Following our tense standoff with Molon Labe, we eventually joined forces with a group playing under the faction name Dark Warriors. Not long after, we rebranded as Dark Souls, preparing to finish out our final season on the official Atlas servers.
But the official servers were chaos incarnate.
Duping had become commonplace. Players exploited glitches to duplicate items, creating unfair advantages. Suddenly, it wasn’t just skill that won fights—it was who had the most cannon horses or invincible tames. Ships that should’ve sunk rose from the pixelated sea like phantoms, untouchable. Huge alliances brought thirty or more players into a single grid, causing massive lag and frequent crashes that left players stranded outside the game. It was survival of the most glitched.
Molon Labe returned to our island, clearly planning a raid—but there wasn’t much to raid. We had deliberately kept our base minimal to reduce visibility and preserve our main holdings. Perhaps realizing this, they pulled back. Later in chat, they boasted about defeating the Ghost Ship with a cannon horse. Maybe they did. Who knows? The season was strange enough for anything to be possible.
Then came the unexpected: talk of a merger.
At first, I was floored. After everything we’d been through, the idea of teaming up with Molon Labe felt surreal—maybe even ridiculous. I wasn’t the company owner, but they asked for our input. I knew deep down we needed numbers. And I couldn’t deny their strength—on both land and sea, their captains were among the best.
So I reluctantly agreed.
When we joined their Discord, it was… awkward. I’m reserved by nature, especially in unfamiliar company. I waited quietly, unsure what to say. Then came something I didn’t expect.
“I owe you an apology. I never thought I’d be in the same Discord as you.”
The voice cut through the tension like a blade.
I’ve got a big heart—sometimes too big. But I accepted the apology, and then they realized who we were. Turns out, our seven-day assault on a galleon base—just me, my husband, and a handful of ‘bobs’—had left an impression. When the final cannonball hit, we had sunk Obsidian, a group that had shadowed us through much of our Atlas journey.
Suddenly, we weren’t just names in chat. We were players with shared history.
We all ended up on the same ship again during an intense sea battle. The captains needed help repairing between waves, and our original crew jumped in without hesitation. And whose ship did my husband and I land on?
None other than James Korn’s.
Yes—the very person at the center of our old rift.
To my surprise, he captained that galleon with calm precision. He communicated clearly. He stayed focused. That ship sailed away from the battle intact—and my perspective began to shift.
Turns out, these so-called enemies were real people, just like us. Not as ruthless as we had once believed. Over time, respect formed—then inspiration, then friendship.
Funny how the world throws you curveballs like that. Sometimes, the people you once fought become your greatest allies.
And so, after the chaos came the calm.
Until Next Time Lovelies!
Always Ambrose Fider