sword expanded, casting an eerie orange glow that blotted out the stars. The crackling of the flames was deafening, like a thousand bonfires roaring in unison as the blade loomed above, a blazing mothership of catastrophe, casting long, flickering shadows over the scorched land. 

"Know your place."

Hono swung his arm down, plummeting the great sword into the end of the peninsula. Player 7, using his quick instincts from his experience as a soldier, opened his inventory and produced The Book Of Banishment.

If I could use this to banish a ghost, perhaps it could banish a spell too. Player 7 hoped this to be correct. He held the book out in front of him, pages spread open to reveal a large, glowing green pentagram depicted over the two pages. He closed his eyes, preparing for the great impact of the colossal sword. But it never came.

"What the fuck… how? Just what are you?" Hono questioned, leaning forwards slightly with the question, frightened yet intrigued as to how Player 7 had survived his wrath.

"Well…" Player 7 was about to mention The Book Of Banishment, but as he spoke the book crumbled in his hands. "Oh."

Hono sneered. "Hm? Oh well, that stupid book won't save you again. I still have fuel in the engine." Hono bounced from one foot to another, as if he was about to get serious.

"Now this is getting interesting."

Hono formed flames around his fists, adopting some form of martial arts stance. He beckoned for Player 7 to come and fight him, and he obliged.

"Let's throw hands." Player 7 declared as he yet again charged at Hono.

Player 7's limbs screamed in agony, every step heavy with exhaustion. The explosion had left him battered, his vision blurry from the impact, but he pushed through the pain. His breath came in ragged bursts, each one a painful reminder of how close he was to collapse. But he couldn't stop. Not now. Player 7 charged again, swinging for Hono's jaw. But Hono dodged, placing a palm on Player 7's stomach. "Bang." A powerful explosion hit Player 7 with the force of a grenade. Player 7 was hurled through the air, slamming into a wall with a sickening crack. The wall toppled, spilling charred dust and debris into the air. His vision blurred, blood trickling down his forehead as he struggled to stay conscious. For a moment, the world spun, and he gasped for breath, his ribs screaming in pain as if they were stabbing into his lungs. He wanted to stop, to rest, but there was no time. Hono was already preparing his next attack. With a grunt of effort, Player 7 staggered to his feet, forcing his battered body into a desperate charge. It had to end… now.

 His speed was more formidable than previously, his dashes explosive, as if he had rockets attached to his feet. Hono formed a large spinning bullet of fire in front of him, which he fired at Player 7, who proceeded to simply side-step around it and pounce at him. Both hands raised above his head, Player 7 planted his right foot into Hono's chest - like an eagle catching its prey - who crashed straight down into the floor. Player 7 stood there with one foot still on Hono's chest, staring down at him. 

Hono's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling beneath Player 7's foot. His once flaming eyes now flickered with a fading light, the confidence drained from his face. He tried to speak, but blood gurgled from his mouth instead. 

"You… can't… kill… me…" Hono croaked, blood staining his teeth as he smiled, still clinging to his arrogance. "I am eternal. I am calamity. I'll come back… stronger."

Player 7 crouched down, the world narrowing to just him and Hono. His face was now inches from Hono's, leaning forward again and putting his mouth to Hono's ear, whispering. "Not this time." 

Player 7's body prayed for rest, every muscle twitching in agony. His vision blurred as blood trickled from his burns and where his skin had broken, staining his torn and singed clothes. Each breath felt like fire in his lungs, but the sight of Hono - broken and gasping beneath his foot - pushed him forward. He could taste victory, bitter yet sweet. In Hono's last moments, his fear was palpable — no more bravado, no more taunts. Just the cold realisation that he had lost. "Goodbye," Player 7 stated, his voice shaky as he gasped for breath. This wasn't just about survival — this was for them. For every friend reduced to ash by Hono's flames. The blade - the sword Hono had gifted him - flashed in the moonlight as it sliced across Hono's throat, silencing him forever. 

Rich, metallic blood poured from the gaping wound, dyeing the scorched grass and soil a deep crimson.