She had all the levels.
She would go adventuring for hours, every day. She didn't care about anything but the rares she found in the forest's groves. She would never journey with other people so she could take every bit of treasure for herself and get all the experience. She only helped others in order to steal from them later. She recycled every thing that wasn't rare enough for her. In fact, she recycled every item she had except her "rares." She had 3 of every color of headdress, about 20 rare spikes, and about 6 of every beta in her den. She had tiki masks, and beards of every color.
But she never traded them. She wore some of the "more attractive" rares, like the spike and headdress, but only to raise her status. Sometimes she would befriend people, then lure them into her den, only to trick the poor souls into getting their "rares" stolen. She preyed on the little kids... The little kids didn't understand how scamming worked.
It was so easy. People would even look up to her, saying, "I want to be like her one day."
None of them knew she was really a monster-- perhaps she was an artist as well. A con artist.
She could always get away with scamming... She was that good at it. And the more she did it, the rarer she became. She posted videos and vlogs about all her "artifacts" and how she was "preserving the history of Jamaa with these fantastic items."
Nobody suspected it was her.
It didn't matter. She had tons of fans who would cosplay Mythical Arcticfly. She was too conceited to encourage them, but she didn't care. Scamming was a good enough reward for her. Her den got featured on newspapers and journals around the world constantly, even though she put no effort into making it nice. She had a crystal palace-like den, crammed full of valueable items slung about the floor, with no apparent pattern or artistic style applied. She didn't care what it looked like, as long as people knew how rare and important she was. Calling her den a museum was an insult. It was a portal back in time to her.
She never talked to anyone. She didn't want anyone to realize what she really was.
She cut contact with anyone she ever knew, and she never responded to Jam-a-grams or emails, no matter how nice they were. She never traded or sold a single item away.
She kept scamming. She kept tricking them. She went after the newbies, who had no idea what their items were worth. Her collection grew and grew, and she could never be satisfied. It didn't matter if the rocking horse she took was a family heirloom that had been passed down for generations.
One time a kind orange wolf went up to her and asked her politely, "Mythical, I noticed you have about 37 Mira statues, may I have one?"
She thought for a bit, and then walked slowly up to him. He looked at her in the eyes... And he thought that he saw them twinkle, and that her mouth smiled... But the smile he saw was not a smile of kindness or generosity. She had stabbed him in the chest.
He sputtered a few last words, as he grasped the wound on his chest."You don't deserve a single beta you own, you monster!"
He stumbled, then collapsed on the floor. Mythical took every one of his rares, rifling through his pockets as his life seeped away. She later raided his home, recycled everything else that wasn't worth her time-- his favorite childhood toys, his electronics... She destroyed all the evidence of the killing, and never looked back.
"Stupid noobs." she mumbled.
Years went by, and her hunger for rares never died down. She had stopped adventuring long ago. She had even stopped posting videos. She would sit on her huge throne, fashioned from hundreds of rares mashed together with blood, sweat, and tears from the people she preyed on. She would just gaze upon her possessions, with an angry glare in her eyes.
She wanted more.
She was tired of scamming. It was too mundane for her. Now she just randomized a few names, and killed whoever popped up at the top of the list. If they didn't have any good stuff, she didn't regret killing them anyway. Her attacks were quick and sneaky, and she left no trace. It didn't matter if they didn't have what she was looking for.
She just wanted to be the best. She had all the rares, all the fame, and all the power. To display her dominance, she was going to kill the Alphas. All of them.
It was easy for her. They didn't stand a chance against her. Not even they had as many rares as she did.
She ruled Jamaa.
It was hers.
She ordered destruction of all the buildings, salvaging any rares she could. Dens, lives, and houses were lost by the millions to her merciless servants. If someone didn't comply, she would slit their neck.
She forced thousands of enslaved animals to build her a better castle in the center of Jamaa. If someone did so much as look at one of her betas, she would hang them from the gallows.
There was only one "server," renamed Mythical Arcticfly. It had once been named Aldan, but its good days were over.
Everything was over.
An elderly blue-green arctic wolf adjusted his spectacles, and then shut the huge, dusty book. "Children, this is what greed will do to people. Don't push people away from you just because they may not be as rare. I used to be obsessed with the idea of being rare... Until I realized they aren't as important as what people make them out to be. You don't need them to be a good person.
"You don't need fame or power. That says nothing about a person.
"Just be who you are-- Be you. There is nothing rarer than your individual. You, are the rarest person in Jamaa." He placed the torn book back on the shelf, and went back to his desk.
"There is only one you. Who will you be?"