Regression: Reclaiming the End-Chapter 32: The PK King Part III

And with that, the light outside had faded into that soft, violet hue of early evening — the kind of twilight that made the city feel quieter than usual, as if even the wind held its breath.

Noel stood, brushing crumbs from his jeans and stretching with a groan. "Damn, that hit the spot," he muttered, grabbing the empty Coke bottle.

"Yeah," I replied, stacking the pizza box. "Almost made me forget the world’s gone to hell."

He chuckled. "Almost."

We exchanged a few more words at the door — the kind only close friends needed. Half-sentences and gestures that said everything without needing full explanations.

"Your place still near, right?" I asked.

"Yeah. Same building, just across the block."

I gave a short nod. "Good. Stay sharp tonight. We enter the Labyrinth first thing tomorrow morning."

Noel paused at the threshold, then looked back at me, more serious now. "Got it. I’ll be ready."

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence returned — familiar and heavy.

I locked the door behind Noel and moved back to the desk, the soft glow of my screen still active — notifications blinking from the Astral Community feed like restless eyes in the dark.

There was something gnawing at the back of my mind. That conversation with Noel... it stirred an old memory — a face buried in my regression. A monster wearing the skin of a human. The so-called PK King.

I pulled my chair close, fingers dancing quickly across the keyboard.

Search: "PK King"Filters: Recent Posts | Trending | User-Generated Tags

I hit enter.

The screen flooded with posts, though most were fragmented — whispers, rumors, ghost stories told in the corners of the Crimson Rift forums. No confirmations. No solid footage. Just fear.

But one thing stood out immediately.

"Anyone else hearing about players disappearing on the Lower Floors?"

—Thread started by user: MazeCuller13, 3 hours ago

I clicked in.

"Three different users with solo-clear attempts haven’t reported back. No footage, no logout logs. People are saying they just... vanished. And someone saw red markings at one of the spawn points."

"Markings?"

"Symbols. Like a crown over a skull. Someone tagged it with: #PKKing."

I leaned back, eyes narrowing.

He was starting to make his move again.

Just like before.

In the previous timeline, the PK King had built a name not through boss fights or achievements — but through fear. He’d even created an Astral Community profile, not to make friends or trade tactics, but to broadcast his kill count, to paint his username in blood across the forums. It wasn’t just ego — it was branding. A legend formed in silence and death.

I opened a new tab and tried again:

Search: "PK King profile, user-marked"

There it was.

A barely-active account, no posts, no threads, no visible followers — just one pinned comment on his bio:

"You’ll know me when it’s too late."

—Username: [CrownThorns]

And his icon?

A cracked player mask... with a jagged crown carved into the forehead.

I stared at it, the weight of the future pressing down like ice in my lungs.

I didn’t waste another second.

Switching tabs, I opened up the direct line to Astraia — our conversation from earlier still lingering near the top of my chat list. I stared at her last message for a beat, then started typing.

[Blank]:

Hey. Got a quick question. You heard anything about someone called PK King?

I watched the three dots appear almost immediately — she was online.

[Astraia]:

The name’s come up in whispers. Why?

I typed faster now, urgency settling into my fingertips.

[Blank]:

Username: CrownThorns. Ever seen it?

A longer pause this time.

The dots danced. Disappeared. Then reappeared.

[Astraia]

:...Shit. Yeah. I’ve seen that name once. He popped up in a Tokyo sub-community a week ago. Someone found a player corpse inside the Rift — no monsters in sight. Just a broken mask and that Crown sigil etched into the floor.

Thought it was a fake post until a second one showed up. Then a third. No pattern. Just silence, symbols, and dead challengers.

I clenched my jaw, mind racing.

This confirmed it. He was operating globally now — not just in my region.

’I had to locate this guy first. Get ready, you bastard.’

[Blank]:

He’s not ghost story. He’s real.

[Astraia]:

Jesus.

I exhaled slowly, tapping my knuckles on the desk as the weight of it all settled in again.

[Blank]:

Just keep your eyes open.If you’re running solo in the Labyrinth, avoid blind corners.And if you ever see that Crown sigil...

[Astraia]:

Got it.Thanks for the heads-up.If I hear anything else, I’ll ping you first.

[Blank]:

Appreciate it.

I closed the chat window and leaned back, the dull hum of the Astral Community still flickering in the background. A faint breeze slipped through the cracks in my apartment window, rustling the edge of a Rift map I had pinned to the wall.

A storm brewed inside me, silent but fierce.

’The reason I’m so desperate to take down this CrownThorns isn’t just about survival or pride. It’s personal. He’s the one who killed Noel — my only real friend, the one who stood by me before the Rift tore us apart.’

The thought slammed into me like a punch to the gut, a searing pain that ignited a fire deep in my veins.

’If I don’t stop him — if I let him spread his poison and build his influence again — more people will suffer. More people like Noel.’

A low growl rose from my throat, a fury that wouldn’t be silenced.

’No. I have to be the one to end this.’

I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of every loss, every broken promise the Rift had carved into my life.

This wasn’t just a fight for survival anymore. It was a reckoning.

I pictured CrownThorns—his shadow looming over every victim, every whispered fear in the labyrinth’s darkest corners.

He was a cancer that needed to be excised, no matter the cost.

And I would be the scalpel.

I’d hunt him down, piece by piece, floor by floor, until there was nothing left but silence.

Because this time, I will be the storm he won’t bypass.