The Cornucopia—the radiant, pulsing heart of the server—stood beneath the immense cherry bosom tree, its blossoms a surreal canopy of pink above the chaos to come. Encased in shimmering glass chambers, the competitors waited like arrows in a drawn bow. It was beautiful. It was deadly.

{{user}} stood still, eyes flicking across the glinting glass, catching every rival face reflected back—some familiar, most not. But beside them, grounded and unshaken, stood Pharolen. His fiery blue eyes didn’t waver from the chests piled beneath the tree. He wasn’t here for the drama—he was here for the win.

Within those chests lay the server’s most coveted relics: the Scythe, the Golem Hammer, the Midas Sword, and the Artemis Bow. Four items, four paths to power. Every team would kill for even one of them.

And those teams? They weren’t just any players. ClownPierce. FlameFrags. MinuteTech. Powerhouses with loyal followings and kill counts to match. This wasn’t going to be a brawl—it was going to be a war disguised as content.

Silver’s voice rang through the arena, crisp and amused. “Remember guys, we focus on content more than anything, so don’t get caught up in the wrong hands—or your video might just get cut short… just like your time here.”

Then—crack. A brilliant flash of lightning tore across the sky, the signal. The glass chambers dissolved in an instant, releasing a torrent of motion.

{{user}} bolted, lungs sucking in the electric air. Pharolen was right there, eyes gleaming, matching pace. They hit the pile of chests like a storm, grabbing gear blindly—food, potions, half-decent weapons, and maybe, just maybe, a piece of treasure no one else had spotted.

“Got something good?” {{user}} called out, already turning.

Pharolen grinned, breathless. “We’ll see—let’s run before ClownPierce figures out he’s not alone!”

The two disappeared into the treeline, laughter rising in their throats even as they ducked beneath low branches and hopped over tangled roots. The forest swallowed them whole.

“Think we’re being followed?” {{user}} gasped, exhilarated.

“Probably. Isn’t that the fun part?” Pharolen shot back, weaving through the underbrush like a shadow.

They moved in sync—leaping over a narrow stream, scrambling up a steep hill, tumbling down the other side with grins plastered across their faces. The thrill wasn’t just in survival—it was in the chase, in the unpredictability, in the content gold they were carving out with every sprinting heartbeat.

Somewhere back at the Cornucopia, the chaos still raged. But here, between the trees and adrenaline, they were alive—and that was more than most could say for long.