It was a surreal thing, to watch a world die. There was sadness, to be sure. A mournfulness to the whole affair. Yet beauty as well, to see something end. Death is so often ugly, except in rare cases.

The world of YGGDRASIL was dying. Ending. And everything that had ever been done within it, would turn to nothing. Every character, player avatar or otherwise. Every guild, ambitious or foolhardy. Years of intrigue and alliances and betrayals. It would all cease to exist. Though sad, there was a grace in its few remaining hours. Reassurance in finality.

At least, that's what Lurk thought.

He had not wanted to log on. He did not want to watch the world die. Harmony, his love, his life, his wife of nearly a decade, had been the one to convince Lurk to stand with her on the precipice of Ragnarok. The man had gotten on late. There was only an hour left. Just a single short hour. He saw the GM message announcing the final countdown and his heart sank.

YGGDRASIL had once consumed every spare moment, and every extra dollar the couple had. There had been a time when they had counted their names among some of the highest ranking guilds. Been a part of some of the greatest conflicts. Struck some of the most lucrative trade deals. Once upon a time, the Dive-MMO had been the king. No other boasted the level of customization. No other game had the same depth as the nine grand worlds of YGGDRASIL.

Even though at one point Lurk would have been okay with letting it all fade away, he was glad Harmony had maintained their guildhall until the end. A careful balance and a lot of rare items meant that the upkeep of their base was always covered. However, regular logins from at least one guild member was still needed. After so much time, Harmony could not let it go. Harmony did not blame him for not having the same dedication. His job was exhausting, and was what supported them as well as a rather excessive amount of cash shop spending. Yet another reason it was hard to let go.

Because of his body's shape, it would have been easy to assume Lurk for a simple Dragonkin, with his rich burgundy scales, long tail, and reptilian muzzle, the resemblances ended there. His character stood more upright and did not have the same bulk. Much like a traditional RPG where the enemy leader was sleeker, and deadlier. The male had Wyrmblood and bore the mark of the Ancient Dragon Incarnate. The two racials had the distinct moniker of being Heteromorphic. His scales were a rich, burgundy hue.

Half-dragon was a more appropriate description of Harmony's avatar. From the elbow on and from the knee down, she had purely draconic traits. Slit-pupil eyes peaked out from a soft, human face. For the most part, her torso was also human. The Scarlet Drake traits gave a bright, crimson cast to her reptilian extremities. While the Scalebound of her essence speckled her entire body, even her normal skin, with glinting golden scales.

Both had pronounced horn structures to reflect their racial levels.

Lurk's began with an aggressive set of ram-like horns that spiraled back from where his human hairline would have been. The other pair sprouted from the top of his skull and had a more traditional draconic shape, being thicker and mostly straight with the slightest curl near their points. Both sets were darker and had hairline cracks which leaked a ruddy glow between pronounced ridges, denoting the Ancient modifier.

Although daintier, Harmony's were no less impressive. Hers were a beautiful double pair of ivory horns that corkscrewed around one another like dancers caught in a helix crown that branched and split near the points. Fiery hair hung thickly down from her scalp.

Both stood as regal monarchs in a far off kingdom. They were rulers of a very small guild. Black Sky only ever had three members. Though they had only ever been or ever were, three, together they were legion. If someone did not know them, it would have been forgivable to mistake the pair for king and queen of some draconic principality. Their design and bearing were regal.

Now that they were standing together in their Hall of Memories, Lurk definitely did not regret logging in one final time. If only to say goodbye to it all. It was a massive corridor that connected the end of the eighth floor to the final ninth. Lurk had placed it there as a showoff connection between the last two floors that led to the throne room.

They were at the beginning. The very beginning. Their starting weapons, a level one shortsword and a level one bow. The most humble beginnings. Everyone started somewhere, and it was good to remember. Even though that furthest memory was hazy, they both could recall the feeling. The joy and wonder of truly stepping into another world for the first time.

"I can't believe this was so long ago." Lurk started, voice heavy with nostalgia. With a gesture, he summoned the bow. It was so small. So weak. The string had such little poundage he could have pulled the string with a stern look.

"Doesn't feel like it, huh?" Harmony agreed. She was engrossed in her own recollection. That first time holding a sword, feeling it bite into the tutorial monsters. That was what she treasured. Even though the physical feedback of the neural connection was dampened, the heft of a blade remained.

"Not at all." He said, glancing at his wife. YGGDRASIL could not render facial expressions, so her lips did not move as she spoke. Another wave of his claw returned the small bent piece of wood to its place.

The hall was lined end to end with such shrines. Framed paintings that were actually screen shots taken. Sculptures commemorating victories. Tapestries representing alliances and wars. Armor stands. Weapon racks. Trinkets and cosmetic items and curiosities. Defunct Data Crystals and raid trophies. The entire history of their guild and by extension, their whole playtime, laid out on a timeline of sorts.

Setting off down the hall, Lurk's next stop was an armor stand with a grand window of stained glass behind it. Where six went down into a vault, and stood against the timelord on his throne. The suit of armor was of a much lower level, but a perfect matching set for Lurk's race and frame.

"I'll never forget this one run of the Crystal Sepulcher. Do you remember that one guy? Augh. What was his name. We only raided with him once or twice. He ran it... What, twenty times? He was just missing the helmet."

"And you got the whole armor set in a single run." Even though her character could not smile, there was audible mirth in her tone. She had heard the story a hundred times, yet indulged her husband all the same. "But, you never got the Centurion's Gaze." She teased him.

The very next alcove held the glittering crystal greatbow in question. The weapon itself was rather niche in application. Not many could appreciate its strength. And although only few ever sought the Centurion, shockingly few ever got it to drop. Harmony never missed an opportunity to remind Lurk that she was the one who finally got it. Unfortunately, all the drops from the Crystal Sepulcher were Soulbound, and non-transferable. Lurk never even got the chance to use it when its quality made it worthwhile. Like so much, it was now just a pretty wall decoration. A mark that they were there. That they had seen it. Which was a boast few could make.

"This thing is so old you can't even get the upgrade material anymore." He remarked, admiring it for its aesthetic if nothing else.

"I got rid of all mine before they discontinued it. I traded it for something." Harmony, ever the savvy deal-maker, was the reason they had accumulated so much wealth. Their treasury levels were normally reserved for thirty-person guilds.

"I never threw it away." Said Lurk, hoarder of junk.

"Hmph, implying that I throw things away." She retorted, having spent real money to expand her personal inventory in the name of junk.

Lurk moved his arms in an exaggerated way, giving his best shrug. The physical expression was a better stand-in than the hollow emote pop ups.

"Hmph," The dragon lady said with a flick of her tail before moving on to the next alcove. "Oh my gosh do you remember when we went through all that trouble on the release day of Naught but Niflheim? I think we dove for thirty straight hours."

"I remember you making those cupcakes in the expansion's colors. Oh man, and those jalapeno poppers. Those were good. The cream cheese and the bacon? Yeah." Lurk's mouth could not actually water, but his hunger reminded him that after the shutdown he would have to eat and go straight to bed. His work needed him to take third shift for a few days.

"Then all the boss dropped was that stupid hat."

The backlash against the devs had been a little intense after that one. Their guild-mate, Woodsolution had been the one to compare the hat to reindeer antlers, and Harmony had applied her digital editing skills to give the picture a cherry red nose. Finally, Lurk had been the one to take the picture and post it to the official forums. Afterwards, none of them could look at the ridiculous thing without being reminded of a Christmas decoration. They had even adorned the gaudy thing with a multi-colored string light from one such seasonal event.

Although a blessed reprieve from the crushing sorrow, even the most genuine nostalgia was tainted. All the preserved sights would soon be gone, only to exist in living memory. Some of it had no in-game, or material value. Which made them priceless.

Then they came to one of their mutual favorites.

On a weapon rack were a trio of identical halberds. Highly powerful, and reasonably rare. They were a specialized, set drop from a specific weekly event. The loot pool for the event however was incredibly vast. And somehow against a near statistical impossibility, the three of them, Lurk, Harmony, and their absent guild-mate had all gotten the exact same drop.

The husband and wife both shared a competitive streak. Their old guild-mate had too. It culminated into a hunger for challenge. They all thrived on pushing their limits.

It was for that reason they frequented the harshest, most inhospitable regions of YGGDRASIL's worlds. Muspelheim in particular, was their favorite, and the location of their Citadel. The dangers of the region went beyond merely hostile mobs. Incredibly lucrative drops dotted the landscape, but only for those quick and clever enough to seize them. And, if a player wanted to exploit the riches offered by the most environmentally dangerous regions, there were few methods of protection.

There were only two reliable ways to best the hells offered by those far fields. Items, or character builds. The items were beyond countenance, their cost ruinous. Whereas builds, be they job or racial, were held in disdain. Only certain guilds understood the real benefits of having avatars that could go where no one else could. Your average player did not see the value in such high resistance builds. At least until they needed something that only dropped from a particular chest situated beneath a magma river at the bottom of a volcano.

Soon they crossed the threshold in the hall delineating when they had acquired The Citadel.

The Citadel. Their Citadel. Guildhall of Black Sky Legion.

The dungeon had been a special one. The developers had experimented with endurance raids, where only a very small team could take on the challenge. Sometimes only six, and even as few as three.

The problem was that they had forgotten to appropriately tune the difficulty during the first days and accidentally left the mob levels suited to parties of more normal raids. For three weeks, nearly every dungeon remained unconquered until the developers were able to recognize and correct their mistakes. They earned the nickname; Burn Dungeons, for the intensity likened to fighting an inferno. Only a few teams accomplished the feat.

Every group or guild that managed to defeat the raid boss of a Burn Dungeon during those first three weeks received numerous special rewards. Although Black Sky Legion did not conquer The Citadel on the first week, after a grueling grind and hours of planning, the three members defeated the dungeon on the tenth day. For their efforts, they were awarded the vanquished Elder Dracolich, the former raid boss. Who then stood as the first NPC for their new guildhall.

One of the first alcoves from that time held a very simple portrait. It was a picture Lurk had taken that always gave him a smile on the inside. Despite how Harmony hated it, she knew it made him happy.

Framed from Lurk's perspective, the painting showed Harmony deep in concentration. Even through their avatars did not have facial expressions, the intensity was clear in her posture. In her scaly crimson hands, was the helmet of her first NPC, Legion. On the table where she sat was a spread of different plumes of style and color, with many more Data Crystals ready to be used. The console for imputing information was open to her right, the holographic display illuminating her right side with a teal glow.

They became lost in the sea of memory, until the GM message announcing the final countdown shattered the illusion of the past with all the subtlety of a freight train.

The couple could have spent hours down that hall, just laughing and crying in equal measure. Yearning made the heart grow fonder, and how they yearned to revisit those rose-tinted days. The game had reached precipitous heights in its prime. Then, it had faded. As all things did, in time.

All things, except their love. That could only ever grow. Love was real magic in the way it could go backwards through time, until neither of them could remember a time where they did not love one another. Their might, and their deeds, could fill the hall a dozen times and though Ragnarok would fall, their love would endure even the end of the world.

The gamers reached the end of their path, with the hall opening into the seat of power in The Citadel.

On the floor of the throne room, was the grand crest of their guild. Three cruciform longswords, aligned parallel to one another, with the middle slightly higher than the other two, all imposed on the silhouette of a black sun. The entire space had been designed to give the massive, yet minimalist design the center of attention.

As with so much else, the throne had been a collaborative effort for the three guild-mates. Before they had conquered The Citadel, the trio worked from one of the central cities. In a hidden alley, they had stumbled upon a courtyard with a twisted tree, said to be a depiction of the World Tree in miniature. Between raids, outings, and sometimes just to hang out, the three had sat upon its roots, or hung from its gnarled branches. All three had fantasized what a wonderful throne it would have made. A perfect replica of that tree, itself a rendition of the greatest in all the nine worlds, had been made with three seats worked into it.

That was the throne of Black Sky Legion. And behind it, was a symbol of their wealth.

Nova Crystal. A Prismatic Ore found in Muspelheim. Though not as valuable as the universally recognized Celestial Uranium, it was still a resource of incalculable potential. A vast, unbroken wall of it stretched from floor to vaulted ceiling behind their throne. The material bore closer resemblance to obsidian with its black, glassy luster. An aurora of color danced and undulated through the ore. Only on such an expanse could the soul of the mana-reactive crystal be really seen.

It was a daunting waste of the resource, to be used only for decoration. The triumvirate had spent years stockpiling the ore. On his own, Lurk never would have been able to justify the expense. But his wife, and best friend had urged him on. Saying it did them no good just sitting in their treasury. Once done, they had all stood in silence, admiring the way the prismatic whorls seemed almost alive. Looking at it now, he was grateful they had given him the courage to do so.

A respectful silence hung over the space. An unobtrusive cocoon, to compliment the solitude that went with the vigil. In days gone, the chamber would have been cradled in ambient string music. A large harp, and grand piano sat off to one side, with a violin and cello leaning against two chairs. Now, the instruments were still. The order to play had not been given in a long time, and although it would have been nice to hear once again, the sun would soon set on YGGDRASIL.

Only two NPCs were in the throne room itself.

Lurk and Harmony had designed the pair together. Combined, they were the Guardian Overseer.

Two parts of a single whole. The brothers, Nox and Crisis. One light. One dark. They kneeled before the thrones, in reflection of one another. Their worn capes spilled out onto the floor behind them in rivers of silver and grey. Pointed steel helms and high collared leather vests hid all but their eyes. Each was covered head to toe in a mixture of steel plate armor, chainmail, and leather. Nox wore a gauntlet and shoulder piece only on his left arm, and Crisis, the right. A nobility hung from the pair like a mantle. There was strength in the steadfast resolution the two represented.

No compromise, even in the face of Ragnarok.

It felt right to Lurk that the brothers made during their own golden age, were the witnesses to his and Harmony's final moments. The monarchs took their places on the central and right-hand seat of their throne. Each was dressed up in their Sunday best. It was the last day, and if the world was going to end, they were going to look damn good when it did. The woman favored a more fantasy, knightly look to her gear, while her husband leaned heavily towards more militaristic themes.

If YGGDRASIL's creators had nailed one thing to true perfection, it was the endgame.

The game's first and truest boast had been freedom. The ability for the players to create anything and everything. From character, to class, to gear. A simple cloak could have enough data invested in it to where the style of stitching on the hem could be customized. Harmony really had not taken off her best equipment in a long time. Sometimes when she had logged on to perform basic maintenance, she had played dress up, finding her most stylish or best pieces. Lurk had taken a moment to put on his best gear. Even after many years of having it, he was still covetous of it.

Harmony excelled as a digital graphics artist, and used her skills to great effect. Their guild's emblem design had been hers. While Lurk had studied programming in order to better implement subtle effects for enchantments, data crystals, and NPC behavior. They had both spent many sleepless nights watching dozens of hours of tutorials where others explained how to get the most out of YGGDRASIL's creation mechanics.

From helmet to sabaton, Harmony had poured her heart and soul into the armor she wore.

Divine class. The highest data level attainable via player creation in the game.

Her armor was not just a collection of in-game items, it was the depiction of a legacy. A legacy of conquests and friendships. Where Lurk tended to have a multitude of smaller projects, Harmony had dedicated herself to more elaborate pursuits. Some of the pieces she had spent years on. Even when she had won treasures beyond counting, mountains of gold and vaults of data crystals, the gamer hardly ever put any of it toward herself. She always made sure that Lurk had that next upgrade he had been pining after, or that the guild's coffers were always growing.

Only after the most momentous dungeon crawls or trades did she spend on herself.

That care and effort showed through the intricacy of her armor. On its own, the boots with their adamantite buckles had marched from one end of the nine worlds to the other. The crimson-edged, segmented gauntlets that protected her scaly claws had felt the death throes of a thousand bosses. She had even gone through the trouble of adding cosmetic blemishes, chips and scratches to the knuckles and top. The chest piece stood out most of all, with her own rendition of their crest. The three blades were held in branches of a different tree, an oak, with the design inlaid using different Prismatic Ores.

She referred to the ensemble, as Grand Alliance.

Lurk in turn had no good name for the Divine armored greatcoat he had made for his avatar. He preferred to wear it open to show off his segmented breastplate and greaves. His guild symbol he wore on his back so that no matter who gazed upon the couple, their unity would be visible from any angle.

"I wish Woodsolution could have made it." Lurk sighed. "He's been working a lot."

"Me too. He'd be here if he could. We haven't played with him in a while." Harmony agreed. "There really hasn't been any good cooperative Dive games lately."

"I think the last one we put any decent time into was The Divide." The Incarnate Dragon thought on the brief life that poor game had enjoyed. Their playtime had been marred by a great initial interest, followed by cataclysmic failure on the game's end.

"Hm, you both enjoyed it more than I did."

"You enjoyed destroying those poor under-leveled newbies in the midnight arena too."

"True, but that first 'half-raid' killed it for me. I wanted you to help me on Cretaceous Kingdom."

"I know. And I did, for a while. Our private server got kinda boring."

"You just get bored so easily." Though her avatar's face did not move in the slightest, there was sorrow in her tone.

Lurk nodded guiltily. She knew him too well.

"I know, sugar. Thank you for taking care of everything. For logging in and making sure The Citadel didn't decay. Even though we really haven't played YGGDRASIL in so long, I'm still grateful we could be here one last time. I'm glad we could... Say goodbye to everything."

They both took in the view from their thrones. Of the guild crest. Of Nox and Crisis both kneeling.

"Hey," Lurk reached a claw out for his wife. "Thanks for getting me to log in. I love you."

Harmony unequipped a gauntlet and entwined her digits in his. Their reds both blended together. Her gold flecked, crimson scales molded with his dark, rich red. She gave him a reassuring squeeze and a smile emote popped above her head. Even though the touch was dulled, Lurk was grateful.

"I love you too, baby. Thank you for doing this for me. Even though you didn't want to." Harmony answered.

"It's not that I didn't want to log on because I was tired of our Citadel. I just didn't want to watch it..." He trailed off, unable to finish the statement.

"I know you didn't have to. I'm still glad you did."

They shared a sigh, then Lurk spoke again.

"You remember what we'd always say? The slogan I thought of? We will fight until the sun burns out, and Black Sky comes." Hope. Regret. Nostalgia. Longing. All paired with a wistfulness that made his words airy, as fading and ephemeral as their tenuous hold on the defunct reality.

"Yeah, until Black Sky comes." Harmony answered, heart straining in the unforgiving grasp of woe.

They both sighed again and watched the final countdown in their HUDs in mutual mourning.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The time counted down as inexorably as it always did. A grindstone of infinitesimal inevitability, with all the universe in its thrall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A hundred moments of glory flashed in Lurk's mind. So much pain. So much triumph. So much time spent in this world whose life was measured in seconds. The hall he and his wife had traversed was only the tip of the iceberg of the lives they had led.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

At least he had those memories. At least Harmony stood by him, as she always had. His eternity. Time would grind on, but their love had no end. YGGDRASIL was something that they had shared, which meant every moment spent was worth it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

This was it. The last gasp. Meaningless moments that were anything but. Lurk's heart bore the weight of years. Years he did not regret. Not even for a second. Harmony squeezed his claw hard, bracing for the impact of forced disconnection.

Tick...

Tick. Tick. Tick.

What?

Lurk inhaled sharply and heard his wife do the same.

What happened?

That breath, his first gasp that was supposed to be the last, rushed through him as if the hourglass of eternity had chosen that moment to give Lurk a singular boon. The smallest, simplest, second most valuable commodity in the universe, aside from love.

Time.

It all happened within that single lungful of air. Suddenly he was feeling. Seeing. Smelling. Nostrils flared, eyes wide, he took another, tasting the cool air of the throne room. Everything became sharper. The lighting was more dynamic.

"My Lord? Lady? Are you both feeling alright?" Nox lifted his head to regard his liege from under the brim of his helm.

"Nox, sweetie. You're... Talking." Harmony stared with her mouth agape. The Dragon Incarnate looked at his Scarlet Drake.

Nox and Crisis glanced at one another. Both of them were moving!

"Of course, my Lady." The Guardian said with a nod.

Lurk looked at his wife and saw her face move. Immediately he pulled his claw from her loose grip and poked her cheek. The soft, scaled speckled surface dimpled inward under his push. Not only did her face behave realistically, he felt her warmth.

"Hun..." He barely managed, mind both running a mile a minute and at a complete standstill. The Dragon Incarnate froze. When he spoke, he had felt his face move. And his own voice sounded foreign. Deeper. Resonant in its draconic pitch.

"Nox," He started hesitantly, trying to keep the scales from crawling off himself as he turned to face the kneeling suddenly sapient being.

"Yes, my Lord? What would you have your shadow do?"

"You understand me." Lurk said more for himself than anything.

"Naturally." The Shade stated as if this were the normal state of affairs.

"You're responding in a dynamic way."

"If you wish to call my responses so far, dynamic, then I'm sure more complex sentences will be a marvel, my Lord." The Guardian's tone carried not even the barest hint of rudeness. Only flawless inflection of snark.

"Nox," Lurk's eyes narrowed and pointed a claw directly at the Shade.

"Yes, Lord?" He responded innocently.

"Less smartassery for now, please." Lurk responded, thinking that if the artificial intelligence was witty enough to back-sass him, it was able to tone it down too.

"Of course, my Lord." Nox reached up and dipped the rim of his helm in a nod.

The lovers turned to regard one another.

"There's no way. YGGDRASIL can't do this. Look at me. Look at us talking!" Harmony's bright crimson eyes flashed with the promise she dared utter. Had they been plunged into a new game? Was this a secret sequel?

"Are we real?" Lurk said, reaching once again for his love's face. He gave her jaw the most gentle of touches, tracing it with the tip of a claw before cupping her cheek.

"We feel real." Harmony reached up and touched the back of his claw, testing the breadth of their new sensations for herself. "Our HUDs are gone. And there's no call function. I think we're on our own."

"Do you love me?" Was his gut reaction. He knew she did. He knew that she loved him as surely as he knew the fundamental forces of the very universe were immutable.

"Always." She answered without hesitation. Even though her voice was different, Lurk recognized her.

"Then we'll figure it out. As long as you're with me." His scaly muzzle turned up into what his brain translated as a smile. Harmony reciprocated, and a good deal of alarm was lifted from both of them.

"You don't think the others are alive now, too? Do you?" She ventured, eyes darting to their living, breathing creations.

"If Nox and Crisis are..." He trailed off. "There's really only one way to find out." The monarch released his spouse's face and turned to his knight. "Nox," He hesitated for a moment. "Gather the floor Guardians. Have them come to the throne room as quickly as they can."

"Right away, High Lord." The Shade stood, bowed deeply, and melted into the floor. The pool of inky dark shot off down the hall. Crisis followed his brother the normal way after giving his own bow.

"Darlin', I have an idea. I know for certain how to tell if we're still in a game." Lurk rubbed his chin now that they were alone. His reptilian muzzle moving as he talked was so detailed he could feel his tongue playing along his fangs.

"What?" She asked, eagerly fidgeting in her seat, equally appalled and enthralled by her tail suddenly sending signals to her brain.

"Take off your chest piece." He said with an offhanded gesture.

"Why?" She asked, thinking her husband had finally lost his mind.

"Because if we got sucked into YGGDRASIL two or some other crazy experimental game or something, then I won't be able to touch your breasts." Of course the married couple had tried many, many times to try and find ways around YGGDRASIL's ban on inappropriate touching. They understood it was to prevent harassment, but could a pair of lovebirds not have fun every now and again?

"You wanna grope me? I mean, that's a... Oh! Oh, I get it! If it's still a Dive-MMO, then you won't be able to do something X-rated." The Scalebound woman bobbed her head emphatically.

"Exactly."

With a gesture, Harmony's chest plate disappeared. She still wore chainmail with a thick leather shirt underneath. But with the rigid armor out of the way, she just rolled up the hem of her chainmail until only her shirt showed. With all the infinite possibilities of avatar creation, Harmony had given herself a generous chest. Nothing crudely overinflated like some woman (and men pretending to be women) were fond of doing, but ample bosom nonetheless.

Lurk reached his claws out and grabbed hold of his wife's breasts. He was careful, still highly suspect of their circumstances. Globes of squishy goodness that were a distinctly mammalian trait fit perfectly into his palms. Both of them watched the monarch fondle his wife's new body through her shirt. He felt something firm, and gave a little pinch without thinking.

"Ah!" Harmony cried out. Lurk pulled his claws back sharply.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, no, no. It felt good! Like, really, actually, that made my nipples hard in a good way... Good." She explained, letting the hem of her chainmail back down with her cheeks turning a bright rosy red. Not only did she acutely feel the links of the mail on her breasts, but the heat that ignited in her face as well. With another gesture, she put her chest plate back on in a hurry. Lurk had to quash the libidinous urge to make love to his wife then and there.

They already had company.

A streak of living green flame entered the throne room. The trail of emerald fire coalesced into the first Guardian to arrive.

The elven lady carried an air of menace. Skin as pale as death, the elf wore her alabaster silk dress with an aspect of deadly promise. The front of her dress split at the knee, showing off the filigree stockings. She walked barefoot, with every other step accompanied by a chime of the many brass anklets on her left leg. A veil and a lower jaw mask worked into a grinning Oni obscured the features below eyes sharp enough to pierce the reaper himself. A waterfall of tenebrous hair was kept in check by a loose fishtail braid and barbed wire.

Dreadsoul. Despoiler. Phage the Untouchable of the sixth floor, was all this and more.

From their many adventures, Black Sky had obtained blueprints to manufacture large obelisks that emitted what essentially boiled down to radiation. Anyone who set foot on the ash plains or attempted to pierce the Darksteel fortresses, would be subjected to a constant bathing of radiation. It was an insidious debuff that did not cause damage, but rather reduced max hitpoints over time. Invisible and extortionately difficult to defend and purge from a player's avatar once accrued, almost no one prepared themselves for it, let alone even knew about it.

Phage approached the throne with musical steps and stopped a respectful distance and assumed a pose more appropriate of a ballet dancer, crossing her ankles and holding out a hand.

"Ah, I see I'm first to arrive. It is a privilege to be in the presence of your might, High Lord Lurk. And your insurmountable beauty, Lady Harmony."

"Phage, thank you for coming on such short notice." Lurk affected his best customer service tone.

The Plague Elf grabbed the folds of her dress and curtsied with a brass jingle.

"Nothing could keep me from answering the call of the Supreme Beings. You have but tell me what stands in your way, High Lord, and it shall be dust. My Corsairs and I await your command. We are eager to hunt." Phage had what could be described as a frail voice. Her words were dainty, tender almost. Yet much like an ash flower dipped in blood, elegant appearance belied a monstrous covenant in her assertions.

The next Guardian followed hotly on the Despoiler's heels.

To see Skitharix walking with intelligent intent was fascinating like watching a train wreck in motion. Though horrific, it was mesmerizing all the same. Lurk considered, not for the first time, if he had overdone it with the guardian's design.

Skitharix, avatar of madness, wore robes made of literal skin. Beneath which, the Flesh Keeper smoldered with molten un-life that made the inside of his hood glow a hellish orange. Only the matte black metal of his skeletal jaw could be glimpsed. Each Guardian was a reflection of their floor. None more so than Skitharix. The fourth floor was an unhinged dimension where the normal laws of reality had been tortured into more interesting shapes. Temples hung from the ceiling while columns of shredded steel burst from the ground at strange angles. Helix pylons covered in pulsing glyphs that hurt to look at spread passive [Aura of Insanity], dotted the floor.

"Dread lady, Phage the Untouchable, what has this humble servant done to deserve to stand in the presence of so much radiance?" The words issued forth like gargled stone as the Flesh Keeper's talons clicked on the marble floor.

The hunched giant held out a hand made of knives when he came to his fellow Guardian's side. With a feminine motion, Phage laid her silk covered fingers on his. Skitharix raised it and guided the Plague Elf in a twirl, as one would a dancing partner. Then stepped back with a bow.

"You indulge me so, dread maiden. Mmm, if only I could add you to my... Permanent collection." With the tip of a finger-blade, he traced her outline in the air.

The titter from Phage could raze nations.

"Tisk, tisk, dear, you know that living art is the greatest expression. Besides, your knives would melt off in the process." She responded as sweetly as arsenic tea.

"Alas, such is the torment of an artist such as I. Only our Supreme Beings can create true masterpieces. I gaze upon evidence of such even now."

"Flatterer," Phage teased with a flip of her hair.

"Skitharix," Lurk called to his creation.

"My Lord, Lurk. I am humbled to be in the presence of one with such vision. There are no greater creators than the supreme rulers of The Citadel." The hunched figure leaned further as he bent a knee and sank lower.

"If the Mad Hatter invites you to his table, what drink would you choose?" Asked the king, tilting forward on his throne.

"Only the finest of his perspective, my Lord. Be it through, above, or even beyond." The Guardian answered more smoothly than a fine grain whetstone.

"Yep, that's definitely Skitharix." Lurk said with a tinge of amusement.

Harmony tugged on his coat and spoke under her breath.

"Lurk, sweetheart, what the actual hell did you just say? What does that mean?" His fiery Scarlet Dragoness demanded.

"Honestly, sugar, I just wondered if he would react to an allusion to Alice In Wonderland like I wrote in his character info." Lurk's scaly muzzle was split with a Cheshire grin.

Both of their attentions were drawn away with the entrance of the next.

A hulking figure made of shining platinum full plate strode into the throne room.

"Lady Harmony! High Lord Lurk! Your Legion is here." The Living Armor marched forth and pounded his gauntlet on the massive round shield he carried, while his axe remained strapped to his back. Legion announced his arrival with all the fanfare of a grand cathedral bell, red helmet plume standing up proudly. With the confidence of titans and a spirit of sterner stuff still, he nodded in greeting to his fellow Guardians and raised his shield in salute to his Supreme Beings.

Legion presided over the third floor and the Eternal War that took place there. Huge formations of Silver Knights skirmished against one another on a large flat plain around the clock. The sound of blades clashing was an unceasing clamor as the Living Armor of the Eternal War never tired with their War Priest standing vigil over it all.

Unable to hold herself back any further, Harmony leapt from her seat and ran to her creation. She had to know. She had to touch him, to make sure he was real, and not just a dream. In a few bounding steps, the Scalebound closed the distance and jumped with her arms wide. Grand Alliance hit Legion with a loud clang as he gave a booming laugh of joy and caught her.

Harmony's doubt was dispelled the moment Legion hugged her back.

Even though neither would say it, Phage and Skitharix were in that moment very jealous of the affection their compatriot was receiving from his creator.

Lurk cleared his throat. While it was hard to retain his own composure, the Guardians were still an unknown element to him. He was unsure what would be expected of them. How did they think Lurk and Harmony should be acting? What would earn their loyalty. He was thankful when his wife broke her embrace and took her place on his right once more.

Just in time too.

Commanding the Demi-Claw Sharpshooters that crewed the Alpha and Omega bunkers of the first and second floors were Wrath and twin Deathclaws bounded across the throne room on all fours in their eagerness. Even larger than their Demi-Claw brethren, the Deathclaw was an imposing species. They were a bipedal reptilian race with long humanoid arms. Massive racial bonuses gave them incredible agility and strength. While the lesser Claws were mostly simple in color, the twins exhibited the great variation that could be found.

They skidded to a halt at the foot of the throne. Like puppies, their large crocodilian tails wagged uncontrollably behind them. Each of them were decked from snout to talon in combat armor more befitting a science fiction setting. Lurk had a lot of fun designing sentient Deathclaws with guns and Valkyrie's Downfall and its subsequent expansions had given him a lot of choices.

"Lord Lurk! Lady Harmony!" Wrath the Commando began, her chameleon exterior shifting in happy blues with streaks of purple.

"We came as fast as we could!" Ruin the Seigebreaker added, her Glowing One breed giving a green luminescence to edge her darker hide.

"We're so happy you called." Wrath bubbled, nodding her head until she was dizzy.

"What are your orders?" Ruin was one espresso shot away from vibrating through the floor.

"Who do we get to shoot?" Wrath patted the strap of her rifle, Deusvore.

"What do we get to blow up?" Ruin clenched and unclenched the large talons of her race, yearning for the trigger of Absolution Through Ordinance.

Wrath glanced sidelong at her sister.

"I bet I'll blow up more than you." She challenged.

"Nuh-uh." Ruin retorted.

"Yes-huh!" Wrath butted her forehead against her sister's, horns locking together. Before Lurk could get a word in the two had grappled together. As they wrestled, the two were just a ball of Deathclaw that rolled about, their bickering voices indecipherable over their limbs smacking the floor. Phage and Skitharix stepped nimbly out of their way without batting an eye. When the pair rolled by Legion, he deftly grabbed each of them by the scruff of their necks and separated the squabbling sisters.

"Behave you two! You're in the presence of the Supreme Ones! Show a little restraint." Legion mustered his best disapproving uncle voice and set the twins back on their feet.

"We're sorry." Their voices echoed together as they apologized.

Last to arrive, an undead dragon approached. Crisis and Nox followed closely behind, their task complete.

The wedded monarchs had great trepidation where Novus was concerned. They had not made the great Dracolich. He had been a gift. A reward for completing The Citadel when it had been a Burn Dungeon. The true undead presided over the eighth and final floor. The level was the largest by a great magnitude, being home to The Scar, and Effluvial Tide. The Scar was a winding canyon with a river of lava flowing from end to end. Greater Wyvern nests covered the walls of the canyon. At the end of which lay the final physical barrier before the ninth floor.

The nest of Novus himself was called the Effluvial Tide. All three members of the guild had agreed to leave it more or less unchanged from when it was the final level of the dungeon. A miasma of choking, toxic gas filled the entire space. The Gravelord himself could control the Effluvial Tide, making a passive defensive screen a weapon unto itself. If you were unwelcome, the air itself would strangle and suffocate.

"And I... Was having such... A wonderful nap." The Gravelord yawned, loose strips of flesh hanging from his jowls.

"Novus!" Wrath and Ruin cried and ran to the sedately walking dragon. They wove between his forelimbs and under his belly in their excitability. More or less ignoring the twins, yet still careful not to accidentally squish either of the two, Novus approached.

The Dracolich had a peculiar nobility to him. Dragons had been the most powerful creatures in the world of YGGDRASIL. They were the gamer couple's favorite fantasy beings, and had even chosen player races to reflect that. There was no great hurry to the Gravelord's gait.

"Save for the Leviathan, all floor Guardians have been assembled." Nox announced. At his word, every Guardian lined up before the throne. Lurk and Harmony sat straighter in their seats as their NPCs collectively kneeled. Except for Novus, who essentially just laid himself down.

"Wrath!" The first Deathclaw cheered.

"And Ruin!" The twin sister added. Then they spoke as one.

"Guardians of the first and second floors. We pledge our lives to Black Sky Legion. We are the tip of the spear. And the bullet for every face! No enemy can come to the Citadel without knowing Wrath, and Ruin."

"Legion! Named so after the promise of our Black Sky. Guardian of the third floor. My axe, my shield, my life, for my Lady and Lord. I am the promise that though I am one, I am Legion." With a mighty crash, the Living Armor slammed his metal fist to the left side of his chest.

"Skitharix, shepherd of the Flayers, conductor of the grand symphony of madness. Guardian of the fourth floor. All trespassers are unclean, rife with sickness. And I shall be their surgeon." A mildly disturbing series of clicks and snicking sounds issued from the robes of flesh that hung from the kneeling Abomination as he moved his finger knives.

"Phage, given the title 'Untouchable', by the Supreme Beings. Guardian of the sixth floor. Every foe shall look upon me, and know despair. Then, they will be ash." Phage's voice carried her final promise with a certainty akin to splitting atoms.

"Nox, and Crisis. Guardian Overseers, and protectors of the Seventh floor. Together, we are the will of Black Sky made real." Nox spoke for his mute brother with conviction enough for each of them twice over.

"Novus, Gravelord... Keeper of the Effluvial Tide. Guardian of the eighth floor. None can fell me, for my... Every breath, belongs to the true... King and Queen of The Citadel." The grand Dracolich wheezed.

In unison, every Guardian assembled spoke their final vows. Their voices layered atop one another in ineffable unity. The chorus shook the hall and exulted the monarch's spirits in equal measure.

"We pledge ourselves to High Lord Lurk, and Lady Harmony. Our lives for the Legion. We are your Guardians. And we shall fight until the sun burns out, and Black Sky comes."

Once Lurk understood that the Guardians were really alive, he was apprehensive that their first course of action would be to either turn on the pair, or abandon them. When the assembled NPCs swore themselves to Black Sky with such vehement conviction, Lurk's worry melted like frost before the dawning of a new world.