Dalvion turned, a slight frown creasing his brow. He didn’t like being interrupted mid-celebration. “Your what now? Look, buddy, this whole server core business? I’m the one who dealt with it. You were just… collateral damage.” He gestured vaguely at the shattered crystal fragments on the dais. “My supreme cosmic form!” Zethris shrieked, his frail hand clenching into a small, useless fist. The energy that had once commanded legions of cosmic dread now barely vibrated in his throat. “That body! The one you occupy! It is mine! I am the God of Ruin!” Dalvion tilted his head, examining Zethris with the detached scrutiny of a bug hunter. “God of Ruin, huh? Because from where I’m standing, you were more like the God of Getting Smacked Around by a glorified accountant.” He sniffed. “And judging by the abysmal framerate this place was running at, you were doing a pretty poor job.” Kholgath, still hovering protectively near Zethris, flinched as the boy-emperor’s face contorted with impotent rage. “I was… I was trapped! Imprisoned! The Vaelian usurper held me captive!” “Excuses, excuses,” Dalvion waved a dismissive hand. “Look, I found this account logged in, unused, in a pretty desolate spot. I’ve invested significant time and resources optimizing this ‘vessel,’ as you call it. That’s squatter’s rights, buddy. Besides,” he added, a flicker of genuine annoyance crossing his features, “customer service here is an absolute joke. You think I can just ‘return’ it? Not after the abysmal UI and the constant memory leaks I had to deal with. It’s practically unsalvageable as a clean product.” Zethris stumbled forward, his small body shaking. His eyes, once burning with cosmic fire, were now moist with humiliation. “But… it is my birthright! My power! My very being!” Dalvion sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, look. I get it. You’re unemployed, your old ‘job’ was trash, and your ‘birthright’ is now my gaming rig. Tough break.” He tapped his chin. “Tell you what. You seem to know a thing or two about the world’s… underlying architecture, even if you clearly didn’t do anything about the horrific lag. How about a consulting gig?” Zethris froze, the fury draining from him, replaced by a baffled silence. “A… what?” “A job,” Dalvion clarified, as if speaking to a particularly slow NPC. “Junior developer. You help me clean up the remaining spaghetti code in this dimension. Point out the worst offenders, maybe help me optimize the asset loading. I’ll even pay you.” He pulled a shimmering, immaculate gold coin from thin air, tossing it idly in his palm. “Found a stack of these in an unindexed loot cache. You interested, or do you want to continue being a whiny, powerless… whatever you are now?” Zethris stared at the coin, then at Dalvion, then at the lingering, fractured echoes of his former grandeur. Vordrak’s collapse, the loss of his true vessel, the cold disinterest of this arrogant intruder—it all settled into his stomach like lead. He was nothing. Less than nothing. A rat, then a puppet, and now… a junior developer. He swallowed. “I… I will point out the… the flaws. The… inefficient pathways.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Dalvion announced, ignoring the boy’s despair. He turned back to the glowing remnants of the Ritual core. A series of pristine, crisp runes now floated before him, a stark contrast to the glitching errors he usually saw. He reached out, his hand passing through the ethereal script. [ACCESS_GRANTED: CORE_DIMENSIONAL_ENGINE_ONLINE] [INITIATING_GLOBAL_PATCH_SEQUENCE: REFACTORING_VISUAL_ASSETS] Dalvion grinned. “Finally. Let’s get rid of this grimdark shader. So tired of everything looking like a bad texture pack.” He pushed. He didn’t press a button or pull a lever. He simply pushed, a gamer’s pure will exerted directly onto the fabric of existence. The world *jolted*. Not a tremor, but a sudden, violent shift in its very essence. The grey, cracked flagstones of the Sanctum floor instantly smoothed, becoming vibrant, polished alabaster. The oppressive, blood-soaked hangings along the stones vanished, replaced by flowing silks in hues of azure and emerald, depicting idyllic landscapes and frolicking, cartoonish critters. The air, thick with ozone and the metallic tang of sacrifice, cleared to reveal a scent of fresh ozone and blossoming flowers. Outside, the sky, perpetually a bruised, angry red, snapped to a brilliant, impossible blue. The towering, spiky spires of the capital city of Vaelia softened, their jagged edges rounded into elegant, sun-dappled turrets. The cursed, acid-scarred earth of the Weeping Steppes, visible through a newly transparent window, transformed into an endless field of gently swaying, luminous flora. No more lethal anomalies. Just pristine stalks rippling across the plain. Kholgath stared, jaw slack. The obsidian ceremonial dagger he still clutched became a silver butter knife. The iron tea set he’d been about to prepare for Dalvion shimmered into delicate, porcelain cups. His own leathery skin, previously the color of dried blood, seemed to lighten, taking on a healthier, almost rosy hue. Zethris, now blinking in the sudden, cheerful light, let out a choked sound. The grim, foreboding architecture he’d known his entire, wretched life was gone. Replaced by… this. He recognized some of the freshly converted creatures outside. They were the monstrous Blight-Hounds that once ravaged the countryside, but now they looked like fluffy, oversized puppies chasing butterflies. Dalvion stretched, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “Much better. Everything’s so… crisp. The draw distance is amazing.” He snapped his fingers. “Kholgath, tea. And make it snappy. This framerate deserves a proper celebration.” Kholgath, despite the internal scream of every dark fiber of his being, bowed. He located a small, sun-dappled meadow just outside the Sanctum, now teeming with benign, luminous critters. He set down the porcelain cups, the delicate clinking a stark contrast to the clatter of bone and steel he was used to. He poured the steaming, aromatic crimson brew, his knuckles pale and shaking. Dalvion accepted the cup, took a long, appreciative sip. “Ah. Now that’s quality. And look at that. Zero frame drops. This is what an optimized experience feels like.” [INCOMING_MESSAGE: PRIMARY_ADMINISTRATOR_QUERY] [ALERT: ALIEN_ENTITY_DETECTED_WITHIN_SERVER_CLUSTER_ASCHEN_SPHERE_GHOL] [COMMENCING_NEW_GAME+ PROTOCOL: ADMIN_FLEET_DEPLOYED] The sky, a cloudless, serene blue, suddenly ripped open. A colossal, shimmering portal tore through the firmament, revealing not stars, but a vast, silent armada of sleek, mathematically flawless vessels. Above them, in blocky, incandescent letters, a single phrase burned across the heavens: [NEW GAME+] Dalvion choked on his tea. “What in the… Are you kidding me? A content patch already? And is that… a raid? Damn it, I just got this server stable!”

Squatter's Rights