Ajal.
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Chapter 256: Global Ironmaking? Global Suffering!
🕑 Added 2025-09-05 10:29:14 +0000 UTC#Sekiro drops today#
#WindyPeak Gus Harper#
#Fallen from the altar#
#Blacksmith#
#SharkLiveChallenge#
#VibeStream invites you to game#
#BlackFlag Live launches Sekiro exclusive event#
#…#
Sekiro’s hype was through the roof.
With players losing their minds and media spotlights blazing, the 24-hour countdown for Sekiro’s release hit IndieVibe and Nebula Entertainment’s somatosensory cabin platforms right on schedule.
The gaming world went nuts.
Overseas, outlets like SNG Forum, Global Players, SLGamers, and Hummingbird Game Review dropped articles hyping Sekiro’s launch. Players across Europe, the US, Japan, South Korea, and Southeast Asia fired up the demo, throwing down with the samurai general to prep for the real deal.
Some were jonesing for the full release. Others were just warming up their hands for the grind.
Abroad, players pulled every trick to ditch work—fake migraines, fevers, even “I’m basically a corpse.” In Seattle, it was pure chaos. Beyond the media storm and player hype, streaming platforms like Shark, VibeStream, BlackFlag, and TikTok threw simultaneous events—speedruns, boss kills, fewest-deaths challenges. Weird as hell, but their splashy homepages were impossible to ignore.
Streamers like Pew (US), Yingshu (Japan), and a mix of veteran and rookie Seattle anchors led the charge. Players were amped, and the gaming scene was electric.
Sekiro owned the conversation.
Then, the awkward moment hit…
“Huh? Torii’s dropping today too? No way…”
It was pushing 8 p.m. Pacific Time, and VibeStream anchor Jake “Old Ju” Turner was chilling, waiting for Sekiro’s unlock. A chat comment caught his eye, and he smirked, half-embarrassed.
He flipped to Komina’s platform to check. Yup, it was real.
Not just releasing today—same exact date.
Chat blew up laughing.
“Chairman’s UFO just went down in flames!”
“Komina’s got some serious guts…”
“Haha, bet they forgot to shift the date. No way they’d crash into Sekiro on purpose.”
“Real talk, Torii’s production is solid.”
“Yeah, but it’s just okay. Demo was enough for me.”
“Battles are so repetitive.”
“Repetitive? It’s straight-up copy-paste.”
“The AI’s dumb as a brick. Just charges you.”
“They really thought they could drop this with Sekiro? Insane…”
Jake, aka the “Chairman of Future Tech,” cracked up. “Maybe… confidence?”
He couldn’t wrap his head around Komina’s move. Sekiro was a juggernaut, yet they stuck with Torii’s $189 million launch date. Some marketing stunt? He didn’t get it.
Truth was, Jake was overthinking. Komina’s Torii project was a trainwreck—no leader, total chaos. Kazuo Koizumi, the head, was still in the hospital. Tatsuya Moritani, the promo guy, had bailed. Keizo Kamijo, the top dog, didn’t know games and was buried in other issues.
Jake didn’t know, and he didn’t care.
Because right then, a kimono-clad woman with a red parasol glided through falling snow into a dark cliffside dungeon. Her hand dropped a letter, and Jake’s iconic intro kicked off: “Yo, what’s good, fam? Welcome to Jake’s stream. Today, we’re diving into Sekiro.”
“I already cracked this game wide open with the 30-minute demo…”
Chat exploded.
“IT’S GO TIME!”
“Intro’s straight fire.”
“Speedrun karaoke vibes.”
“Mastered it in ten minutes, huh?”
“Pumped!”
“Chairman’s locked in.”
“Bro, you lived in that demo.”
“Wolf hype, let’s roll!”
Amid the chaos, Jake broke down the opening plot, pieced from demo clues. Wolf, the protagonist, was an orphan adopted by his foster father during Ashina Isshin’s bloody conquest twenty years ago. Now, he’s the bodyguard for “Prince” Kuro.
Ashina’s under attack by the Imperial Court, and Kuro’s mysterious power has him locked up by Isshin’s grandson, Genichiro Ashina. Wolf’s mission: save the kid.
“So, the game’s vibe is…” Jake summed up, “Wolf’s ride-or-die for his VIP, ready to throw hands. Let’s do this!”
Chat lost it.
“LMAO, that’s some hometown swagger!”
“Every true bro fights for their number one.”
“Official translation energy.”
“Japan vibes, let’s go.”
“Was all serious ‘til Jake made it comedy.”
Jake, as Wolf, opened his eyes after grabbing the letter. “If you trust the Chairman, skip the read. It’s basically ‘go save Kuro.’ But my arm… it’s not like the demo.”
In the demo, his left arm was a tricked-out prosthetic with ninja tools. In the full game, it was just a normal hand. Weird. Probably a plot thing.
Jake set off, geeking out over upgrades. “Yo, this wall-jump’s buttery smooth… Climbing walls? Swimming? Diving? I’m shook!”
He sneaked through, reached Kuro’s hut, and a cutscene hit. “OH! My dude!” Jake yelled.
Kuro, the “Prince,” was a cute kid, soft-spoken and innocent. He ran to Wolf, who knelt, all business, reporting like a loyal guard. Kuro, a bit bummed but trying to be a proper “master,” handed Wolf his sword, Kusabimaru: “By our bond, serve me with your life.”
War raged, Ashina crumbling. Twenty years ago, Isshin’s blade kept the peace, but now, with him aging, it’s chaos. Kuro, like Wolf back then, was shedding innocence to survive, but he had Wolf’s loyalty: I’ll protect you with my life. If you’re taken, I’ll bring you back.
Game on. With demo experience, players breezed through early fights. The only twist? “Team Leader” Shigenori Yamauchi, a demo elite, was now an early-game foe. Easier than the samurai general, but still a curveball.
Clanging swords filled Jake’s stream. “This is fire!” he shouted, reuniting with Kuro after the fight. They slipped through a narrow stone corridor to a field of snow-white reeds under moonlight.
Wolf and Kuro crept through, aiming to escape Genichiro’s grip. But a cold voice cut through: “Been a while, Kuro. Last time was at your uncle’s grave, right?”
Genichiro, in sleek armor with a sword and bow, turned, his eyes sharp as knives. His “uncle” was Kuro’s dad.
“Genichiro…” Kuro shrank back.
He’d sniffed out their plan, waiting in ambush.
Wolf and Genichiro locked eyes, silent, drawing blades in sync. Metal scraped, glinting under moonlight.
Chat held its breath. Jake’s voice dropped: “Here we go!”
Clash! “No, no, no! Genichiro, chill! HAHA—oh, crap!”
One hit. Jake’s health tanked by half. Genichiro’s attack power was brutal, and Jake’s base stats were weak.
He scrambled, chugging a gourd, as chat roared.
“Classic Jake, eating dirt!”
“Thought you were popping off, Chairman.”
“一曲!” (mocking his “here we go”)
“Two hits? Three?”
“Two, and you’re toast.”
“No way!” Jake parried sparks, panicking. “What’s this intensity? It wasn’t this hard before!”
Genichiro’s moves hit like a truck, his presence overwhelming in the somatosensory cabin. Compared to earlier foes like Shigenori Yamauchi or the samurai general, his vibe was next-level—every swing carried a king’s swagger.
This wasn’t some random thug. This was a boss.
The old thief had slapped a boss right at the start.
Clang! Clang! Thud!
Too tough. No one beat Genichiro first try. Players worldwide wailed.
“Really? The first boss? I didn’t even see him coming!”
“Hashidou Madai! This is nuts!”
“Too hard! Way too hard!”
“No way! Even the old thief himself would get smoked, right?”
Then, a cutscene stopped the screams. Wolf’s left arm flew off in a spray of blood.
“Is this Miko’s ninja? That’s it?” Genichiro sneered, blood dripping in the reeds. “I’m taking Kuro.”
Chat got it. Plot kill. The old thief set it up to explain Wolf’s lost arm. But that smug taunt? It stung.
Winter Melon couldn’t take it. “Screw this! Taunting me? Restart! I’m not eating this!”
Half an hour later: “Fine, you win! Just wait ‘til I gear up!”
Chat roared.
“Haha, ten tries, two hits on Genichiro.”
“Plot kill. No one’s passing that.”
“Maybe, but knowing the old thief, you could win. Just stupid hard.”
“Bet a pro guide drops tomorrow.”
“Wonder if beating him here changes the story.”
“Too tough. I’m only at Winter Melon’s level against him.”
“This plot kill feels so clean, though.”
“Yeah, makes sense ‘cause I can’t beat him.”
The fake-out boss fight sparked a global grudge against Genichiro. But revenge? That road was pain.
Wolf woke in a Buddhist temple, meeting two locals. The Buddha Sculptor, who gifted him the ninja prosthetic arm he no longer needed, and Yongzhen, the woman who dropped the letter at the start. From here to facing Genichiro again would take about three hours—less if you grabbed everything.
But players? They weren’t that slick…
Early on, things went smooth. Demo experience carried over, and the prosthetic arm synced with the demo’s section. Clearing grunts or generals just took a few deaths.
ShuBro (Sister Zhou) bragged, “What, that’s it? Psh.”
She smoked the general in three tries, strutting through the game like a champ. Chat seethed.
“She’s flexing like that?”
“Must’ve grinded that demo nonstop.”
“General’s practically her cousin now.”
“Why’s ShuBro’s flex making me rage?”
“Fast-forward to her eating dirt.”
ShuBro cackled at the salty comments. “Just a sprinkle, fam. I’m a bit ahead, but you can catch up with practice. This game ain’t even that hard. General’s tough? Took him out three times.”
She pushed forward, ignoring a war-torn mother and son who gave her a “Young Master’s Guardian Bell” to offer at the temple for lost memories. ShuBro, in full murder-hobo mode, pocketed it and charged for Ashina Castle’s tower, where Kuro was held.
She’d heard one useful tip: Kuro was in the castle tower. Everything else—bell, soldier chatter about ghosts fearing fire—went ignored. She was all, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know where I’m at, I just know I’m here to slice.
Gus Harper had seen this coming. This world had no Souls-like games, so players weren’t used to “fragmented narratives.” Here, gameplay and story were split—play for mechanics, watch CGs for plot. But Sekiro and Gus’s Souls-like titles wove clues into the action.
Some clues tied to the main story. Others eased the game’s brutal difficulty. If ShuBro had listened to soldiers or chatted with gate thieves and merchants, she’d know about the “Red Devil” ahead—a near-invincible monster, weak only to fire. Offering the bell would unlock Wolf’s lost memories from Hirata Mansion three years ago, where a “Blowgun” prosthetic could be found to wreck the Red Devil.
Too bad. ShuBro missed it all.
And now, facing the Red Devil, she was shook.
ROAR! A massive humanoid, twice her size, was chained to a wooden frame. Disheveled hair, a face like a demon, and glowing red eyes. The frame rattled as it thrashed.
With IndieVibe X2’s sensory tech, ShuBro felt the ground quake. Her heart raced, palms sweaty.
“What the hell is that?”
“Sorry… my bad…” She inched along the cliff, trying to sneak past.
But as she got close—CRASH! The frame splintered. The Red Devil charged like a tank, the UI flashing Danger. Fear hit ShuBro like a truck.
Thud! It grabbed her, hoisted her upside down.
ROAR! It slammed her into the ground.
[Ding! Heart rate too high. Disconnected from somatosensory link…]
Chat went wild.
“YO! It yeeted ShuBro offline!”
“That was brutal. Hurts to watch.”
“Pain’s capped at 3, thank God. Level 5 would’ve scarred her.”
“Red Devil buried her.”
“Even watching, I’m spooked.”
“Is that a boss?”
“Nah, elite monster.”
“Elite? This game’s unhinged.”
“Broken Monk and Genichiro are bosses. They’re worse.”
“No way… this thing’s too much.”
“Joke’s on ShuBro: ‘This game ain’t hard.’”
“ShuBro? You good? Say something!”
“Haha, she’s popping heart pills.”
So brutal. ShuBro never thought an ARPG boss would knock her offline.
She reconnected, eyeing the Red Devil from afar. Step forward, it thrashed harder. Step back, it just roared.
“Damn it!” Players worldwide cursed.
The old thief’s trick! The Red Devil’s aggro triggered by distance. Stay far, it’s chained. Get close, it breaks free and one-shots you like a charging rhino.
Why did WindyPeak pour its tech into this? First, motion assist for pay-to-win props. Now, adaptive AI aggro on an elite that could delete you.
Old thief, we’re done!
The game’s vibe shifted. It felt like Catrio all over again. Beyond beating bosses and clearing levels, it was a war against the old thief’s traps.
“Come on!” ShuBro crept up, dodged the Red Devil’s grab, and laughed. “Missed me, dumbass!”
But—WHAM! It staggered forward and kicked her flat.
[Die]
“Screw you! Again!”
Yin revived, stepped back, reached for her gourd. Danger flashed. The Red Devil pinned her, smashing a fist into her head.
[Die]
“Let me swing, damn it!”
Pineapple jumped in, full health, aiming for a quick slash. A hidden spearman in a corner stabbed her kidney. The Red Devil followed with an elbow.
[Die]
“Fine! Whatever!” Pew scrambled back, chugging a gourd and popping a slow-heal pill. Full health again.
Through fights, he’d cracked the Red Devil’s pattern—high attack speed, fast grabs, brutal damage. But keep health topped, and it couldn’t one-shot you. Its posture bar was two-thirds down. With a gourd and pills left, Pew had room to mess up and still bag the first Red Devil kill.
“Let’s go!” Pew charged, dodging and slashing. Puff, puff! The posture bar nearly broke. Greed kicked in—he swung early.
Danger. The Red Devil grabbed him, slammed him down. But Pew had a sliver of health left.
“One more!” He grinned, ready to finish it.
Then—WHAM! The Red Devil threw him backward… off a cliff.
“NO, NO, NO!” Pew screamed. A fall meant no gourd, no revive.
Thud. Garbage-bagged off the edge.
[Die]
“This game’s trash! Who designs this crap?!”
“Screw this! Absolute garbage!”
Players worldwide saw red Die screens. A global cuss-fest erupted—Chinese, Korean, Japanese, American, European. “Why’s your game in black and white?” became the universal taunt.
Streamers aiming for clean runs got wrecked, raging across the globe.
In his dorm, Max Wheeler, a streaming fan, cackled as anchors like Pineapple crashed and burned. “Yo, Zach, check Pineapple’s stream. I’m dying!”
Zach Nolan, a hardcore gamer, wasn’t fazed. “Just stream hype,” he said, shrugging. “It’s tough, but not that bad.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “They’re all wiping. Can’t all be faking it.”
“Nah,” Zach waved off. “Streamers play up the drama. Play it yourself, you’ll see they’re exaggerating.”
Max scoffed. “Acting like a pro again?”
“You don’t believe me?” Zach grinned. “No cabin in the dorm, or I’d show you. The ones at the campus arcade are busted.”
“I’ll cover you,” Max said.
“…Let’s roll.”
