“Annnd happy Beta Day, y’all! Sorry for the delay; we were just talking game plans for tonight. Are y’all as amped as I am for DUSKFALL PRIME?”

I pause, watching the flurry of responses hit the streamer chat. Most are long strings of exclamations, hearts, emojis, or variations of the word “yes.”

My rig doesn’t include an IRL facial camera; there’s a lotta reasons for that, most of them inconsequential these days. Regardless, I’m grinning like a loon as I let out a sharp, loud pig-call. Am I playing up the country boy aesthetic? Fuck yes, I am. The crowd eats it up.

“I am living for that enthusiasm y’all! Keep. It. Going. Come midnight, we’re gonna be first into the megaserver, alongside my brother, Rob, and y’all’s favorite mad genius, Winston. Can I get a hell-yeah?”

The air-horn macro goes off as one of my subscribers leaves a tip.

“Hell yeah!”

I pause for a second, letting that energy hang. Take a deep breath, hold it, and let go. The mood shifts down just a notch.

“Before that, though, it’s time for us to say goodbye. I know there’s a lotta y’all still hanging around from my BattleStar days, but I think it’s fair to say the majority are here for DUSKFALL. Let’s face it, this channel wouldn’t be what it is today without the Wolves. Am I right?”

Another air-horn goes off.

“Fuck yeah, I’m right. Thanks to Taro and Clownstar for those sirens, by the way.”

The two call-outs post emojis which are quickly lost beneath other comments. It’s not often the chat is this busy. I have to admit, it’s nice—even if the hype isn’t actually for me.

“For anyone who doesn’t know, or just joined us ‘cause we’re somehow trending tonight—”

I pause, interrupted by a series of air-horns.

“—Thank you for that, too. You guys are amazing! Ah, well, tonight’s not just the opening of the megaserver, it’s also when the MANIK PIX-E shutdown of all private servers goes live.”

Instantly, the chat turns hostile. No matter how excited people are for the beta there’s a lot of hard feelings toward MP’s decision to bogart the private servers. I’m not immune. While I’ve maintained public acceptance of the dev’s decision—not wanting to fall into the trope of “angry gamer bro on the internet”—I don’t agree with them. DUSKFALL was built around PVP and group-play for sure, but private servers had always been in the mix, too. It was straight-up tacky to dismiss a large portion of your player base just because you changed direction mid-build. Especially after people had dropped tons of money on the game you’d initially spec’d to them. If they’d been more upfront…

Eh. In the end, though, getting worked up about shit you can’t change has never helped anyone. Particularly with small beans problems like this.

“Alright, alright,” I say, when I’ve let the bellyaching go on long enough. “Whatever we think about it, what’s done is done, yeah? The point is, we’re here to see the Wolves off in style. And what better way to kick off the evening than with the event that started it all?”

Again, the mood shifts. A few bitchy posts remain, but most of the crowd begins to copypasta “ALE-RUN, ALE-RUN” into the chat.

“Let’s shake it if we make it make it, y’all! Yeehaw!”

At the bottom of my screen, private green text appears:

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1:ur such a dork. ilu

It’s like ice water to the face. My grin melts away. This? This is why I still don’t have a facecam.

The “‘Shake it if You Make it’ Naked Ale-Run” is a Wolves in the Woods tradition. It sits alongside other such classics as “Player-capult” and “Rise of the Zombie Pigs.” I’m hoping we can manage one round apiece before the night’s over, though Rob warned me we’re likely to cut short. I’m not clear on why, and Rob isn’t giving explanations. Frustrating, sure, but knowing Rob he has a good reason. At least, he believes he does.

The five of us gather at the Welcome Wagon’s main gate. Our gear, including armor and weapons, is stripped and stashed in boxes floating just above our heads. Rob stands on the other side of the gates, ready to push them open and fly off the moment the proverbial whistle is blown. Given his admin authorities, he’s happy to play referee for these events.

Referee, and villain. His propensity to airdrop high-level spawns on our heads is pretty well established.

“You’ll get these back if you survive the night,” Rob announces like he does every race. I’m not sure why that matters tonight—it isn’t like we’ll need any of it again—but the familiarity is nice. “If you want a weapon before you hit Winston’s place, you’re gonna have to find something on your way.”

“What’s the second leg,” asks Mikah.

“TBA. Kill the mobs at Winston’s and you’ll find out.”

Pints of ale drop from the sky in front of us. They don’t spill or break thanks to a lack of physics on stat-boosting food stores. I grab one and chug. The others follow suit. My Heads Up Display wobbles. Two markers flash at the corner of my HUD, indicating a three-hour speed and endurance buff at the cost of my perception and accuracy.

“On your marks,” Rob booms, “Get set…

“Go!”

The doors burst open as the gameworld shifts from brilliant noon, to full-mooned night. A blue moon night.

Lucy’s voice is filled with a dark glee as she mutters, “Oh my gawd,” and zooms off into the dark forest beyond the gate.

My chat blows up with “GO! GO! GO!” as Mswyvern and I both leap from the gate at her heels. We might have a ton of points on Lucy, but she’s been faster than everyone else on the server since she’d dumped a ton of points into her agility. Fast isn’t what matters in this game, though.

Furious howls and roaring erupts from the surrounding forest. With the blue moon above there’s enough light to see the dark silhouettes of trees as we crash through the underbrush. But trees aren’t the only things out here.

Sleek, black bodies appear between the tree trunks. They’re a range of sizes, with shapes that blur and blend like smoke as they move. But it’s the glowing, spectral white of their eyes that signals danger.

I whoop as the first nago demons barrel past me, and leap over the second line. But that won’t save me. Nago travel in herds, and there’s a shit ton just behind them. If I can’t get past they’ solidify into half-boar, half-porcupine creatures with the capacity to pin you in place while they rip you limb from limb.

These are just one of the many, many demonic creatures populating DUSKFALL’s landscape. See, the game’s entire premise revolves around the titular “dusk fall.” By day, the game is just another idyllic medieval fantasy world; albeit one with a disgustingly detailed crafting system. By night, though? Once the sun sets, all the animalistic mobs littering the world transform into super powered, hive-mind demons with one purpose: killing players.

Stick-like arms flash at the corner of my HUD as Ms pulls up beside me. She’s almost neck-and-neck.

Any other night I might have played the gentleman. Who am I kidding? No I wouldn’t.

“Y’all wanna see something funny?”

The chat shouts their agreement, and I side-roll straight into Ms’ path. She trips over me with a yelp, hitting the ground hard as I come to my feet and take off at a different, slightly unsteady angle.

Sensing weaker prey on the ground the nago keep their course. I turn around, running my avatar backwards so the chat can see MSWYVERN as she disappears beneath the herd of demonic swine.

A second later, yellow text flashes at the bottom of my screen.

MSWYVERN HAS BEEN GUTTED BY A HERD OF NAGO.

Lucy cackles from the darkness. “Oh my god, you asshole.”

She must have my stream up on mini-display. Swallowing my unease, I force cheer into my voice as I call out, “Better watch that footing, Ms!”

Ms answers with an aggravated growl. I can’t help it; I laugh.

Then my screen flashes bright red, sudden and sharp, and—

ECHOVOXX HAS BEEN TRAMPLED BY A HERD OF NAGO.

“What was that, Justin?” Ms asks in a voice sweet as honey. “Something about watching your step?”

OK. I deserved that.

Still laughing, I respawn back at the Welcome Wagon. The door is just closing behind Ms as I scoop a pint of ale off the ground and launch myself through the gap behind her.

MSWYVERN and I have been fighting over the top-tier position on the leaderboard since the day I started playing. I’m not sure why, though I have ideas. We’re both competitive; that’s definitely part of it. And she’s fun to rile up. And maybe it’s a bit like pulling pigtails. Not that I’ll admit it to her. After all, I know first hand what unwanted attention from a friend is like.

In the spirit of competition, I stay steady behind her as we both chug on the run. The mugs explode into harmless glitter as they empty, and our speed increases. But that might not be enough.

Right ahead of us, barreling closer by the second, something huge and burning blue barrels through the forest. A trail of crackling blue flame eats the ground behind it.

“Flamer incoming!”

The brilliant, spreading flames illuminate Mikah’s silhouette through the trees in front of us. He’s getting bigger—running back this way—but the hulking, lupine form behind him is closing in.

But it’s the two that ignite to either side of him, appearing from the surrounding forest like shadows, that take him down.

SQUEAKAH HAS BEEN CONSUMED BY THREE ENRAGED FENRIR.

Ms and I skid to a halt as the wolf-like fenrir tear Mikah’s avatar into bite-sized chunks. He’ll disappear when his respawn timer has expired. Right now, we’re the ones in danger.

I slap Ms’ arm, and launch myself toward a more precarious route than we’d been taking: the cliffs. Dangerous, sure, but it was clear of trees. There, we’d know what side the danger was coming from.

“It’s distracted; go, go, go!”

“I’m not blind.”

“Fuck you guys,” Mikah grouses. “No goddamn respect for your elders.”

“Your noble sacrifice is appreciated, grandpa,” says Ms.

A howl tears through the air behind us as another column of blue ignites in the distance.

WIN5TON HAS BEEN MAULED BY AN ENRAGED URSA MAJOR.

I’d been wondering where he got off to.

Smirking, I say, “Get your head in the game, Win-Ten. Or do you like being en flambe?”

Winston scoffs. “You wanna go, Justin? Let’s go. Hey Ms, you see his pasty ass anywhere?”

She snorts. “‘Course. He won’t get his own trail, as usual.”

“How else do I make sure you get proper camera time?” Camera time she doesn’t want, I know. As predicted, her response is instant and annoyed.

“Echo, I swear—” Ms yelps as a boar the size of a cow rushes from the tree line. She jumps back just in time. The boar plunges over the edge of the cliff as Ms teeters. “Craaap—”

“Gotcha!” I smack her from behind, pushing her onto solid ground. As I continue on past, I tease, “Man, I am awesome. I could have just let you die there. Another few deaths and our scores are tied.”

Ms mutters something that sounds like “show this bastard a thing or two,” before she leaps to her feet and races after me. Louder, she says, “What’d you have in mind, Win?”

“Oh...nothing much,” the man drawls. I grin as I recognize the tone. Winston can be a wonderful asshole. “You know the cliff about, eh, a click east and west of the Wagon?”

“Looking at it.”

“Great. Push him off it, ‘kay? For me?”

I laugh. “Oh, what’s that I hear? Encouraging PVP, now, are we? Are you coming with me to the darksi—aahhholy shit!”

The push didn’t come from behind me—it came from the side. I twist mid-air to find Lucy’s avatar standing at the cliffside, waving at me. Then I hit the bottom and my screen goes black for a split second.

Yellow text scrolls across the bottom as the respawner ticks down.

ADMIN DADDY WOULD REMIND ECHOVOXX THAT BASE JUMPING IS ONLY RECOMMENDED WITH A PARACHUTE.

ECHOVOXX HAS BEEN KILLED BY LOOS-E-NTEHSK1.

NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY LOOS-E-NTEHSK1 HAS BEEN EJECTED FROM THE SERVER.

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1 HAS BEEN TEMPORARILY BANNED FROM THE SERVER.

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1’s BAN HAS BEEN LIFTED BY ADMIN DADDY.

LOOS-E-NTEHSK1 HAS RETURNED TO THE SERVER.

LOOSE-E-NTEHSKI HAS BEEN KILLED BY ADMIN DADDY.

Lucy laughs. “What the hell, man?”

In the pseudo-serious voice, Rob says, “It’s called a timeout. Do we need to have that talk again, children? Kill each other when the beta opens.”

“Yes, daddy,” both Lucy and I say in eerie unison, earning laughs from the rest of the group.

Lucy and I respawn back at the wagon. Despite my hesitance, I wait for her as we grab our ale, chug it, and start the run all over again. It seems like Ms and Mikah may beat us this time around. Annoying, but fine.

The chat thinks it’s high time I got serious, too. The cries of foul play on Lucy’s part have dissipated into calls for me to leave her in the dust. As if that’s ever going to happen.

Lucy’s super-speed build pulls ahead quickly. I’m doing well just keeping her in sight. Together, we turn down a third alternate path to Winston’s. It’s a little longer, but it’s less dangerous than the cliff in terms of instant-death. That doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Going through the heart of the forest means staying one step ahead of every hellspawn rabbit, boar, deer, and whatever else DUSKFALL spawns tonight. Correction: DUSKFALL or Robert. As an admin, Rob has the means of bringing whatever he wants out to play. There’s been speculation on just how Robert plans to top our last run a few months back. That one involved waves of end-game level demons fifty or more strong.

Though I hadn’t told them as much, I stopped expecting anything that grand after Rob’s warning. That session mangled our save so badly it took a fresh server-side install to fix the damage. Rob wanted to avoid that this time though there seemed even less of a reason. After all, the server was toast no matter what. Who cares if the save gets corrupted?

We’ve just rounded a small embankment, leaping over a cluster of demon-frogs—which, incidentally, are all poisonous, suicidal, and think your throat is the passage to Valhalla—when Ms announces:

“First!”

“Only cause you cheated!” says Mikah.

“How did I cheat?”

“You know.”

“If I knew why would I ask?”

Lucy grunts, annoyed. “What gate did you two go in?”

“North,” Ms says.

“Right. Clear us a path, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” says Mikah.

I don’t even bother to argue. At this stage of the game the goal shifts. It’s not about “winning” anymore—not as an individual. Now it’s about us working together to clear out the trash we drug to Winston’s doorstep before his base is lost. Tactically, that means if Ms and Mikah both went in the north gate, then so should we. Yes, every demon they had following them will be at that gate trying to claw its way in. It’ll also be the only gate they’re defending. If we limit the amount of space we have to defend, the easier the fight will be.

Then, Ms asks a question that makes my pulse quicken.

“Where are the ballistae?”

Winston sounds like the smarmy jackass he is as he falsettos, “Oh, shoot. I had to take those to the repair shop. Sorry guys.”

There’s a beat as that sinks in, before Mikah laughs. “Not funny, man! Could have given us a heads up.”

The chatroom is abuzz with strategy; I gleam that much from the walls of text erupting from that corner of my vision. Buuuut I have to ignore that for now. There isn’t time to stop and read any one thing.

Besides, this isn’t that bad. It’s a little wrinkle in the plan; a mid-level challenge. The lack of heavy artillery makes it more difficult for Ms and Mikah to clear us a path, and more difficult for us to get inside. Honestly, it’s a breath of fresh air. “Sounds like we do this old school. Hell yeah.”

“Dibs on the battle axe,” calls Lucy.

“Which battle axe?” Ms asks. “He had a full armory last I checked.”

“Your Mom,” Luce replies, and Mikah snickers.

Though she sounds amused, Ms groans. “Ugh. I still can’t believe you named it that.”

“Hey y’all,” CIR3 breaks in, “Don’t forget to reset your spawns to the base. Don’t want accidents, do we?”

“Roger,” Mikah and Ms chime.

Up ahead, Lucy dives beneath a Fenrir just before it takes her head off.

I cut left, leaping over a log and skirting a small overhang to avoid the same wolf as it whirls about. My momentary gain is nullified by the creature phasing straight through several trees to catch up with us. Its jaws nip at my legs. The damage is minimal, but the red tinge to my display lets me know it hit. Crap.

“Come on,” Winston mutters from somewhere up ahead. He must be waiting on those two to get the doors clear.

It shouldn’t take this long to get to the armory, should it? Stopping to reset only takes a second.

But the Fenrir is still on my heels. My speed buff is still going strong, but it won’t last forever. I need to get rid of my tail.

Thing about Fenrir is that they’re difficult to shake. The only things they can’t do is climb, or phase through stone. That doesn’t leave a lot of options when you’re butt-ass naked and unarmed. Luckily, we’ve been doing this for a while, and there’s more than a few little tricks we’ve built into the forest between our places.

After I recognize a thin gully to my left. I turn toward it. There ought to be a—there it is!

I hear the chomp of fangs behind me, my screen flickers red again, but then I’m diving head first into what appears to be a dark hole in the ground. Which it is. We’d widened a rabbit hole and dug it out to its conclusion.

There’s every chance I could run into an actual rabbit down here, which will suck, but it’s the only way to get some distance between me and cujo. I slide, belly first, into the darkness where the beast can’t follow. I hear it’s claws scrabbling behind me as I’m dumped unceremoniously into the creek at the bottom of the gully.

It’s wider down here than it is at the top, also thanks to us. I pick myself up, lurch unsteadily as the dive made the wobbling camera even worse, before righting myself and starting back at a dead run. Not for the first time I’m ecstatic MANIK PIX-E skimped on full neurological controls. Other games I’ve played would have me feeling sore and winded by now. Instead, my avatar resumes its ground-eating pace without issue.

But while I was distracted, the others were still talking. About...what? I tune back in to Ms sounding worried and suspicious.

“Winston, did the armory get sent for repairs, too?”

“Uh, no,” Winston drawls. “Why?”

“This isn’t cool, man,” Mikah responds instead. “Door’s locked. What’s the pass?”

Winston scoffs. “I don’t do cheesy password locks. It’s a fantasy game. There’s a key.”

“They aren’t cheese—”

Ms cuts Mikah off, saying, “And the key is where?”

This time, Winston straight up snickers. “Mm, dunno. Must’ve forgot.”

Silence reigns for a full minute as what he’s saying sinks in. Barely able to contain by glee, I say, “You little shit. You’re not even in the race, are you?”

“Maaaybe,” Winston drawls. “You don’t know.”

“The lab,” Ms says.

“You think the key’s in the lab?” Mikah asks.

“Nope.”

Trust Ms to think of an alternate solution. “What are you planning, Ms?”

“I’ll tell you if it works.”

“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast,” Lucy says. “We’ll be there in few seconds. Justin—circle around to the east. We’ll come up the other side.”

“Ten-four.” I break out of the gully right behind her. Together, we crest the next hill and break abruptly from the tree line. Winston is meticulous about keeping the area around his base clear of debris; a plus and a negative in cases like this. Spread before us is a wide tableau of terraformed landscape built to give defenders the best line of sight possible. It also gives the demons throwing themselves at the north gate a perfect line of sight for us.

Several of them break off, joining the mob already on our heels as we race around the side of the defenses.

Winston’s tower is one of the best builds in DUSKFALL, period. He built it to be impenetrable by normal means though it doesn’t look that way from the outside.

Sure, there’s the expected curtain wall followed by a twenty-foot killing field to the main defensive wall, but rather than the usual faux-medieval keep at its center, Winston bucked the game’s aesthetic to make his brutalism-meets-LOTR masterpiece. Lovingly named “Jenga,” the tower resembles the final stages of the eponymous game. There are cutouts and odd extrusions, and—most disturbingly—several sections balanced precariously with only the central, enclosed stairwell for support. I know, thanks to a live streamed interview with Winston when I showcased the tower, that he built damage shields into floor and ceiling of those open-air “terraces,” but I’ve often wondered if he hadn’t designed the building to collapse.

But to do that, you’d have to get to the tower. That’s the hard part. The main wall is peppered with defending towers, each crowned by a ballistae with switchable damage modes. Armor-piercing rounds, fire strikes, lightning, even a water-hose to extinguish burning demons—the tower has everything you could need. Plus, if you’re skilled in summoning magic like, say, Winston, you can easily one-man the entire setup. It’s OP to the extreme, and seeing it in action is magnificent.

Tonight the ballistae are missing. And those demons have been wearing through the damage enchantments on the curtain wall. Pretty soon, they’ll enter the killing field.

“Winston, are those traps still in play, man?” I ask, taking my eyes off the route in front of me to look back at the demons we’re kiting. There’s way too many of them. Even if we make the gate, we’ll never get it closed behind us.

“Yeah. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“Could have fooled me,” says Ms.

“Oh, fuc—”

“On our six!” Lucy screams as she dives to the side. I turn in time to see the rush of blue fire careen right past my nose. The bear—the “ursa major”—just barely misses me, but another flash of red indicates burn damage. The red doesn’t fade this time; it settles around the edges of my vision like a bloody tunnel.

Trying not to lose too much momentum, I grab Lucy up off the ground and drag her with me. I’m not fast enough. My avatar stumbles, balance lost thanks to the Ale debuff, and I twist around in time to see the full-fanged grin of a fenrir rushing at me.

Green, sizzling goop slams into its side, bursting out in all directions. The fenrir howls in pain. Its chorus is picked up by everything trailing it as sizzling acid spills over the mob.

I get back on my feet, but I can’t seem to move; my screen pulses red faster than before. Looking down, I find splashes of acid eating through my avatar’s legs and stomach.

But y’know what? Worth it.

“I thought you said the ballistae was out?” I to the walls, expecting to see Ms or Mikah with artillery spun up—but they aren’t there, and neither are the ballistae.

A flash from above draws my gaze further up—there, at the top of the tower, is a figure with something huge and cylinder shaped. Shaped almost like a—

I grin. Shaped like an acid-enchanted Gatling harpoon gun. That sick bastard.

“Blame Ms for this,” Winston sing-songs.

“Excuse me?” she snaps.

And then the world goes to hell.