VRMMO: World's First Glyphborne

Three men ran through the streets of a ruined city in the dead of night, their path only illuminated by the light of the full moon, which cast a deep purple light across the world instead of its usual white.

Buildings had collapsed and been reduced to rubble, colossal sword marks drawn across their bodies as if they were mere stalks of Bamboo cut down by a master swordsman.

Corpses were strewn across the streets, hanging from lamp posts, crushed into past inside giant footprints in tarmac or charred to a crisp.

Dozens of shadows moved in the darkness behind these men as they desperately scrambled to safety. But such a thing was not easily achieved.

Another shadow descended from the sky, slamming down in front of them and crushing a car beneath it in the process. The shadow moved, lunging towards the three men in a mess of twisted limbs that defied logic.

It had multiple mouths, one of which grew vertically from the chest, and two digitigrade hind legs that split into four total at the knees. Dozens of arms, each tipped with wicked claws, grew from its body in all sorts of places, including from what used to be eye sockets causing the creature to hold its orange, slitted eyeballs like they were the eye-stalks of a slug.

All in all its body was an inconsistent mixture of fat and stick thin, with matted and dirty white fur growing in patches from its black and rotten looking skin.

It was not a creature that belonged to their world, at least not anymore. The only hints of what it used to be was a sparkly pink, rhinestone collar around its bone thin neck that had a tag reading ’Princess’.

Princess opened the mouth in its chest as a tendril like tongue whipped out and shot towards the men. The man in the lead immediately turned, diving into the one behind him and tackling him to the ground. But before he could even try to help the third man, the tongue speared through his chest.

The medieval styled armour he was wearing was useless to stop it, as it pierced cleanly through the plate mail, crumpling it like tin foil, before bursting out his chest. The speared man coughed up a mouthful of blood, before his eyes started to glow a bright orange.

The speared man shared one last look with his leader, a look of understanding, forgiveness and guilt, before the speared man was dragged back to the twisted abomination. His body disappearing into the chest mouth just as flames started to gather around his body.

The twisted creature turned towards the remaining two and started to advance slowly, however it barely made it three steps before its chest started to glow brightly. A second later, its torso exploded in a dazzling plume of roaring orange flames.

Its victims final attack from beyond the grave. Pieces of its twisted meat splattered across the road, black blood painting the faces of the surviving men, as the colossal twisted body collapsed to the ground and a small leech squirmed out of the gaping hole left in the creatures body.

It screeched in displeasure, immediately locking its eyes onto the men and shot towards them, wriggling with renewed vigour as it gnashed its circular mouth in hunger. However a moment later it too exploded, when it was struck by a bolt of sickly green energy launched from the leader’s hand.

Wasting no time, the leader glanced down the road that they had come, and at the small army of monstrous abominations running after them. He was sure that he could have outrun them all, but then he saw it.

In the light of the flames dying flames, there was a glint of gold from atop the back of one of the shadows. At that moment, the leader understood that there was only one way they were getting out of here alive.

He took the bag from his back and shoved it into the hands of the man he had saved.

"Go. Take it and get out of here." He demanded, rising to his feet and turning to face the oncoming army.

"W-what? Jason... You can’t. You are much more important to the resistance. I’m just... I’m useless. I can’t take-", the survivor stuttered before his leader cut him off with a shout.

"It’s not a discussion, that is an order! Now go! I’ll hold them off. It’s the only way that relic has a chance of getting to the right hands. Don’t worry about me, I’m not going to be fighting them alone, remember? I’ll be fine."

He smiled half-heartedly, clearly not believing his own words.

The survivor stuttered again, trying to find the words to argue, but he couldn’t. He lowered his head, sniffing slightly as a few tears formed in his eyes, before he scrambled off of the ground and ran. He didn’t dare to look back.

Jason watched the scrawny man run and let out a soft, half hearted laugh.

"Guess I’m going to see you two real soon, huh? Hope whatever comes next, isn’t too bad." He muttered to himself, as he stared down the approaching golden glint that finally came into view.

Dozens of twisted abominations, horrendous mutated wretches of creatures that they used to know in their day to day lives. Some with riders, and some without. At the head of the pack, however, was not a twisted abomination.

Instead it was a man, wearing glamorous golden armour that screamed of his regal bearing and a crown resting atop his head, rode atop a pure white stallion.

It was not an unfamiliar sight, nor a surprising one. Just one that he had never hoped to see.

"Prince. We meet again, I see. How long has it been?" Jason said with a smirk, his tone so casual it was as if they were just randomly running into each other at the supermarket.

However the crowned rider did not share his humour. His handsome face stayed completely neutral, his glare cold and emotionless.

"Reaper. It is not too late to join the guild once again. It doesn’t have to end this way for you."

"Heh... Even now you won’t give up with that," Jason muttered with a laugh, before raising his head and puffing out his chest. He held his arms out to the side, a vile green energy swirling around in his palms.

"But you know that it does. It was always going to be this way."

The corpses filling the streets twitched and shook violently, before they began to rise. Freshly dead and long dead rose all the same, answering their masters call. Even the creature with the gaping, smouldering hole in its chest rose from the ground as it faced its own kind.

The Crowned Rider glanced at the corpses, regarding them with eyes filled with boredom and disdain, before he sighed heavily.

"Yes... It was." He muttered, before drawing his sword and coating it in the glowing golden aura of Providence.