The eastern gates of StoneDragon loomed behind him, their iron frames glinting under the last light of dusk. Metatron didn't look back. The wind beyond the walls smelled of rust and dry soil, carrying the distant echoes of beasts and broken machines. Ahead lay the endless frontier — barren, old, and alive in ways that no one could quite explain.
He checked his compass interface one last time.
> [Main Quest: Pursue Night-Cap Jack]
Destination: Rusted Canyon (Approx. 23.8 km Southeast)
Estimated Travel Time: 3 Days (On Foot)
He set off, boots crunching against cracked earth. The faint hum of the Twinfire pistol against his side was oddly comforting, its new double-barrel core thrumming with restrained heat. Each step carried the weight of purpose — not just the bounty, but the need to test what he'd built.
The world outside StoneDragon wasn't gentle. It wasn't supposed to be.
By nightfall, the air grew sharp and dry. Faint remnants of old rail lines cut across the ground like scars, half-buried beneath sand. A single moon hung above — pale, distorted by desert haze. The game world's beauty always felt a little wrong; too quiet, too still, like something watching from beyond the dunes.
Metatron stopped at a collapsed signpost. The letters were rusted and half buried. "Eastline Mining Route." The name clicked — it was a discontinued zone from early beta. Unstable terrain, unstable mobs. But shortcuts through danger were often worth it.
He continued along the cracked route, eyes scanning movement through his visor. Faint red markers blinked ahead.
> [Detected: Hostile Entity – "Burrow Stalker" (Lv. 11)]
The sand shifted. Then, silence.
Metatron raised his pistol slowly. A second later, the ground erupted — a jagged-mouthed creature leaping out, tail lined with spikes. He fired twice, alternating barrels — tchk-tchk! — twin bursts of light searing into its armored side. The beast shrieked and dove under again, circling fast.
He pivoted, crouching low, visor tracking faint tremors. When the red outline surged upward again, he fired preemptively — the left barrel punched through its open jaw, and the right followed into its core.
The beast collapsed into shards of red light, fading into dust.
> [+360 XP]
[Loot: Burrow Fang x3 | Desert Core Fragment x1]
He reloaded, murmuring, "Too close to the gate for Level Elevens… something's off."
A faint shimmer flickered at the edge of his visor — static for just a moment. Then it vanished.
He frowned. Ever since the global update countdown, little glitches had begun surfacing. Sometimes visual, sometimes in physics, but lately… deeper. NPCs repeating lines they shouldn't know, enemies spawning too close to cities, resources regenerating wrong.
By midnight, the desert had grown colder. The sky turned dark violet, and winds howled through abandoned mining rigs like whispers. Metatron found shelter under a half-buried transport cart, lighting a small portable burner. He rested one hand on Twinfire, its faint warmth spreading through his glove.
The hum of the game world lulled him — faint music from somewhere distant, the wind brushing data ghosts through the air. Then a sound cut through it — footsteps.
He turned instantly.
Three players emerged from the shadows of a nearby ridge, torchlight glinting off scrap armor. Their names flickered across his HUD — gray outlines, untagged. Not guilded. That was never good.
"Travelin' alone?" one of them asked, voice gruff through his mic. "Dangerous idea this far out."
Metatron didn't answer.
The second, a tall archer with a patchy cloak, stepped forward. "You got a nice piece there. Modified, too. Don't see many pistols that glow like that."
He tightened his grip subtly. "Keep walking."
The first one smirked. "Or what? You'll shoot?"
Their markers turned red.
> [Hostile Intent Detected – Player Group "Rusted Crows"]
The archer drew his bow; the other two charged.
Metatron moved before they could close in. His left barrel fired first, dropping the archer mid-step. The others lunged in — one with a pipe-blade, another with a crude hammer. The hammer came down hard; he sidestepped, sparks flying as it grazed his coat. He drove a knee into the attacker's gut, spun, and fired point-blank.
The last one swung wildly. Metatron ducked under, twisted his wrist, and fired both barrels at once — THA-KOOM! — molten air crackling as the dual bursts slammed him into the dirt.
Silence.
> [+850 XP]
[Loot Acquired: Scrap Coins x240 | Rusted Key | Damaged Data Chip]
He crouched, picking up the data chip and slotting it into his visor's side port.
> [Item: Data Chip (Degraded)]
Log Entry: "...Jack's got the ridge rigged with decoys and snipers. No one leaves alive. Even the devs stopped watching that zone…"
Metatron's expression hardened. Night-Cap Jack wasn't just some outlaw. He was preparing for something big.
He packed the chip, looted a few rations, and extinguished the burner flame. The desert stretched endlessly before him — dark, glittering faintly under the alien stars.
When he checked his status before resting, faint system interference flickered across the hologram.
> [Name: Metatron]
[Level: 12]
[HP: 132 / 164]
[XP: 9,310 / 13,000]
[Stat Points Remaining: 15]
[Location: Eastern Frontier – Abandoned Eastline Route]
He closed the screen, eyes following a faint flicker of lights far on the horizon — maybe another player camp, or maybe something else.
The wind carried distant metallic sounds — a rhythmic clanking, far too steady for beasts. Machines?
He leaned back against the rail and muttered, "Frontier's waking up."
The stars above shimmered in silent agreement, and far in the dunes, something began to move — gears grinding beneath sand, eyes glowing faintly red in the dark.