After the reconstruction of Valley, a grand feast erupted, a boisterous celebration echoing through the newly rebuilt structures. Within the warm embrace of a local tavern, our heroes had gathered. Saland and Haytham, ever the competitive duo, engaged in a fierce pizza-eating contest, slices vanishing in rapid succession. Marty, ever the diligent one, moved gracefully through the crowd, working as a temporary waitress, her smile as bright as the newly polished tankards. At a nearby table, a different kind of rivalry unfolded. Shimmon and Christa were locked in a beer-drinking duel, the frothy liquid disappearing down their throats with impressive speed, Christa holding a clear lead.
A wave of jovial energy filled the air, each hero reveling in their own way, the hard-won victory still fresh in their minds. But the festive atmosphere was about to be shattered.
The tavern's swinging doors creaked open, revealing a figure that instantly stole the merriment from the room. A man stood silhouetted against the twilight, clad in an impeccably tailored black jacket and matching black trousers. What truly chilled the blood was his head – or rather, the complete absence of discernible features. It was a smooth, unbroken expanse of black, devoid of eyes, nose, or mouth. Every sound in the tavern ceased as all eyes fixated on this unsettling newcomer.
Then, a horrifying transformation began. From the lower reaches of that featureless head, a grotesque maw began to split open, the edges stretching unnervingly high, almost reaching where cheeks should have been. The figure clapped slowly, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. "My name is Null," a voice devoid of inflection resonated through the room, "and I am a high-level glitch. I am here to offer my congratulations to the five so-called heroes who vanquished that… anomaly… Bruhsuperdoom. It was a troublesome issue for us glitches as well." Null offered a shallow bow, the gesture somehow even more unsettling given his lack of facial expression.
The tense silence was broken by a sudden movement. A young man with stark black hair rose, his dark, almost bronze skin contrasting sharply with the white of his teeth as he spoke. A detailed black dragon tattoo coiled around his right arm, snaking from shoulder to wrist. He wore a black jacket over a blue t-shirt emblazoned with a white skull, and ripped black jeans completed his defiant look. He drew his sword, the guard and blade gleaming a pure white, the hilt a stark black with streaks of crimson.
Pointing the tip directly at Null, he declared, "My name is Sting, and I'm damn sure I could take you down in a heartbeat, you pathetic glitch!"
Null tilted his featureless head towards Sting, a gesture that somehow conveyed amusement. "Do not provoke me, little whelp. I am not here for a fight, but I assure you, I could obliterate this insignificant village with a mere thought if I so desired." An invisible pressure slammed into the room, a suffocating wave of pure killing intent emanating from Null. Sting visibly trembled, his bravado faltering under the sheer weight of it.
Before Sting could react further, a hand rested on his shoulder. Rabajen, his weathered face grim, stood beside him. "Kid," he said, his voice low and serious, "I fought Bruhsuperdoom. Trust me when I say, this one… this one's power is billions of times greater."
Null's grotesque mouth stretched into something that might have been a smile. "The wise one speaks the truth, human. Compared to Bruhsuperdoom, my power is… infinite. He was an anomaly even for us glitches, but thanks to his disruptive existence, the admins turned their gaze away from us for a time. And now," he spread his hands in a theatrical gesture, "I, Null, am building an army of glitches to overthrow those meddling admins and anyone foolish enough to stand in our way. Whoever wishes to test their mettle against me will be… welcomed. Until next time, little morsels." With that ominous farewell, he turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. "Ah, one final tidbit," he added, his voice chillingly casual. "I've brought you a little… present. I do hope you enjoy it." Then, with a ripple of black pixels, Null vanished into thin air.
The immediate aftermath of Null's departure was marked by a deep, guttural tremor that ran through the very foundations of the village. Instinctively, everyone, including our bewildered heroes, surged towards the village walls, their previous revelry completely forgotten. What greeted them sent a fresh wave of dread crashing over them.
An enormous horde of grotesque monsters and bizarre magical creatures was advancing upon Valley, an overwhelming tide of teeth, claws, and otherworldly forms. And behind this terrifying vanguard loomed an even more terrifying sight: a colossal black dragon with not one, not two, but three menacing heads. The tri-headed beast unleashed a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very sky, and at that signal, the entire monstrous army surged forward, a relentless wave crashing towards Valley's defenses.
Amidst the rising panic, Shimmon stood frozen, his eyes wide with an unsettling fascination. The tri-headed dragon, despite its obvious threat, held an almost hypnotic allure for him. In his gaze, the monstrous creature possessed a strange, breathtaking beauty unlike anything he had ever witnessed.
The other heroes, jolted into action, began to leap into the fray, preparing to meet the oncoming onslaught. But Shimmon remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the approaching dragon as if in a trance. Beside him, Christa, ever observant, noticed the unusual stillness in her friend. "What in the blazes are you waiting for, you idio—"
Christa's exasperated question was cut short. With a sudden, almost violent movement, Shimmon launched himself from the top of the wall, plummeting down onto the chaotic battlefield below. He landed with a surprising agility, his body already coiled and ready to move. Then, with a muttered, "Here I come," he exploded into motion, a black-haired streak cutting through the advancing ranks.
Shimmon moved with an unbelievable speed, weaving and dodging through the monstrous horde as if they were mere insects. Not even the seasoned warriors Saland and Haytham, already locked in fierce combat, could have reacted quickly enough to stop him. His singular focus was the colossal dragon looming closer.
Closing the distance at an alarming rate, Shimmon finally yelled, his voice a defiant cry against the cacophony of battle, "Come on, you overgrown lizard!"
The three heads of the dragon, their reptilian eyes burning with malevolent intent, simultaneously began to charge their attacks. The right head spewed forth a thick, sickly green toxic mist. The middle head unleashed a blast of frigid, icy fire that crackled with unnatural cold. And the left head roared, unleashing a searing beam of incandescent flame.
Without hesitation, Shimmon flared the aura around his body, a shimmering shield of energy momentarily deflecting the combined assault. In the next instant, he launched himself forward again, a blur of motion, and delivered a powerful punch directly into the snout of the middle, ice-breathing head. The impact sent him soaring onto the dragon's broad back.
The ice-fire head, momentarily stunned, snapped back to attack, its jaws agape, ready to unleash another freezing blast. But Shimmon was already moving. He leaped high into the air, twisting his body, and brought his foot down with tremendous force onto the dragon's head, the impact causing the massive creature to lose its balance, its massive body swaying precariously.
With the ice-breathing head temporarily incapacitated, Shimmon used the dragon's tilting back as a launchpad, leaping towards the head that had unleashed the toxic fumes. The beast roared in fury, attempting to charge another volley of poison, but Shimmon was too fast. He slammed his fist into the creature's open maw just as it was about to unleash its noxious breath. The resulting explosion was gruesome, showering the area with gore and leaving the head a mangled mess.
The last remaining head, the fire-breathing one, realizing the dire situation, frantically tried to flap its massive wings and escape. But the weight of its two lifeless brethren hampered its efforts. Seeing his opportunity, Shimmon gathered his remaining energy, his muscles coiling tight. With a final, explosive burst of speed, he launched himself at the last head, both fists clenched, and delivered a devastating double punch. The impact was sickeningly final, severing the head cleanly from the dragon's thick neck.
Landing gracefully on the now still form of the colossal beast, Shimmon surveyed the carnage with a grimly satisfied expression. The tri-headed terror was no more.