Flynn wasn't a god, and no matter how sharp his reflexes or how clean his execution, there were limits a single player couldn't cross. Under the relentless barrage of dozens of enemies, survival became a countdown rather than a question. He held on longer than anyone reasonably should have, weaving through attacks, slipping past blades and arrows, dragging the fight out for a grueling twenty seconds before it finally ended. When it did, it ended unceremoniously, his character collapsing onto the cold stone floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
It was his first death since entering the game.
Yet as his vision dimmed and the chat filled with jeers, taunts, and crude celebrations, Flynn felt no frustration at all. If anything, the corners of his mouth curled upward. He was smiling.
Because he knew exactly what he had just taken.
