You Already Won

Nothing worked. Nothing ever did.

Cawren stood still, chest heaving as the cavern groaned with the weight of activated mechanics. The grid of light pulsed above, the hosts glowed like beacons, the roots whispered like a forest alive. And at the center, the giant—still nameless, Just a health bar—watched him with those burning cyan eyes.

He exhaled slowly, bitter resignation rolling in his lungs. What a way to go out.

It was fitting, wasn't it? He'd spent his time here burning everything—towns, people, himself. He wasn't the best person. Hell, he wasn't even a good one back on Earth. Maybe this was the story finally writing him off.

But if nothing else, he could make the bastard work for it.

No smirk this time. No reckless grin. Just silence.

Cawren slid his mask off, the metal hissing faintly as it vanished into his inventory. He let the cavern's cold air sting his skin, felt the sweat and blood cooling on his face. One long breath steadied him. His crimson eyes blazed as he raised his arms.

Chains of fire unraveled from his wrists, spiraling outward with a roar. Each ended in a blade of searing flame, sharp enough to hum against the cavern's pressure. He let them circle him in slow arcs, then spun them faster.

Woom.

Woom.

Woom.

Wooooom.

Wooooooom.

The sound filled the chamber, of burning steel and fury. Sparks slashed the grass into cinders as his whirling chains formed a perimeter of death.

Across from him, F'Regentiaen tilted its head. And then—it smiled.

The cracks along its body glowed brighter, roots quivering as though sensing the shift. This cornered pest still had fight.

Still had bite.

Alesha's eyes fluttered open again, and the world had shifted.

The barrier pulsed overhead, runes chaining the cavern like a glowing prison. Roots slithered and groaned, their tendrils dug so deep into her veins she swore she could hear them sucking.

And then her heart dropped.

Her so-called flame hero was losing.

Cawren was being tossed across the cavern like a rag doll, each hit carving new craters into the stone. His chains whirled, his flames burned, but he was reckless—swinging too wide, dodging too late. Even she could tell. He wasn't fighting to win. He was fighting because he couldn't stand still.

He had given up.

Her breath hitched. That meant she was going to die here. Or worse. Drained, used, forever, strung up again and again like every other body hanging around her.

Her chest tightened. Why me?

She hadn't done anything to deserve this. Sure, people wished her death on Twitter and TikTok and every other site she'd ever advertised on. Her family had cut her off years ago, but that was their choice, not hers. Her life choices hadn't hurt anyone. She'd just… lived.

And now this? Interdimensional human trafficking? Being turned into a battery by some stupid ass forest monster?

This was so unfair.

It was always her. Getting screwed, over and over.

And she wasn't even getting anything back. No attention. No praise. Not even a payoff.

Her jaw clenched. She was a boss ass bitch. This wasn't how she went out.

She had waited for a savior, hadn't she? That was how stories went, wasn't it? Beautiful women were saved. They let the men fight and die for them, basked in the spotlight, reaped the benefits. That was how it was supposed to work.

But not here.

Here, no one cared. No one was coming. She wasn't a princess in a tower. She wasn't special.

She was—

Her thoughts snapped.

Her OnlyFans dashboard.

She hadn't seen it since she'd escaped that black psycho. The one who'd cornered her until that fat idiot and those guys defended her—died for her. She had grabbed the idiot's gem, a purple one that looked like glass twisted into flame, and teleported. Straight into this nightmare pit.

Since then, nothing. No screen. Just dead silence.

Her eyes flicked upward, sweat stinging her brow. The roots. They had invaded her body, eaten her aura. Maybe that was why the dashboard hadn't appeared. Maybe it was blocked. Maybe it was still there, waiting.

Her heart pounded.

If it was still there… if she could force it back…

She closed her eyes, trying to channel—anything. Her body shook, her breath shallow, roots pulsing inside her like barbed wires dragging her hollow. She forced the thought: summon, appear, come here.

Nothing.

Her mind scraped against empty space. She had zero knowledge of anime power-ups or fantasy systems. She wasn't that kind of girl. The closest she'd ever gotten was some cheap cosplay shoots she'd been paid for—half the time she didn't even know who the character was supposed to be.

Her lips moved weakly, muttering lines she half-remembered from movies. "By the power of… whatever… open sesame? Bibbidi bobbidi—fuck—" Her voice cracked. "Avada… kadabra? Oh my god, this is so fucking stupid."

The roots dug deeper.

She screamed. "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!" Her back arched as they writhed inside her, drinking every flicker of aura she had left.

An explosion rocked the hollow, shaking loose gravel from above. She gasped, twisting her head—Cawren and the monster still clashed, fire and cyan light colliding. But the barrier was still there, shimmering, keeping her in place.

He wasn't going to last. She knew it.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. Maybe Ryun? That's what they called it, right? Aura magic, energy, whatever. She grit her teeth, clenched her fists, screamed until her throat tore—nothing.

Failed.

She laughed. Bitter, broken. "Failed. Course. Story of my life currently."

Still, she tried again. And again. And again. Each time the roots only burrowed deeper, each failure gnawing at her sanity.

Another explosion—smaller this time. The sound carried less weight.

Her heart seized. "Shit," she hissed, panic boiling over. "Shit, shit, SHIT!"

Her teeth clacked as she snapped, her voice cracking into a snarl.

"Fuck this! FUCK this world, fuck this thing, fuck everyone who's ever done me wrong! Twitter assholes, deadbeat family, creeps, simps, psychos—FUCK YOU ALL! I don't care if you all die screaming!"

Her voice broke into a sob, then a scream, raw and guttural.

"I'M DONE! You hear me?! FUCK THIS WORLD!"

Her anger burned like wildfire in her chest. Not fear. Not despair.

Rage.

She wasn't a princess waiting for rescue. She was a queen. A boss. A bitch who got what she wanted.

And she refused this.

Her throat ripped raw as she screamed into the hollow:

"OPEN THE FUCK UP! YOU CAN'T BRING ME HERE AND GIVE ME NOTHING! THAT'S NOT FAIR! YOU GONNA TAKE A REAL BITCH LIKE ME AND DO ME LIKE THAT?! BE FOR FUCKING REAL! I DON'T DESERVE THIS! I DON'T CARE—I DON'T CARE—AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Her aura convulsed. Shimmering light curled off her body, twisting in ugly spirals. What once enticed now soured—her Ryun rotted into something darker, a spoiled perfume made venom.

The roots shuddered. They hissed, recoiled, some even cracked apart as the festering energy boiled them from the inside. Enough slack freed her arms to project—to push.

And then it came.

Her screen.

Hovering in front of her, like it always had in those quiet moments when she'd check her numbers, her comments, her worth.

OnlyFans Dashboard.

Except this time, it didn't look right.

The soft blue-white edges glitched, flickering with static, pixels tearing and reforming. Comments scrolled by in jagged bursts, usernames twisting into unreadable glyphs. Sub counts spun wildly, surging into millions, crashing to zero, spiking again. Notifications flashed like alarms, their dings warped into mechanical shrieks.

The screen jittered, cracking down the middle as if reality itself couldn't hold it. Fragments bled into the air, raining shards of corrupted interface onto the grass, where they fizzled like embers.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Then the background darkened.

The clean white of her dashboard inverted, drenched in shadow, the logos warping into crimson sigils. The "heart" icons dripped black, pulsing like wounds. The familiar layout twisted into something alive, its edges crawling with tendrils of light.

{A New Legacy}

From the collapse of barriers and the fracture of desire, something new stirs.

An amalgamation of Sryun's invasive hunger, Malefic Essence's ruinous flame, and a glitched system's corrupted will.

A being born of desire and lust, sharpened into weaponized want.

You are no longer bound by flesh alone.

You can become the Malefic Temptress.

———————————————————

The Malefic Temptress is no mere mortal or Outlander. It is a paradox given shape:

A body sculpted of living allure, where aura manifests as silken coils of shadow and flame, wrapping and unwrapping like hands that both beckon and strangle.

A gaze that shimmers with the shine of notifications eternal, drawing all eyes and bending all wills to its rhythm of craving.

A voice laced with algorithmic hunger, every word a subscription, every breath a transaction.

———————————————————

Yet the true horror—no, the true divinity—is this:

You will be fused with your UI.

Not wearing it. Not using it. You are it.

Every metric—view, like, follower, subscriber—pours directly into your veins as power. Your interface no longer hovers above you. It bleeds with you, breathes with you, shines out from your skin. You may still command it, still call screens and functions—but know this truth: it is not a tool anymore. It is your soul.

———————————————————

⚠ Warning:

This transformation is not a costume. Not a mask. It is the rewriting of your core soul.

Once begun, it cannot be undone.

Once chosen, it cannot be altered.

By favor of the Vantis, you have been given a cruel gift.

A new legacy may grow from this choice.

May your legacy grow Supreme.

———————————————————

She didn't waste time crying about the choice.

Lose herself? Please. She barely had herself to begin with. Family gone, haters loud, men disposable. That dashboard? Cute while it lasted, but she hadn't even used it that much.

She didn't care.

Survival was the goal. Always had been. Living life on her terms. And if this new world wanted to play games, she'd play harder. Maybe even find her way back home with more power than any of them ever dreamed.

And Vantis? Whoever the hell that was—if they were watching her, if they had favor for her?

Her lips curled, cruel and sharp.

"Yeah," she whispered, eyes gleaming as her aura blackened and cracked. "I accept."

The roots shrieked as if in terror, the hollow itself bending toward her choice. Her dashboard shattered fully, icons dripping into her veins like molten sigils. Her body twisted, her soul rewrote.

A laugh slipped from her mouth, low and venomous.

Cawren had grown used to the mechanics by now. F'Regentiaen's pattern was predictable—if not survivable.

Phase One: sweeping root lash, left to right.

Phase Two: delayed overhead slam, roots bursting upward like spikes.

Phase Three: aura pulse that stunned if he didn't time his dodge.

Phase Four: homing tendrils, drilling into the ground before striking like serpents.

Phase Five: the false opening, where its core glowed, baiting him into striking only to counter with a devastating claw.

Phase Six: the spiral—roots and flame spinning around the cavern like a blender, forcing him into tight dodges with no room to breathe.

He had learned to weave through them. Barely. His magic was low, each cast a gamble. His health had dropped below thirty percent. One major mistake and he was done.

And yet—

The weak woman…

Her aura erupted. Her roots, once binding her, now bent like worshippers, coiling around the other hosts and tearing them apart. Their screams echoed as she absorbed them, their life force twisting into her body.

Cawren's eyes widened. Surpassing me…?

F'Regentiaen froze too, its towering body stiff, those cyan cracks along its body glowing with something like fear.

Cawren laughed. Short, bitter. Then full.

"Ha… haha… hahahahahahaha! YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!"

The beast turned toward the woman, abandoning him for the first time. And in that instant, Cawren understood. It was afraid.

But he would never let it.

"You haven't killed me yet!" he roared, blood dripping from his lips.

He snapped open his UI. Fingers flickered through loadouts with ruthless speed. He'd called it pointless before—why bother when nothing damaged the glitch? But now? If he could keep the beast away from her, stall it long enough, then…

He would win.

Giving up was a loser's mentality. One he couldn't believe he so willingly accepted.

He chose his PvE loadout.

Divine armor wrapped around him, each plate black steel etched with crimson inscriptions. His right arm transformed, a clawed gauntlet glowing with infernal power. His mask reformed into a snarling demon's visage, shadows cloaking him like smoke, the cloak of a king becoming the mantle of a demon lord.

A build made for speed running. For 1v1ing bosses.

He appeared in front of F'Regentiaen, blocking its path. His clawed hand opened. Aura surged.

[Malefic Strike of Malice]

His palm lit up like a sun collapsing in on itself.

They slammed into each other again and again.

Cawren's claw tore, his chains lashed, his fire screamed. But F'Regentiaen's counter was merciless. The beast's body split open in seams of cyan, divine blue flame gushing out like molten rivers. Each swing came not only with crushing force but a hallowing fire that burned concepts themselves.

Cawren should've been ash.

But his armor held.

The lore of it—the "Divine Carapakai of Everblack"—had been fancy lore at first, a collector's trophy in his old game, yet still viable. In Requiem, though? That insane backstory of withstanding thirty years in the infernos of the False Sun without a crack… it was real. The armor groaned but it endured.

Cawren didn't.

His health bled away in ugly drops, his stamina a hollow gauge. Potions wouldn't register anymore. The system didn't even blink when he tried. His Ryun was a whisper, each cast weaker than the last, more annoyance than damage. Every strike he landed barely scratched, just enough to register, just enough to slow.

It was resistance, nothing more.

A pest clinging to life.

But the health bar… it was trickling. Slow. But it moved.

He spat blood behind his mask and grinned through cracked teeth.

And then his gaze flicked past the beast.

Her.

The woman.

The barrier kept him from reaching her, kept her from reaching him. She absorbed more hosts with each second, the roots bowing to her will, her form shuddering with a transformation that made even the monster hesitate.

He wasn't helping her.

He couldn't.

The barrier made it impossible.

But still he fought. Because if he didn't, if the beast reached her too quickly, then it would be over.

Worst case? He would die the second before F'Regentiaen fell. That's how razor-thin the margin was.

And it wasn't even a partnership.

She could care less if he lived or died. He could say the same about her.

Meanwhile, F'Regentiaen's combos were merciless. A blur of roots, claws, and divine blue flame. One caught him in the gut, another cracked his shoulder, and then a pillar of searing light swallowed him whole.

Health: 5%.

Cawren slammed into the wall hard enough to crater it, blood spattering inside his mask. His body screamed with pain—but that was the one grace of these avatar shells. Pain was blinding, unbearable, but it didn't stop him. As long as the bar wasn't empty, he could move. He could think.

And on the edge of death, thoughts came uninvited.

Anger. Always anger. All the things he'd never finished, never avenged. The endless itch to burn down more than he ever could.

But one memory cut through.

The way he got here. Right after setting that world record. He'd thought about it a hundred times, but never this way.

It was stupid. Beyond stupid. But what the hell did he have left to lose?

He coughed, spat blood, and forced his hands open.

Then he laughed.

"To defeat the Supremes is considered 'impossible,' too," he rasped, voice ragged through his grin. "So what's the difference here? Make the impossible possible."

He stood, legs shaking but locked with resolve.

The woman—needed time. That was all. He would give it to her.

F'Regentiaen turned toward her, roots lunging like harpoons, eyes locked on its true threat. But every single root that crossed her aura bent, twisted, and turned traitor. Her new essence consumed them.

Its head jerked back toward Cawren.

It hesitated.

Every instinct screamed not to ignore him. Not this pest.

Twenty-five percent of its health bar gone.

Unacceptable.

And yet—the woman's presence only grew stronger, roots betraying their master, power building.

The beast snarled, split between killing the flame-born nuisance and ending the rising queen.

Cawren just spread his arms wider, crimson eyes blazing beneath his demon mask.

"C'mon," he laughed, voice cracking. "Don't keep me waiting."

The UI screamed to life in front of him. A backlog of level-ups he'd hoarded for months. Normally he'd save them—planned, optimized, min-maxed for boss runs. But now? Now they weren't for damage. They were for time.

The first [DULURE: Circle of Empowerment] flared beneath his boots. An intricate lattice of living flame, runes folding and unfolding like burning gears. Power surged up his legs, sharpening every nerve, condensing every strike into something crisp and lethal.

Then he made another. And another. Circles bloomed across the hollow in a furious constellation of fire. The only place untouched was behind the barrier—where Alesha was growing, consuming, becoming.

He gritted his teeth.

Then tapped into his remaining stamina, converting it into raw magic, draining health to keep the loop alive. A reckless exchange. But his grin widened.

LEVEL UP.

He dashed to the next circle. Power surged.

LEVEL UP.

Another dash. Another surge. His speed became blinding, afterimages streaking like crimson comets across the cavern.

F'Regentiaen's head snapped, its antlered crown whipping side to side, eyes struggling to track. The beast had never needed to split its attention before. Now every instinct failed it.

The cavern shuddered as Cawren launched upward, flame trailing in spirals behind him. His claw ignited, fist sheathed in infernal light.

BANG.

The first punch cracked across the monster's jaw.

LEVEL UP. BANG.

Another hammered into its chest, flames detonating against the divine bark.

LEVEL UP. BANG.

A third flung the beast into the ceiling, staggering it.

Over and over, he slammed F'Regentiaen into the ceiling, each blow a rhythm of flame, each strike layered with the artificial spike of another upgrade.

The hollow lit like a forge.

Flames raced up the walls, scorching the ancient roots to cinders. Dust cascaded from the cracked ceiling, stone splintering with every impact. The once-serene field below was a storm of falling debris and burning sigils, each one flickering as he drained more of himself.

LEVEL UP.

BANG.

LEVEL UP.

BANG.

LEVEL UP.

BANG!

Cawren roared, his voice ragged but wild, echoing like a war drum through the collapsing cavern.

F'Regentiaen's health bar barely moved—but it was moving. The trickle still drained, bit by bit. More importantly, the monster was stunned. Locked. Each hit forcing it back into another.

This wasn't a move. Not really. It wasn't even supposed to exist.

Back in the game, he'd used it once to bypass an entire tower, launching a boss through floor after floor until it clipped outside the map. A glitch. A record-breaking trick no one believed at first. The kind of thing that got him here in Requiem.

Now he was using the same logic. A glitch against a glitch.

Could it work? Probably not. But it was entertaining.

He hammered his fists into F'Regentiaen, each strike forcing the giant higher, faster. The beast roared, roots flailing wildly, but the circles chained them both in a loop of force.

Below, Alesha consumed. More than half the hosts had been drained, their bodies shriveling as her aura thickened into something monstrous. And finally—the health bar moved.

Rapidly.

Cawren's laughter turned feral. He kept punching, flame pouring from his gauntlet like the wrath of gods, each blow leaving trails of red and yellow scars in the air.

The ceiling gave first.

Stone cracked, collapsed, and then shattered, a cataclysmic thunder as he drove the monster upward.

They burst through the ground. Then through the sky.

The hollow exploded behind them, a cyclone of fire and roots collapsing inward. The trail they left behind was a blazing scar in the heavens, a line of crimson fire cutting through cloud and stone.

Above Curtenail.

The whole region sprawled beneath them, ruined cities, broken plains, still-burning scars of battle. Blackened clouds rolled like oceans, glowing red from the inferno below. And at the center of it all, the firestorm of his trail carved upward. Fists still driving the beast higher, higher, higher.

Then he appeared above it.

Bringing his fists together, knuckles grinding as his aura flared. The light swelled—a searing conflagration so immense it painted the sky. For an instant the entire Curtenail region was bathed in crimson-gold, as though one of the suns had been pulled down to hover between his hands.

F'Regentiaen's eyes snapped wide. Fear. Its divine body cracked, its antlers of white flame guttered. The health bar that had once refused to budge now withered, bleeding faster and faster.

Cawren laughed. Wild. Broken. Victorious.

Then he brought his fists down.

The blow landed square in F'Regentiaen's chest.

The impact launched both of them downward, streaking back toward the scarred land below. The trail was a burning scar through the heavens, red clouds torn open.

And then—impact.

They hit the ground with the force of several nukes, the land convulsing in shockwaves that flattened forests, buckled stone, and split rivers in two.

It didn't kill the beast. Its body absorbed the punishment, the glitch still protecting it. But it rattled it. Hard. The giant staggered, spasming, unable to hold its stance.

Stunned.

And in that breathless instant—

the health bar ticked to zero.

F'Regentiaen's body cracked like glass, light bleeding out in streams of blue flame. Its withering form slumped, its roots curling inward like a dying flower.

Cawren's eyes blurred, his body screaming, his health flashing red. And the last thing he saw before his vision flickered…

A face.

Purple and black hair framing dark yellow eyes.

Eyes that didn't just look at him. They consumed him.