Blinding white light flooded from the gap, contrasting with the purple light dominating the hall. Fresh air—or at least, different air—blew in, carrying the scent of earth, leaves, and sweat. The scent of the outside world.
And within that frame of light, figures appeared.
Mara froze, her veteran gamer instincts immediately analyzing. Five figures. Standard beginner raid party formation: one tank in front with a large shield and plate armor, one mage behind with a robe and staff, one ranger with a bow, one warrior with a greatsword, and one priest with a white robe. Their armor was gleaming, tiered Rare and Epic. Their levels… she couldn't see the numbers, but from the aura and appearance of their gear, they were probably in the level 60-80 range. An average party for a mid-level dungeon.
The white light from the newly opened door pierced the purple darkness of the obsidian hall, bringing with it a mass of foreign air that felt rough in the throat. Five silhouettes were framed in the doorway, their armor glinting faintly from the light behind. They stepped in, and the sound of their iron shoes grinding the stone floor broke the sacred silence that had endured for perhaps centuries.
Mara froze. Every one of her veteran gamer instincts, accumulated over eight thousand hours, screamed in her head. Raid party. Standard formation. Tank in front, mage behind, ranger, warrior, priest. Gleaming gear, at least Rare, some Epic. Level… try to gauge.
She tried to think of the command to view enemy levels, as one usually did in the game. No status window appeared above their heads. But there was something—a faint impression, like pressure in the air around them. An intuition emanating from her strange new body informed her: they are weak. Exceedingly weak compared to the insane numbers in her own stats.
"Look! She's already awake!" shouted the archer, a female elf with blonde hair in a ponytail, raising her longbow. Her voice echoed, full of an almost childish excitement. "But she's just standing there. Seems like her AI isn't fully loaded yet."
AI? Oh, they think I'm an NPC. They think this is a normal raid. Mara wanted to laugh, but this body's jaw was locked. She wanted to shout that she wasn't an NPC, that she was a trapped player, but the voice stuck in a throat that wouldn't obey her. What emerged was only an empty gaze from the ruby red eyes, a terrible calm.
Their leader, a human man with a large shield and plate armor engraved with a cross, stepped forward a few paces. His helmet was open, revealing a bearded face with an overly wide, confident smile. "Relax, Lena. Final raid bosses usually have an initial phase where they just deliver lore first. We take position. Buff up first."
They moved fluidly, a ritual they had practiced hundreds of times. The priest, an old man in a clean white robe, raised his staff. "[Blessing of Light]!" His voice echoed, and golden light enveloped all five of them. Mara felt something—a faint itching sensation on her skin, like weak sunlight trying to burn a layer of wax. It didn't hurt. Just… irritating.
Holy buff. Anti-Demon Aura. That should reduce demon-type stats. But… Mara quickly accessed [THE INTERFACE] in her mind. Her stats did not change. STR still 9,999. INT still 12,500. Their level of buff wasn't even potent enough to touch the surface of her passive defense.
"[Anti-Demon Aura]!" shouted the paladin again, and a brighter circle of light radiated from his feet, painting the obsidian floor a pale yellow. The aura reached Nyxaria's feet, and for a moment, the paladin looked satisfied. "Done. Now she should be weakened. Prepare for burst damage in the first phase."
They spread out, taking formation. Tank in front, warrior to the side, ranger and mage behind, priest in the middle. They looked so confident. So professional. Mara recognized this type of player. The ones who read guides, watch videos, practice mechanics to perfection, then enter a raid assuming everything will proceed according to script.
This is not according to script. I don't know the script. I don't even know how to move this body properly.
"Don't forget," said the mage, a woman in a purple robe with a crystal staff, her voice a whisper but still clear in the hall's silence, "drop the [Shadowreaper Scythe] legendary for me, okay. It hasn't dropped for three raids now."
"I want the [Demonheart Gem] for sword enchantment," the warrior replied, swinging his two-handed greatsword lightly.
Mara listened to them. Every word was like a nail forged inside her head. They were discussing her like a walking bag of loot. Exactly like before. Exactly like the Crimson Crusaders who spawn-killed me. Just because I'm an NPC—just because they think I'm not real—they feel entitled. A strange heat began to boil inside this calm chest. Not Mara's anger, but something deeper, more primal. A desire to silence them.
Her body, without her conscious command, moved. Just one small step forward. The sound of her boot crunched on the obsidian, a single sound that cut through their chatter.
Five pairs of eyes focused on her. The paladin's smile faded slightly. "She… moved early. Usually she starts with a monologue first."
Nyxaria did not speak. She just stood there, hands folded in front, her black wings drooping silently on her back. The purple light from the invisible ceiling struck her silver hair, creating a silhouette so graceful and so threatening. The silence she cast began to expand, filling the space between the pillars, pressing the air until it felt dense.
I have to say something. I have to try to communicate. But how? This voice… this voice is not mine. And if they know I'm a player, what will they do? Will they help? Or… will they see me as a weird bug, an exploit to be killed for better loot?
The ranger, Lena, frowned. "Weird. Her aura… feels different from the guide videos. Heavier."
"Don't psych yourself out," grumbled the paladin, but his voice lost a bit of its confident tone. "Maybe because we're the first to trigger the raid after maintenance. But the mechanics should be the same. Okay, I'll provoke. Get ready."
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
He drew his sword, eyes fixed on Nyxaria. "Hey, demon! Don't you have any last words before we send you back to the darkness?"
The challenge hung in the air. Mara felt a strange urge from within—an instinctive desire to respond. This body seemed to have its own memory, an embedded script. But she restrained it. She forced herself to be silent. Only her eyes, red and glowing, stared at the paladin without emotion.
The silence lasted for ten seconds. Then twenty.
Sweat began to bead on the paladin's temples. His hand holding the sword trembled almost imperceptibly. "Is… is she erroring?"
"Maybe stuck on the phase trigger," whispered the mage. "Try attacking once, maybe that will start it."
The warrior, the impatient one, raised his sword. "Why wait? If she's bugged, we just kill her fast, take the loot, reset the instance." With a small shout, he leaped forward, swinging his greatsword with full force at Nyxaria's shoulder. "[Mountain Splitter]!"
Mara saw the sword coming. The world seemed to slow down. She could see every detail: the dull gleam of the metal, the yellow skill aura surrounding the blade, the air distortion behind it. Her old healer instincts screamed: Dodge! But this body did not move. She didn't even raise a hand.
He will cut me. Will it hurt? Is this armor strong enough? My STR is 9,999, but my VIT is 8,800. It should…
The sword struck.
The resulting sound was not of metal hitting metal, or flesh being cut. It was a breaking sound—a dry, sharp crack like shattering glass.
The warrior's eyes widened. His Epic-quality iron greatsword, which had felled dozens of dungeon bosses, broke in two. The blade clattered to the floor with a ringing sound, while the hilt remained in his now violently trembling hand. The remaining blade only touched the surface of Nyxaria's shoulder, parting a fold of her black gown, revealing the porcelain skin beneath. No scratch. No red mark. Not even dust remained.
Oh. Mara's mind went blank. So… that's how it is.
The hall fell into a dead silence, only the sound of the warrior's gasping breath as he stared at his shattered sword in disbelief.
Then, something inside Mara—a jolt of electricity from fear, chaos, and bewildering relief—released something. Not a decision. Not a skill command. It was a reflex, like blinking, like drawing a breath. The fingers of Nyxaria's right hand, still folded in front, moved almost imperceptibly. A flick.
And the world exploded.
From her fingertip, a point of pure darkness appeared, the size of a marble. Then the point erupted into a roaring wave of black energy, a flat wave expanding with a speed that made the air scream. The wave was not shaped like fire or lightning. It was like an eraser of existence, removing light, sound, and air in its path.
It was [Void Severance]. A slashing energy that splits space. But in her panic and unintentional action, what emerged was not a sharp blade, but a mini uncontrolled area explosion.
Four of them—paladin, warrior, mage, ranger—had no time to scream. The black wave swept over them. Their Rare and Epic armor meant nothing, like paper hit by a fierce blaze. Their bodies were not thrown; they were erased, turned into fine gray dust scattered in the air before finally vanishing completely. Only four small white beams of light—symbols of player death in Aeternum—shot up to the hall ceiling before disappearing.
Only the old priest remained. He stood a few steps behind, just outside the edge of the wave's reach. His holy aura that had shone earlier was now completely extinguished. His white robe was torn in several places. He was frozen, mouth agape, eyes bulging as he stared at the spot where his comrades had stood just moments ago. Now there was only clean obsidian floor, with faint marks like scorch traces at the edges.
Mara stared at her own hand. The hand that had just flicked. No smoke. No residual energy. It felt like… like just swatting a mosquito. What… what did I just do? What skill was that? I just… just flicked my finger. Was that [Void Severance]? But why was it an explosion? Is it because I wasn't in control?
Her body did not tremble. Her breath remained regular. But inside, Mara felt like she wanted to vomit. Four people. They… they died. Instantly. They probably respawned in the city. But… in this real world, did they really die? Were they players like me?
The priest fell to his knees. The sound of his trembling armor clinking broke the silence. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face. "G-God… help…" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That… that's not a skill on the wiki… She… she shouldn't…"
Nyxaria turned her face toward the man. The movement made the priest let out a small scream and crawl backward, like a wounded animal. The red eyes swept over him, cold, analytical. No anger. No hatred. Only an observation.
Don't kill him. Mara pleaded with herself. Don't. Let him go. Let him… tell the others. Let them know this is dangerous. That I… that Nyxaria is not just an NPC.
This body, as if catching her strongest desire not to kill, just stood still. Then, very slowly, Nyxaria raised one hand—not to attack, but as if to indicate the exit.
The priest gasped, unbelieving. He looked toward the still-open door, then back at the perfectly still demon figure. His survival instinct won. With a clumsy motion, he turned and ran, staggering, toward the white light. His panicked footsteps echoed in the hall, until finally he disappeared behind the door. A few seconds later, with a loud rumble, the giant obsidian door began to close, slicing off the light of the outside world until it vanished. Only the purple darkness and silence remained.
Mara still stood in the same spot. A strange smell filled her nose—the smell of ozone, burnt metal, and something sweetly rotten that might be the remnants of… of them. She stared at the floor where the four players had stood. Completely clean. As if they had never existed.
They talked about loot. About legendary items. They had plans, strategies. They had lives outside the game, probably. And I… I erased them in one second.
Her stomach churned. She wanted to bend over, vomit, scream. But Nyxaria's body only stood upright. No abdominal muscle contraction. No tears. Only a cold reality: the threat had been neutralized.
[System Feedback: Hostile Entities Neutralized. Threat Level: Nullified.]
The notification appeared in her field of view, cold and informative. Then, another notification, larger, framed in gold.
[AUTHORITY LOG]
First Combat Engagement Recorded.
Entity: Nyxaria — Demon Queen
Classification: Catastrophe-Class Active
Outcome: Total Annihilation (4) | Survivor (1) — Intentional Release
World Metric Updated.
And not long after, another system message, this time feeling broader, like a broadcast to somewhere far away.
[SYSTEM NOTICE: Player Deaths Registered.
Guild Affiliation: "Dawn Vanguard"
Cause of Death: Catastrophe-Class Entity (Nyxaria)
Location: Obsidian Sanctuary (Restricted Zone) Notification dispatched to Guild Hall.]
Mara read it with a feeling of emptiness. Guild Dawn Vanguard. Not Crimson Crusaders. So, another guild already knows. They will spread the news.
Somewhere far away, in a guild hall bustling with players who had just been isekai'd and were still trying to understand their new reality, a large quest board made of crystal vibrated. A new entry appeared in blood-red light:
[ALERT: BOSS RAID ACTIVATEDTarget: Nyxaria, Demon Queen
Location: Obsidian Sanctuary
Status: EXTREMELY HOSTILE — DEVIANT BEHAVIOR
Casualties: Dawn Vanguard Party (4 confirmed KIA)
Recommended Level: 85+ (Full Raid Party, 40 players)
Reward: Suspended pending threat re-evaluation.]
Mara didn't know that. All she knew was the silence that now felt different. An aura of violence still hung in the air, a residue of energy that made the hairs on her nape—if she still had any—stand on end. She looked at her hand again. Pale, long, perfect fingers. No bloodstains. No marks of battle.
This is level 999 power. These are not empty numbers on a screen. This is real. And I… I can't control it. What happens if I truly get angry? If I use a greater skill?
Her greatest fear now was not of the players who would come, or of the world that was hostile to her. Her fear was of herself. Of this cosmic vessel that responded to her panic with absolute annihilation. She was a nuclear weapon with consciousness, and she didn't know where its safety switch was.?