After defeating Pyrovian the Sky Terror, Daric truly believed he'd earned a break. A vacation, even. Maybe somewhere tropical, with no birds larger than a coconut.
He was wrong.
So very, very wrong.
The notification that had appeared just before he'd faceplanted into his ale was still flashing angrily in the corner of his vision:
[New World Event: Duckpocalypse — Doom Ducks Rising]
[Objective: Survive.]
Daric groaned into the table.
"What did I ever do to deserve this?" he whined.
"You killed Cluckles," a nearby villager whispered reverently.
"And Honkos," another added.
"And cooked Pyrovian into the stew," the barkeep mentioned casually.
Daric threw up his hands. "That was self-defense!"
Outside, ominous honking began.
The tavern door slammed open. A scout stumbled in, covered in feathers and minor scorch marks.
"They're here!" he gasped. "Thousands of them!"
Daric peeked through the window.
The horizon was a solid wall of waddling doom—tiny, furious figures flapping their stubby wings and honking like demented warhorns.
The Doom Ducks had come.
—
Daric was conscripted instantly.
The villagers outfitted him with the only available "advanced" gear: a reinforced shovel, a slightly magical umbrella, and a helmet shaped suspiciously like a chamber pot.
He was ready.
Probably.
Maybe.
(Absolutely not.)
At the gates, Daric stood beside a ragtag army of farmers, drunkards, and one suspiciously buff goat.
The ground trembled.
[World Boss Army Approaching: Doom Ducks — Waddling Wrath.]
Their general emerged first: a duck larger than a house, wearing icy armor and brandishing what could only be described as a frozen baguette.
[Commander Quackersnarl, the Frostwing.]
"I'm gonna cry," Daric muttered.
The battle began.
Ducks launched themselves like fluffy missiles.
Daric swung wildly with the shovel, batting away ducks left and right.
[New Title Acquired: Duckball Champion.]
Still, for every duck he flattened, three more took its place.
Spells rained down. Ice shards, biting wind, and worst of all—icy honks that froze people mid-taunt.
Daric activated every defensive skill he had, spinning the umbrella like a shield. Ducks bounced off it, creating a ridiculous but oddly effective barrier.
The tide turned briefly in their favor until Commander Quackersnarl unleashed his ultimate move:
The Blizzard Honk.
The sky darkened. Snow blasted across the battlefield. Villagers slipped, stumbled, and were rapidly buried under avalanches of quacking doom.
Daric fought like a man possessed, but even he was slowing.
As he struggled to breathe through the blizzard, a strange, heroic figure charged onto the battlefield.
It was Kaelen.
Daric's old mentor rode the buff goat like a battle steed.
"DARIC!" Kaelen roared over the howling wind.
"KAELEN!" Daric yelled back.
They fist-bumped mid-fight, duck feathers exploding outward.
Reinvigorated, they launched a coordinated attack.
Daric distracted Quackersnarl by waving the umbrella dramatically.
Kaelen, meanwhile, pulled out a secret weapon: a giant, flaming loaf of bread. Ducks hated burnt carbs.
He hurled it with deadly precision, clocking Quackersnarl in the beak.
The general staggered, stunned.
Daric seized the moment.
Activating Primal Surge, he sprinted up a fallen wagon, leaped into the air, and drove the shovel straight into the icy crown atop Quackersnarl's head.
CRACK.
The ice shattered.
Quackersnarl let out one last frosty honk—and collapsed.
System messages flooded Daric's vision:
[Commander Quackersnarl Defeated!]
[Essence Gained: 30,000.]
[New Title Unlocked: The Duckslayer Supreme.]
[World Event Status: Duckpocalypse — Remaining Forces 40%]
The battlefield erupted in cheers.
But it wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
A new, deeper honk echoed across the wasteland.
From the horizon emerged an even greater horror: a massive duck-shaped airship, piloted by ducks in tiny leather helmets.
"Air support?" Daric cried incredulously. "THEY HAVE AIR SUPPORT?!"
The villagers collectively fainted.
Daric and Kaelen stood alone, facing certain doom.
Daric adjusted his chamber pot helmet.
"Ready?"
Kaelen twirled a frying pan threateningly. "Let's make some scrambled eggs."
They charged.
The battle for the fate of the realm had truly begun.