Maldran settled back into his comfortable chair, reading a tome entitled “Famous Dead Maplers.” It chronicled the events starting from the War of Monsters and ending at nowhere. It was a heavily enchanted book, enough that it would continue to write itself until the war ended. As he got up to rekindle the fire on the hearth, something rustled in the hallway.

Being far from an inexperienced warrior*, he silently slid his twin Dragon Tails from their respective sheaths, dropped to a crouch, ran to the doorway and hid himself. Then he waited.

Where is whatever’s there?! It’s been FOUR FREAKING HOURS!

Then suddenly, a black blur dashed into the room, swinging its No-Dachi wildly- and magnificently, Maldran had to add, but it seemed to notice it was attempting to eviscerate air, and froze.

The figure seemed to be wearing armor of a dull black metal, and its head was covered by a skull-shaped white mask. The sword it carried bore a strange symbol; an eight-pointed star.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?!” Maldran shouted as he charged, stabbing like a lunatic in hopes that this stranger would be distracted enough for him to kill it.

“My name is Oromis, and that is all you need to know,” hissed the stranger, which easily parried all the stabs with lightning speed. Oromis launched a counterattack, a brutal but dazzling display of swordsmanship which mocked Maldran’s own skill stole his morale. As it raised its sword for a devastating diagonal slash, Maldran feebly brought up his daggers to parry.

The daggers shattered.

But as Oromis lined up his blade for another devastating slash, a mace of some sort poked out from its chest. Oromis then uttered a screech so horrifying, it caused Maldran to scream with terror and several nearby objects to shatter. Oromis then went limp, and vanished.

“…H-how did you s-stab it with a m-MACE?! And w-who ARE you?” Maldran stuttered incredulously.

“My name is Cloud…I have a sword…Oh whoops, wrong world. Greetings, I am a representative of Wizet™, otherwise known as a GM or ‘God.’ Maldran, we know that Victoria Island has been plagued by monsters but we have been completely incapable of assisting in any way… Until now.” the GM said. “Because of the laws created by Nexon™, a greater pantheon of GMs, we of the Wizet™ pantheon are unable to directly interfere with ANYTHING related to Maplers. I am speaking to you now because Wizet™ has grown in strength, enough to resist, maybe even overthrow Nexon™.”

“But there is one thing that is beyond us. The Shadow Weaver has grown powerful during these four ages. Now he is beyond even us to defeat. However…the Keeper’s prophecy proclaims that four Maplers will be born, with the power to defeat the Shadow Weaver…”

“We believe one of those Maplers is you. I must take my leave now, as there are more pressing matters to attend to. I will contact you again soon.”

Maldran stood there, mouth open, attempting to process the information. He was then enlightened on the meaning of the GM’s words, and also on the fact that there was a yellow puddle at his feet.

He could vaguely hear someone saying “Wetting yourself at 33? Tsk tsk.”