Peering out from the open window from which he stood at, a nervous young man could be spotted pacing around and about, his dark silhouette giving life to the building’s boring window sill and overall simple layout. It was raining that night, buckets of water coming down upon the earth, sparing no one of a watery fate. Yet despite the protest and cries from the earth over man’s treachery, the greediness of the soul always prevailed; in this case, it would be the lust for power that would drive all towards misfortune.

The whirring of advanced machinery would add an eerie soundtrack that added onto the dark mood, its repetitive beats forcing the young man to increase his pacing in order to save his own sanity. Tardiness was something he himself was guilty of propagating, but when it came to such a “life altering” event, like the meeting planned out that night, it seemed the whole world could wait in order to please his needs. The first of many glances would be given to the nearest computer and all “The World” equipment set up…

And then it happened; as he drooled silently over the power to come, a vibrating feeling originating at his pocket made his entire world stop. No one had this number…no one, that is, except for his contact. Eager, excited and nervous, the mysterious man fumbled with the phone, having a difficult time grasping the concept of his mission’s reality and well as grasping the concept of cell phone use, all at once. But on the final ring he would answer, just as the man prepared himself to leave a message.

His words were short but clear.

“The End Cypher has been spotted. You’ve got thirty six hours.”

And with that, *click*; it seemed the life of another would soon come to a close.

Darkness…

Swirling around like a ghastly being that knew no end to its wrath, it consumed all it touched, enveloping the mortal world whole in black, casting a permanent shadow of doubt and death onto the human soul. While all were initially protected from the ripping claws of the nightly beast, those that strayed from the path of light would find themselves struck down, beaten, burned and banished from ever enjoying life again. Chaotic indeed was the ending for all those that embraces the darkness, but on the off chance an innocent soul lost its way, there’s always a second chance at life…

Quick reaction; being birthed into the digital world after a longer slumber, Cypher’s body shot with incoherence and fear, causing him to kick and flail around until he were to injure himself on his own account. Once an arm was ensured in breaking, the snap and subsequent pain would make his beastly reactions cease, if only temporarily. Now broken in general, he was to only wallow in pain, weeping like a dying dog wishing an explanation. For hours he would remain there, hurt, alone and afraid, no coherent thought lending itself to find an answer.

Why was he suffering? Why was he alone? Where was he? Who was he?

Who am I!?

The field currently housing the ex-leader of the Army of Darkness and a once prominent administrator was not regular in any way, a mere byproduct of deleted data and stored project saved long ago, lost to the waves of change. Only officials and delinquents were to enter in such a place, neither of their intentions being on the good side. But fortune oddly struck on the teen, for it seemed he has been safely kept in a locked field. The owner of the key? Currently unknown…though many speculate these acts as a side project of the developers themselves. Still, for months on end an unconscious Cypher lay, his real world counterpart suffering the same ill fate as his residual copy; a coma. But someone knew, and someone watched.

Several minutes elapsed before Cypher began to remotely think coherently. No longer would he wail, though several times he’d cough and produce blood, all in the form of a violent seizure with extreme shaking and trembling. Pain would be the first to take hold of him, but instead of its dopy younger sibling came the sophisticate older variation, offering rational explanations as his worst sensorial sessions took place. Looking down, he’d find the main culprit of his current pain to be his broken arm, currently bent at an odd angle from all his struggling. In a turtle like fashion he’d act to bring less pain to himself, using his other arm to tuck the broken one into his body. A spare cloth hanging from his tattered attire would be cut forth and employed as a harness, keeping the arm steady until he found a method of healing it.

As all of this occurred, the injured blade master would slide back onto a nearby wall, having his free hand abandon the broken one’s side and push him up. Although all was dark, the surface he currently rested on was smooth, as were the walls. A more relaxed feeling would set over his body, allowing him to breath more steadily. Now, as he tried to recover his breath, he was left only to his thoughts. Peering in, he'd find all was pure confusion, reason escaping him as each attempt to find a logical explanation for his current whereabouts failed miserably.

For now, he’d lay and rest, hoping the pain would fade when he woke back up.

Slipping into the realm of the subconscious, a pain stricken Cypher moaned many names on his exit from the world of the awake, a few of them barring no importance to his life at all, others serving as beacons in his perilous journey through life. But he knew not what he spoke anymore, and what he saw appeared to him as a severe hallucination, the kind suffered during a massive drug trip. Sure, his body lost its pain, but with it went control, reverting him back to the bumbling beast he had awoken as. While most of the room’s darkness made seeing anything familiar almost impossible, a few swirling figures sifting through the darkness caught his attention, if only for a second; then, when his mouth opened to speak, it was all gone.

Sensing the blade master’s loss of consciousness, the perpetrators currently entering the barren field smiled with glee, anxious to commence their malicious tasks. To any listening in on their conversation, their voice chatter would appear distorted and incomprehensible, as if they spoke some foreign, old, outdated broken language used only for matters of utmost security. While their meanings were impossible to decipher, the happiness in their voice and the excited pitches they reached made it obvious they were anxious to do whatever it was they were meant to do on that field.

Darkness still reigned on the field, though with their entry came a crashing set of thunder, exploding onto the digital earth, granting it light if only for a second. For the attentive, lending an eye during the flash of light would begin to reveal the field’s layout, a volcanic like mountain with oozing black and purple liquids exploding randomly from small mounds, spilling out violently. Smoke followed the oozing trails of goop, billowing through the wider parts of the field, growing smaller as it neared the only significant monument extant: the cave which Cypher currently found himself passed out in. Shaped like a large shell, its color was a black as the ground itself, though the consistency of the outer shell was much smoother than the spiky, sharp ground. No windows existed, the only entrance and exit being a single crack in a side wall.

By now, the group of four had neared the entrance, though their eagerness would be swiftly cut short when the emergency of an imminent battle mode flashed onto their screens. Classic words donned in crimson, any seasoned player of “The World” would know exactly what was to follow; however, in the case of the “special” field with "special" players, what followed would definitely lead to the user cursing severely – “oh fuck.” And so it seemed they did, at least in whatever strange language they spoke, for they knew what was to come would be a machination of their worst nightmare. Tense, all four bunched together, their weapons drawn and ready; two Heavyblades covering the corners, while a single Blademaster stood in front of a Wavemaster, the center of their battle caravan. Each would prepare their spells accordingly, their itchy fingers trembling over the last button needed to start destruction.

Dance, puppets; swing your weapons as I tell you to, for only I can guide you to victory

A piercing set of murderous screams ensued; it seemed the nightmare had just begun.

It was grand.

Its tail drew back like that of a dragon’s in some mythical tail, covered in spikes and other random items that granted it the status of a deadly weapon with a mere swing. Were it to growl, the entire field would shake, and those demons that advanced with murderous intention would surely scamper away. Its breath was warm, able to decimate most obstructions in its path, either through shear heat or extreme propulsion. Although many exotic beings had been discovered along his path through his forsaken digital life, nothing could compare to the behemoth currently materializing itself before the crimson toting blademaster. It would change from a mere hidden program – left behind, discarded and unwanted by the ‘elite’ – to a vibrant visual manifestation, wowing even the most seasoned of veterans. Though the clever disguise afforded by the gloomy darkness would keep it in the shadows until the very last minute, the unavoidable mechanics of the game would eventually force the beast to reveal itself, one way or another.

The skies would cry after the tune of a sad song induced a plethora of tears, coming down upon mere mortals relentlessly and without remorse. Curtains of water seemed to threaten the livelihood of all unprotected, to the point where the life bars of those responsible for Cypher’s imminent demise began to faintly decrease. Though through some illegal program these bars would appear to regenerate, the rate at which the tips were shaved off grew with intensity every second. Now afflicted with the same liabilities as the injured and comatose blademaster, their purpose for being there would now be questioned. Those toting the heaviest swords would be the first to argue, their booming voice drowning out that of their friends in heated argument. However, upon the crashing entrance of a violent thunder bolt which seemed to rip through the field and leave a permanent scar on the barren wasteland, all would silence. Weapons ready and drawn, they’d heed the battle call, even if their knees shook midst their march.

The insidious four knew something was coming, but without visual confirmation, they would rely only on what their programs told them. Something big and massive approached slowly, its movement awkward and violent. Several cries would barely be distinguished midst the continued downpour, though their origin had yet to be attributed to the unknown beast. Still, could such hellish cries and roars really be the product of white lightning? Or had they truly stumbled upon the demon’s den, where the rejected and unwanted remained chained and trapped forever? Their digital lives forever forsaken to such a slum, they knew not what hope nor freedom was. Only pain. Only suffering. But when the time came to let loose the floodgates that held such pent up wrath together, remnants of days once lived would flare up, and those untouched memories would drive them forward, sword in hand, digital blood chanted under their breaths. The clash was inevitable, and everyone except for the unconscious blademaster knew it.

"..."

Cypher would awake to a crashing sound, his broken body jolting up through the power of instinct. Pain would shoot up through his sides as his soar muscles and fractured bones made even more a mush of his body. But even with his gaping wounds and serious injuries, nothing short of death could stop what he had now become – a corpse pumping with adrenaline. Darkness still reined eternal even after his heavy slumber, the freezing air and unchangeable setting ingraining idea of the eternal prison even more. But to the walking zombie currently fear stricken over the colossal shade he had just witnessed, none of it mattered. Regardless of his fading condition his body would work on command, shooting up from the decrepit hole he had established as his grave in one quick effort. His mind, absent of reason, logic and thought, would move him to the unthinkable: battle. Motivated only by the red letters shouting ‘warning!’, he would move in, weapon in hand, like a moth attracted to fire.

Would he get burned?