When our heroes believed all was lost, the very stone of the dungeon groaning and fracturing around them, a figure emerged from the swirling dust and shadow. He was a striking presence, his light blonde hair a sharp, angled bob that flicked outwards at the ends. Tall and powerfully built, he moved with a quiet confidence that belied the chaos. A long, black trench coat, the hem brushing his mid-thigh, concealed a simple grey shirt and dark trousers.
His voice, when it finally cut through the groaning stone, was calm and decisive. "If you wish to live," he stated, his gaze sweeping over their battered forms, "come with me!"
Without hesitation, despite the obvious pain etched on his face, Shimmon pushed himself upright. With a grunt of effort, he scooped up the unconscious forms of both Haytham and Saland, one slung over each shoulder. The mysterious stranger, meanwhile, effortlessly scooped up the limp bodies of Christa and Marty. "This way," he urged, and they began to sprint towards the gaping maw of the treasure chamber's exit.
Their feet pounded against the crumbling stone as they ascended the spiraling staircases, the air thick with dust and the scent of collapsing earth. They burst out into the vast, ruined garden, the ground tilting precariously towards the dark abyss that had swallowed the lower levels. It was there, at the very edge of the precipice, that their enigmatic savior finally paused.
"Forgive my tardiness in introductions," he said, his gaze steady. "My name is Benamoth, and I am a glitch hunter."
With these words, Benamoth extended an arm towards the seemingly bottomless chasm. An intense surge of mana erupted from his body, a vibrant, swirling energy that coalesced around his outstretched limb. From thin air, a colossal staircase of pure, shimmering energy materialized, spiraling upwards into the dim light filtering from above.
Without a word, Shimmon, still bearing his unconscious companions, began to ascend the luminous steps, Benamoth leading the way with Christa and Marty held securely. It wasn't long before Saland stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. He blinked, disoriented, before his gaze landed on the broad back he was currently draped across.
"Hey," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleepiness and pain, "what am I doing on your back?! I can walk, you know?"
Shimmon grunted, his breath catching slightly with the exertion. "Mph. You're in no condition to walk, pretty boy. Besides," he added, a hint of his usual teasing tone returning, "can't have you ruining your beauty by overexerting yourself."
Saland snorted, a weak sound. "Said the one who took two direct hits! Still… thanks." He finally settled down, his gaze drifting to the still-unconscious Haytham. A flicker of concern crossed his features before he addressed Benamoth, who was a few steps ahead. "Hey, thank you for saving us. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up."
Benamoth glanced back, his expression serious. "Let us reserve our gratitude for when we are truly safe. For now, we must move with haste."
They continued their ascent, the energy stairs humming faintly beneath their feet. Soon, they reached a narrow arrow slit carved into the rock face, and Benamoth indicated they should proceed through it. They scrambled through the opening, finding themselves in a rough-hewn tunnel that led upwards. Behind them, a deafening roar echoed as the entire treasure cave structure finally succumbed to the instability, crashing down into the unseen depths of the abyss.
Benamoth and Shimmon emerged from the tunnel, finding themselves before the massive, iron-bound entrance door of the dungeon. But it was firmly shut. With a sigh, Benamoth gently lowered Marty and Christa to the ground. From his right hand, a weapon materialized as if summoned from the very air. It was a sword with a long, slender hilt, leading to a thick, straight blade. The back of the blade was also straight, while the front edge, equally linear, angled sharply inwards near the tip, forming a distinct sixty-degree point.
Wielding the impressive weapon with both hands, Benamoth focused, and a vibrant orange aura of mana enveloped the blade. With a swift, powerful downward swing, the mana-infused edge sliced through the thick iron of the dungeon door as if it were butter. The two halves groaned and fell inward, revealing the familiar light of the outside world. They stepped out, leaving the collapsing dungeon behind.
Benamoth led them back towards the familiar sight of Valley Village. He carried the still-unconscious Christa and Marty towards a building with glowing runes etched above the entrance – the magical rehabilitation center. He explained that specialized healing mages there would be able to treat their injuries. Haytham, thankfully, finally stirred and groaned shortly after they arrived at the village, his eyes fluttering open with confusion.
Benamoth then suggested they find a place to rest and recover. He led them to a lively establishment, a tavern bustling with patrons and a peculiar staff – charming elf waitresses adorned in bunny outfits and other equally eye-catching attire. They settled at a sturdy wooden table, and one such captivating elf, with long, flowing blonde hair and delicate pointed ears, approached Benamoth. She presented him with a tankard of honey-colored mead, her voice soft and melodious. "Here you are, master," she said with a polite curtsy before flitting away to attend to other customers.
Benamoth took a long draught of the mead before turning his attention to the weary group. "As I said before," he began, his gaze serious, "my name is Benamoth, and I am a glitch hunter. Glitches are… anomalies. Entities that spontaneously arise within the fabric of this world due to systemic errors in the game's code. Usually, it falls to the administrators to eliminate them, but the one you encountered was powerful, nearing the strength of a mid-tier glitch."
He paused, his eyes scanning their faces. "I intervened not solely out of altruism, though your plight was dire. When that glitch manifested, it emitted a singularity point – a phenomenon that occurs upon the appearance of a significant glitch in this reality. That glitch is exceptionally dangerous, far more so than you realize. You were fortunate to survive your encounter."
His expression grew grave. "Those two girls… Christa and Marty… they were the first to be struck. They share some form of deep connection, and when the glitch attacked them, it imprinted a soul mark upon them. Should their connection ever fully re-establish while that mark persists, their souls could truly merge, with potentially fatal consequences in the real world."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "And one final, crucial piece of information: if one is killed by a glitch, the death is… permanent. It carries over to your physical body. This is what makes glitches so incredibly dangerous." He looked at each of them intently. "Now that you understand the gravity of the situation… what is your intention?"
Saland, despite his exhaustion, straightened up, his eyes filled with a newfound determination. "Please," he pleaded, his voice earnest, "train us. Make us as strong as you, or at least strong enough to stand a chance against a glitch like that."
Benamoth considered their request, his gaze thoughtful. After a moment of silence, he nodded slowly. "Very well. But you are all in need of rest. I would advise you to log out of the game. You have likely been immersed for quite some time, have you not?"
Outside the lively elf tavern, under the soft glow of the virtual evening sky, the group exchanged hesitant goodbyes. Shimmon, Haytham, and Saland shared their player IDs, a silent promise to reconnect in this strange, dangerous world. Benamoth, however, remained an enigma, stating simply that he did not possess such a designation. With a final nod, the three weary adventurers logged out of the VR WORLD.
Oppif, back in the familiar comfort of his own room, collapsed onto his bed. The exhaustion was bone-deep, and the digital adrenaline was finally fading, leaving behind a heavy weariness. Sleep claimed him almost instantly. The next morning, the events of the previous day still felt surreal. He walked to school with Leon, and their conversation was dominated by the terrifying encounter, the enigmatic Bruhsuperdoom, and the chilling reality of the glitches. The theories flew thick and fast, continuing even after they returned to Oppif's house in the afternoon, the pull of the VR WORLD and its mysteries already beginning to tug at their minds.