"MOVE, YOU DAMNED LIZARD! FLANK LEFT! LEFT, YOU STUPID TAIL-WAGGING CARNIVORE!"
A man slammed his keyboard with a roar.
His voice shook the cheap desk he built himself from leftover planks and metal. His headset, taped together from rage-induced past damage, screeched with static.
A can of flat soda toppled over, spilling across a stack of energy bar wrappers.
His greasy hair stuck to his forehead. Sweat dripped down his nose. Eyes bloodshot. Shirtless. Pants unknown.
But his screen? Glorious chaos.
Dinosaurs. Everywhere.
Velociraptors wearing enchanted bulletproof vests were tearing into enemy drakes.
Their claws gleamed with mana. Their teeth shimmered with magic energy-enhanced venom.
A spinosaurus, twenty feet tall, marched through a field of charred corpses.
Mounted on its back?
A crystal cannon pulsing with rune circuits and electricity. It fired a bolt the size of a truck. It exploded against the enemy's obsidian wall, shattering it like a weak eggshell.
"YES! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET! NEXT TIME, TRY HARDER, YOU SCALED LOSER!"
The man leaned forward with a wild grin across his face. His left hand pounded hotkeys like he was slapping the soul out of them. His right hand? Darting across the mouse like it owed him money. He clicked on his Ankylosaurus unit—its spiked tail dragging a magic cannon.
"Target that overgrown lizard statue they call a castle! Fire everything!"
The air around him felt charged. His heart was racing. His leg bounced up and down like a jackhammer. Adrenaline? Maxed. Focus? Laser-sharp.
The game was called War of Warlocks: Metamorphosis Online. No one knew who made it. No one cared. It was the most violent, intense, realistic beast-taming war game ever made.
Players became warlocks.
Warlocks that could morph into magical beasts and build entire empires of destruction. And his name is Jurra, a top level player or an Overlord player of this game. And his choice of Warlock transformation?
Most players picked dragons, phoenixes, demons, angels and elves.
Obvious choices. Strong, flashy, cool.
Jurra? He picked dinosaurs.
Because he wasn't here to be cool.
He was here to dominate.
That's why they called him Jurassic Overlord.
And today? He was going to end the reign of the Dragon Overlord—his final rival. His last competitor. The other Overlords had fallen one by one. Lava Fiend Overlord? Roasted. Forest Spirit Overlord? Mulched. Ghost Tide Overlord? Exorcised.
Only one bastard left.
The Dragon Overlord.
And his empire of high-fantasy, sparkly-scaled, wing-flapping, fire-farting reptiles.
"Bring out the mutated ceratops unit!" Jurra barked. "Target those flying things with magic laser horns! Yeah, you heard me! Magic. Laser. Horns!"
He was screaming now. Neighbors probably heard. He didn't care.
A few days ago, the system announced a challenge: Top Players Only. A final war. Winner gets access to a never-before-seen expansion. And an Overlord ability.
No one knew what that meant.
But hell, it was the War of Warlocks. This game never lied. Every promise it made? It was delivered. And that terrified and excited everyone all at once.
However, that's not the only thing Jurra liked.
In the past, whenever he won, he didn't celebrate like most players would for winning. Sure, he'd shout, curse, break a cheap headset or two—but the real thrill wasn't the glory or the bragging rights.
It was the payout.
Magic crystals.
In War of Warlocks: Metamorphosis Online, winning high-level battles didn't just grant titles or rare gear—it came with magic crystals that could be sold for real-world currency.
Every time Jurra triumphed, he cashed out. That's how he paid for his ramen, his rent, and even a few emergency dentist appointments.
So when the screen flashed the rewards, Jurra wasn't thinking about new expansions or legendary Overlord ability.
He was thinking: Damn, I bet this one's worth at least five thousand magic crystals.
Maybe ten.
He licked his lips and leaned forward.
He'd eaten microwave burritos for three straight days. Slept two hours total. Haven't seen sunlight since Tuesday.
And now? Now was his moment.
His massive Carnotaurus unit—hybrid with inferno-class fire crystals in its spine—roared as it broke through the eastern wall of the Dragon Empire's capital.
A dozen draconic knights tried to stop it.
They were armed. Swords forged in phoenix flame. Axes that hummed with ancient soul curses.
Didn't matter.
"Crush them, you red meat machine!" Jurra howled.
The Carnotaurus opened its mouth. Out came a beam of molten mana and napalm, spraying the enemy lines in liquid destruction.
Jurra couldn't stop grinning.
"WHO'S YOUR DINO-DADDY?!"
His chair creaked. His room smelled like regret and victory.
The enemy's castle began to crack.
From the center of the Dragon Empire's capital, stone towers split in half. Fire rained from the sky. Draconic cannons fell silent.
And then—
BOOM.
The castle gates exploded outward in a blast of purple energy.
Smoke and rubble clouded the screen.
And from the ruins emerged… it.
A dragon.
Massive. Towering. The classic type. Four legs. Two wings. Long, serpent neck. Ruby-red scales shimmered like blood in the sun. Its eyes glowed with blue arcane fire.
A long beard of white mana flickered from its chin like a living flame. Its horns twisted like ancient roots, pulsing with elder runes.
The beast stepped forward with its claws.
Then it spoke.
"You son of a prehistoric bitch," it snarled in a voice that sounded like thunder learning how to curse. "You will pay for this."
Jurra leaned back and burst out laughing.
"You salty Smaug wannabe! Your scaled butt's about to become dino chow!"
He clicked something.
Everything on his screen changed.
Dozens of his dinosaur units—now fully upgraded—stepped into formation. They were massive. Glowing. Some had armor. Some had spell cannons. One had a mechanical tail that spun like a drill laced with chain lightning.
And then—
Jurra clicked his final command.
"ATTACK FORMATION DELTA! UNLEASH JURASSIC JUSTICE!"
The battlefield turned into pure insanity.
Magic-infused T-Rexes stampeded across the plains, their backs loaded with homing rockets inscribed with runes.
Pterosaurs dived from above, their wings tipped with flame claws, screeching spells in ancient beast-tongue.
The spinosaurus cannon fired again, hitting the dragon dead-on, pushing it back.
The Dragon Overlord roared. "NEVER!"
Its wings spread wide, and it summoned a storm of black flame and golden lightning. Draconic soldiers rallied to it, screaming war chants in ancient languages. Meteors rained. The screen shook. The game vibrated like it was alive.
Jurra's hands moved faster than thought.
"NOPE. NOPE. DENIED."
He activated his giga-dino ultimate skill.
Primeval Annihilation.
Every dinosaur unit exploded with glowing mana. Their weapons fired in sync. Pure, bright beams of elemental destruction hit the dragon from every direction.
Light blinded the screen.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Jurra's headset buzzed. His monitor vibrated.
Smoke.
Silence.
And then—
The dragon collapsed.
It let out one last screech, echoing through the battlefield.
Its body cracked.
Shattered.
Fell into pieces.
The enemy castle behind it imploded.
And the screen flashed one line:
"You have defeated the Dragon Overlord."
Jurra stood up.
Arms wide.
Sweat soaking his boxers.
He screamed at the top of his lungs:
"YES! YES! YES! I KNOW…"
He punched the air. Nearly broke his fan. Spun in a circle. Slammed back into his chair. Sucked in a lungful of air.
Then exhaled.
And grinned.
"Jurassic Overlord, baby."
He leaned back.
Then it came.
Congratulations, Champion. Prepare for the New World.
Jurra blinked.
"…Wait. What the hell does that mean?"
But he never got the chance to ask.
Because his screen went white.
Everything—keyboard, chair, the room—vanished in a blink.
And all that was left…
Nothing.
Not even pain.
Just black.
An endless void.
Jurra floated. Or maybe fell. He couldn't tell. There was no up or down. No sound. No time.
Am I dead? he wondered. Did I finally break my neck mid-game like they warned me on those health pop-ups?
But after what felt like an eternity—
Something strange.
A scent.
Not blood. Not burnt plastic. Not a sweaty gamer pit.
No—it was… oddly pleasant. Rich, deep, musky. Like warm earth after rain mixed with incense from some old, forbidden temple.
Jurra's nose twitched.
And his eyes opened.
At first, all he could see was darkness. A thick, endless void. But something felt wrong. Or maybe right, in the strangest way.
He wasn't slumped in his broken gaming chair anymore. No hardwood floor against his bare feet. No glowing screens. No blinking RGB lights.
He was… sitting.
On something massive.
Smooth. Cold. Ornate.
A throne.
Jurra blinked.
He tried to move, and he felt his body shift. The air brushed across his skin—his real skin, not the avatar from the game. But something was off.
His muscles felt heavy. Too heavy. Dense like they were made of stone and steel. He looked down.
Claws.
Not hands.
Clawed hands. Black scales shimmered along his arms. Hardened skin. Real texture.
He gasped, or tried to. But the sound that came out was deep. Like it echoed from a cavern buried beneath the world's crust.
He sat there, unmoving, confused, as a soft chime echoed around him.
Ding!
A glowing screen blinked into view.
World: Unknown
Title: Warlock Jurra, the Jurassic Overlord
His jaw dropped.
Before he could even process the message, light exploded around him.
The darkness peeled away like curtains being ripped from a stage.
A hall revealed itself.
Massive.
Endless.
The walls stretched up so high they vanished into clouds. Pillars lined the chamber, each carved with dinosaur bones fused with glowing runes.
Torches of blue flame flickered, casting surreal shadows across the polished black stone floor.
And kneeling below him—lined up in perfect rows—were… people.
No. Not people.
Humanoids.
Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. Clad in armor made of enchanted bone, scaled leather, and glowing fossilized metal. But their bodies… they were wrong in all the right ways.
Some had tails. Others had elongated jaws. Some were eight feet tall with bulging muscles and glowing eyes. One had spikes running down her spine. Another had wings folded behind his back—bone wings.
They all knelt.
Heads lowered.
But their bodies faced him. Like predators bowing to their alpha.
Jurra's thoughts were chaos.
What the hell is this? Who are these people? What's going on?
Then, as if on cue, the entire chamber moved.
The humanoids rose in a single synchronized motion.
And one stepped forward, his voice deep, yet reverent. "Lord Jurra… shall we stand?"
Jurra didn't answer.
He just stared.
At them. At the strange world. At himself.
What the actual f—
His eyes flicked upward—and saw something he never expected.
Names.
Floating names.
Just like in the game.
Each being before him had a name above their head. Some he didn't recognize, but one made him jolt.
RexGodzilla
He blinked hard.
That name.
It was the stupidest name he ever gave to a unit. His favorite artillery dino from the game. A t-rex hybrid with long-range artillery and speed boosts. An absolute monstrosity in PvP.
But why the hell is it humanoid now?
Jurra squinted. RexGodzilla was… bipedal now. Clad in obsidian armor. But the snout, the tail, the gleam of red in his eyes—it was him.
This was real.
No.
It felt real.
And that's when curiosity finally beat hesitation.
"…Rise."
The voice that came out of his throat was not his own.
It was deep. Like tectonic plates grinding under pressure. Like a volcano whispering before eruption.
The moment he spoke, a silence fell again. Then—
The creatures moved.
They stood. All of them.
And then, they shouted in unison. Their voices thundered, shaking the very hall:
"ALL HAIL LORD JURRA!"
"THE SUPREME ONE HAS AWAKENED!"
"THE ANCIENT BLOOD HAS RETURNED!"
"WE HAVE WAITED A THOUSAND AGES FOR THIS MOMENT!"
"ALL HAIL LORD JURRA! ALL HAIL THE JURASSIC OVERLORD!"
The roar of voices was deafening. Their faces—reptilian, monstrous, regal—were alight with devotion. A sea of scaled, armored humanoids worshipping him like a god.
Jurra stood up.
He could stand.
He was tall now. Taller than he remembered being. Taller than he'd ever been. Muscles rippled under his scaly skin. His tail swayed behind him with weight. His claws clicked against the stone.
But inside?
He was still the same sweaty, ramen-powered gamer.
So he raised one clawed hand awkwardly.
"…Who are you all again?" he asked, his voice rumbling like ancient thunder.
The chamber went silent.
Every eye turned to him, reverent, awed.
And the air grew heavier.
As if the world itself was waiting to answer.