Greg clung to his Giant Fucking Sword like a baby sucking a binky.
The “floor” under his boots wasn’t stone. It felt solid, but when he looked down, he saw lines of code sliding beneath the surface. UI fragments drifted through the black like jellyfish: health bars with no owners, tooltips with no boxes, stray [PRESS X TO INTERACT] prompts fading in and out with nothing to press.
High overhead, menus hung like constellations. A giant [SETTINGS] wheel spun slowly, tick-tick-tick, never quite landing on a choice.
Petar’l sauntered forward across the disc, tethered to a jag of the node by a single pulsing cord of light and shadow. His blade-hand left little ripples in the glassy, opaque moonlight.
“Don’t look so confused,” he laughed. “Even a smooth-brain fucktard like you should have put it together by now.”
Greg twirled his enormous blade with forced nonchalance and tried to look like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting. He nearly cut his own balls off in the process. “I knew this was some kind of game or simulation,” he said, as if it were simple fact and not something he’d been wrestling with at the core of his being. “I just thought—"
“—you were all alone? You’re more addled than she is.” Petar’l flicked his fingers.
A wedge of space folded around Greg for half a heartbeat. His UI vanished, then slammed back into place. By the time his eyes refocused, Petar’l was already on him.
They traded blows. Greg got his sword up in time to meet the first strike. The impact rang through his arms. Petar’l moved fast, his blade making afterimages of silver light. Greg’s HUD tried to draw red damage cones and just spat static for a second instead.
ERROR: Unable to predict trajectory.
Reason: He’s cheating!
Petar’l grinned. “Do you see it now, Greg? You’re outmatched. I have client-side control.”
He cut under Greg’s guard and drove his blade into Greg’s side. [Furious Ward] bled most of it away. Some still landed. Pain flared.
Greg staggered, breath knocked loose.
System text flickered in his vision, then glitched and rewrote itself.
VITALITY: 150 → 104
…
VITALITY: 150 → 121 (adjusted ??for lag)
try upgrading??your gaming chair//
“It’s good you’re here,” Petar’l said. “I’ve always wanted to explain an evil plan to someone, just before snuffing out their life.”
He pressed the attack.
They fell into a rhythm that favored Petar’l heavily.
Greg blocked, dodged, and got the occasional hit in, enough to leave lines of silver-black ichor on Petar’l’s armor. Petar’l, in return, demonstrated every dirty trick the engine could offer someone with the right access.
Gravity flickered for a second, sagging sideways. Greg planted his feet and rode it out.
GMCommand: /set_gravity 0.3
ACCESS DENIED – Arena ruleset locked.
Petar’l: Override accepted.
Greg: Motion Sickness toggled ON
The ground dipped like someone had clicked and dragged it down in a level editor, then snapped back. Greg’s stomach lurched.
A targeting reticle flickered over his head, then split into three. A fan of silver blades erupted from nowhere, trying to pin him.
Greg rolled, [Furious Ward] sparking as the blades grazed the edge of his aura.
Petar’l pivoted after him with irritating grace. “I’d heard you never could roll initiative for shit,” he said conversationally. “Nick told me he used to fudge it so you wouldn’t sulk.”
That cut through the noise.
“Bullshit!” Greg grunted, bringing his sword up just in time to catch another blow.
Petar’l laughed. “Don’t leave me in suspense, Greg. Spellsword. Cody’s house, Nick’s game. His world, Aegis. You played Barbarian back then too, but only because the party didn’t need two Wizards. Just how much do you remember? How much did you forget?”
He slipped past Greg’s guard and raked his blade across Greg’s chest. His muscles were so taut, sparks flew.
VITALITY: 121 → 92
Error: You know this will kill you eventually, right?
Number down is bad.
“Your party had a mission,” Petar’l said. “Granted they look a bit different in this Edition, but you helped build these Vaults in the first place. During the Age of Heroes.”
Greg’s breath stuttered.
He remembered the kitchen table. The cheap plastic minis, painstakingly hand painted. The lumpy wyvern Nick had sculpted out of air-dry clay. Bitching about how many hit dice it had (seriously, it was bullshit).
He didn’t remember this elven fuckstick, though.
“How… do you know all this?” Greg asked.
Petar’l tilted his head. Moonlight glowed in his eyes. “Don’t worry, you’re not that brain damaged, yet. I wasn’t there. But I heard all about it later. God, it’s all we ever hear about.”
He lunged. Greg barely brought his sword around in time. The impact drove him back to the disc’s edge. Beyond it, nothing: just a fall into raw, unfinished engine.
“When the campaign fell apart, the mission was abandoned, the Vaults left… unfinished, imperfect,” Petar’l said. “Nick did a decent job pretending you were all creative partners. But when you stopped showing up, Cody followed you. Liam and Noah got jobs. Simon burned out. The game died. Aegis didn’t.”
He pressed harder. Greg’s boots skidded. He dug in.
“There were other groups, other games,” he snarled. “None of them could live up to the original, though. None of them could live up to the Great and Wonderful YOU. And Aegis suffered as a result.”
Petar’l smiled, sharp and mean. “Time for that suffering to end.”
He gave the hand not holding a blade a little waggle.
“Petar’l. Peter L. Ringing any bells yet, dingdong?”
Something unpleasant crawled up Greg’s spine. A half-memory: late-night Facebook scrolling, back when he still had the app. Friend request from a dude he didn’t recognize. Mutuals: Nick, Cody, two people from the game store. Profile pic: generic, beard, hoodie, gaming chair. He’d hit Accept on reflex.
“Peter L from Facebook,” Greg said slowly. “I thought you were a software engineer.”
“Finally,” Petar’l said. “I posted once about a little project. ‘The End of Aegis’. Nick’s notes, my code. A crowdfunding campaign? You hit Like. You didn’t comment. You never do. But it wasn’t just an indie game pipe dream. It was our master plan.”
He slashed again. Greg blocked on instinct. His arms were starting to burn.
ERROR: Your Essence score is in the negative
“So, what is this?” Greg demanded. “Fuck, I was really leaning hard into the Jacob’s Ladder scenario where I’m dying and this all fever-dream on the way to hell.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Petar’l scoffed. “Well, you are dying. Just not fast enough!”
He broke contact and snapped his fingers. The entire disc shuddered. A column of code rose from the surface like a tree trunk, slamming into Greg’s ribs and hurling him across the arena. He hit and rolled, the Ward cushioning just enough.
VITALITY: 92 → 58
[Furious Ward]:
Should not still be functioning;
is for some reason//UNVERIFIED?
“Aegis was always here, I like to think,” Petar’l said. “Or something like it. You gave it names and mountains and gods. When you abandoned it, I gave it systems. Filled in the blanks. Added structure. Some new lore. A path to grow beyond your dinky little tabletop sessions into something truly alive.”
Greg felt naked and alone. There was a part of him that had only stayed sane by clinging to the belief that someday, eventually, he would snap out of it. Or it would stop. Or he would wake up, or finish dying, or the acid trip would end and he’d find himself half-naked and starving in a dumpster behind the combination Pizza Hut & Taco Bell.
“This… this is real?” he finally managed.
“Oh yes, Greg,” Petar’l went on. “You helped build a world and left it half-finished. I just… picked it up. Improved it. And I’m just getting started.”
“Improved,” Greg rasped. “Pretty sure the community feedback on this patch is ‘overwhelmingly negative’, pal.”
Petar’l’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m not your pal, buddy. And they don’t get a vote. They never did. Cute that you’re getting attached to the NPCs, though. I designed them, you know. I’m really good. Can you tell which one I made just for you?”
He advanced again, blade humming.
Every time Greg tried to circle, the disc subtly shifted under his feet, putting him right where Petar’l wanted. Little grey text flickered at the edge of his vision.
GM OVERRIDE: Pathing Assist [ON]
Target: [Greg]
…
ERROR: Player// has noticed.
Stop fucking※??around and end this.
“Why me?” Greg asked through gritted teeth. “Why drag me in? I don’t give a shit about any of this. I haven’t even thought about Spellsword in years!”
Petar’l feinted low, then raked his blade across Greg’s shoulder. Pain flared down his arm. Fingers numbed.
“Because you don’t give a shit,” Petar’l said. “Even back when you kind of did. You’re a loser and a quitter and exactly the kind of hero Aegis needs: one that will just give up and walk away. You were doing so well at that, until the anomaly. No accounting for emergent behaviors, I guess.”
Elowen?
Greg’s hands tightened on the Giant Fucking Sword. The Rage pushed against his ribs, eager to break free, to smash this smug bastard into paste. Not just for Elowen. For Doran. Nars. Violet. Blucliffe. All of them.
“If you really wanted me to walk away, you shouldn’t have made her so hot! Or threatened her,” Greg’s voice came out in a waver. He was losing blood, and brain cells, fast. “All of my painful, transformative life lessons came as a result of falling in love with a hot girl way out of my league.”
Petar’l laughed. “Yeah, well the important thing is, you’re here now. And you fucked it up, just like we thought you would. Maybe even worse, actually. So, I really do have to thank you. This has been a really satisfying monologue for me. I hope you enjoyed it too. Time to die.”
He drove Greg down to one knee.
Vitality: 58 → 34
[Furious Ward]: Flickering
(that’s not good)
“Here’s the truth, Greg,” Petar’l said softly. “You and your friends made this world, then you left it hanging. I found it, built it out, connected it to something bigger. You got dragged back in because the story needed you to finish it... and now you will.”
He lowered his blade, the viciously sharp point hovering inches from Greg’s throat.
“In all possible branches,” Petar’l murmured, “you ruin everything. That’s what you’re for.”
Greg’s mind skittered around the words. The dark around them hummed.
SYSTEM ALERT: Player VITALITY critical.
Recommend: Surrender, Retry, or Dramatic Last Stand.
…
ERROR: /retry not implemented.
Greg’s thoughts flailed for anything, any angle. He lacked the strength to stand, let alone swing the Giant Fucking Sword. Aside from that, he wasn’t carrying much. An erotically tight loincloth didn’t make for a lot of roomy pockets. But it did leave room for…
Item: Pocket Sand (Don’t Leave Home Without It)
Effect: Blinds foes for 1 round or annoys them for 3 rounds.
Shelly, that crafty bastard, had slipped it in his adventuring pack before he set off for the Vault. He hadn’t understood why then and quickly put it out of his mind. Greg made a mental note to give the old man a long, uncomfortable kiss if they both made it out of this alive.
“Hey Peter,” he smiled. “It’s dangerous to go alone. Take this!”
Greg used Pocket Sand
Target: [Petar’l]
Effect: Visual Feed Corrupted,
Command Latency +300%, Dignity –75%
1 round was all he needed.
Petar’l screamed in pain, and surprise. The cloud hit his eyes, his blade-hand, the sigils woven through his armor. Code around him snarled. His personal UI went nuts: windows spawning and closing at random, health bar flickering between values, targeting reticle spinning like it had lost its mind.
GM OVERRIDE: /clear_fx
…
ERROR: Asset Not Found
ERROR: Input Queue Overflow
ERROR: Maybe Don’t Stand So Close Next Time
Petar’l slashed blindly. The disc bucked. A column of junk code erupted at his side and immediately despawned again.
The Rage surged, delighted. This was the moment. Take it.
Greg did something new.
He turned it off.
PRIMAL STATE: [ACTIVE]
End Rage Early: [Y/N]?
He selected [Y].
FURIOUS WARD: Deactivated
Auto-Psycho Bloodthirst: Disabled
You are now acting of your own free will
(congratulations / condolences).
The heat behind his ribs cooled. The world narrowed into something small and sharp.
Petar’l clawed at his own face, glitch-sand crawling across his features, leaving little tears in his Moonlight sheen.
“Get shit on, assmaster” he spat, voice shredding. “You think this changes anything? You think you’re not still just doing what they want?”
“Don’t give a shit,” Greg said. He walked forward. His legs felt heavy, but they moved. “Typical me, right? So’s this part. I want you to know that, Peter. This is all me right now. I mean this from the bottom of my fucking heart.”
The first cut took Petar’l across the arm, severing a tendril that tethered him to the node shard above. It snapped and frayed, flinging bits of light into the dark.
Vitality [Petar’l]: ??? → …
ERROR: HealthValue out of bounds. Clamping.
New Value: 32%
Petar’l staggered, still slashing wildly, blade hitting empty air where his UI told him Greg should be.
“You don’t even know,” he rasped. “Who’s holding my leash. Yours too. I can help you win, Greg. I can show you—”
“Yeah,” Greg said. “I don’t give a shit.”
He stepped inside Petar’l’s reach and drove the Giant Fucking Sword straight through his chest.
Steel met resistance. Armor, then something denser, then a cavity that felt wrong. Greg’s muscles shook with the strain, but he didn’t stop until the hilt hit cloth.
BOSS DEFEATED: Petar’l Vely—
…
ERROR: ENTITY_DESCRIPTOR_MISMATCH
Attempting fallback…
Greg released the hilt. For a second, they were face to face, bodies almost touching, the sword pinning them together.
For a moment, Petar’l… Peter… didn’t look like a demigod. Or even an elf, with all their mysterious, magical majesty. He just looked like a tired guy in overdesigned cosplay, who had spent way too long in front of a glowing screen.
Blood, silver-threaded and dark, bubbled at the corner of his mouth. His eyes flickered between Moonlight and something more human.
“Well, fuck me in the…” he muttered, almost conversational. “You’re really gonna… I don’t suppose you would consider a truce?”
“Peter L,” Greg said. “Really? Petar’l was the best you could come up with?”
“So sayeth Greg the Barbarian…”
Greg hacked at him again. And again. And again. After several blows, his body stopped responding and additional damage stopped appearing on the corpse. But he kept hacking. It wasn’t the Rage driving him. His eyes and his heart were as cold as ice. He was out of breath but completely under control.
What remained of Peter L (Lee! Peter Lee.) could barely be described as a body anymore. What wasn’t twisted by corruption had been stabbed, slashed or cut off by Greg.
Greg hacked Peter’s corpse again, out of habit. Finally, the system stepped in.
BOSS DEFEATED: [UNRESOLVED ENTITY]
Reward: [CORRUPTED DEV FRAGMENT] x1 (KEY ITEM)
New Codex Entry: “OTHER WA—”
…
ERROR: ENTRY FAILED TO SYNC
Please check your connection and try again.
Petar’l’s body glitched.
For a heartbeat, there was a man-shaped hole in space, full of scrolling text Greg couldn’t read. Then, that too collapsed into static and was gone.
Silence pooled in the Secret Developer Room.
“Did I kill you,” he murmured, “or send you home?”
No answer. Just the faint hum of whatever counted as air conditioning in here.
The disc under his feet shook. Cracks spread across its surface, light bleeding out.
NEW INSTANCE STATUS: STABLE → COLLAPSING
Reason: Boss Anchor Removed
Time to Failure: ??
Helpful Suggestion: Leave.
Dark swallowed the dev-room. The scrolling code beneath the glass sped up, then blew apart into noise. Menus overhead folded in on themselves and winked out.
For a moment, Greg was nowhere.
Then the world jerked sideways.
He was falling again, this time through patches of sky, through half-rendered Blucliffe roofs and Vault stone and things that might have been memories. A diner at midnight. A game store. A loading screen that never finished.
He hit solid ground hard enough to see stars.
FURIOUS WARD:
Auto-reactivated (impact cushion)
VITALITY: 22 → 34 (and climbing)
Status: Alive, Against Reason
When his vision cleared, he was back in Blucliffe. The light was blinding, not a shadow in sight. The barrier around Elowen, Doran, Nars, and Violet shattered without warning. They all turned toward him at once.
The corrupted node spasmed. The conduits running up toward the surface pulsed erratically. Somewhere far above, Blucliffe’s sky groaned.
“Yo,” Greg said at last, in response to their stunned stupor. “I miss anything good?”
Friday, March 6th, 2026, to see the thrilling, stunning, amazing, beautiful, stupid, horny, heartfelt conclusion to Book 1... on a VERY special episode of Greg the Barbarian!!
Diet Mug Root Beer Dana Carvey Show)
