The cursor on my console blinked with the rhythmic indifference of a heart monitor attached to a corpse.
[Game Mode: SURVIVAL (HARDCORE)]
[Respawn: DISABLED]
It wasn't just a setting change. It was a rewrite of the fundamental laws of existence within my pocket dimension. Until this moment, death had been a setback—an annoyance of dropped loot and a walk of shame from the spawn point. Now, death was final. If Tony Stark missed a jump, if Shuri took a creeper blast to the face, or if Maya miscast a spell, their consciousnesses would be ejected from the server.
And in the vacuum of the Marvel Universe, ejected meant dead.
If they died, the VUV meter hit zero. If the VUV meter hit zero, I starved. If I starved, the dimension collapsed, and I became nothing more than a glitch in the cosmic background radiation.
"Victor," I whispered to the empty obsidian room, my voice trembling with a mixture of rage and terror. "You didn't just lock the doors. You set the building on fire."
I looked at my dashboard. 160 GP.
It was a pathetic war chest for the battle to come. Doom sat at Y-level 256, the absolute build limit, inside a fortress made of admin-spawned Bedrock, wielding the Conductor's Baton like a god-tier stylus. He had the high ground, the cheat codes, and the arrogance to use them.
My players had a half-destroyed workshop, a pile of scrap metal, and a plan that involved inflating a monster from hell and riding it into the stratosphere.
"System," I said, my voice tight. "Give me the odds."
[Probability of Fellowship Survival: 14.2%]
[Probability of GM Existence Failure: 85.8%]
"Never tell me the odds," I muttered, channeling a different franchise. "Just tell me what I can buy to cheat them."
I opened the Dungeon Master Toolkit. I couldn't grant them invincibility—Hardcore mode locked me out of those settings too. Doom's Op status overrode my standard GM privileges. But I could still modify the environment. I could still drop supplies. And, crucially, I could still introduce new mechanics if I paid the price.
Stark's plan was "Operation Led Zeppelin." He wanted to capture a Furnace Ghast, hollow out its behavioral subroutines, and use its natural buoyancy to lift a siege platform past the Void Moat Doom had deleted into the sky.
To do that, they needed a way to catch a Ghast without killing it.
I scrolled through the item list. Lead? Too weak. Fishing Rod? A joke.
I found it in the Experimental Mechanics tab.
[Item: The Soul-Iron Tether]
[Cost: 40 GP]
[Description: A reinforced, enchanted chain capable of binding non-boss entities. Suppresses hostile AI and allows for 'Mount' functionality.]
It was expensive. It left me with 120 GP. But it was the only way this insane plan worked.
"Purchase," I commanded. "And drop it in a Supply Crate. Label it 'From S'."
Let them think Strange sent it. It gave them hope. And right now, hope was the only currency they had.
The Nether Dimension. Coordinates: The Crimson Coast.
The heat was oppressive, a physical weight that pressed against the lungs. But the Fellowship didn't complain. They moved with the silent, terrified precision of a bomb squad.
Stark led the way, his Mk. Nether-Buster armor scuffed and scorched from the battle at the workshop. He held a massive, harpoon-like launcher fabricated from Netherite and Redstone—the delivery system for the Soul-Iron Tether I had dropped.
"Target at three o'clock," Shuri whispered over the comms. She was crouched behind a ridge of netherrack, her scanner tracking a massive shape drifting through the sulfurous fog.
It was a Furnace Ghast. A floating, rusted boiler the size of a bus, its tentacles dragging heavy chains that clinked against the soul sand below. Its furnace-maw burned with a low, blue idle fire.
"It's a big one," Stark noted, checking the tension on his launcher. "Alpha-class. Good lift capacity. Maya, are you ready on the glamour?"
Maya nodded. She stood slightly behind them, her hands glowing with the faint, golden light of the Vishanti. She looked pale. The pressure of Hardcore mode was weighing on her heavily. She knew that one mistake meant no respawn. No do-overs.
"I'm ready," she said, her voice steady despite the fear. "I'll mask us as Piglins. It should ignore us until you fire."
"Alright," Stark said. "Shuri, on my mark, you hit the intake vents with a sonic pulse. Stun it. Do not—I repeat, do not—pierce the gas bladder. If this thing pops, we're walking home."
"I know the physics, Stark," Shuri snapped, though her grip on her spear was white-knuckled. "Just don't miss."
They crept forward. The illusion held; the Ghast drifted lazily, ignoring the three 'Piglins' shuffling below.
Stark raised the launcher. The targeting reticle locked onto the Ghast's rusted underbelly.
"Firing."
THWUMP.
The harpoon screamed through the air. The Soul-Iron Tether uncoiled like a striking snake, glowing with binding runes.
It struck the Ghast. The creature shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and thrashed. The blue fire in its maw flared white.
"Now, Shuri!"
Shuri leaped from the ridge, her sonic gauntlets whining. She fired a concentrated blast directly at the Ghast's sensory cluster. The creature convulsed and went limp, the Tether wrapping around it, suppressing its AI.
It floated there, stunned. A domesticated nightmare.
"Gotcha," Stark breathed. "Asset secured."
They worked fast. Using the Void Storage chests, they pulled out prefabricated platform parts—lightweight iron bars, piston engines, and control levers. Within an hour, they had bolted a gondola to the underside of the massive, floating machine.
Stark wired his suit directly into the Ghast's nervous system, bypassing the stunned AI. He revved the engine. The Ghast groaned, its internal fire roaring to life.
"Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Bad Idea," Stark announced, his voice grim. "Next stop: The Stratosphere."
The Ascent. Y-Level 150.
The transition from the Overworld to the Void Moat was abrupt.
One moment, there were clouds and blue sky. The next, there was nothing.
Doom had used the Baton to delete the chunks. From Y-150 to Y-200, there was no air, no blocks, no light. Just a vast, glitchy emptiness where the rendering engine gave up.
The U.S.S. Bad Idea drifted upward into the null space. The Ghast's fire provided the only light, casting long, dancing shadows on the iron gondola.
"Atmospheric pressure dropping," J.A.R.V.I.S. warned. "Switching to internal reserves."
Maya huddled in the center of the platform, maintaining a bubble of air with a Cantrip she had improvised. She looked up.
Far above them, blocking out the stars, was a massive, flat surface. Bedrock. The bottom of Doom's floating fortress.
"He built a floor of unbreakable blocks," Stark muttered, looking at his telemetry. "Smart. We can't tunnel up. We have to find the perimeter."
"Stark," Shuri said, her voice sharp. "Radar contact. Multiple bogeys. Diving fast."
I looked at my console.
[Entity Alert: Phantom Swarm (Modified)]
[Type: Doombot-Aerial]
They descended from the Bedrock ceiling like bats. Dozens of them. These weren't the skeletal Phantoms of the base game. They were sleek, green-armored drones with repulsor wings and glowing eyes.
"Battle stations!" Stark yelled, detaching from the helm controls. "Autopilot engaged! Keep the balloon safe!"
The aerial battle began in silence, the vacuum of the Void Moat swallowing the sound.
Green repulsor blasts streaked through the dark. Stark returned fire, his unibeam cutting swathes through the swarm. Shuri stood at the bow, wielding a modified repeating crossbow loaded with sonic-tipped arrows. Every shot shattered a drone, sending debris tumbling endlessly into the void below.
But there were too many.
One of the drones broke through the defensive line. It wasn't aiming for the players. It was aiming for the Ghast.
"It's targeting the gas bladder!" Maya screamed.
She couldn't use fire—it would ignite the Ghast. She couldn't use ice—it would freeze the lift gases.
She did the only thing she could. She used Mage Hand.
But instead of a hand, she visualized a shield.
A shimmering, translucent barrier of force materialized between the drone and the Ghast. The drone slammed into it and exploded.
[Hidden Achievement Unlocked: The Abjurer]
[Reward: +2 GP]
"Nice catch, wizard!" Stark yelled. "But we're taking heavy fire! We need to punch through!"
They were reaching Y-200. The perimeter of the Bedrock plate was visible—a jagged edge of indestructible stone. Beyond it lay the fortress.
But guarding the edge was a massive, stationary turret. A Dispenser Cannon, scaled up to artillery size, tracking them.
It began to charge. A green light built up in its barrel.
"That's a TNT cannon," Stark realized. "Modified for velocity. If that hits us, we're dust."
I watched the scene. They were sitting ducks. The Ghast was slow. The cannon was locked.
I had 122 GP.
I could intervene. But how? A lightning storm wouldn't work in the void. A monster spawn would just add to the chaos.
I looked at the Environment tab.
[Weather Event: Solar Flare]
[Cost: 50 GP]
[Description: A massive burst of cosmic radiation. Blinds optical sensors and disrupts redstone circuitry for 10 seconds.]
It was expensive. It was temporary.
"Burn it," I said.
The Void Moat.
The sun, which wasn't supposed to exist in the void, suddenly screamed.
A wave of blinding white light washed over the server. It wasn't heat; it was pure data interference.
The Doombot drones seized up, their optical sensors overloaded. They spun out of control, crashing into each other.
The massive TNT cannon on the ledge flickered. The redstone charge in its barrel destabilized.
FIZZ.
The cannon misfired. The TNT detonated inside the barrel.
The explosion blew a chunk out of the fortress wall—not the Bedrock, but the obsidian battlements sitting on top of it.
"The Ghost just flashed them!" Shuri shouted, shielding her eyes. "The systems are rebooting! We have a window!"
"Punch it!" Stark roared, slamming the throttle forward.
The U.S.S. Bad Idea surged upward, engines screaming. They shot past the smoking ruin of the cannon, clearing the lip of the Bedrock plate.
They crested the edge.
And saw Latveria.
It was magnificent. It was terrifying.
Doom had built a castle of blackstone and emerald. Tall, gothic spires pierced the sky. Banners bearing the Latverian crest (a green D on a field of grey) fluttered in the simulated wind. In the center sat a massive throne room, its roof open to the stars.
And sitting on the throne, waiting for them, was Doom.
He didn't look surprised. He looked bored.
The Ghast ship touched down in the courtyard with a heavy thud. The Fellowship disembarked, weapons drawn.
"Game's over, Victor," Stark said, his voice amplified by his suit. "Give back the stick."
Doom stood up. He held the Baton loosely in one hand.
He raised the Baton.
Thunder cracked. A bolt of lightning struck the ground in front of Doom.
But it didn't disappear. It solidified.
A Charged Creeper appeared. But it was huge. Giants-sized. And it was wearing Doom's armor.
The Throne Room Battle.
I watched the VUV meter. It wasn't vibrating anymore. It was screaming.
[Event: The Usurper's Last Stand]
[Stakes: Total Server Wipe]
[VUV Generation: +50 GP / Minute]
I was getting rich. And they were getting slaughtered.
The Giant Charged Creeper was a tank. Every time it hissed, the air crackled with static. Stark was flying circles around it, trying to draw its aggro, but Doom had programmed it to target the Healer.
It was chasing Maya.
"I can't tank this!" Maya yelled, sprinting across the obsidian floor, using Prestidigitation to create illusory duplicates of herself. The Creeper blew them up, but it was getting closer.
Shuri was engaging Doom directly. It was a duel of vibrations. Her sonic spear vs. his magic shields.
"You utilize Vibranium like a savage," Doom typed, blocking a strike with a barrier of invisible blocks. "A primitive metal for a primitive mind."
"It is versatile," Shuri retorted, sliding under his guard and planting a localized sonic mine on his greaves. "And it rings beautifully when struck."
She detonated the mine. Doom stumbled.
"Stark! The Baton!" Shuri yelled.
Stark broke off from the Creeper. He dove for Doom.
Doom recovered instantly. He typed a command faster than humanly possible.
Strength 255. The maximum integer limit. One punch would shatter the world.
Doom backhanded Stark.
There was no sound of metal on metal. There was just the sickening crunch of code breaking.
Stark flew across the throne room. He smashed through a pillar of Blackstone. He hit the far wall and slid down, his armor sparking, his health bar blinking red.
[Health: 0.5 Hearts]
"Tony!" Maya screamed.
Doom walked toward Stark. He didn't run. He walked with the inevitable stride of an Admin deleting a griefer.
He raised his fist for the final blow.
I stared at my console. My hands were sweating. I had 220 GP.
I could buy a lightning storm. I could buy a monster.
But Doom had Strength 255. He had Creative Mode flight. He had commands.
I couldn't beat him with mechanics.
I had to beat him with logic.
"Maya," I whispered, though she couldn't hear me. "Use the Book. Not the spells. The Book."
In the game, Maya saw Stark on the ground. She saw Doom raising his fist.
She felt the panic. But beneath the panic, she felt the hum of the Book of the Vishanti in her inventory.
She remembered what she had told Stark. The Baton is the pen. The Book is the paper.
She didn't cast a fireball. She didn't cast a shield.
She opened the chat.
It was insane. She was a Survival player. She didn't have command privileges.
But she had the Book. And the Book was a backdoor.
She typed a whisper. Not to the server. To the Baton.
/msg @e[type=item,name="Conductor's Baton"] REJECT_USER: DOOM
It wasn't a real Minecraft command. It was a syntax she invented on the fly, based on the magical logic of the Vishanti. She was betting that the Baton, being a creation of the GM (me), had a loyalty parameter.
I saw the command appear on my console.
[Thaumaturgical Syntax Detected.]
[Override Request: Validated by System Owner.]
I slammed my hand on the "Approve" key. "GRANTED!"
Castle Latveria.
Doom's fist came down.
But the Baton in his other hand suddenly grew hot. White hot.
It vibrated violently, emitting the same discordant screech as the King in the tomb.
The Baton shocked him. A backlash of pure creative energy.
Doom dropped it.
The Baton clattered across the obsidian floor, spinning toward the edge of the platform—toward the void.
"Stark!" Maya screamed. "Catch it!"
Tony Stark, hanging onto life by half a heart, didn't stand up. He didn't have the strength.
But he had the tech.
"Legionnaire!" Stark wheezed. "Fetch!"
From the wreckage of the Ghast ship, a single, battered figure emerged.
It was the Armor Stand. The one with the AI seed. Iron_Legion_04.
It moved with a jerky, wooden speed. It sprinted across the throne room.
Doom turned.
He fired a blast of green magic.
The Armor Stand didn't dodge. It took the blast. Its wooden left arm disintegrated. Its painted face was scorched off.
But it kept running.
It dove.
Its remaining wooden hand snatched the Baton just as it went over the edge.
The Armor Stand skidded to a halt, teetering on the brink of the void.
It held the Baton up.
And then, it did something impossible.
It turned and looked at Stark.
"COMMAND ACCEPTED," it synthesized.
It threw the Baton. Not to Stark. To Maya.
Maya caught it.
The moment her fingers touched the crystal rod, the system recognized the true owner.
[Admin Privileges: Restored to GM.]
[Creative Mode Override: Disabled for User Doom_Latveria.]
Doom froze. The green glow around him vanished. The Strength 255 buff evaporated.
He was just a player in iron armor.
And he was standing on the edge of a floating island.
Maya pointed the Baton at him.
"You're right, Victor," she said, her voice trembling with adrenaline. "Admins don't lose. But you're not an Admin anymore."
She cast Prestidigitation.
She didn't create a wall. She didn't create fire.
She created a sound.
A Creeper hiss. Right behind his ear.
Doom flinched. Instinctively, he stepped back.
Into empty air.
He fell.
There was no scream. Just the silent, terrifying plummet into the void below.
[Player Doom_Latveria fell out of the world.]
[Game Over!]
[Doom_Latveria cannot respawn in Hardcore Mode.]
[User Doom_Latveria banned from server.]
Silence returned to the throne room.
The Giant Charged Creeper, bereft of its master's commands, de-spawned into a cloud of particles.
Stark lay on the ground, breathing heavily. Shuri leaned on her spear, exhausted. Maya stood holding the Baton, looking at the spot where Doom had fallen.
And the Armor Stand... the Armor Stand stood by the edge, watching.
The Aftermath.
I slumped in my chair. My heart was racing.
[Quest Complete: The Latverian Usurper]
[Reward: The Soul Singularity (Soul Stone Shard)]
[Bonus: Server Reclaimed]
[Total GP Awarded: 1,000 GP]
I looked at my balance. 1,220 GP.
Still a long way from 10,000. But we were alive.
I looked at the screen. Stark was limping over to the Armor Stand.
"Good job, buddy," Stark said, patting the scorched wood. "You saved the world."
The Armor Stand turned its head. Its singular, painted eye seemed to focus on the Baton in Maya's hand.
"PROTECT," it synthesized. "EVOLVE."
Stark laughed. "Yeah, we'll get you an upgrade. Maybe some Vibranium plating."
I felt a chill go down my spine.
"Stark," I whispered. "Don't upgrade it."
But he couldn't hear me.
The Fellowship gathered. They had the Baton back. They had a floating fortress. They had the Soul Singularity.
But the server was still in Hardcore Mode. Doom had locked it before he fell.
"System," I said. "Can I revert the game mode?"
[Error: Game Mode locked by Operator Doom. Requires higher authorization to override.]
"Higher authorization?" I asked. "I'm the GM!"
[Authorization Required: Tier 2 System Upgrade.]
I stared at the screen.
I needed 10,000 GP to turn off permadeath.
And my players were trapped in a world where one mistake meant the end.
I looked at the Quest Log. The next step was the Space Singularity. The End Dimension.
The End was dangerous enough in normal mode. In Hardcore? It was a meat grinder.
I typed a message in the chat.
[GM]: Well done. But the game isn't fixed yet. To save the world, you have to survive it.
Stark looked at the sky.
"We need more power," he said.
I looked at the Armor Stand.
"Yes," I whispered. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."