My Players Are So Fierce

Chapter 3107 -1035: If You Don’t Speak, I’ll Mercilessly Ridicule You

As it turned out, Dusk really did deserve its reputation as a professional villain faction—their professional standards were very much online. They’d said they’d give Gehrman·Bonebite a jar of Elixir of Immortality, and that thing actually did have some bizarre kind of “undying” property.

After taking a point-blank hit from a supernova burn fired by the Destroyer Guardian Prototype handcrafted by the creator, and then being smashed right in the vital spot by a warhammer wrapped in the Omega Program, the already-entered-“Phase Two” King Bite Bone, in a posture of a supposedly “completely unscathed” powerhouse, tilted his neck that had folded to a ninety-degree angle and stared at Murphy with those vertically arranged double eyes.

Some strange yet familiar light flickered in those pitch-black pupils.

Through that layer of blackish shimmer, Murphy seemed to return to that fragmented illusion he’d glimpsed when he first entered the Swamp Forbidden Area for identity verification, that fleeting glance at a certain Subspace shadow.

“So it’s you personally logging in this time.”

Murphy said softly:

“His Excellency Original Sin, how’s the situation going on the Subspace Battlefield today?”

“Dog of the creator!”

Faced with this rather polite “neighborly greeting,” the Subspace shadow, utterly lacking in class and manners, chose to reply with a native Subspace curse. It did not speak aloud but instead projected the meaning straight into Murphy’s mind.

The instant this big shot “opened his mouth,” everyone at the center of the battlefield—aside from Murphy, protected by the Omega Program, and Penny, whose mind had turned mechanical—had their San values instantly bottom out. They dropped connection on the spot, and the Spiritual Energy composing their bodies was crudely torn apart and reassembled, turning into twisted abominations that howled as they pounced on the still-dazed nearby players.

“So that’s what Phase Two is! The main-line NPC tanks the big boss, we just clear adds—go! The real PVP starts now!”

Cheche’s delighted shout rang out from the crowd. Then, with the midnight faction’s signature “Blood Psionic Rasengan” opening move, a shot slammed into the howling Chaotic Megalodon’s face, kicking off the battle once more.

But the players’ chaos did not disturb the seemingly brief—yet actually long—exchange between His Excellency Original Sin and the “creator’s dog,” namely Sir Morphy.

“For the sake of our previous dealings, I’ll let your cursing slide.”

Murphy withdrew his warhammer and, in a stance like igniting something, pushed the Omega Program into a halo form, making his whole figure appear crowned in light as he faced the filth of Subspace before him. The ash formed where Purifying Energy met flesh whirled around the halo, like fine feathered light fragments forming dust-like motes.

He stood between the shadow of Original Sin and the small-time players, even the entire world. In the instant his wings spread, he said in a stern tone:

“Get back! Crawl back to the sewer you belong in! This world watched over by the creator is not somewhere you get to rampage.”

“THIS IS MY WORLD!!! That thing is the invader!”

The dark roar across the mental battlefield slammed like a raging gale, whipping Murphy’s long hair into the air. With Original Sin’s bellow, a series of rapidly spliced images flashed before Murphy’s eyes.

He saw, amid a universe-sweeping mass extinction, a group of people guiding the resistance of the living.

He saw, after countless failures, desperate resisters making the worst preparations and plans.

He saw those rebels “cutting out” the core regions from the corpses of one dead world after another, bringing those fragments back into the empty starfields.

He saw them painfully piecing those fragments—symbols of death and failure—into a hideous patchwork monstrosity.

Using ruins as flesh, time as thread, turning resistance into glue, leaving hope to the future.

Yet what they brought back wasn’t only samples of worlds that perished in the “Great Extinction”—they also carried back the projected despair and agony those worlds felt at the moment of their demise.

In the weaving of that world, these dark things were fused together as well, and when this “refuge” was finally assembled, a vast Spiritual Body representing loss and despair quietly manifested.

It was the old imprint of worlds, the cold reflection of the future.

It was “Original Sin.”

The sin of failure, the sin of fragmentation, the sin of forgetting.

It was born with this world, grew with it, carrying the old world’s regrets as it sheltered the new world’s faltering steps. When this land grew strong enough to walk on its own, all regrets and pains of the past were meant to be healed and dispersed.

This was supposed to be a step in the plan.

Yet one day, an outsider from beyond the sky interrupted everything. Murphy saw a silhouette within a ball of light set foot here; though he could not see its face or form—only that mass of radiance—he knew it was the creator.

The one who called itself [DATA DELETED].

That being had its own plan for this world…

The Eden District, the Returners, and the Great Revival—every seemingly wonderful advance and implementation was built on the foundation of betraying the past.

“It stole my world! It erased my existence! It denied my meaning… Everything it brings is beautiful, but that’s not what this world needs! It is the invader! And you… you are the invading lackey doing its bidding!!!”

Original Sin’s roar, full of contempt and rage, echoed again and again in Murphy’s heart, and in that instant Murphy understood, from the source, the origin of the long-standing grudge between this unique Subspace shadow called “Original Sin” and the creator.

This guy was not trying to destroy the world.

What it wanted to destroy was everything the creator had left here, to return this place to the world’s original state, then rerun everything according to the initial revival plan.