[Hogun pov]
Queen and I stood in a small ramen shop nestled right beside the Citadel's main gate, steam rising from her bowl as she slurped casually. We were waiting—dreading, really—for Red and his horde to show up: angry horsemen, armored cavalry, sentient horses, and whatever else the madness of the "Horse City" spawned.
Queen had swapped her skin again—more casual now, something light and sleek—and was halfway through her noodles.
[picture]
[Hogun]: How can you be so calm about this?
[Queen]: Hogun, we're just going outside the walls. Not like we're diving into an Eldritch ocean.
I turned and stared at her, dead serious.
[Hogun]: Do you remember how many people we invited to this server? 128.
She paused mid-bite. I continued.
[Hogun]: We started this server with 128 players. You remember that, right? So, riddle me this—what do you get when 128 chaotic minds merge their creativity, insanity, and god complexes into one persistent open world server?
She stopped mid-slurp. That got her attention.
[Queen]: ...You get this server.
Exactly.
I pulled out a map and slapped it on the table. Queen leaned in, narrowing her eyes at the large, aggressively square continent we called home.
[Queen]: I still can't believe we live on a square continent. With mountains, rivers, active volcanoes, and a skybox that changes based on public emotion polling... Also, parts are still on fire. And is that—are those the Vaults?
[Hogun]: I like corners. Don't judge me.
I didn't even need to answer. Her ramen hung forgotten as she stared at the dozens of red-marked Vaults on the map—each one sealed shut, each one a tomb for our old friends and their collections.
[Hogun]: Yep. One hundred and twenty Vaults. Each one holds the gear, memories, and frankly terrifying modded arsenals of our fallen comrades. Like Grap—remember him? The entire Warhammer 40k archive was buried with him. Custom Imperial Guard regiment, modified Primarchs, a domesticated daemon or two... He even had an alternate Magnus the Red that was a knight instead of a sorcerer.
[Queen]: ...Didn't he also let a version of the Emperor loose in there?
[Hogun]: A lesser version. Still enough to vaporize cities if he sneezes. Oh—and don't forget Trazyn the Infinite is in there too.
[Queen]: You left Trazyn free?! Trazyn?!, the literal Warhammer Pokémon master, is set to walk free in a vault full of all kinds of lore that mods can have from WH 40k.
[Hogun]: Hey, we needed a lore archivist. He's just... extra thorough.
She blinked. I followed her gaze, right to Vault #7, sitting ominously on our path.
[Queen]: ...That's the one we're walking past?
I nodded grimly.
[Hogun]: Yeah. We need to make sure nothing's... leaking.
I sat back and ran a hand down my mask. My voice dropped a little, as if I needed her to understand the real danger.
[Hogun]: This world? This server is a biomech nightmare lovechild of Skyrim, Minecraft, Garry's Mod, and Warhammer lore… crossbred with the worst ideas from every chaotic player we ever let in. It's like we built Australia, gave it sentience, and then threw in African warzones and eldritch Amazonian lifeforms for flavor.
[Queen]: You're exaggerating.
[Hogun]: Do you remember the butterflies?
She blinked. Paled.
[Hogun]: Yeah. The ones that suck your organs out while you're still alive and store you in a jelly cocoon so they can slowly devour you for a thousand years while you scream forever.
[Queen]: I named one Jeffrey…
[Hogun]: You're part of the problem.
Queen pushed her ramen away.
[Queen]: ...I'm suddenly not hungry.
Just then, a low rumble came from outside. The ground shook ever so slightly.
[Queen]: That Red?
I walked to the door and opened it.
Marching up to the gate was a horde. Not just cavalry, but mounted beastmasters, intelligent war-horses in gold-plated barding, a centaur division, three giant horse mechs, and Red—at the head, with the smuggest grin possible—holding a flag that just said:
"HORSE CITY RISES."
[Hogun]: ...Yep. That's Red.
[Queen]: I suddenly want to turn around.
[Hogun]: Too late. Welcome to adventure.
[Later...]
We left the green meadows—those rare pockets of peace surrounding the Citadel—and crossed the invisible threshold into what we called the Wastes.
No cheerful ambient music here. No birdsong or NPCs with pre-canned greetings. Just the whisper of wind that carried the stench of burnt metal and ancient rot. The air even felt different. Like it knew we weren't supposed to be here.
The grass turned to blackened soil. Trees gave way to rusted fences and skeletal remains of buildings half-swallowed by the earth. And then… the Bone Forest.
Even Queen, with her high self-confidence, paused when we saw it.
Bone-white trunks of trees stretched into the dull gray sky, their leaves made of sharp, brittle mirror shards that reflected light in strange, crooked ways. It wasn't just a forest—it was a warning written in nature's language: "Turn back."
[Queen]: Remind me why we didn't just teleport around this place?
[Hogun]: Because this forest grew over the fast-travel anchor points. Somehow. Last week it wasn't here.
[Red]: That's new. I don't like that.
Behind us, Horse City's elite followed—centaurs, horsefolk, giant mechs with saddles, and one Pegasus that sparkled aggressively. They all looked uneasy. Except for one sentient Clydesdale named Justice, who just snorted and muttered, "Bones build character."
We pushed on, boots crunching over marrow branches and skull-strewn paths. And that's when the real monsters came.
Not zombies. Not even undead. These were… broken things. Memory-glitched, AI-scrambled, rage-fueled abominations—models twisted by corrupted data and leftover bits of modded DNA.
And they were hunting.
First came the skittering. Then the low growls. The bone leaves started rattling on their own.
[Red]: Uh… we're being hunted, right?
[Hogun]: Yes. Stay close, don't engage unless we're surrounded—
A noise interrupted me.
A hum.
Then a shimmer in the air. Reality rippled. The bone forest fell silent, like it too was holding its breath.
Then he appeared, just beyond the treeline, as if stepping from a memory.
Trazyn the Infinite.
Polished Necron armor gleaming. Cloak of stitched lore fragments trailing behind him like mist. And behind him… Vault #7, no longer sealed. Floating just above the ground, now a mobile citadel tethered to his will by reality anchors.
[Queen]: That's not just the vault anymore…
[Hogun]: He added it to his collection.
Trazyn's voice echoed through the air, calm, calculated, inhuman:
[Trazyn]: I've come for what belongs in my vault. Three unique people. Cross-universal anchors. Living avatars of power. You.
He pointed at me. Then Queen. Then Red.
[Red]: Okay, how bad does he want to collect us?
I looked at him, fully serious under my gas mask.
[Hogun]: Red… how hard would you try to catch a legendary shiny limited Pokémon as a Pokémon Master?
He visibly paled. Even Justice the Clydesdale took a step back.
[Red]: ...We're so screwed.
Trazyn raised a hand, and from behind him, shadow versions of our old friends emerged. Glitch-clones. Soul-locked echoes. They had our old gear, our old tactics, our old minds—just... hollow.
They weren't trying to kill us.
They were trying to preserve us.
[Queen]: Hogun, what's the plan?
[Hogun]: We don't fight. We survive. Through the forest, over the ridge, into the Forgotten Highway. If we can cross the Shattered Bridge, we reach the Southern Cradle—Trazyn can't pass the Old Firewall there.
[Red]: You had that route memorized?
[Hogun]: I designed this map. I know every cursed corner.
Heavily distorted Gregorian chanting began to hum from the vault behind Trazyn as dozens more echoes stepped forward.
And we did.
The Bone Forest screamed behind us.
Vault #7 floated after us.
And somewhere in the chaos, Jeffrey the organ-eating butterfly silently joined the chase.
[Extra: The Emperor and the collector]
I awoke in silence.
Not the silence of peace, but that heavy, unnatural hush that presses in from all sides. I sat up slowly, ancient joints groaning under power that once shook the stars. My golden armor dimmed long ago, still unbowed, but weary beyond comprehension.
Around me, I saw relics. Monuments. Echoes of things lost and things that never were.
A statue stood before me, weathered but revered. A man in a Commissar's uniform, bolter in one hand, sword planted at his feet. Around him, strange flowers bloomed eternally, never wilting, untouched by entropy or time.
[Trazyn]: Beautiful, isn't he… the Master of Mankind.
The voice echoed, measured and metallic, yet with a trace of... reverence? I turned.
Trazyn the Infinite. Curator of lost empires. Thief of Worlds. The only being audacious enough to stalk me through eternity, not to destroy me, but to display me.
I rose slowly. Not to fight. I didn't have the strength. Not yet.
[The Emperor]: Still meddling in the affairs of gods, I see.
Trazyn chuckled, the sound like static on ancient crystal vox.
[Trazyn]: Not meddling. Preserving. Recording. Learning. You… you are a masterpiece I dare not misplace. But rest easy—I'm not here to collect you. Not yet.
He turned, motioning with one clawed hand. Displays unfolded like blooming data-flowers around us, each revealing another twisted mirror of reality.
[Trazyn]: This vault contains many impossibilities. A Magnus the Red who became a knight, not a sorcerer. A Lorgar who rebelled against Chaos, only to become a martyr. A Sanguinius who survived the Siege, but broke under the weight of peace. A galaxy reborn a thousand ways… but only this one has you, broken and unbowed.
He gestured toward the statue again.
[Trazyn]: This one, however… Grap. I could not collect him.
The name stirred a memory.
[Trazyn]: He fell at Whiteveil. I was there when he died—fighting not for empire, but for the souls of a fractured world. His kind are gone now. Only five remain, scattered to ash or time. And I intend to preserve what's left before the rot consumes it.
I stepped closer to the statue, studying the face. Not a Primarch. Not a demigod. Just a man. Steadfast. Devoted. Forgotten by most, but not by this place.
[The Emperor]: And what of me, Trazyn? Am I simply another artifact in waiting?
Trazyn turned, head tilted slightly.
[Trazyn]: No. You are a piece of the puzzle. The center of the spiral. The Citadel rises again, and the children—those born of code and soul—are reshaping what remains. You will go to them.
A soft flicker. A folded dataslate appeared in his hand. He offered it to me.
[Trazyn]: A map to the Citadel. You'll be safe there, for now. Red and Queen have already begun their part. Hogun… Hogun carries the weight you once bore. And though you are not yet ready to fight, you must be present.
I took the slate. My grip trembled, not from fear… but from memory.
[Trazyn]: We are alike, you and I. Builders of things that outlive us.
He turned away, walking back into the depths of the vault.
[Trazyn]: When the time comes, I will find you again. Perhaps then, you'll let me add you to the shelf.
He vanished. Leaving only the statue, the flowers, and the weight of old wars.
I looked at the map. On the route to the Citadel.
Then I walked.
Toward the next war.
But it's not war that greeted me, but a dream I longed for.
The Dream that broke with the imperium, the dream of peace and prosperity.
[Chapter end]
[Note: I have pretty important exams by the end of the week, so I have to go on a hiatus until the end of the month, also the vote ends at the end of this month.]