"MALIK! YOU CAN'T ESCAPE."
The voice tore through the air, sharp and cruel, but Malik didn't slow down. His feet pounded against the ground, lungs burning, every part of his body screaming at him to stop — but he knew better.
A second's pause, and it was over.
He flicked his eyes to the corner of his screen. HP: 46%. Half a second later, he risked a glance back — and his heart clenched.
The Swordsman was gaining. Longsword raised high, his figure slicing through the pale, crystal-white sky like some reaper out of a nightmare.
I won't make it at this rate. I can't outrun him. I need... I need a plan.
Malik skidded to a stop, dirt spraying up from under his boots. His sword came out, hands trembling against the cold metal as he turned to face his hunter. His pulse was pounding so hard it almost drowned out the sound of footsteps closing in.
The Swordsman halted too, just a few meters away, sword at the ready, gaze sharp as a blade.
"You should just accept your death, Malik," the man said, voice calm. Like a butcher talking to meat.
Malik swallowed hard, trying to force his voice steady. "I'm not dead yet."
The Swordsman snorted. "That brave act doesn't suit you."
And then the trap snapped shut.
"Look around you," the Swordsman added, tilting his head lazily.
Malik hesitated. But instinct forced him to obey. He shifted his eyes — and the weight of reality hit him like a punch to the chest.
Three more players.
Two Assassins, both dressed in deep black, shadows barely visible against the bright world. The third, a woman, wrapped in an Elementalist's robe. All three radiating the same suffocating aura.
Malik's system auto-identified them.
[Level 15 — Tier 1 Players]
His chest tightened. Tier 1. All three of them.
His sword felt heavier now. His body refused to move.
The female Assassin's voice cut through the air, sharp and impatient. "What's the hold-up, Long Blade? He's Level 5 now. We're supposed to kill him down to Level 0, remember?"
Level 0... they're not just after my loot, they're after me. My entire progress. They want me erased.
His hands moved on instinct, calling out his system UI. The "Log Out" button glowed in front of him — his last hope — and he slammed it.
Nothing.
It didn't even flicker.
He looked back at Long Blade, and the smirk on the man's face told him everything.
"Your soul's locked, Malik," Long Blade said, calm and amused. "You're not logging out for 24 hours."
No. Nonono. This can't be real. I can't die here. Not again.
But the moment to think was already gone. Long Blade dashed forward. Malik barely lifted his sword in time, the clang of steel rattling his arms. He staggered back, breath ragged, arms numb. Another slash came — his body reacted too slow. The blade carved across his shoulder, sending his HP into freefall.
[HP: 11%]
His feet fumbled for balance. The other three stood around him, not moving, not helping. Just watching. Predators, waiting for the kill to finish itself.
Long Blade stepped in again. One clean, final swing. Malik's body froze as the blade pierced straight through his chest.
His HP dropped to zero.
His vision shattered into bright fragments as his body broke apart, reduced to scattered particles. Two items hit the ground with a soft clink.
The Elementalist walked over, her lips curled in boredom. "Cheap trash. Only two items, both common."
Long Blade stooped down, picking them up, not even glancing at the corpse that was no longer there. "I drank the Guild Leader's potion before the kill. He must've lost two levels. Let's go — need to reach City Square before he respawns."
"Relax," one of the Assassins chimed in. "Brother Striker's already on it."
Long Blade paused. His hand froze mid-motion.
Striker? The Shadow Vice Guild Leader?
A chill ran through him.
What the hell did Malik do?
---
<
A bright light pulsed through the hall, the same way it always did after a death. The glow faded, and Malik stood there — same brown tunic. Same beginner's longsword hanging at his side.
But everything else had changed.
He raised his hands, staring at them, still trying to process the numbness in his chest.
"I've... respawned."
His voice barely came out. Flat. Hollow. Dead.
It was the fourth time today.
Level 10 — dead to a Boss Monster.
Level 9 — killed by a player in the forest.
Level 8 — ambushed again.
Level 7...6...5 — assassinated in the middle of the city, a place he thought was safe.
And now?
His system beeped, cruel and sharp.
[Level 2]
His stomach twisted.
All the effort. All the nights grinding. All the days chasing quests, risking death, climbing his way up the ladder. Gone.
Two months.
Gone in a single day.
His hands curled into fists. His throat tightened until it hurt.
"Who... did I offend? Why me? Why are they hunting me like this?" His voice cracked, tears blurring his vision. "What the hell did I do?"
But the world gave him no answer.
Only another voice. Deep, steady, cold.
"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife... nor thy neighbor's belongings."
Malik spun around. Empty.
"Who's there?!" His voice was shaking, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. But before he could draw it, a shadow appeared in front of him — fast, silent, unavoidable.
A hand closed around his throat.
The force slammed him back into the city hall wall. The air shot from his lungs, his body kicking and twisting, but the grip only tightened.
His HP began dropping like a waterfall.
His eyes fought to focus through the growing blur, and the figure's voice cut through the panic.
"You broke one of the Ten Commandments, boy. This is the price."
Malik's vision flickered. His mind felt like it was splintering, but the name crawled its way out.
"Who... are you?" he gasped, barely able to form the words.
The figure tilted his head, eyes locking onto his.
"Striker. Shadow Vice Guild Leader."
The name hit harder than the wall.
His HP was almost gone now. His arms had long since gone numb.
"There's no place for you in God's Realm." Striker's voice dropped lower. "You're nothing but trash."
The grip tightened, and Malik felt his neck snap, his body going limp as the last sliver of HP vanished.
His head rolled to the side, eyes empty, and Striker let the corpse drop to the floor.
For a moment, Striker stood still, staring down at him.
"Let's see how many times you rise, trash."
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he flung Malik's severed head aside, and vanished.