The pinned post on the homepage opened to a live feed.
The camera shook violently. Whoever was filming was clearly fleeing for their life.
In the background loomed a behemoth beyond imagination.
It was a mass of rotting flesh, twisted corpses, and ruined buildings. Its enormous body nearly pierced the clouds.
This was the source of the North American War Zone's disaster—the Rotten Monarch.
With every step it took, the earth seemed to wail. Cities beneath its feet, players and all, were absorbed into its body.
The camera swung abruptly toward a face smeared with blood and worn down by exhaustion.
The man's armor was shattered, and his remaining left arm gripped a broken knight's lance.
He was the leader of the Shield of Freedom, the North American War Zone's top guild. Players called him General Adams.
"Gods of the Yan Country War Zone, I'm John Adams."
His voice was hoarse, broken by ragged breaths and the rumble of distant explosions.
"We... are facing the end. Our cities are falling. Our people are dying."
"We were rivals. We were enemies. But now we're all just wretches struggling to survive the apocalypse."
Behind him, the Rotten Monarch opened a maw large enough to swallow a mountain. It crushed a skyscraper and the last defenders inside it.
Despair seemed to seep through the screen.
"Please save us."
There were no tears in General Adams's eyes, only deadened gray.
"If you're willing to help, the North American War Zone will pay any price."
The video cut off there.
For a full minute, the entire Yan Country Forum fell silent.
The posts showing off new skills and sharing trial guides suddenly seemed painfully out of place.
A minute later, the comments erupted.
"Holy shit, how are they supposed to fight that?"
"The Rotten Monarch...