Final Life Online

Soon, the entire army of players was ready to march.

They didn't bother waiting for the Beast Tide to officially begin.

Even though the system notification had clearly stated the invasion would start in 12 hours, none of the guild-led strike squads were willing to sit around. With tens of thousands of players gathered—most of them heavily equipped and brimming with anticipation—the choice was unanimous:

Attack first. Hit fast. Steal the kill.

One after another, each team surged into the Black Forest, charging in from different directions. The ground shook beneath the mass of footsteps, trees shuddered with every war cry, and spells began flying before any enemy had even shown its face. Fireballs lit up the sky. Ice shards ripped through branches. Arrows zipped past like hail. In seconds, the forest was glowing with elemental explosions.

No tactics. No structure. Just raw aggression.

It looked like a magical wildfire had been unleashed, tearing through the trees—chaotic, devastating, and strangely beautiful in its sheer madness.

Wolves hiding in nests, wandering wolves, and even random forest beasts were crushed under the wave of spellfire and steel. The frontlines blurred into a storm of roars, snarls, and war cries. Blades clashed with claws, and the forest floor became soaked with ozone and blood.

But amid the noise and wreckage…

A howl echoed across the battlefield.

Low. Deep. Bone-chilling.

Then more followed—dozens of them—rising from the treeline, from behind burnt-out ruins and the shadows of scorched trees.

The real army had arrived.

These weren't ordinary wolves.

They were Dire Wolves. Bigger. Smarter. Deadlier.

Their howls didn't just announce their presence—they were a warning.

Then—

BOOM!

A massive dome of shadowy magic erupted at the edge of the forest, rising like a wall between the player forces and the heart of the woods. It pulsed with dark energy, cutting off the waves of spells and projectiles that had been flooding in.

The forest's core was swallowed in darkness.

Magic attacks couldn't pierce through anymore.

"What the hell is that?! Isn't this just one boss fight?!" someone yelled, voice cracking with panic.

But they were wrong.

It wasn't just a boss.

It was the beginning of the Beast Tide—and at the center of it stood something far worse than they'd imagined.

The Dire Werewolf had awakened.

And it hadn't come alone.

Now, with spells blocked, players resorted to brute force. More AoEs. More mana potions. More attacks.

Some players, low on mana, guzzled blue potions like water. They weren't worried about the boss fleeing—they were terrified of the opposite:

"Don't tell me… we were hitting nothing this whole time?"

The answer hung heavy in the air.

The real fight hadn't even started.

From the shadows, the Dire Wolves surged forth—lean, dark-coated beasts that tore through the outer ranks like reapers. Each one was between level 30 and 50, attacking in groups with tactics that felt terrifyingly intelligent.

Then—

A towering figure emerged.

Walking upright on two legs. Coated in pitch-black fur laced with drifting mist. Its eyes glowed blood-red, burning with primal rage. It radiated presence, its footsteps echoing like thunder.

The Dire Werewolf Alpha.

Level 50

Boss Aura: Active

Name: ??? – Shadowbane Alpha

It let out a thunderous snarl—and the entire battlefield seemed to flinch.

Players froze.

Not just from fear—but because something else hit them all at once.

Half of their support magic stopped working.

[You are affected by: Shadow Suppression]

[Magic Regeneration: -60%]

[Healing Effects: -70%]

[Skill Failure Chance: +15%]

"Damn it! I can't cast anything!" a panicked healer screamed.

"Somebody cleanse the debuff!" another shouted.

But it was no use.

Even the players with cleansing abilities found their magic fizzling out. This wasn't a regular debuff—it was the Alpha's very presence crushing the battlefield.

Suddenly, the so-called leaders—Moneyking and the rest—stared in stunned silence. Pale-faced. Realization dawning.

The same people who had rushed in with confidence, high on numbers, gear, and hype, now stood frozen as the truth settled in.

This wasn't some easy farm.

This was a slaughter waiting to happen.

Yet, inevitably, someone stepped forward.

A gold-clad swordsman with polished armor shining in the sun strutted ahead, oozing false bravado.

"So what? There's over ten thousand of us," he shouted, resting his oversized blade on one shoulder. "Just kill everything!"

A few others chuckled nervously, rallying behind him as he rushed ahead.

The first Dire Wolf to greet him wasn't even an elite—just a level 30 scout.

It lunged forward.

The golden warrior slashed confidently, aiming straight for the beast's neck.

His sword connected—but it didn't end there.

The wolf's fur shimmered unnaturally, its body twisted midair, and—

CRACK!

With a savage spin, it slammed its paw into the player's back, flinging him like a broken doll.

His sword clattered uselessly to the ground.

His body crashed against a tree.

[Player: ??? has been defeated.]

That message hung in the air like a ghost.

For a moment, the entire battlefield stilled. Every player had seen it.

One strike. One hit. One death.

"He… died instantly?"

"But his armor was rare-tier…"

"He was level 10…"

Just as panic was setting in, a flash of radiant light cut through the tension.

A woman stepped forward, draped in luminous white armor, her cape embroidered with the crest of an elite guild. She wasn't some casual player. She was a whale—someone backed by sponsors, powerhouses, or even corporations. The kind of player whose gear alone could bankrupt the average newbie ten times over.

Her presence was unmistakable—her aura practically glowing with divine power.

She drew her greatsword in one clean motion.

And in the next second, three wolves' heads dropped to the ground before their bodies could catch up.

"So what?" she said coolly. "They're wild dogs. There's only sixty of them. Including the Alpha."

She glanced down at the fallen overconfident player and gave a calm shrug.

"Well. Fifty-nine now."

Other heavy hitters stepped forward—players in gleaming Epic-tier armor, backed by massive guilds and private factions. Elementalists raised their staves. Sharpshooters locked arrows. Summoners called forth creatures of fire, ice, and lightning.

And with that, the battlefield lit up again.

Buffs swept across the ranks—

Healing lights surged green across the wounded.

Golden blessings shimmered above squads.

Speed boosts and chant spells rang out across the field.

Then I made my move.

From my quiet place among the warrior crowd, I stepped forward—edging closer, just beside the frontmost guild elites. Their aura was overwhelming. Every one of them wore names and tags that could shake a server just by appearing in world chat.

Especially the Holy Knight—the woman whose swordplay had already decapitated three wolves like she was slicing bread.

She wasn't just experienced.

She was dangerous.

Her movements were crisp, deliberate, and flawless. There was no wasted motion—no delay. A trained gamer. Possibly a professional who had just joined the game recently but already mastered the mechanics.

And I stood right next to her.

Quiet. Unnoticed.

Exactly where I wanted to be.