Lena and Irina returned first. They stepped out of the violet vortex, bringing with them the scent of tomb-damp and ozone. They looked different—not just because of the authentic armour and priestly robes. There was a weight to their movements now, the sort of gravity belonging to those who have stared into the abyss and made it blink. Lena removed her helmet, tossing her hair. The symbiote beneath her skin was calm, but now that stillness felt like a fully charged capacitor.
"They’re taking their time," Irina noted, leaning on her staff. She’d used magic to clean the dust from her mantle, but the reflections of dragon-fire still danced in her eyes.
"Nate will manage," Lena said confidently, sitting on a stack of empty pizza boxes (the Administrator didn't even protest). "She’s far too stubborn to die in a sandpit."
At that moment, the space in the centre of the room warped. The air grew dry and blistering. A yellow-brown portal yawned open, and two figures tumbled out, coughing and spluttering. Nate and Rollo. They collapsed onto the carpet of wires, kicking up a cloud of fine red dust.
"Cough... hack!" Nate rolled onto her back, arms sprawled wide. "Solid ground! Proper, non-quicksand ground! And air! Humid air!"
Rollo lay beside her, paws and quills splayed.
"I’m... I’m alive," the hedgehog whispered. "And I am never going to the seaside again. Never."
"Nate!" Irina rushed to them, helping her friend up.
Nate sat up, dusting herself off.
"Well then, girls?" She winked with her new multi-lens visor. "Miss us?"
"You look like you’ve been chewed up by a sandworm," Lena smirked, offering her a hand.
"Near enough. But the worm choked."
Nate stood up. She looked around, made sure everyone was watching (including the Administrator, who had swivelled his chair), and struck a theatrical pose.
"And now... check out the new gear."
She made a gesture with her hand, as if plucking an invisible sword from the air. The space before her shimmered and condensed, and IT materialised in her hands. The ‘Nemesis-Alpha’ rifle. A four-metre-long black monster with rail-guides glowing blue and a scope the size of a telescope. The weapon was so massive it looked absurd in the hands of a slender girl, yet Nate held it with a terrifying ease, as if it were an extension of her own arm.
"Subclass: Space Hunter," Nate announced proudly, stroking the matte barrel. "One-shots gods, punches through tanks, makes a lovely cuppa... alright, it doesn't make tea, but it could vaporise a kettle from orbit."
"Impressive," the Administrator nodded. "I see you’ve found a common language with the 'Nemesis'. It’s a prototype I rejected because it broke the game balance. Far too powerful."
"I am the balance now," Nate smirked. She dematerialised the rifle (sending it to her subclass inventory) and turned to Lena.
"What about you, Eli?" Impatience rang in her voice. "How was the dungeon tour? Become a Titan yet?"
Lena nodded. "I did."
"Well, show us then!" Nate bounced on the spot. "I want to see! Can you turn into a massive monster now? Come on, dazzle us!"
"I... I haven't quite mastered the transformation yet," Lena hesitated. "Down there, it happened because of... emotions. The symbiote... it’s got a mind of its own."
"Oh, rubbish! We’re all friends here!" Nate prodded. "Come on, just a micro-demo. Show us what you've got!"
Rollo, who had already dusted himself off and straightened his glasses, rolled closer with keen interest.
"Go on, Boss! Show us the might of the Abyss!"
Lena sighed. She wanted to check how it worked in a calm environment herself.
"Fine. But stand back."
She closed her eyes and focused. She reached for that dark, humming power slumbering within.
‘Symbiote. Titan Form. Partial activation.’
The symbiote responded instantly. Too instantly. It was fed, full of energy after the victory over the Abbot, and it seemed it also wanted to show off. But instead of a crisp, structured set of armour, it decided to interpret the command for 'power increase' in its own way. Its System way. Lena felt a sharp surge of heat. Her armour groaned.
"Activation!" she exhaled.
But instead of growing three metres tall and sprouting spikes, the energy went... elsewhere. More specifically, into very particular locations. The symbiote sharply increased the volume of biomass in the chest area.
CRACK-WHOOSH!
The breastplates on Lena’s chest gave a pathetic creak and split apart. The black, glossy matter of the symbiote swelled, instantly ballooning Lena’s bust from a sensible B-cup to... well, let’s just say to dimensions that would make even the hentai artists in the Design Department blush. It was, perhaps, a size K. Or M. Two gargantuan, perfectly round, black-latex-clad orbs of symbiote that quite literally eclipsed her vision.
Lena opened her eyes, feeling her centre of gravity shift violently forward.
"What the..." she looked down. Or rather, she tried to look down, but saw nothing but her own vast chest, which was now living a life of its own, swaying slightly with her breath.
A ringing silence fell over the office. Nate stood with her mouth hanging open. Irina covered her mouth with her palm, eyes wide.
"Er..." Nate managed. "Eli... is... is that the Titan?"
Lena turned so red it was visible even through the black symbiote 'skin' on her neck.
"It’s a bug!" she cried out in a panic, trying with her hands (which remained normal size) to cover the magnificence, which was physically impossible. "Symbiote! Cancel! Shrink!"
But the symbiote, apparently believing this was the ideal form for intimidating (or distracting) an enemy, was in no hurry to roll back the changes. The hedgehog stood frozen. His glasses fogged up from the inside. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He remembered the deal with Nate. He remembered the "bullet to the head." He was holding on with all his might. He bit his lip until it bled. He was literally shaking from the strain.
Nate, getting over the initial shock, looked at the hedgehog. She could see how he was suffering. It was a torture worthy of the Inquisition—to see THAT and remain silent. She couldn't hold it in and snorted. Then she burst out laughing.
"Right then, Prickles!" she waved a hand, wiping away tears of laughter. "I’ll allow it! Just this once! Say it, or you’ll pop!"
Rollo exhaled like a punctured balloon.
"CALIBRE MATTERS!" he shrieked, pointing a trembling paw at Lena. "I thought Nate had a big gun, but this... THIS IS A DOUBLE-WHAMMY TO THE PSYCHE!"
Lena finally regained control. With a cross hiss, the symbiote retracted, returning her figure to its normal, human proportions. The armour plates clicked back into place. She stood there, flushed and fuming, but as she looked at Nate, who was howling with laughter, and Rollo, who was red in the face from the strain, she couldn't help herself. The corners of her mouth twitched.
"Muppet," she huffed, but without real malice. "That was... a system calibration. A botched one."
"Botched?!" Rollo wiped sweat from his brow. "That was the best bloody cutscene in the game! Ten out of ten! Game of the Year!"
Suddenly, a strange sound echoed. Drip. Drip.
Everyone turned to the Administrator. He sat in his chair, maintaining a state of absolute, stony-faced composure. Not a single emotion flickered across his face. He stared at his monitor with the look of a man solving a particularly grueling differential equation. But from his nose, a thin, steady stream of blood was trickling down, dripping onto his white dressing gown.
"Admin?" Irina asked cautiously. "Are you... quite alright?"
The Administrator slowly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his nose, and stared at the red stain.
"Overload," he stated dispassionately. "A power surge in the visual cortex. Hardware fatigue. Think nothing of it."
"Yeah, right, 'overload'," Nate whispered to Irina. "Dirty old sod."
The Administrator cleared his throat, reclaiming his authority.
"Right then. Enough of the larking about. You’ve had your upgrades. You’ve tested your... ahem... capabilities. Now to business."
He pressed a button, and the map on the wall was replaced by a blueprint.
"The final level. The Citadel of the Beginning."
The schematic showed a gargantuan spiral labyrinth leading to a central chamber—the Core.
"Modesta knows you're coming," the Administrator said, his voice turning serious and hard. "After you did for her lieutenants—the Abbot and the Pharaoh—she’s bolstered the defences. The Citadel is crawling with elite mobs. But that’s not your main problem."
"What is, then?" asked Lena, who had fully recovered her composure and was back to being the focused Agent Vector.
"Time. Modesta's ritual is nearly complete. She is merging with the Core. If she finishes the process, she won't just be a boss; she’ll be the System itself. She’ll be able to rewrite reality with a snap of her fingers. You’ll have..." he checked a timer in the corner of the screen. "...about an hour."
"An hour?!" Nate protested. "To fight through an army and kill a god?"
"With your new powers, it’s possible. If you move fast and don’t get... distracted by any more calibrations."
He looked at Lena over his glasses. Lena rolled her eyes.
"Route," she demanded.
"Through the Laundry. As you planned. But I’ve tweaked the exit coordinates slightly."
The Administrator entered a final command. In the centre of the room, shoving aside pizza boxes, a plinth began to rise from the floor. Upon it sat... a washing machine. Old, battered by life, but humming.
"This is Node Zero," the Administrator explained. "The service entrance to the Citadel’s basement. It’s the shortest route to the Throne Room."
He stood up and approached them.
"Listen to me. Modesta is not just a collection of stats. She is the embodiment of vanity and perfectionism. She loathes anything imperfect. Anything dirty, broken, or wrong."
He pointed to their gear—Nate’s scuffed frock coat, Lena’s battered armour, Irina’s patched-up mantle.
"To her, you are filth. An error. She will try to 'fix' you. Turn you into pretty statues. Do not let her dictate the rules. Be... yourselves. Be the same pain in the arse you’ve been for me."
"Oh, we can do that," Nate smirked.
"We’ll show her that real beauty is in the scars and the character," Irina added.
"And I’ll show her what a real 'Titan' looks like," Lena promised grimly. "And I’ll get the sizing right this time."
The Administrator nodded. He reached out and opened the washing machine door. A black vortex with red lightning swirled inside.
"Go. Give me my game back. Or destroy it. I don't care anymore, so long as it ends."
"We’ll be back," Lena said. "And we’re making you tidy this office."
They stepped toward the machine. Rollo, bringing up the rear, stopped before the Administrator.
"Oi, Grandad."
The Administrator looked down at the hedgehog. "What is it, you code error?"
"Cheers for not deleting us. And..." Rollo adjusted his shades. "If we win, make sure I get the 'Witnessed Titanic Tits and Survived' achievement."
The Administrator huffed, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.
"Piss off, then."
Rollo jumped into the portal after the girls. The door slammed shut. The machine hummed, vibrated, and vanished in a flash of light. The Administrator was left alone. He walked to the window and stared into the digital void.
"Modesta..." he whispered. "Meet your guests. You won't like them one bit."
The exit from the portal was rough. They were literally spat out of a ventilation grate in the wall, tumbling onto a cold, perfectly polished floor of black marble.
[Location: The Citadel of the Beginning / Throne Room Antechamber.]
It was quiet. Eerily quiet. No monsters, no guards. Just an endless corridor with towering columns vanishing into the darkness of the ceiling. And mirrors. Hundreds of mirrors along the walls.
"I don't like this," Nate whispered, standing up. Her footsteps echoed hollowly in the silence. "Too clean. Too posh."
"She’s waiting for us," Irina said. She could feel Modesta’s presence. It weighed on her shoulders heavier than any gravity.
They moved forward. In the mirrors, it wasn't them reflecting back. The mirrors showed "ideal" versions of themselves. Lena saw herself not in battered armour, but in an exquisite evening gown, with perfect hair, submissive and smiling. Nate saw herself in golden plate armour, looking like a glamorous Valkyrie, scarless and with flawless make-up. Irina saw herself as a saint, floating in the clouds, devoid of her dragon rage, clinical and pure.
"Don’t look," Lena warned. "It’s a glamour. She’s trying to get inside our heads."
"Pretty picture," Nate snorted, glancing at her "ideal" reflection. "But boring as hell. This doll’s got no bollocks."
They reached the end of the corridor. Before them stood gargantuan doors, fifty metres high, carved from a single piece of ruby and framed in gold. The doors began to open on their own, silent and smooth. From within flooded a crimson light and music—solemn, organ-heavy, but laced with a frantic electronic beat.
They entered the Throne Room. It wasn't just a chamber; it was a universe of narcissism. The floor was transparent, with lava flowing beneath. The walls were made of screens, all broadcasting Modesta’s face from every conceivable angle. And in the centre, on a dais floating over the lava, stood the Throne. And upon it sat Her. Modesta.
She had changed since their last encounter in the volcano. She was no longer just a tall woman. She had become a giant. Her body was integrated into the Throne itself. Her obsidian dress flowed across the entire hall, becoming the floor, the walls, the columns. She was the heart of this world. Her face was a mask of divine boredom. Upon her head shone a crown made of black holes.
[FINAL BOSS: MODESTA, THE SYSTEM QUEEN (Lvl. 99)] [Status: Absolute Power. Merger with Core: 98%.]
She opened her eyes. They were like two supernovae.
"You have arrived," the voice echoed from everywhere. It wasn't sound; it was the vibration of reality itself. "My little filthy errors. You’ve crawled so far to reach me."
She raised a hand. Fingers the length of lampposts were adorned with rings, each one a portal to another reality.
"I have been watching you. You are amusing. You think you’ve gained 'power'? That the pathetic crumbs of that old fool, the Administrator, will save you?"
She laughed.
"I have rewritten the code of this world, my darlings. There are no 'Hunters' or 'Titans' here. There is only Me and my ornaments."
She snapped her fingers. The floor beneath them turned to glass.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Dozens of figures wove themselves out of the thin air. Copies of the girls. Identical in every detail, yet dressed in those very outfits they loathed: the energy-thongs, the tatty sacks, the bondage harnesses.
"Fight your past," Modesta whispered. "Kill your shame, if you can."
The copies lunged into the attack.
"Right then, girls," Lena activated her helmet. The interface flared with combat runes. "Let’s show her we’ve outgrown this wardrobe."
"With bloody pleasure!" Nate materialised the Nemesis.
"For the Darkness and the Light!" Irina struck her staff, summoning the dragon flame.
The final battle began. Modesta’s Throne Room transformed into a surreal catwalk of nightmares. The transparent glass floor, with digital lava seething beneath, reflected hundreds of flashes as the copies charged. They didn't use tactics. They didn't use cover. They used... "physics."
"Oi, the real me!" shouted a Copy-Nate, dressed in those same, absurdly skimpy energy-thongs and a top held together by nothing but luck and fan-service magic. "You look far too tense! You need to relax! Look at what I can do!"
False-Nate leaped. The System generously granted her a slow-motion effect and hypertrophied breast inertia. It looked so ridiculous and vulgar that the real Nate, encased in her hunter’s frock coat, ground her teeth in fury.
"Die, you shameful relic!" Nate raised the Nemesis, trying to catch the twitching target in her sights.
But the copies were fast. And there were so many of them. A False-Irina, tripping over a potato sack (which periodically and 'accidentally' slipped off her shoulder), threw herself at the real Priestess’s feet.
"Punish me!" the Copy shrieked. "I’ve been a naughty girl! I don't deserve to wear gold!"
She latched onto the hem of Irina’s mantle, hampering her casting.
"Get off!" Irina tried to shove her away with the staff, but the Copy only giggled and struck an even more suggestive pose.
Lena had it worst of all. She was attacked by a whole pack of "BDSM-Lenas" in latex harnesses. They cracked whips, arched their backs, and whispered phrases that made even Rollo’s ears turn red.
"Mistress, let’s play!" one of the copies jumped onto Lena’s back, coiling her legs around her. "The symbiote wants some lovin'!"
Lena, whose armour was currently the embodiment of functional protection, growled with rage. The real, combat-ready symbiote within wanted to tear these fakes to shreds.
"Piss off!" Lena transformed her arm into a blade and slashed through the air.
The copy dissolved into pixels with a loud, theatrical moan. But a second later, a new one—exactly the same, only more vulgar—crawled out of the floor.
"They’re respawning!" shouted Rollo, rolling between the legs of the combatants, trying not to get hit while simultaneously trying (and failing) not to look at the underwear parade. "It’s an infinite mob spawn! Attrition mechanics!"
Modesta watched from her Throne, lazily propping her cheek on her hand. Her gargantuan obsidian body merged with the very architecture of the hall.
"Come now, darlings," her voice thundered, filling the space. "Why resist? Look at them. They are what the public wants. The perfect product. Bright, accessible, mindless. And you? Boring, covered-up, angry. Who needs you in your armour?"
She snapped her fingers.
"Add special effects. More glitter. More moaning."
The copies grew more aggressive. They didn't deal physical damage, but they dealt mental damage. They crowded the girls' arms, ruined their aim, and blocked their vision with their bodies. Nate found a position behind a column and began charging the Nemesis for a shot at Modesta. The boss was open—a massive, stationary target.
"I’m going to wipe that smirk off your face..." Nate whispered, aligning the crosshairs with the bridge of the giant queen’s nose.
The rifle hummed, gathering its charge. 80%... 90%... Suddenly, an arse appeared in front of her face. Encased in glowing thongs. False-Nate had leaped from a column right onto the barrel of the rifle. She sat astride the muzzle, blocking the view with her thighs.
"Peek-a-boo!" the Copy giggled. "Where are we looking, then? At me?"
Then she did the unthinkable. She hooked a finger into those very thongs and, stretching them out like a catapult, snapped them right over the front lens of the optical sight.
"There! Much prettier! A rose-tinted filter!"
"YOU DIGITAL SLAG!" Nate roared so loud the glass in the hall shuddered.
The shot went wide of the mark—the plasma bolt, punching through the thongs and the Copy (who evaporated with a contented sigh), smashed into the ceiling, bringing down a chunk of digital masonry. Modesta burst into laughter.
"Magnificent! Such drama! Such expression! Do you see? You cannot defeat your own nature! You are simply dolls in my theatre!"
Lena threw off another latex-clad version of herself.
"Enough," she said. Her voice was cold and steady. "Girls. Group up."
They retreated to the centre of the hall, standing back-to-back. Around them, like a pack of zombie strippers, the copies tightened the circle.
"They're endless," Irina said, breathing hard. "We're wasting strength on phantoms."
"They have no souls," Lena looked at the frantic crowd. "And they have no subclasses. They’re the old patch. They’re hollow."
She shifted her gaze to Modesta, who continued to bask in her superiority, blowing kisses into the void.
"She thinks we’re playing her game. The game of 'who can shout the loudest.' But we’re going to play ours."
Lena activated her helmet interface.
"Here’s the plan. Ira, you’re the sweep. I need a clear field. Burn them all. Every single one. Don't leave a single pixel. Nate," Lena turned to the Hunter, who was currently ripping the remnants of underwear off her scope. "You find a position. High up. Near the ceiling. I need one shot. The most powerful one this gun can deliver."
"And you?" Nate asked, checking her optics.
"Me?" Lena looked at the gargantuan Modesta. "I’m going in for a hug. She likes big forms? I’ll give her a form. Rollo!" Lena shouted. "Distraction manoeuvre! Maximum cringe!"
The hedgehog saluted.
"On it! Launching 'Dancing Hedgehog' protocol!"
Rollo rolled forward. His sneakers began to glow with every colour of the rainbow. An unbearably upbeat 8-bit tune blasted from his glasses' speakers. He began to breakdance in the middle of the crowd of copies, spinning on his head.
"Oi, girls! Look at me! I’m the main attraction here!"
The copies, programmed to react to any 'hype,' were momentarily distracted by the glowing hedgehog.
"NOW!" Lena commanded.
Irina struck her staff.
"DRAGON PURGATORY!"
It wasn't just fire. It was a wave of white heat mingled with gold. It radiated from Irina in a circle, filling the entire hall. The floor didn't melt, but the copies... they ignited instantly. No moaning, no respawning. The Dragon Priestess’s magic, amplified by her removed limiters, incinerated the very malicious code that had created the phantoms. The hall was flooded with blinding light.
Modesta, seated on her throne, shielded her eyes.
"What?! Мой chorus line! How dare you ruin the show?!"
While the fire raged, wiping out the 'extras,' Nate was already gone from the floor. Using her hunter skills and a grappling hook, she ascended toward the dome of the hall, latching onto a massive chandelier. She hung upside down, coiling her legs around the fixture. The Nemesis began to hum once more.
"Core charging. Overloading capacitors."
Lena stood alone in the middle of the empty, smoking hall, directly opposite Modesta. The System Queen rose from her Throne. Her face was contorted with fury. She was gargantuan—thirty metres tall.
"You pathetic mite!" she thundered. "Are you all that's left? I shall crush you beneath my heel!"
She raised a giant foot, shod in an obsidian stiletto, to flatten Lena.
"Left alone?" Lena smirked beneath her helmet. "I’m never alone. We are Legion."
She threw her arms wide.
"TITAN! FULL SYNCHRONISATION!"
A black wave of the Abyss erupted from her. This time, there were no errors. No distortions. Lena grew. Upwards, outwards. Her armour shattered and reassembled, becoming thicker, blacker, stronger. Spikes erupted from her shoulders and back. Her face vanished beneath an impenetrable mask. In a second, she had grown to match Modesta’s size. A thirty-metre black Titan, woven from rage and the symbiote.
Modesta froze, her foot hovering in mid-air. She stared into the face of her own reflection—except it wasn't glamorous; it was monstrous.
"What..." the Boss began.
"YOUR SET IS OVER," Lena-Titan thundered.
She intercepted Modesta’s leg mid-flight. Black, pincer-like fingers clamped onto the goddess’s ankle.
"GET OVER HERE."
A violent yank. Modesta lost her balance. Her obsidian dress strained and tore. Lena hauled her in, sweeping her off her feet. Two gargantuan figures slammed onto the floor. The hall shuddered; cracks raced across the screens on the walls. Lena pinned her down, crushing Modesta’s arms against the marble.
"Let go! This isn't in the script!" the Queen shrieked, trying to blast Lena with magic, but the Titan’s black chitin absorbed the damage. "I’m beautiful! I’m perfect! You can’t touch me!"
"YOU’RE JUST CODE," Lena replied, staring into the boss’s flawless face with her red visor. "AND YOU’VE GLITCHED."
She squeezed Modesta’s wrists until the boss’s digital framework began to crack. Modesta wailed, her face distorting, transforming from a beautiful mask into a grimace of pure terror. She opened her mouth to scream, revealing not teeth, but the gaping void of the Core.
"NATE!" Lena-Titan roared. "DO IT!"
Up under the ceiling, perched on the chandelier, Nate finished her charge. The rifle vibrated, ready to fly apart from the sheer energy. The sights were fixed dead-centre on Modesta’s chest, right where the System Core—the source of her vanity and power—pulsed beneath layers of obsidian.
"Say cheese, bitch," Nate whispered. "Wait for the flash. 500-millimetre calibre."
She pulled the trigger.
BA-DA-BOOM!
The sound of the shot drowned out everything. A bolt of pure, blindingly white energy, spiralling as it went, struck from above. It tore through the air, leaving a vacuum wake. It entered Modesta’s chest, punching through the "invulnerable" armour of ego and magic like a hot knife through butter. Modesta arched her back. Her scream shifted into an ultrasonic frequency that shattered every remaining mirror in the corridor. The beam went straight through. It pierced her body, pierced the Throne beneath her, pierced the floor of the Citadel, and vanished into the depths far below.
A massive, smoking hole with perfectly smooth edges now gaped in the Final Boss’s chest. Through that hole, one couldn't see the next level of the game, nor space, nor code. Instead, you could see... grey concrete. And yellow markings. And a sign that read: [CAR PARK. SECTOR B].
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Modesta’s death rattle turned into a digital screech that made their ears ring.
The Nemesis bolt had threaded her through, punched the throne, the floor, and vanished into the infinite darkness below. The System Queen’s body began to fall apart into chunks of smoking obsidian and dead pixels. She plummeted backwards into the rift Nate’s shot had created. Silence fell over the hall, broken only by the crackle of cooling plasma.
The girls stood at the edge of the massive hole with its perfectly smooth, molten edges. A draft blew through it, carrying the smell of... damp concrete and exhaust fumes.
"A car park?" Nate lowered her rifle, squinting into the dark. "Seriously? Under the Citadel of the gods, there was a car park?"
"It’s the Northern Sector," Lena remembered. Her Titan armour had already vanished, returning her to her standard tactical suit, but her hands were still shaking from the strain. "The one beyond the Gates of Twilight."
She began frantically patting the pouches of her utility vest.
"Keys... where are they?"
Irina and Nate exchanged a look. They remembered that quest from the very beginning of the game. Vlad the Vampire and his werewolf bride, Lyra. The clans, the eternal love, the dramatic speeches. A flash of memory: Lyra handing over a fob. "—It’s a car key. My 'Twilight Cruiser'. It’s in the northern car park..."
"Found them!" Lena fished a fob out of her deepest pouch.
Hanging from the logo of a popular Japanese car manufacturer was a small, tatty plush coffin with a red heart.
[Item: Keys to the 'Twilight Cruiser'] [Status: Active. Vlad promised a full tank.]
"We’ve got a ride," Lena exhaled. "Jump!"
They leaped into the hole. It was a fair drop, but Nate’s hunter skills (grappling hook) and the last of Irina’s levitation allowed for a soft landing.
They found themselves in a vast, dimly lit concrete hangar. Rows of columns marked "N-1," "N-2" stretched into infinity. Fluorescent lights flickered, emitting an ominous hum. And there, right under the breach in the ceiling, amidst dust and construction debris, it stood.
A black, predatory, tuned crossover. Blacked-out windows, alloy wheels with a red rim, and a stylised bat airbrushed onto the bonnet.
"Nice one, Vlad," Nate smirked, patting the bonnet. "The vampire has taste. At least it’s not a hearse."
Lena pressed the button on the fob.
BEEP-BEEP.
The Cruiser’s headlights flared with blood-red xenon, illuminating the concrete wall ahead. The engine responded with a low, satisfied growl, like a beast being woken.
"Load up! Fast!" Lena commanded, throwing open the driver’s door.
But the moment the doors opened, the air in the car park shifted. The silence vanished. In its place came a sound. A screech. Like a giant nail being dragged across glass. The sound was coming from above, from the hole they’d dropped through. And then something began to drip. A black, viscous sludge. It hit the concrete, hissed, and... began to knit together.
"Something’s wrong," Rollo, already perched on the back seat, looked at his scanner-watch. "Eli! The threat level hasn't dropped! It’s rising! The Boss hasn't vanished!"
Lena looked up. From the breach in the ceiling, clinging to the edges with sharp, mangled limbs, a Thing was descending. It was Modesta. But not the majestic queen. The Nemesis shot had destroyed her beautiful shell, stripped away the textures, and bared the code. Now she was a nightmarish glitch. A gargantuan spider assembled from throne debris, chunks of obsidian, and polygons that constantly shifted shape. In the centre of this mass burned a single eye—the Core itself, now cracked and insane.
"YOU WILL NOT LEAVE!" the voice sounded like a distorted recording being played backwards. "NO ONE LEAVES MY CATWALK! I SHALL REFORMAT YOU! I SHALL DELETE YOU!"
She slammed onto the car park floor twenty metres from the car. The concrete buckled and cracked.
"IN THE CAR! MOVE!" Lena roared, diving behind the wheel.
Nate scrambled into the passenger seat; Irina and Rollo huddled in the back. Lena hammered the 'Start' button. The engine roared. Vlad hadn't lied—the car was a beast. Lena slammed it into gear and floored the accelerator. The tyres shrieked, leaving black streaks on the concrete. The Cruiser tore away, narrowly missing a column with its wing mirror.
"HALT!"
Modesta lunged forward with a tentacle made of barbed wire and dead pixels. It slammed into the boot, leaving a deep dent, but the car tore free.
"Where am I going?!" Lena yelled, weaving between the columns. The car park felt endless.
"Straight ahead!" Rollo shrieked, staring at the sat-nav on the dashboard (which, surprisingly, was working and showing a map of the subterranean levels). "There’s an exit to the motorway! The Gates of Twilight!"
They burst out of the car park, smashing through a barrier. Before them, the Highway opened up. Not an ordinary road. A vast, six-lane motorway suspended in a void. Above was a violet sky with two moons; on either side were the ruins of unfinished locations. The road was absolutely empty and perfectly straight.
"Floor it, Eli! Floor it!" Nate yelled, leaning out of the sunroof with her rifle. "She’s right on our tail!"
In the rearview mirror, Lena saw the nightmare. Modesta wasn't running. She was flowing, rolling, changing shape. She had become a massive wave of black digital tar, with arms, the faces of her copies, and fragments of buildings protruding from it. She tore down the highway, devouring the tarmac, rapidly closing the gap.
"She’s faster than us!" Irina noted, looking back through the rear window.
"Vlad, if you tuned this thing, I hope you put nitrous in it!" Lena growled.
She spotted a large red button on the dash labelled [BLOOD BOOST].
"In for a penny, in for a pound!"
She slammed the button. The car jolted. Blue flame erupted from the exhaust pipes. The speed pinned them into their seats. The speedometer pegged past 150 mph. But Modesta accelerated too.
"I SHALL FORMAT YOU!" thundered in their heads.
The black wave rose higher, ready to engulf the car.
"Nate! Fire!" Lena screamed.
"I’m trying! She’s shaking like a bloody blender!"
Nate braced her feet against the seat and leaned out of the sunroof up to her waist. The wind threatened to tear her hood off. She levelled the Nemesis at the approaching wave of glitches.
"Eat lead, you drama queen!"
BANG!
The shot struck the centre of the mass. The wave exploded, spraying black droplets, but knitted itself back together instantly.
"It’s not doing anything! She’s regenerating!" Nate yelled. "I need a bigger charge!"
"Irina!" Rollo tugged the Priestess’s sleeve. "Buff the motor! Make it a holy chariot or something!"
Irina nodded. She pressed her hands against the car’s ceiling from the inside.
"DRAGON’S BLESSING: PATH OF FIRE!"
A golden radiance enveloped the vehicle. The wheels erupted in flames, leaving burning trails behind them like the DeLorean in Back to the Future. The car surged even faster.
"WORTHLESS WORMS!"
Modesta shifted tactics. Long spears shot out from the black mass. One punched through the rear window, whistled between Irina and Rollo’s heads, and embedded itself in the dashboard, smashing the sat-nav.
"Aaargh!" Rollo wailed. "My interface!"
"Hang on!" Lena wrenched the wheel.
The car went into a skid. They drifted, narrowly dodging the next strike which reduced a section of the motorway to rubble. Up ahead, the Gate appeared—a gargantuan, shimmering rift in reality. A white light that stung the eyes. The end of the game. The exit. But before the Gate, the road simply stopped. The bridge was destroyed. A chasm at least fifty metres wide yawned before them.
"The bridge! There’s no bridge!" Irina screamed.
"I see it!" Lena didn't lift her foot from the accelerator. If anything, she floored it.
"Eli?!" Nate ducked back into the cabin. "You aren't seriously going to—"
"I bloody well am!" Lena’s eyes burned with a mad excitement. "We didn't fight through a hundred floors just to stop for a pothole!"
The car hurtled toward the abyss. Behind them, Modesta rose like a titanic wall, blotting out the sky, preparing to crash down and crush them before they could reach the edge. Suddenly, massive, ghostly golden wings unfurled from the sides of the vehicle. The car left the ground. It soared over the chasm, engine roaring and magic blazing. Below, in the depths of the void, Modesta raved, reaching for them with tentacles, but they were already beyond her reach.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The shriek faded as the car plunged into the white light of the Gate. A flash. The sensation of falling. The sound of breaking glass and the screech of metal. Then, silence.
Lena opened her eyes. She was sitting behind the wheel, her hands gripping the leather wrap so hard her knuckles were white. It was dark. It smelled of dust, concrete, and... silence. They were standing in the middle of a vast, empty hall in the Expo Centre. The real Expo Centre. The car—that same black crossover—was smoking. The bonnet was buckled, the windscreen spider-webbed with cracks, but it was here. In reality. Grey morning light filtered through the dusty windows of the pavilion.
"Are we... home?" a quiet voice drifted from the back seat.
Lena turned around. In the back, breathing heavily, sat neither a digital avatar nor a regular lad in glasses. Instead, there was a gargantuan, absurd creature. Rollo was still dressed as a hedgehog, but it was no longer a high-tech cyber-suit. It was a cheap, plush mascot costume—the kind they use for baseball team mascots. He was huge—nearly six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, taking up half the cabin. His face was hidden behind a gormless, smiling hedgehog mask with plastic eyes, one of which was slightly dented.
Seeing Lena staring at him, the "Hedgehog" flinched. He fumbled frantically for the door handle with a massive plush paw.
"Rollo?" Lena called out.
He didn't answer. Evidently, reality and his true form—even hidden under the suit—embarrassed him more than any boss fight. He preferred to remain incognito. The giant plush hedgehog tumbled out of the car, tripped over his own oversized foam boots, but stayed upright. He gave a quick wave goodbye and, with surprising speed for such a bulk, bolted toward the service exit, waddling hilariously before vanishing into the morning gloom.
"Oi! Wait!" Nate yelled, but it was too late.
Lena turned her gaze to the others. The adrenaline had ebbed, replaced by a cold realization. The magic was gone. The armour was gone. They were in the exact same costumes they’d worn when they arrived at this cursed festival an eternity ago. Lena looked at herself. The black tactical armour and the symbiote had dissolved. In their place, she was once again squeezed into that orange latex suit she’d regretted choosing at the very start. It fit like a second skin, digging into her. The bright turquoise and crimson stripes, meant to visually cinch her waist, now looked like clown gear, and the deep zip ending at her solar plexus made her shiver in the real-world cold. She was just Eli-00 the cosplayer again: freezing and exhausted.
Beside her, Nate stirred in the passenger seat. She groaned, rubbing her neck.
"Why the hell is it so parky..." she muttered.
She looked herself over and grimaced. Gone was the functional Hunter’s rig. The "pirate wench" look, assembled purely for the hype, had returned. Her pirate coat was flung wide; beneath it was a tiny bikini made of three triangles of cloth and a bit of string, barely covering the strategically important bits. Her tricorne hat was crushed sideways, a massive plume poking her in the eye. Her legs were encased in stiletto boots that could rival Lena’s for sheer impracticality.
"These knickers again," Nate moaned, trying to wrap herself in her coat. "I want my trousers back."
From the back seat, where the giant hedgehog had just been sitting, a soft voice asked:
"Are we... are we still alive?"
Irina sat there, clutching her knees to her chest. No majestic ceremonial robes, no dragon scales. She was in exactly what she’d been wearing when the disaster struck. Her white priestess gown was torn in several places, and dried prop (or perhaps not) blood stained her shoulder. In her hands, she clutched not a glowing artefact, but a useless prop staff made of plastic and papier-maché, its crystal topper having snapped off.
They looked at one another. Three women in ridiculous, revealing, torn costumes, sitting in a battered car in the middle of a hollow exhibition centre. But in their eyes, there was no longer fear or uncertainty. There was steel, tempered in a digital hell.
"We’re alive," Lena said firmly, adjusting the orange latex that didn't seem quite so important anymore. "And we got out."
Suddenly, on the car’s dashboard—the screen of which had miraculously survived—a message flickered to life.
[INCOMING MESSAGE FROM: ADMIN] "Cheers for the beta test. Bugs patched (mostly). Accounts saved. P.S. You can keep the motor. Vlad doesn't mind; he’s only an NPC anyway."
The girls exchanged a glance.
"Shy little berk," Nate smirked, straightening her tricorne. "No matter, we’ll track him down eventually."
"So, the car is ours?" Irina patted the upholstery. "For real?"
"Seems so," Lena placed her hands on the wheel. The coffin keychain swung, clicking against the plastic. "The only bit of real loot we managed to bring back."
She looked into the rearview mirror, catching Irina’s eye, then glanced over at Nate.
"Well then, ladies?" Lena said, and that same smile appeared—the one that belonged not to Agent Vector, but to Lena. "Let’s leg it before security wakes up and starts asking where the car came from and what happened to the roof."
"I’m with you," Nate nodded. "And I want a burger. A double. And a coffee."
"And a change of clothes," Irina added, huddling in her torn gown. "Something warm. Without any slits in it."
Lena turned the ignition. The Twilight Cruiser’s engine gave a contented purr, ready to carry them into their new lives.
"Let’s go home," Lena exhaled.
The black crossover with its tinted windows roared into life, tyres screeching against the concrete, and hurtled through the open cargo gates out into the grey, rainy, yet utterly beautiful morning.