You Already Won

In Requiem, as most have likely already realized, almost anything can enter its borders. Gods, monsters, legends, even fictions thought impossible—all of them have walked its stage.

Why? Because no matter how powerful, omnipotent, or self-styled eternal a being may be in its own verse, all must yield to the authorship of the Vantis—a presence beyond narrative control. A sovereign not bound by story, but writing through it.

And so the barriers between worlds thin. Human and inhuman, myth and memory, fiction and nonfiction—here they bleed together freely. The result is chaos, yes, but also spectacle. In Requiem, everything exists for one purpose above all.

Entertainment

A being once known as F'Regentiaen, the Olden Guard of Nuveriae, stirred awake. Strange—because on Earth, it had already been "awake" for years.

In Hollow Breathe, it was the third boss before the finale, infamous for its oppressive defense mechanics and arena-wide punishment attacks. For five years it had stood as a fixed obstacle in the game's design.

And then, one day, it was simply… gone.

A glitch, players said at first. But not like the usual ones. The entire section of the game tied to F'Regentiaen—the boss arena, the lore cutscenes, the combat triggers—vanished wholesale. Save files corrupted when they reached it. The game became unplayable.

Developers scrambled, patching, rolling back, rewriting the code. Months later, the "fixed" version was released, the Olden Guard restored as if nothing had happened.

But people remembered. Forums lit up with speculation. How can an entire boss just disappear? What caused the phenomenon? Why did it seem like the game itself had erased the being for a time?

No answers came. Only rumors.

And now, in Requiem, the Olden Guard walked again.

It had spent months adjusting to this new world, its ancient code unraveling into something more primal. No longer bound to a static arena, no longer trapped in repeating loops of scripted combat. Here, it could move.

Like its original setting, its power came from entrapment. Roots spread like veins across the underground, stretching for miles. They mimicked the lure of safety, drawing in the careless. Like a Venus fly trap, it opened with deceptive stillness—then snapped shut, consuming aura, flesh, and essence alike. Every feeding left it stronger, every scream another layer added to its frame.

Then she appeared.

The woman had not come like the others—no desperate stumbling, no blind panic. One day the pit simply had a new occupant. She radiated power, her aura flowing in waves that shimmered between desperation and seduction. F'Regentiaen, with its newly forming thoughts, didn't question. It didn't need to. Instinct wrapped around her potential and bound it. She was fuel. She was a lure.

And because of her….

Within days, it grew more than it had in years of repetition in Hollow Breathe. Its roots burrowed deeper, its reach spread wider, and its stolen strength sang louder.

And now, in this moment, it stared at the intruder who reminded it so much of the warriors it had clashed against across countless cycles. Crimson flames. A will sharpened by endless battles. This one wasn't prey. He was something else.

But the conclusion was simple.

This was his. The power, the host, the hollow—his. And anyone who thought to take it from him would be devoured the same way.

Alesha's eyes flickered open. For a moment she thought she was dead—the pain was too intense, too much. But no, death would've been quieter.

The noise hit her first. Screams. Not hers, not entirely. A dozen voices, a hundred maybe, all strangled and ragged, burning the air like a chorus of the damned. It took her a moment to realize what she was hearing—then she wished she hadn't.

Sight didn't make it better.

Just a few feet away, charred husks writhed, their mouths open in endless agony as roots drank them down to nothing. Their aura poured into the veins like liquid, siphoned greedily into the earth. It was the same as her. She could feel the tendrils burrowing deep, sucking her essence in waves. Only she had more of them. Dozens coiling into her flesh, more than anyone else strung up here. Except for one other.

That thought chilled her more than the draining did. Why her? Why them?

Then came the other sound. Not screams. Not roots.

Explosions.

She craned her head, vision swimming from the effort. In the distance, in the middle of the cavern, her "hero"—that flaming jerk who'd she thought would set her free but he nearly incinerated her—was locked in combat. Fire trailed every swing, every strike rattled the chamber. But it wasn't the fire that made her throat dry.

It was what he was fighting.

A figure too tall, too radiant, its body carved in black stone and etched with glowing turquoise veins. White fire curled from its antlers like a crown of helllight, jewels glimmered from its chest and arms, and its gaze radiated the cold indifference of a god carved from earth.

It was too much.

The heat burned her skin, even from here. The screams clawed at her mind. The roots pulsed like parasites in her veins.

She shut her eyes, biting down on a sob. She hated this. All of it.

Cawren darted forward, cloak snapping in the heat. Crimson fire exploded around his fist as he drove it into a wall of roots lunging like spears. They burned to ash before they touched him, the chamber shuddering with the concussive blast.

F'Regentiaen's massive arm swung, runes blazing as roots spiraled from its elbow like chains. Cawren twisted low, sliding across scorched grass, a trail of fire in his wake. His palm snapped outward—

[Flaming Beam]—a lance of flame erupted, carving through a curtain of tendrils and scorching into the giant's chest. The light faded. Its hide was unmarked.

"Tch."

A volley of roots surged from the ground beneath him. He vaulted upward, crimson aura blazing from his heels like thrusters. Midair, he spun and lashed his arm down, a crescent wave of fire shearing the roots clean. They writhed, smoldered, then reformed almost instantly.

F'Regentiaen's other arm came down in a massive swing, antlers igniting brighter as if mocking him. Cawren blurred aside, heat cracking the stone where he'd been. He countered with a burning disc, hurled like a comet—roots intercepted, shrieking as they dissolved.

No damage to the core.

Crimson eyes narrowed behind the mask. He was moving fine, his attacks sharp, each dodge cutting close enough to singe him. But nothing he did was putting a dent in the thing itself. His UI mocked him with the health bar—still full, still untouched.

He growled, sliding back on his heels, sparks flaring from his aura. His mind raced.

Not brute force. Not yet. So… what's the angle?

Roots. Hosts. The woman. The other source. Antlers. Runes. He needed to pick the right thread to pull, or he'd waste himself on a wall that wasn't meant to fall.

His grin returned, teeth glinting in the firelight.

"Fine," he muttered. "Let's start breaking things until you care."

They had collided a half dozen times now, fire and stone crashing in waves that shook the chamber. Each exchange gave Cawren more pieces to the puzzle.

First—his UI showed only a health bar. No name. No title. Strange. Every real boss had a designation, a marker of status. This thing? Just a bar.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Second—the sources he'd burned earlier were still alive. Their bodies charred, but their auras stubbornly clung on, preserved by the very roots that drained them. He hadn't planned to spare them, but apparently the system—or this creature—refused to let them die.

Third—the Malefic Essence he'd pushed into the woman? Gone. Not dissipated—absorbed. Her body had taken it, consumed it, like she was more than just a victim. Another problem for later.

And last—F'Regentiaen's attacks. They were devastating, yes. A single swing cracked stone like paper, a bellow sent shockwaves through his aura. But the patterns were basic. Wide swings. Straight stomps. No creativity. Almost as if the thing was performing rather than killing.

His grin sharpened under the mask. All flash. I can work with—

He dashed, cloak flaring, angling toward one of the bound sources. Poison vial in hand. Let's see what happens when you choke on this—

Pain.

The world blurred in an instant. His vision snapped white as something slammed into his stomach with bone-cracking force. He didn't even see the hit—just felt it. A blunt, crushing blow that folded him inward before he was sent careening.

BOOM.

He hit the cavern wall hard enough to crater it, rock splitting, his fire scattering in sparks. His eyes went wide, the mask muffling the wet choke of blood spilling past his lips.

"What—?!"

His chest heaved, lungs rattling. He coughed again, crimson flecks painting the inside of his mask. His aura spasmed as he steadied himself, fury and shock twisting together.

"What?!" he spat again, eyes blazing.

Cawren dropped to a knee, one hand bracing the scorched ground. His chest burned, blood hot in his throat. He locked onto the creature looming above.

And then it did something he hadn't expected.

It smiled.

Not wide, not mocking—more like… surprised. Almost curious.

Cawren's jaw tightened. "When the hell could you move that fast…?"

His mind raced. That strike hadn't just been power—it was precision, speed, hidden behind its simple patterns. It had held back. It was holding back. The realization spiraled, and for a heartbeat his gut twisted with something he hadn't felt in in awhile.

This was bad. This was worse than bad.

No.

He inhaled sharply, forcing the panic down. He remembered the drills, the therapists, the breathing exercises that had been beaten into him during his angriest years. Panic was the fastest road to death. Calm was survival.

His breathing steadied. The pounding in his ears dulled. The chaos of the chamber narrowed into focus.

And then, in the midst of all that ruin and screaming, his lips twitched.

A smile.

Because panic had no place here—but anger did. He could channel that. Direct it. Unleash it. And this glowing antlered bastard was the perfect target.

He rose slowly, straightening his back despite the ache in his ribs. He slid into stance, aura crawling across his arms like molten chains, heat rippling off him in waves. His health bar was still good and he had over 80% health left.

"Not gonna lie," he rasped, voice cracking under the blood, "you almost had me for a second there."

His crimson eyes flared hotter, mask glinting in the cavern light.

Even now he wouldn't go all out. Some might call it arrogance. Others might call it idiocy.

But he called it what it was. Gamer intuition.

His mind was already flipping through menus of possibilities the way he'd scroll a hotbar.

"Alright," he muttered, smirking faintly. "If you're gonna play boss logic, I'll play gamer logic."

He lunged.

Flame burst from his soles, propelling him forward as he raised his palm. [Malefic Ember Essence] spiraled outward, slamming into F'Regentiaen's chest. The cyan runes flared bright as fire licked across its body, searing into stone and armor alike. The giant staggered, hissing as cracks split along its frame.

For a moment, it looked like it might work.

Then the glow reasserted itself, the damage dissolving like water swallowed by sand. The cracks sealed, the flames guttered out.

"Figures," Cawren muttered, twisting aside as a wall of roots tore from the ground where he'd been standing.

He grinned. "Okay. Let's move on to the next set."

His eyes flared, he snapped his fingers.

[Malefic Glare of Ruin].

The cavern lit up like a newborn sun. Fire spread in a dome of annihilation, carving through roots, shattering stone, collapsing walls. The chamber screamed as the shockwave pulsed outward—

And then stopped.

F'Regentiaen's cyan antlers flared white, runes glowing brighter than ever. The flames broke against an unseen barrier, the wave eaten alive by its protections. When the smoke cleared, the creature stood in the center, untouched.

Cawren spat again, chuckling darkly. "Of course."

He moved differently now—feints, jukes, angled bursts of fire that baited the beast's swings wide before he cut in from another direction. He dashed high, flared flame at his feet as if to dive, only to twist midair and hurl a spinning disc of fire toward the suspended hosts.

But every time, roots intercepted. A lattice of tendrils slammed into place, burning away under his flames but always reforming. Every attempt to reach the sources was blocked.

He landed lightly, cloak smoldering at the edges. "Huh. That's interesting."

The giant didn't move immediately, its burning gaze fixed on him.

"You don't give a damn about yourself, do you?" he said, grinning behind the mask. "All this flash, all this muscle—and you're just a guard dog. You only care about those sources."

The runes along F'Regentiaen's body flickered, pulsing faster. Its grip on the roots tightened, the chamber trembling as if in rage.

"Oh, what's this?" Cawren laughed, dodging a downward slam that split the cavern floor. "Getting irritated?"

The beast bellowed, a guttural roar shaking loose stone from the ceiling. Roots erupted in a frenzy, lashing toward him in a storm.

Cawren just grinned wider, weaving through the storm like a gamer dodging choreographed boss patterns.

"Good," he muttered. "Means I'm onto something."

Cawren's grin faded into something colder. His eyes scanned the field, then flicked back to the writhing roots wrapped around the woman.

"Saving her's no longer on the table," he muttered, voice flat. "If she's fated to survive, she will. If not… that's not my problem."

This wasn't normal. This wasn't even Requiem's usual chaos. A boss ripped from a video game, dropped into the world, no title, no framework—just a health bar. A glitch.

A dragged-out fight here was suicide. The more time passed, the more F'Regentiaen adjusted. The more those roots adapted. He needed to end this in one shot. Overwhelm the system. Break it the way you broke an engine by slamming too much code through it at once.

He tilted his head, smirk tugging back across his face. "Fine. Let's melt the whole damn hollow."

Fire rippled across his arms, building hotter and hotter, the chamber trembling under the weight of his aura. Roots surged toward him, desperate to stop him, but he simply sidestepped, letting sparks fall like meteors in his wake. He was no longer aiming at the creature itself.

He was positioning.

Step by step, flame carving a circle around him. He angled himself so the dome of fire he envisioned would collapse inward, swallowing the sources, the hosts, and the towering beast all in one sweep.

It would cost him. The energy drain would be brutal, maybe even crippling if he misjudged. But he had no patience for drawn-out bugs or endless scripted phases. This was a wipe mechanic waiting to happen, and he wasn't about to let it trigger.

His aura pulsed, flaring outward like wings. The cavern itself groaned as if it knew what he was about to do.

"Alright," he whispered, crouching into stance, flames coiling tighter and tighter. "Let's see if the system can keep up."

F'Regentiaen's eyes widened as the earth convulsed.

Totem poles of red and yellow Ryun erupted from the ground, bursting through soil and stone until they pierced the cavern ceiling, covering the entire hollow in a blazing lattice of power. The air vibrated under the sheer density of it, every rune seared into the walls screaming with destructive intent.

Cawren's hands came together, fingers weaving in sharp, deliberate rhythm.

[Unbreakable Malevolent Mudra]

Infernal light spilled from his palms as the mudra sealed, and a sacred current surged through him—cosmic lightning entwined with divine flame, bent into his will. With a snap of his wrists, the energies leapt outward, forming a burning grid that carved across the battlefield.

A wave of annihilation spread, a living net of destruction that shredded roots, crushed hosts, and split stone like wet parchment. The cavern shook under the impact, the devastation scarring everything it touched.

And then, before the light faded, Cawren raised his flaming hands again.

Runes seared the air, cycling faster and faster in a language of ruin. Infernal symbols spiraled into alignment, and power rippled outward, tearing reality like paper. A nightmare triangle formed between his palms, thrumming as though the abyss itself had been called to focus.

The blast wasn't hurled. It wasn't aimed.

It was.

A shaft of vertical annihilation tore into existence, instantaneous and absolute, spearing straight through the beast and the cluster of sources behind it.

The cavern became a second sun. Deafening sound collapsed into silence, then roared back again as a shockwave flattened the battlefield. Ash filled the air, molten stone dripping from the ceiling like rain.

Cawren laughed, wild and breathless, as the echoes finally faded.

But his smirk died as quickly as it had come. His laughter cut off into silence. His eyes widened behind the mask.

F'Regentiaen still stood.

The giant's antlers guttered, its black stone body cracked and smoking. Its stance wavered, battered, undeniably injured.

But the health bar hadn't moved. Not a fraction.

Cawren's grin dissolved into something colder. "No…"

Some of the hosts were gone—ash, severed roots, nothing left. And the woman? Somehow still alive, still pulsing faintly.

It made no sense. None of it.

Cawren's fists clenched as he whispered, voice low. "How the hell did you take no damage?"

F'Regentiaen lifted its head slowly, cyan runes pulsing brighter than before. Its stare locked onto him.

The cavern rumbled. F'Regentiaen straightened, its black frame steaming where Cawren's annihilation had seared it. For a heartbeat, the creature stood motionless, as if weighing something.

Then the antlers flared.

White fire surged skyward, burning brighter than magma, each tendril of flame bending into glyphs that stitched across the ceiling. The entire cavern became a cage of runes—lines of cyan and white interlocked like a net.

Cawren's UI screamed.

[Boss Mechanics Activated]

The hosts above convulsed, their bodies glowing like fuel rods. Roots sank deeper into them, pulling more light, more aura, feeding it back into the giant. The two heavily protected sources pulsed brightest of all, their aura siphons stabilizing the entire lattice.

Every attack he'd thrown, every trick he'd pulled—it all crashed uselessly against the new barrier. Fire flickered out. Poison dispersed. Even his own Malefic Essence was consumed instantly, redirected into the glowing framework.

F'Regentiaen bellowed, and the grid of light detonated outward in waves. Not to kill him—no, not yet—but to reset the field. Roots regrew, hosts reformed, the cavern restored to its pristine, order in seconds.

Cawren skidded back, cloak smoldering, eyes darting between the runes, the sources, the beast itself. His mind clicked through options. Attack the core? Blocked. Burn the hosts? Restored. Melt the hollow? Absorbed.

His smirk faltered.

Because now he saw it. The health bar hadn't dropped because it wasn't the win condition. The bar was tied to rules. A system glitch given structure.

An unbeatable situation had occurred.

And for the first time in Requiem, Cawren felt the cold certainty of a game locking him into failure.