The arena was far from the grave pit Bob knew. No towering constructions of bone and marrowroot or swirling doom-clouds clogging the sky above. It was set up as a smaller, tighter experience. Manageable at first sight, definitely not T5. Cracked walls made of stained stone blocked off the horizon. The ground beneath his feet dry and packed. A dozen or so defeated skeletons lay scattered. One of them a robed figure, this tiers ritualist, fingers lingering with embers of dark energy. At the center stood the overlord.

  It had already risen. But unlike the throne-born behemoth of a boss Bob had barely survived, this variant was man-sized. Compact. It wielded a regularly oversized bone-club, resemblin a spiked femur.

  Then there was Derrin, if he had read the the mail right. A young man, no older than twenty, locked in frantic struggle. His armor was a scavenged mess. Patched leather straps, padding barely holding together and a dented metal helmet short a visor. His weapon of choice? A two handed rock. Yeah, no joke. A dinner-plate-sized chunk swinging about like a greathammer.

  Derrin barely dodged a massive downward smash, wind shear tugging at his ragged shirt. Boots scraped against loose gravel as he rolled, rising just in time for a well-placed slam to the back of his enemy. The impact sent a ripple through the boss's frame, giving way to unbalance. Before it could recover, Derrin lunged forward with everything he had, driving his shoulder into its sternum. Something snapped, loudly, and the boss collapsed. Derrin didn’t hesitate in raising the rock high above his head, arms trembling.

  Down. It. Came. ‘Crack. Splinter.’

  The boss’s bulging ribcage split apart, the eerie light within dimming to a faint afterthought. Silence followed. For one long, ragged breath, Derrin just stood there staring, limbs vibrating with emotion too vast to name. His head tilted back as he screamed.

  "GET PACKED!"

  His voice tore through the stale air, half a warcry, half the unhinged shriek of a man who had finally broken a leash holding him back. He threw his arms up in triumph. But not for long. Derrin quickly began stomping and kicking at the boss. “So. Many. Times.” Each word came with force. “This place. It fucking killed me. Over and over.”

  Bob finally took a measured step forward, raising a hand as if believing he could talk down a feral animal. “Yo, uh.. Derrin, I presume. You good, man?”

  The moment the words left his mouth, reality shifted. A pulse, heavy and suffocating, slammed into the arena. The air grew thick, almost viscous. Every inch of Bob’s skin prickled with warning.

  [System] PvP Initiated.

  The boss’s remains twitched. Bob’s grip on his crowbar tightened as Derrin, still reeling, shot him a panicked glance. “Wh.. what the.. Who are you?!”

  Bob didn’t answer. His focus locked onto the bones. They were forced back into place with sickening efficiency. Violet light flared as the boss stood once again. This wasn’t just a respawn. This was a rebirth. Its spine expanded in grotesque increments. Shattered bone mended before splitting apart again, jutting outward in a multitude of directions, resembling gnarly branches or grafted battle trophies. Four flesh-covered arms grew from its chest-cavity, large and monsterous claws instead of hands. Bob rolled his shoulders. Right. That was too easy anyways. But PvP? He definitely did not wish to deny the young warrior.

  Derrin scrambled backwards from both Bob and undead abomination. “What did you DO?!” he shouted, voice cracking. “I KILLED IT! IT WAS DEAD!”

  Bob’s eyes stuck to the new threat as he offered a simple, almost casual shrug. “Apparently, not dead enough.”

  The boss locked onto them, then thrust through the air in Bob’s direction. Bob shifted left, barely dodging the first strike as a fleshy bone-forged claw plowed past him. Mid motion he managed a swing at its leg. The strike sent the boss crashing ahead in an uncontrolled, rattling mass.

  A shadow in his peripherals: Bob's gaze flicked toward the edge of the arena. Perched against the wall with an unsettling amount of patience, stood a fourth figure. He donned a reinforced leather armor, rune-inscribed with faint glowing sigils. A black hood concealing all but a confident smirk above a pale, goateed chin. A gem-encrusted gloved hand held onto a staff embedded with a sickly green stone. Bob’s gut knew. He’s definitely here for PvP.

  [Echuu] Technically you are still fighting the boss. So.. PvE.

  Bob grimaced: Echuu?!

  [Echuu] Yeah, I forgot to mention one key thing about Bib and the rest of the slime-fam. If one is stealing bag-space, you and I get to chit-chat mentally. Wobble-talkie style!

  Sure enough, his interface showed Bib had snuck into his inventory.

  Derrin snarled before Bob could add another thought. "That freaking guy! He's been camping me for a while."

  Bob’s jaw set. He knew this pattern. He’d seen it before. Some mid-tier piece of shit getting his kicks from wrecking new blood, turning a grind spot into a personal red-room of humiliation and torture. He could go after the necromancer and break his concentration, maybe the boss would just de-spawn. But there was one problem: He didn’t do PvP anymore. Not because he couldn’t, but because it was an unpredictable mess. An entire can of worms in it's own right. The real enemy blocking progression was the Boss, even if it had just been reanimated by a douche.

  He adjusted his grip on the crowbar. Its weight hummed with unapologetic power: the simplest tool upgraded to a one-handed wrecking-machine. He rushed forward, feet kicking up pebbles and bone shards as he sprinted toward his target.

  The six-armed monstrosity was waiting, balancing on one leg. It swung. 'Dodge-roll', 'Jump'. Coiling his muscles, he attacked mid-air. 'Smash.' One clean hit to the skull.

  [System] Weak Point Struck! Damage x2. Boss Staggered! Overkill Bonus Applied! Material Drops: Void Eye x6.

  The impact echoed through the arena with the power of a gunshot as skull pulverised and the boss collapsed in a hollow thud.

  [System] Re-animated Boss Defeated. PvP on-going.

  "Alright. That’s taken care of." He turned back toward Derrin, who had taken a few steps back after witnessing the sheer force of Bob’s advance.

  “You can one-shot it?” Derrin asked, gawking.

  Bob shrugged, resting the crowbar on his shoulder. "Technically it was a two-shot. But, yeah. If I had led with the head-blow.”

  Derrin shook. “Dude, what the hell are you packing?”

  Bob smirked. “Crowbar.”

  The young man’s eyes flickered between disbelieve, awe and barely contained fury, before leading with hate: "You!" He turned so sharply that dust curled around his boots, easily mistakeable for a microtransaction effect attached to its equipment-slot. The necromancer at the arena’s edge didn’t flinch.

  Bob dragged a hand down his face. Damn, here we go.

  Stomping forward, Derrin scooped up the bone-club mid-stride. “You think you’re real funny, huh?” His voice was low, but every syllable vibrated with a rage born from months of suffering at the hands of the same enemy. “You were farming me this whole time. All those skeletons rising again and again, even after I whacked the ritualist. THAT WAS YOU!”

  The necromancer didn’t move, but eyes darted between Derrin, Bob and piles of boss-bone. Bob also stayed put, arms crossed, observing. He’d seen this before. This wasn’t just about PK’s or loot-loss. This was about clawing back from a great Line of defeats that should not have happened: the culmination of every cheap ambush and wasted second.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Relax, man.” The necromancer said, voice calm, slightly amused. “This is all part of the deal in here.”

  Wrong choice of word, man. Derrin's shoulders bunched before he exploded forward. No finesse, no technique, just raw momentum fueled by absolute, unfiltered spite. The bone-club came down in a two-handed swing. He clearly aimed to crush, shatter and break whatever smug confidence was holding the necromancer’s jaw in place. But the target sidestepped and backpaddled with an unnerving ease, sending the club slamming into hard ground.

  Derrin wasn’t done. “Part of the deal? What fucking deal is that!” He advanced, steps slow and deliberate. “Camping me for an eternity, spending your days hamstringing me to this arena. Is that normal to you?”

  The necromancer calmly raised his hand. “Dude. Chill.”

  “Shut up.” Derrin’s voice was dangerously steady. “You must know what kind of hellish pain this system puts people through. And you still did it!”

  The club started to rise again, poising for another strike. This time, Bob coughed intentionally and scraped his boot against course floor. Minor sounds in the tense silence, but enough to remind others that he was still there. Derrin hesitated.

  The necromancer, being the absolute genius that he was, took it as cue to double down. “Oh, what now?” He smirked. “Lost your nerve. Are you going to pivot into a live-webinar on honor for your cult-following? This place. It does not give a damn about fair fights. You would do best to get that into your thick skull.”

  Bob tilted his head. The necromancer wasn’t fighting back. He was just taunting. Edging everything on. Either way, Derrin was in over his head here. An ant on a stick in the hands of a hungry silverback. Alright. Time to de-escalate.

  “You’re not wrong.” Bob said, voice light. “But see, there’s a difference between using the system and whatever this is.”

  The necromancer frowned and shifted his gaze in Bob’s direction. “Excuse me?”

  Bob pointed lazily at him with his crowbar. “Look. I don’t blame you. You’re playing it your way.” He paused for a second. “Kid's finally got his kill though. The boss is dead. Let’s call it. You clearly out-punched this pi?ata.”

  Derrin turned to Bob, eyes flashing. "You’re seriously gonna let this rat-bastard walk away?"

  Bob shrugged, keeping his tone even. “Buddy. I don’t do PvP. This is not my fight.”

  "What bullshit is that? He griefed me. This is exactly your fight. You chose to assist." Derrin’s lips curled.

  Bob tilted his head. “If it was truly my fight, I would be the only one left standing. Right now there is still three of us.”

  'Silence.' Derrin’s hands twitched, rage fighting against logic. After a moments though, he faced the necromancer, nostrils flaring and eyes burning with pure venom. "If we ever see each other again, I’ll gut you." The necromancer responded with a smug smile.

  Bob sighed. "Yeah. Great talk, everyone. Glad we all bonded over serial-homicide." He could hear Echuu holding back a chuckle-prompt in the antechamber.

  The faintest flicker of movement, a hand gesture, a subtle tap on some interface Bob couldn’t see. Before anyone could react, the necromancer disappeared. No logout animation or visual effect. That guy know what he's doing.

  [System] Tier 1 Vault Accessible. Claim your rewards, and may you bear them well.

  With a deep grinding of stone, a stairway in the ground appeared. It led to a crude iron door, already sliding open. Behind it a small chamber waited. There wasn’t much inside. Just a single pedestal, a lone path orb resting on a velvet cushion on top. Bob turned towards Derrin who had gone eerily quiet. For the first time he got a close look at him. The guy was thin. Hollow eyes, dark circles and a haunted look that usually took decades to build. His gear was but shitty cosmetics at this point.

  The young warrior took off his helmet and let it drop before offering a tired smile. "Guess I should introduce myself, huh? You got the name right before. I’m Derrin Coles of the warrior class path."

  Bob nodded. "Bob."

  "Just Bob?"

  "That’s me alright."

  Derrin let out a thin, brittle chuckle. “This is kinda ironic.” he muttered, voice tight with something Bob couldn’t quite place. “I unlocked the Summoner stall first. Thought I’d get to play with pocket monsters or some shit. Conjure companions, fight alongside them.”

  Bob enjoyed those monster-wrangling games too. And minions was definitely a viable build in modern arpg's. “So what happened?”

  Derrin’s voice went dark and empty, the kind that didn’t invite company. “It was nothing like that at all. You don’t summon companions. You send out callings. Requesting help, begging for allies. No-one bothers to show up, if you can't make it worth their while.” His lips curled. “Fuck being a beast-master: I was just bait without a hook.”

  Worse than Bob had expected. “With my luck, I bet the reward system for co-op sucks balls?”

  “Understatement of the century.” Derrin snorted, shaking his head. “You can post a reward with the calling. Gold, gear, orbs, whatever you’ve got. But nothing baseline.”

  Bob already knew but asked anyways. “You had nothing to post?”

  Derrin nodded. “Not a damn thing. I've been stuck in this fight for a while.” He sighed, looking away. “First time I thought 'tough but doable.' Second time I started noticing patterns. Third time, stomped back to zero.” His voice was quiet now, almost a whisper. “Eventually it became a wall.”

  Bob had seen this before. In games, in forums, in himself. A challenge a mausoleum for every ounce of effort spent with nothing to show for it. He studied Derrin, noting the way his shoulders curled inward, the way he twitched randomly, nerves taking turns remembering the stings of loss.

  “Someone must’ve answered eventually.” Bob said, testing the waters.

  Derrin barked out a laugh, bitter and frayed at the edges. “Yeah. You. Most people would see a fight they couldn’t profit from and bounce.” His eyes flicked to meet Bob, sharp despite the exhaustion. “Did you even check the payout?”

  Bob shrugged “To be honest I didn’t care. Just figured the boss might drop something for me too.”

  A few seconds of silence was followed by Derrin's huffed breath. “Yeah. That there is what I prayed for.” He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Someone who isn't just looking for an easy win.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so Bob went with nothing.

  "After my starter-gear broke, I took out a loan. Well, more than one." Derrin admitted. "It kept me in the fight. But the curses started stacking. Now I'm a broken mess of countless cracks and flaws."

  Bob’s thought back to his own lost fight. The pain and sheer horror. This guy had been through the wringer alright, every loss leaving a mark: scars carved into the code of his existence. Derrin was drowning, and Bob didn’t have a lifeboat for shit like this.

  Boots scuffed against the floor as Derrin stepped forward. The orb’s glow reflecting in his eyes as fingers hovered near the singular reward. Close enough to claim it, yet he never reached further. It was a prize that had lost its meaning. Without hesitation he turned away. "Take it."

  Bob’s left eye twitched. It was a meager bounty, all things considered. "Nah man."

  "You take it." There was no bite to his words, no bitterness. "I’m done. No more fighting. But you can actually do this."

  Derrin slumped down on the floor unable to scrub away the weight of his losses. "Did you ever push so hard, fight so long, that you stop remembering why you started?" His voice was low. “Funny thing, I was getting better, right? Fucking crushed that overlord with nothing but a rock and a ton of tier one curses."

  Bob listened. This was clearly a 'ride the monologue-train into sunset'-moment.

  "Debt Keeper doesn’t care about ‘almost.’ All that is tallied is success and failure." Derrin's jaw tightening. "The worst part was clawing back to hope again and again. Hope is the cruelest bitch here. It keeps you chained, when you should’ve cashed out, wondering if just one lucky break could turn things around."

  Bob understood completely. All those curses had racked up. And with one orb to show for a mountain of trouble? This whole vault was a mocking taunt, spitting in that guys face.

  Derrin motioned to the orb, more forceful this time. "So take it. Take the reward. Take the win. I really don’t need it. Not anymore."

  [Echuu] Oh no.. He’s heading for a one-way exit.

  Bob frowned. What do you mean?

  [Echuu] Remember what I told you, Bob? Boss Door devours those who give up.

  Bob stood in silent contemplation. If nothing else, Derrin had gained experience during his struggles. Yet here he was, beyond a simple rage-quit. This wasn’t a player about to delete his save file. He was about to throw his game-system off tallest fucking bridge he could find and jump in after. 'Open inventory' Four path orbs left. Maybe enough to make a difference.

  "Derrin, I’m sorry we let that bastard go. Next time, call on me. We'll wipe the floor with his ass together. Teach him a lesson that sticks." Bob said it quietly, voice steady. "And you keep what’s rightfully yours." Without breaking eye contact, he tapped to drop items. Four orbs hit the stone floor with a soft chime, pooling at Derrin’s feet: scattered fragments of possibility.

  The young warrior didn’t move or speak. He just stared, expression unreadable, trying to process what the hell just happened. "Why?" Derrin’s voice was barely more than a breath, raw and uncertain.

  Bob chuckled as he threw the orb from the pillar to Derrin aswell and planted his ass on the revered reward-cushion. "Because fuck this system." He let the words sit before adding: "And also." He grinned, slow and sharp. "Crowbars. Try 'em. I've got a feeling they are right up your alley."

  Derrin exhaled in half-laugh, half something else. His shoulders shifted. The pressing weight had cracked slightly. Another short-clipped laugh followed: It was disbelieving, rough, but real. “Fucking crowbars, yeah?”

  Bob saw it. It wasn’t big or loud, but it was there: a tiny ember refusing to be snuffed out. Maybe Derrin would claw his way back off the ledge.

  'Pling.'

  [System] Friend Request Pending.