Kisodeth

Kisodeth stopped mid-step, the subtle scrape of her armored boot against the cobblestone hissing through the square. A cool breeze curled through the narrow street, thin clouds dragging over the sun and bleeding the light from the air. The pale sky dimmed, casting a soft shadow across the angular planes of her face. The painted skull markings stretched across her cheeks and brow seemed to sharpen beneath the muted light, the dark hollows of her eyes taking on a deeper, more unnatural depth.

The weight of Acero Sagrante on her back hummed low in her bones. She didn’t turn immediately. Didn’t even flinch. Her body was still, the kind of stillness that only came from control, the blade-balance of a predator before the strike.

When he spoke, something in her skin crawled. A slow, festering ache like something sick trying to root itself beneath her flesh. She hated his tone. Casual. Relaxed. A casual fucking smile, like he had the right to stand. To speak to her. To think he knew her.

“Hijo de puta…” Kisodeth hissed beneath her breath, the words slipping like venom past her lips.

Finally, she turned. The slow pivot of her body was measured, deliberate, the dull weight of her plated armor shifting with a muted scrape of metal over reinforced leather. Her skeleton pauldrons were matte black, carved with jagged, thorn-like etchings that gleamed faintly under the fading light. Her chest-plate was fitted, streamlined, lacquered bone-white beneath a dark ribcage motif that stretched across her torso and down to her hips, but exposing the smooth belly of her flesh. Her gauntlets creaked as she folded her arms beneath the swell of her chest, the worn silver accents at her knuckles flashing darkly.

Her eyes swept over him from head to toe; cool, assessing, and completely unimpressed. The fuck? How tall was this pendejo?

Her jaw clicked, molars grinding together hard enough to sting. The skeletal paint across her face seemed to deepen under the dim light, the hollows darkening as her lips curled in a thin, humorless smirk.

“Que?” Her tone was sharp, cutting the air like glass. “What makes you think I care about your opinion, asshole?” Her gaze sharpened, a slow predator’s smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not in the mood for your policing. Don’t tell me to chill out. Who the hell do you think you are?”

The clouds above shifted, dragging more shadow over the square. A soft ripple of cool air stirred the edges of her long, black skirt, the leather whispering faintly as it brushed the sides of her armored legs.

“I’m a grown-ass woman, little boy,” she continued, stepping forward. The dark metal of her sabatons struck the stone with a low, rhythmic sound. Sharp. Deliberate. “I don’t take orders.”

The tension in the square was palpable now, the air hanging thick and charged with it. Whispers floated at the edge of her hearing, players pulling back toward the walls of the square to watch the unfolding scene. Kisodeth didn’t care. Let them watch. Let them talk.

“Do you think I care who thinks I’m ‘aping their shit’?” Her tone was low, venomous. Dangerous. Her blue cold  eyes gleamed through the shadow, glinting beneath the dark curves of her skull paint. “If someone’s got a problem with me, they can come find me themselves. But no one’s said shit. And I’m not going to die.”

Her step forward was quiet this time. Measured. Close enough to feel the heat of his presence. Her lips parted in a smile that wasn’t a smile, the sharp gleam of her painted teeth flashing beneath the dark hollows of her cheekbones.

“Not today. Not tomorrow. Not fucking ever.”

Her smile darkened beneath the shifting clouds. “And I’m going to need you to chill out.”
 

WC: 637

Kisodeth lay curled up in the narrow bed, her lithe frame folded in on itself as though trying to disappear into the thin mattress beneath her. Her arms wrapped around her knees, dark strands of hair clinging to the damp sheen of her tattooed shoulders. The inked roses and skulls winding across her skin stood stark in the dim light, monochrome blooms trapped forever in a bloom of death. Her warm brown eyes, too deep, too tired…stared blankly at the wall opposite her. Unblinking. Empty.

Still in the game.
Still surviving.
Still… alive. Somehow.

Each day was the same: the grind, the survival, the blood-soaked victories, the hollow nights. But today…today was different. Why? She didn’t know. A quiet wrongness settled over her like smoke, curling through her chest, thick and heavy. Her breathing came soft and even, but her eyes were hollow, that dull flicker beneath them whispering…

Give up.
Quit.
Stop.
Let it end.

Her long black hair fell forward in dark veils as she finally stirred, limbs unfolding with a reluctant slowness. A sigh escaped her lips…soft, tired, lost. Her gaze drifted toward the window, the thin white curtains fluttering listlessly as the sky beyond darkened. Low gray clouds pressed in like a weighted hand, the static hum of a coming storm curling in the air.

An omen, maybe. Or a warning. Or nothing at all.

Kisodeth sat up, her spine arching in a languid stretch, arms lifting over her head as the tension in her body shifted and uncoiled. The muscles along her stomach and thighs tensed beneath the dark fabric of her black sports bra and shorts, the exposed skin a map of ink and scars. Her bare feet met the cold wooden planks of the inn’s floor, and a shiver crawled up her spine at the contrast. A sharp inhale followed. Then a yawn, wide and unbidden, slipped from her lips.

She rose with the fluid grace of a predator, languid but sharp at the edges. A few slow steps carried her to the mirror fixed to the wall. The woman staring back at her was Abigail. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, olive skin—haunted, tired, human. But that flicker in her gaze; the hollowness, the emptiness…was deeper than the glass could reflect.

Then a blink.

…and the woman in the mirror shifted.

The Skeleton Maiden stared back at her. Face painted stark white, dark hollows cut beneath her eyes, her lips painted into a cruel rictus of bone. A single long braid fell over the shoulder of her deathly black armor, silver etchings gleaming in the low light. A warrior dressed for the kill. Ruthless. Dangerous. Alive.

Another blink.

…and the mirror showed Abigail again. The tired woman with shadows beneath her eyes. The line of her jaw tightened. Her breath slowed.

Abigail needed to disappear now.

Kisodeth applied the grim specter through her menu, her fingers moving with mechanical ease as she painted her face, white death mask, dark jagged eyes, cruel smirk of bone along her lips. Her hands were steady. Too steady. The kind of steadiness born from a lifetime of violence and survival. When the paint was finished, she equipped her armor, the dark and steel weight of the skeleton plates pressing familiar against her body. She summoned her swords from her inventory, criss crossed against her back sheathed. 

The woman in the mirror now?

Kisodeth. The Skeleton Maiden. The survivor.

Abigail was gone. Kisodeth was awake. And it was time to move.

The low murmur of the town square drifted through the early morning haze, thin beams of pale sunlight cutting through the mist hanging low over Aincrad’s cobblestone streets. Kisodeth stood at the edge of the square, the stone lip of a shallow fountain pressed lightly against the back of her legs. The water trickled behind her in a quiet, steady rhythm, the soft lapping sound at odds with the razor-sharp tension curling beneath her skin.

Her fingers hovered midair, the glow of her status menu casting faint blue light over her skeletal gauntlet. Her gaze flicked lazily over the numbers…And yet it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Her mind kept circling back to that fight. The flash of steel, the impossible speed, the moment her blade had been turned. 

Impossible.

It shouldn’t have happened. But it did.

The memory of that robed player lingered like a splinter beneath her skin. The cold precision of their movements. The way they’d read her attacks, adapted to her strategy like they’d known her mind. 

A low growl slipped from between her teeth. She flicked her wrist, the menu dissolving into shards of blue light. Her other worldly blue eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, turned toward a group of players passing by.

They froze under her gaze.

Kisodeth didn’t move…not much. A subtle shift of her weight, the lazy tilt of her head as her eyes cut toward them like a blade. Her lips stretched wider beneath the skeletal paint, the white grin. The players shuffled faster, heads ducking as they passed, tension crackling through the air like the moments before a kill.

Buenos chicos, she thought darkly, her smile sharpening. Como ratas corriendo de las sombras.

The rumors had already begun to spread, whispers of the Skeleton Maiden, the ruthless woman who fought like death incarnate. Players claimed she’d slaughtered entire PK squads. That she’d turned on her own party and left their bodies scattered in the fields outside town. Most of it was rumors, of course. 

Her grin widened beneath the paint. Let them fear her. It kept them out of her way.

Fear was leverage. Fear was currency. Fear kept her alive.

A breeze stirred through the square, ruffling the long braid down her back. Her gaze slid toward the distant edge of town, where the path stretched out toward the wilds of Aincrad. Her jaw tightened. She could almost feel it…the pull beneath her skin, the itch of unfinished business.

She had a trail to follow.

“Voy a encontrarte.” Her voice was low, sharp. Deadly.

Kisodeth pushed away from the fountain, her armored boots striking the cobblestone with a quiet, measured rhythm as she stalked toward the edge of the square. Behind her, the sound of shifting feet and hushed voices.

WC: 1039

@Oscar

Boreas surged forward the moment Kisodeth’s attack failed, closing the gap with precise, predatory speed. His rapier glinted in the dim haze, a silver fang slicing through the fog as he drove the blade deep into the Ashen One’s bark-plated hide. The impact flared with crimson light as his rapier’s enchantment triggered…paralysis and bleed creeping like frost through the creature’s limbs.

The Ashen One shuddered, its colossal form locking as Boreas twisted the blade and wrenched it free. Its molten eyes flared violently beneath the smoke-choked gloom…

BOOM

A burst of dark vapor erupted from its chest, swallowing the field in thick black smoke. The fog curled around Kisodeth and Boreas like hungry tendrils, vision fading to near nothing. A debuff flashed across Kisodeth’s interface:

[Smoke Screen: Accuracy -1]

 Kisodeth’s eyes narrowed through the dark haze. She didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t. With bleed and paralysis on the target, she made a <<Quick Change>> subbing out Sagrante with her other blade. 

Her grip tightened on Sombra Osea, her stance sharp as a blade’s edge. “Weak-ass tricks…” she growled under her breath.

Then she lunged.

Her sword flared with searing blue light as it connected with the Ashen One’s bark-armored chest, splinters and shreds of burned wood blasted free from the impact. She shifted mid-strike, turning the thrust into a brutal upward slice that tore through the creature’s chest plate and bit into the raw sinew beneath. Sparks of burning amber scattered like dying fireflies.

Before the Ashen One could recover, Kisodeth braced her foot against its oaken hide and shoved off, twisting through the air. She landed in a crouch, boots skidding across the forest floor as she slid backward. The health bar over the Ashen One’s head dipped, a satisfying chunk…but not enough.

Kisodeth rose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her grin widened. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

WC: 311

Kisodeth rolled her head back, fixing Boreas with a cool, unreadable gaze before offering the slightest shrug.

“Polite isn’t going to make us stronger. It’s not going to make me stronger. And that’s all that matters.” Her voice was calm, detached, as if stating an undeniable truth. “If players are weak-willed enough to let a rumor spook them, then they have no business being out here in the first place. Risk isn’t for the faint of heart.”

She turned away, scanning the field with a keen sharpness in her eyes, muscles coiled in anticipation. “I don’t have time to waste when time keeps ticking outside. I’m fighting to survive…here, and out there.”

There was no venom in her tone, no unnecessary heat. Just simple, cold reality. She wasn’t here to make friends, wasn’t here to coddle egos or play nice. That wasn’t her aesthetic. That wasn’t how she had survived this long.

With a smooth motion, she stepped forward, unsheathing Acero Sagrante in a fluid sweep. The blade pulsed to life in her grip, arcs of fiery electrical energy crackling across its edge like a living heartbeat. The air around her seemed to shift, charged with a low, simmering tension as she settled into readiness.

Then she felt it.

A whisper in her bones, a shift in the atmosphere that sent a shiver down her spine. Something ancient, something hungry, stirring from its slumber.

Her lips curled into a smirk. “Finally.”

Rolling her shoulders, she adjusted her grip, stance firm, eyes locked ahead. The mist parted like a living thing, curling and shifting as the Ashen One emerged, a hulking figure wreathed in living bark. Burning jade eyes ignited beneath the jagged curve of its face, locking onto Kisodeth with predatory precision. Its arrival was swit.

The ground trembled as it lunged, cutting through the fog with a massive trunk like fist. Kisodeth’s eyes widened no time to dodge, she twisted at the last second, the fist howling past her face, close enough that the displaced air whipped her hair across her cheek. 

”¡Mierda!”

Before her boots had even touched solid ground again, she retaliated. Acero Sagrante sang through the air in a downward arc, blazing with searing red light….!

Missed.

The Ashen One twisted, its armored bulk moving with unnatural grace. The tip of her blade kissed only empty air as it shifted beyond reach.

”¡Jodete!” Kisodeth growled under her breath, her lips peeling back over her teeth. Her body was already in motion again, feet pivoting as she calculated her next strike. Her eyes sharpened with dangerous focus.

The Ashen One’s gaze locked on her, molten light burning. 

“All you, Boreas…”

WC: 443
 

Kisodeth flicked her wrist dismissively, letting out a short breath. There was no need to pick a fight over something so trivial, he could do whatever he wanted. His business wasn’t hers.

She fell silent, resuming their trek without another word. The mist clung thick to the earth, curling at their feet as they moved. After a short while, the sound of combat reached her ears; players locked in battle against roaming mobs. She slowed, watching as steel clashed and bursts of light from skills flickered through the gloom.

“Field bosses are supposed to spawn here,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. “But they won’t with the dregs hanging around. Watch this.”

Turning her head toward Boreas, she grinned beneath her mask of skeletal paint, the carved skeletal grin of her avatar making the expression all the more unsettling.

Then, without hesitation, she strode forward, silent as a wraith emerging from the mist. The party of players remained unaware of her approach at first, too focused on cutting down the last of the mobs.

Kisodeth came to a stop just a few feet away, gripping her sword only to plant it into the earth with a deliberate thunk.

“Great job…” she murmured, voice eerily smooth, yet dripping with quiet menace. Then, as the players finally turned to acknowledge her presence, she tilted her head ever so slightly, letting the weight of her foreboding aura sink into their bones.

“Now beat it. We need this area for hunting.”

The way she stood, the cold gleam of her eyes beneath the shadow of her helm, the sheer presence she exuded, she didn’t need to raise her weapon to make them hesitate. The unspoken threat was clear: leave, or find out what it meant to cross her.

The group of players, three in total, paused mid-motion, exchanging glances as Kisodeth’s words settled over them like a creeping frost. One of them, a lanky swordsman clad in mismatched armor, instinctively took a step back, gripping the hilt of his blade tighter. The other, a stockier axe-wielder, narrowed his eyes but didn’t immediately respond. The last, a robed healer or support, was already shifting uncomfortably, fingers twitching over their menu as if preparing to teleport out at a moment’s notice.

“Who the hell—?” the axe-wielder started, but the lanky one cut him off with a quick elbow to the ribs.

“Hey, man, I know that name.” His voice lowered as he tilted his head toward Kisodeth, studying her skeletal grin. “Kisodeth. You know, that solo player.”

The healer stiffened. “Oh. Shit.”

Kisodeth tilted her head slightly, watching them with unreadable amusement.

The axe-wielder huffed, crossing his arms. “And? Just ‘cause she’s got a reputation doesn’t mean we gotta just roll over.”

The swordsman scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah? You wanna test that?” He jerked his chin toward Kisodeth. “Solo boss-killer, skull armor, likes to fight one-on-one…ringing any bells? People say she doesn’t just hunt monsters.”

The support player swallowed. “Right. And we do have other hunting grounds.” He forced a laugh, taking another step back. “No need to, uh, get territorial here.”

The axe-wielder exhaled through his nose, clearly weighing his pride against his survival instinct. He glanced once at Boreas, who stood idly by.

Finally, the axe-wielder clicked his tongue. “Tch. Whatever. We were done here anyway.”

With that, the group began to shuffle away, the swordsman nudging the healer along. But before they left, the lanky one hesitated, glancing back at Kisodeth.

“I gotta ask, though—” he said, a nervous grin creeping across his face. “Are the rumors true? That you go after players, too?”

Kisodeth let the silence stretch, let him sit in his own unease for a moment before she responded.

“Depends,” she said at last, voice smooth, unbothered. She lifted her chin slightly, watching as he swallowed thickly. “But if you stick around any longer, you might find out for yourself.”

That was all it took. He let out an awkward chuckle, raising his hands in surrender as he hurried after his party. Within seconds, they disappeared into the mist, leaving Kisodeth and Boreas alone once more.

She turned to Boreas, “I don’t attack players, nor do I PK…” just to assure him. 
 

WC: 700

Kisodeth halted mid-step, her boots pressing into the damp earth. She turned to him with a sharp, almost incredulous look, brow subtly furrowed beneath her skeletal visage.

“Stop calling me ‘Miss.’ I’m not some old woman.” Her voice carried that familiar edge, cool and cutting, yet not outright hostile just annoyed. “Kisodeth. Kis-o-deth. Get it right.”

Arms folding over her chest, she exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. The more she thought about it, the more something didn’t sit right.

“The hell are you even doing down here on the lower floors?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “If you’re hitting Paragon levels, you shouldn’t be wasting time with us dregs…”

There was a weight behind her words, a mix of curiosity and something more bitter, unspoken. She couldn’t decide if she was impressed or irritated. Maybe both. Was he slumming it for fun? Testing his rusted skills on easier prey? Or did he think she needed his help? That last thought made her fingers twitch against her biceps.

She muttered something low in Spanish, a habit she rarely curbed…something about single-target combat, huh? “Yeah… same. That was the whole point, being a Boss Killer. One-on-one fights just feel more… personal, I guess…”

A scoff left her lips, followed by a sharp shake of her head as she turned away from him. “I hope you’re not expecting me to owe you anything for this.”

The challenge in her voice was clear. She wasn’t the type to take charity, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to be someone’s pet project. Whatever his reason for tagging along, he’d better not think it put her in his debt.
 

WC: 275

Kisodeth let out a soft chuckle, more breath than sound, watching Boreas with the detached amusement of someone observing a gamble unfold. So, he was leaning into it now. Whether that was from genuine interest or just testing his own charm, she couldn’t say. Didn’t really matter.

“Tch. Worth your weight in gold, huh?” She let the words roll off her tongue like she was tasting them, skeptical but intrigued. fingers flexing slightly before resting on the hilts of her swords. “Bold claim. Guess we’ll see if you back it up, or if you’re just another pretty face with a silver tongue.”

Her gaze lingered as he bowed, his formal elegance standing in amusing contrast to her own sharp, dangerous presence. Boreas, huh? The name sounded like it had a hint of calculation. A man who played the game well, in more ways than one.

She watched him take that step forward, extending his hand toward the wilds beyond.

“Mmm. Such a gentleman.” Her lips curled slightly, but there was no warmth behind it, just something teasing and unreadable. She stepped past him without hesitation, boots hitting the earth outside the safe zone as the system’s protection faded away.

The dense forest swallowed them whole, towering ancient trees stretching high, their thick canopies blotting out the evening sky. The ground beneath Kisodeth’s boots was soft, damp with the remnants of the prior night’s rain, but firm enough for swift movement. Somewhere ahead, beyond the veil of shadow and foliage, their quarry lurked.

Her skeletal visage turned slightly toward Boreas as she walked, her pace steady but unhurried, a predator surveying the terrain. The eerie blue glow from Sombra Osea’s runes pulsed at her back, the blade slung across her shoulders while Acero Sagrante remained at her side, crackling with its crimson arcs of energy.

“So, Boreas,” she mused, her voice calm, the usual aloof lilt still present. “You talk a good game. Let’s hear what you actually bring to the table.”

She didn’t look at him as she spoke, instead keeping her sharp gaze ahead, scanning the darkness between the trees.

“What’s your role? DPS? Tank? Or are you one of those tricky types that dance around a fight and strike when no one’s looking?”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but measured…curious in her own way, though with an edge that suggested she had no patience for dead weight. She wasn’t about to drag someone through this if they weren’t going to pull their weight.

The distant snap of a branch made her pause mid-stride. Kisodeth’s hand went to Acero Sagrante’s hilt, not drawing it just yet, but ready. The presence of the Ashen Ones wasn’t a matter of if, but when.

Her piercing gaze flicked toward him briefly, studying his reaction, before returning to the woods. 
 

WC: 466

Kisodeth halted just before the boundary of the safe zone, rolling her shoulders in lazy impatience. The moment the voice hit her ears, she let out a quiet breath through her nose and turned, arms folding over her armored chest as she gave the stranger a slow, deliberate once-over.

Tall. Refined. Sharp, blonde hair, shimmering like liquid gold under the dim glow of the forest. He carried himself with an easy confidence, his clothes sharp, immaculate, ‘colorful’, a stark contrast to the raw, predatory presence she exuded.

Her eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked over him again before settling onto his own.

“Curious, huh?” Her voice was smooth, indifferent.

She didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch between them, measuring him. The way he spoke was polite, deliberate. Apologetic, even. But the phrasing was interesting. He hadn’t asked if she needed company. He wanted to know if she was looking for it.

Which meant he was either flirting, fishing for information, or both.

Kisodeth smirked faintly, shifting her weight to one side. “You stopping every lone woman heading out, or just the ones in skull armor?” The grin stretched ear to ear. The eerie ghastly visage exuding a foreboding appearance, one she honed her craft to be a solo player. 

Kisodeth remained in neutral stance, arms crossed, eyes flickering over his loud appearance. The colors looked more fitting to a casino. Compared to her, she was breathing doom and gloom. “Listen, Chico. I’m a busy woman. I have a plan I wanna stick with, and I don’t need any heavy baggage weighing me down. If you wanna join me, then fine, but the moment you break stride…I won’t hesitate to leave you to die.” 

Kisodeth wanted to remain solo, do this on her own. But she had a feeling this player looked more than meets the eye. She could use the help, if only to use the advantage to level up faster. She lifted a boned gauntlet and sent a party invitation to the player. “You can call me, Kisodeth, hombre.” 


WC: 341

The Skeleton Maiden stirred.

Floor 8’s perpetual twilight cast long shadows through the small, spartan room she had claimed for the night. A dim beam of golden light filtered through the wooden slats, illuminating motes of dust as they drifted in lazy circles above her. Outside, the forest whispered a chorus of rustling leaves and distant, chittering creatures, as if the floor itself breathed, waiting.

Kisodeth exhaled through her nose, slow and measured. It was time.

She sat up, rolling her shoulders before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Bare feet met the cool wooden floorboards. Her muscles creaked from the ever-present tension of living on the edge. Survival, power, dominance…her cycle never ended.

Rising, she stretched, the smooth, deliberate motion revealing the lithe strength carved into her form. Tonight, she would hunt.

Her ritual began with the Armor of the Dead.

The heavy plating materialized in fragments, wrapping around her piece by piece. Each bone-white segment latched onto her frame with an eerie finality, forming the visage of death itself. Rib-like plates curved over her torso, a wicked spine traced her back, and gauntlets clawed around her fingers like skeletal hands eager for the kill. The helm she discarded…her face was death’s own mask.

Next came the weapons.

Acero Sagrante was first. She took the black obsidian blade from her inventory, gripping its tightly bound red leather hilt. The sword hummed, alive with its deadly enchantments. Blood-red electricity crackled along the blade’s surface, zipping and arcing like barely restrained malice. Paralysis. Bleeding. A weapon meant for prolonged suffering.

She slung it across her back.

Then, Sombra Osea.

The moment her fingers wrapped around its long, black-leather-wrapped hilt, a chilling blue mist coiled from its obsidian edge, crawling up her arm before dissipating into the air. Eldritch runes pulsed along the blade, glowing a spectral blue—the same eerie hue that burned within the hollow eye sockets of the spectral skull embedded in the metal. Its chain clinked faintly, as if whispering in anticipation.

She wielded it effortlessly. its excessive length made the weapon feel heavy, strong in her hands.

Kisodeth cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders, testing the familiar weight of her new armor. Every movement felt sharper. More efficient. She had stepped beyond what she was before.

Tonight, she was not just a player.

She was a harbinger.

And the Ashen Ones would burn beneath her blade.

She strode to the window and pushed it open. Cool, damp air rolled in, tinged with the scent of moss and ancient wood. Somewhere beyond the endless columns of trees, her prey awaited.

One last breath. One last glance at the darkening sky.

Then, without hesitation, she turned and walked out the door. The droning masses parted ways for her as Death itself walked amongst them. She stepped out and rested a hand on her hip, the tension building in her neck. A slow roll, the ghastly visage scattering players away from her. Before she could take a step further, a voice shot out from behind her. The ominous visage looked to them, eyes over her shoulder as the unsettling warpaint stared like a breathing corpse to the player. “Huh?”

WC: 531

Buying the following items:

1 set of Spyglasses: 400 Col 

1 set of Water Canister: 400 Col 

1 field ration: 1000 Col 

Total: 1800 Col

The jagged black streaks twisting through the white made her look less like a player and more like a wraith, something dredged up from the void between life and death. Her painted grin stretched too wide, too sharp, a macabre mockery of warmth.

“Hey, chica. Thanks for taking care of this order… let’s see…”

Her voice was smooth, casual…too casual for the image she wore. It was that contrast that made her unsettling. She accepted the trade with an effortless flick, her cold, armored fingers brushing against the goods before tucking them away into her inventory.

Then came that grin, frozen in paint but echoed in her expression as she gave a slow, deliberate wave.

No lingering, no wasted words. Business done.
 

Trade Accepted

The skeletal warpaint on her face was striking under the firelight. Jagged black streaks carved through the white base, sinking deep into the hollows of her cheeks, accentuating the sharpness of her features. Dark rings surrounded her eyes, making them look sunken and hollow, like the sockets of a true skull. Across her mouth, the paint stretched into the illusion of exposed teeth, a macabre grin frozen in place…somewhere between amusement and menace.

She approached the counter, tossing a worn sheet of parchment onto the surface with a flick of her fingers. The list of upgrades and weapons was scrawled in bold, no-nonsense handwriting.

Kisodeth leaned forward, hands braced against the countertop, her weight shifting just enough to let her armor creak ominously. Her voice, low and smooth, curled around the air like smoke.

“Hey there, chica… think you can help me out with these?”
 

(9 Materials?)

Thread Summary: 

Exp: 6988/10=698 

+1 Gathered Material, 400 Col, 698 EXP

Quest Summary: 500 EXP, 1 Glow Stone, 450Col (LD Roll)

Total: 1198 Exp, 850 Col, 1 Material 

The walk to the Rusted Lantern was quiet, the streets of Urbus winding into the late hours with only a few scattered players lingering in the shadows. Kisodeth moved through them like a ghost, her presence solid, but detached…just another traveler in a world where survival was everything.

The inn itself was as expected; worn, dimly lit, but functional. The wooden beams creaked under the weight of time, and the scent of old ale and dust lingered in the air. But it was a place to rest, and that was enough.

Checking in was quick, impersonal. A few Col exchanged hands, a rusty key slid across the counter, and then she was heading up the narrow stairwell to her room.

Inside, the space was small but serviceable. A single bed against the far wall, a wooden dresser, and a washbasin in the corner. Minimal, but hers for the night.

She locked the door behind her with a firm click, exhaling slowly as she finally let down her guard.

With silent efficiency, Kisodeth began unequipping her armor, piece by piece. Death’s Embrace vanished into her inventory, leaving her feeling suddenly weightless. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the absence of the heavy plating, then reached for a cloth and water from the basin.

The warpaint came off in slow, streaky smears. Black and white swirled together before vanishing down the drain, leaving only the face beneath…hers.

She caught her own reflection in the dimly lit mirror, staring longer than she meant to. Koko’s frightened eyes flashed in her mind.

Kisodeth huffed out a breath, shaking her head as she rubbed her face clean and turned away.

Finally, she sank into the bed, the mattress stiff but strangely comforting after a long day. She turned onto her side, tucking her legs up, folding inward.

Her mind drifted back to the quest, the cave, the goblins, the ritual, Koko’s tiny hand in hers.

It had been too real.

She exhaled through her nose, slow and steady, letting the weight of exhaustion settle deep into her bones. The thought lingered, but sleep was already creeping in, pulling her under.

For tonight, at least, she let it take her.
 

WC: 363

The meal was hearty, filling, and exactly what she needed. A thick-cut slab of roasted meat, seasoned potatoes, and a crusty roll that soaked up the last of the gravy. Kisodeth ate with slow, deliberate movements, letting her body recover as she absentmindedly scrolled through her menu.

With the quest completed, she finally had enough experience to break into Tier 2. The upgrade felt tangible, like a weight lifting off her shoulders new stat points, better scaling on her damage, and access to stronger equipment. She adjusted her stats with careful consideration, prioritizing agility and strength while keeping a solid balance for survivability.

By the time she finished her meal, she felt the tension in her body start to unwind, her hunger sated, exhaustion settling in. But she wasn’t quite ready to call it a night. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a few extra Col onto the counter and ordered one more drink.

The cool bitterness washed down smoothly, a satisfying contrast to the warmth of the tavern. As she drank, her mind drifted between two options.

Stay in Urbus; a change of pace, a chance to explore the city more. Or head back to the first floor, where she had her usual spot to rest and regroup.

She wasn’t sentimental about places, but there was something about Urbus. It had a different energy than the starter town, grittier, more dangerous, but alive. Kisodeth craned her neck as she stood, stretching slightly before knocking back the last of her drink. Then, with a lazy flick of her wrist, she turned to the bartender.

“Know a cheap inn around here?” she asked, her tone casual but expectant.

The bartender grunted, wiping down the counter before jerking his head toward the door.

“The Rusted Lantern. Down the street, past the blacksmith’s. Nothing fancy, but it’ll do.”

Kisodeth smirked, rolling her shoulders as she swiped up her gear.

“Perfect.”
 

WC: 319

The player-run tavern in Urbus was alive with laughter, clinking tankards, and the low hum of conversation. Golden lanterns cast a warm glow over the rough-hewn wooden tables, while the scent of meat, aromatic bread, and something sweetly spiced curled in the air. The place had a good vibe a haven for players looking to relax, trade stories, and lose themselves in the illusion of normalcy.

Kisodeth stepped through the door, rolling her shoulders as she took in the scene. After that long trek, the cold cave air still clung to her skin, and she was more than ready to wash it away with something strong and drown herself in a plate of hot food.

She slid onto a stool at the bar, throwing a few Col onto the counter. “Shop specialties,” she said. “And whatever’s cold.”

The bartender, a burly man with a scruffy beard and an NPC-like lack of curiosity, grunted in acknowledgment and set to work. A moment later, a frosted glass slid in front of her, condensation beading down the side. She lifted it to her lips, savoring the icy bite as it ran down her throat, cooling the lingering heat from battle.

Kisodeth turned slightly in her seat, keeping her back against the bar as her sharp eyes scanned the room.

Most of the players were unwinding, some gambling, others boasting about their latest loot hauls. But her focus honed in on the quieter corners, where murmured voices drifted just beneath the surface of tavern noise. And there it was. A whisper.

“Another one got challenged.”

Kisodeth’s fingers drummed against her glass.

The silent, cloaked players. The ones who moved like ghosts through the city, never speaking, only extending their chilling invitations to battle. She’d been hearing about them more and more duelists who fought with an eerie precision, ruthless and efficient. Some players came back with tales of narrow victories. Others? They didn’t come back at all. She took another sip, pretending not to listen as a group of mid-level players exchanged uneasy glances near the corner table.

“Did you see them?” one asked.

A swordswoman with a twin-bladed setup nodded, voice low. “Yeah. Outside the west gate. They don’t talk, don’t emote. Just send the duel request, and if you accept…” She shook her head. “They don’t hold back.”

Kisodeth’s turned back to the bartender, Skeletal warpaint smudged to hell. “Gracias…”

WC: 397

As Kisodeth and Koko stepped into Urbus, the town’s evening lanterns flickered to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobbled streets. The second they crossed the threshold, Koko’s eyes lit up.

“Mama!” she cried, her small legs propelling her forward. Across the square, Choshi spun at the sound of her daughter’s voice. The worry that had been etched into her face all day melted into sheer relief as Koko threw herself into her arms.

“I’m sorry, Mama!” Koko wailed, clinging to her waist. The little girl buried her face in her mother’s tunic, her shoulders shaking. “I-I won’t get into trouble again, I-I promise!”

Choshi exhaled a deep, unsteady breath, her arms tightening around her child.

“Oh, sweetie,” she murmured, running a hand gently through Koko’s hair, fingertips soothing against her scalp. “I know you didn’t mean for it to happen… You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” She held Koko for a few moments longer, swaying slightly, as if reassuring herself that this was real. Finally, she looked up, her tear-streaked face breaking into a grateful smile as her eyes met Kisodeth’s.

“Thank you,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “I… I can’t even begin to explain how much this means to me. How much you’ve done for us. I am forever in your debt.”

Kisodeth shifted her weight, glancing away for just a second. She’d heard those words before; debt, gratitude but somehow, from this woman, in this moment, it felt different. Choshi chuckled, sniffling as she wiped her face. She turned to Koko, gently tugging on the girl’s cheeks, eliciting a small giggle. Then, she reached into the folds of her dress, pulling out a small, well-worn pouch.

“I know it’s not much,” she admitted, pressing it into Kisodeth’s hands, her fingers lingering for a moment in silent thanks. “But please, take it. It’s some money I scraped together… and a little something extra.” Kisodeth arched a brow, her calloused fingers testing the weight of the pouch before tucking it away. “Appreciate it.”

Choshi sighed, looking down at Koko with a mixture of love and exasperation. “And speaking of appreciation…what do we say?” Koko pulled away from her mother’s embrace, turning to beam up at Kisodeth.

“Thank you for saving me!” she chirped, voice bright and full of sincerity. The words triggered the system notification. A soft chime rang in Kisodeth’s ears as the quest completion screen flashed across her HUD, listing the rewards now transferred to her inventory.

But for a brief second, she didn’t acknowledge it. She just watched Koko, her small, grateful face, the way she bounced on her feet like the weight of her ordeal had already begun to fade. Resilient.

Kisodeth smirked. “Try not to get snatched by goblins again, yeah?”

Koko giggled, rocking on her heels. “I’ll try!”

With that, Kisodeth turned on her heel, rolling her shoulders as she strolled away. 
 

WC: 482

Col: +450

As they made their way out of the cavern, Kisodeth kept a firm grip on Koko’s small hand, guiding her over the uneven rocks and loose gravel. The kid was light on her feet, but every now and then, she’d stumble, and Kisodeth would give a small, steadying tug to keep her upright.

For a while, the only sounds were their footsteps and the occasional distant drip of water from the stalactites above. “Mama’s gonna be so mad, huh?” Koko mumbled, kicking a stray pebble.

Kisodeth let out a low chuckle. “Oh, yeah. Livid.”

Koko pouted. “I didn’t mean to! It was supposed to be just a game… I didn’t think we’d actually get attacked. Kisodeth hummed, side-eyeing the girl. “Yeah, well. Monsters don’t give a damn about what you meant to do.”

The kid sighed dramatically. “Guess I’m never gonna be allowed outside again.”

“Maybe for, like… a week,” Kisodeth teased. “After that, your mom’ll start remembering what a pain in the ass it is to keep a kid cooped up. Trust me.” Koko snorted at that, a tiny giggle slipping out before she quickly tried to cover it up.

Kisodeth smirked, nudging the girl with her elbow. “Hey, you’re alive. That’s what matters. And now? You got a story.” Koko tilted her head, curious. “A story?”

“Hell yeah.” Kisodeth gestured dramatically. “One day, when you’re older, you’ll be sitting around a campfire or something, and you’ll go, ‘Lemme tell you about the time I got snatched by goblins, and this super badass, super scary warrior came in and…shhk!’” She mimed slicing through an enemy with an invisible sword.

Koko’s eyes widened, grinning now. “And I’ll say, ‘She was really strong and wore all this scary skeleton war paint!’” Kisodeth barked a laugh. “Exactly.”

Koko nodded, then paused, squinting up at Kisodeth. “But, um… you’re not really that scary.”

Kisodeth blinked. “What?”

Koko gave a tiny, knowing smirk. “You’re kinda nice.” Kisodeth scoffed, pulling her hand away just long enough to ruffle the kid’s hair again. “Don’t go spreading lies, kid. I got a reputation.”

Koko just giggled, sticking out her tongue playfully. As they finally reached the mouth of the cave, Kisodeth took a deep breath, feeling the cool air hit her skin. The sky outside was darkening, the last hints of sunlight fading behind the mountains.

“Alright,” she said, cracking her neck. “Let’s get you back home before your mom loses her damn mind.”
 

WC: 407

As the Giant Bat lunged for another strike, Kisodeth adjusted her grip on Winter’s Discontent, watching the way its wings beat, predicting its movement this time. No more flailing in the dark. She was done playing.

Then, from behind the rock. “You can do it!”

Koko’s tiny voice rang out, filled with hope and admiration. Kisodeth’s chest tightened for just a second. She didn’t do kids, never had the patience, never saw herself as the type. But the way Koko’s eyes shined, the way that single little cheer cut through the dark, something about it hit different.

A slow, lopsided grin spread across her face, teeth flashing in the cavern gloom.

“Yeah?” she muttered under her breath. “Then watch this.”

The Giant Bat screeched and dove again, a blur of leathery wings and gnashing fangs but this time Kisodeth was ready. Her body moved on instinct, her reflexes razor-sharp. The second it got close, she feinted left, then pivoted hard, dropping low.

Her blade flashed.A perfect, calculated upward arc carved through the bat’s body, the steel singing as it connected. A critical hit.

The bat shrieked, pixels bursting from the wound like shattering glass. It tried to pull back too late. Kisodeth drove forward, her sword humming with a finishing strike, and with one final, brutal slash, she cut straight through.

The Giant Bat exploded into data, shards of light dissolving into the air, leaving only the quiet hum of the cavern behind. A brief pause.

“Wooooah!!”

Koko leapt out from behind the rock, clapping excitedly. “That was so cool! You’re so strong!”

Kisodeth huffed out a breath, rolling her shoulders as she flicked her blade clean before sheathing it. She turned, resting a hand on her hip as she arched a brow down at the kid.

“Damn right,” she said with a smirk.

Then she ruffled Koko’s hair, already guiding her toward the exit.

“Alright, let’s get the hell outta here before something else shows up, yeah?”
 

WC: 328

The Giant Bat swooped in again, a dark blur against the dim cavern light, wings spread wide as its fangs gleamed. Kisodeth’s instincts screamed at her to move, and she twisted aside, swinging Winter’s Discontent in a vicious counter-strike.

But the bat was fast. Faster than she expected.

The beast’s wings snapped back mid-dive, sending it careening to the side just as her blade carved through where it had been an instant before. A clean miss. Her sword whistled through nothing but stale cavern air.

“Tch—slippery bastard.”

Before she could fully reset her stance, the bat’s talons lashed out in retaliation, a blur of claws seeking flesh. Kisodeth barely had time to react, her body moving on pure battle-honed instinct as she twisted again, dropping low. The attack missed completely.

Its claws raked the air just inches from her head, flapping wildly as it overextended. For a moment, both combatants stood frozen in place.

Kisodeth’s eye twitched. She flicked her gaze to the bat, who hovered midair, wings beating, head cocked like it was equally unimpressed. She exhaled through her nose.

“…We suck.”

The bat screeched, almost offended. Then, at the exact same moment, they lunged at each other again.
 

WC: 200

The shriek came first, a high-pitched, bone-rattling scream that made Koko yelp and clutch Kisodeth’s hand tighter. Then the shadow moved.

From the cavern ceiling, the Giant Bat dropped like a stone, wings flaring wide as it launched itself toward them in a blur of fangs and claws. Kisodeth’s instincts screamed, but her priority wasn’t herself.

“Go! Hide behind that rock!” she barked, shoving Koko toward a jagged outcrop near the entrance. The girl didn’t hesitate scrambling away, ducking low just as the monster’s talons raked toward them.

It slammed into Kisodeth instead, its momentum driving her backward. She gritted her teeth as the impact sent her boots skidding against the cavern floor but she barely felt it. Her armor, Death’s Embrace, absorbed the brunt of the attack, the hit registering as a single point of damage in her HUD.

Could’ve been worse. Kisodeth snarled, twisting her grip on her blade. The bat flapped backward, circling above, wings stirring up dust as it prepared for another dive.

She swung but the monster was too quick, jerking away at the last second, her blade whistling through empty air.

“Tch—!” Missed.

Kisodeth rolled her shoulders, steadying her stance. The bat was smarter than the fodder mobs from earlier. It had speed and precision. Didn’t matter. Her lips curled back into a sharp smirk, teeth flashing.

“Alright, you ugly bastard,” she murmured, lifting her sword. “Let’s dance.”

The bat screeched, wings snapping wide coming around for another bomb dive strike.
 

WC: 247

Kisodeth felt the tug on her hand just as she was about to move forward, her body tensing on instinct. She turned her head, brows furrowed only to find Koko gazing toward a cluster of softly glowing flowers nestled along the cavern wall.

They pulsed with a faint, ghostly blue light, casting eerie shadows against the rough stone.

“¿Qué pasa?” Kisodeth asked, following the girl’s gaze.

Koko pointed, her voice quiet but insistent. “Those… Mama says flowers like that are special.”

Kisodeth exhaled sharply. A gathering node?

With a practiced flick, she opened her inventory HUD and checked the icon hovering near the plant. Bioluminescent Bloom. Possible alchemy or crafting use.

Could be worth something.

She crouched, running her gloved fingers along the delicate petals before plucking a few, watching as they flickered dimly in her palm before tucking them away in her inventory.

Straightening up, she gave Koko a dry smirk. “We shouldn’t be procrastinating, niña.” Koko giggled softly, holding tight to her hand. She wasn’t shaking anymore. If anything, she seemed… calmer. Feeling safer.

Kisodeth exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders before turning her focus back toward the cavern’s entrance. They still had a ways to go. And she hadn’t forgotten about that giant bat ambush from earlier.

She slowed her pace, adjusting her grip on her blade. “Careful here…”

The echo of flapping wings sent a warning through the air. Kisodeth’s smirk widened. They were waiting. Good. So was she.
 

WC: 244

Koko flinched, her wide eyes locked onto Kisodeth’s face. Or rather, the ghastly warpaint she wore. The smeared white, the jagged black streaks, the hollow, grinning skull, it was the face of a monster.

Kisodeth sighed inwardly. Yeah. This is why I’ll never have kids.

She knelt, keeping her movements slow, controlled. “Hey,” she murmured, voice softer than before. “I’m not gonna hurt you, kid.”

Koko didn’t answer. She just stared, frozen. Kisodeth’s jaw shifted. This wouldn’t do. Without another word, she lifted a hand, dragging her fingers down her cheek. The warpaint smudged, revealing the warm tan of her skin beneath.

“See?” she said, shifting the blade to her other hand. “Just like you, niña.”

Koko’s lips parted slightly. Her small fingers reached up, hesitating, before touching the spot where the paint had smeared.

“…You’re not a monster?”

Kisodeth huffed. “Nah. Just dress like one.” The kid sniffled, nodding, visibly relaxing. Kisodeth held out her hand. “Vámonos, mi amor. We’re getting out of here.” Koko took it, small fingers clutching tight.

Kisodeth rose, scanning the cavern entrance. The way back wasn’t going to be easy. If goblins had gotten this far, there were bound to be more lurking between them and the surface. She rolled her shoulders, free hand gripping her sword. No way in hell was she letting anything else touch this kid.

“Stay close,” she murmured, eyes narrowing into the darkness. Then, with Koko clutching her side, she started for the exit.
 

WC: 245

Kisodeth’s grip tightened on her sword as her eyes darted across the chamber, taking in every detail—three children, bound and gagged, wide-eyed with terror, kneeling at the base of the altar. Koko among them.

“Koko?”
“Yes!? Help!”

That was all she needed.Her jaw clenched, stomach twisting. There was something about this scene—the way the goblins leered, drooled, muttered their wretched incantations that made her blood run cold.

She was going to butcher them. She moved. A sprint. A blur. Winter’s Discontent left its sheath in a vicious, sweeping arc. The nearest goblin barely had time to register the attack before its head separated from its shoulders, body crumpling like discarded trash.

The chanting broke. The goblins hesitated just for a second. But Kisodeth didn’t.

She tore through the next, blade carving clean through its chest. A third raised a rusted dagger, too slow. She twisted, brought her knee up into its gut, sent it sprawling. The goblin shaman snarled, raising its staff, its voice twisting into something foul, ancient. The air itself seemed to shudder, a sickly green glow forming at the tip of the staff.

Kisodeth didn’t give a damn. She was already on it. A lunge, her foot landed on the altar, pushing off. She launched herself into the air. A flash of steel. A brutal, downward swing. The shaman’s staff snapped in two. The spell collapsed into flickering embers.

And before the creature could screech in rage…Her sword drove straight through its chest. The shaman jerked, fingers clawing uselessly at the blade impaling it, before Kisodeth ripped it free.

The remaining goblins panicked. Some turned to flee, she cut them down before they took three steps. The rest tried to fight. They died faster. Silence fell over the cavern.

Kisodeth exhaled sharply, heart hammering. Her boots crunched over bloodied stone as she stepped toward the altar, sword still dripping. She knelt, cutting Koko’s bindings with a single stroke.

“You alright?”

The kid nodded frantically, trembling. Kisodeth turned, working on the others.

“Good,” she muttered, rising to her feet, flicking blood from her blade.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
 

WC: 353

The chanting grew louder, a low, guttural drone that seemed to seep from the walls themselves. The further Kisodeth pressed on, the heavier the air became damp, stale, tinged with something… foul. The kind of smell that clung to deep places left undisturbed for far too long.

Her fingers scraped against the rough stone as she guided herself through the dark, her other hand resting on Winter’s Discontent, ready to draw.

“Where the hell is that kid at? Koko!”

Her voice cut through the cavern, but still no answer. But something else changed. The chanting hitched. A brief stutter, like the voices had noticed her, acknowledged her presence then carried on.

Kisodeth slowed, narrowing her eyes. Not the reaction of mindless mobs. This was different.

A ritual? A gathering? A trap?

She edged forward, body low, every footstep deliberate. The passage opened into a wider chamber, the glow of pale green torches casting flickering shadows across jagged stone pillars and uneven ground. And then she saw them.

A circle of figures.

Goblins. At least a dozen. Their sickly green skin slick with sweat, their bodies hunched and swaying as they chanted, surrounding a crude stone altar. Symbols carved into the rock pulsed faintly in the dim firelight. But there was no Koko. No sign of a child at all.

Just a figure laid out on the altar. Bound. Struggling weakly. And standing over them, a goblin shaman twice as large as the others, draped in ragged furs, holding a wicked, jagged dagger.

Kisodeth’s eyes darkened. 
 

WC: 255