Ilon Muskは、ゲーマーにさらされた後、Asmongold Streamerのプライベートメッセージを「リークしました」
イーロン・マスクは亡命の道における不正行為の申し立てに対応する2
「ブースト」サービスを使用してレベル97に到達したという告発に続いて、亡命2のパスのキャラクターとともに、イーロンマスクはストリーマーアスモンゴルドとプライベートメッセージを共有しました。これは、アスモンゴルドの32分間のビデオに続いて、ハイレベルのキャラクターを購入するか、それをレベル化するために誰かを雇うことにより、ムスクの「不正行為」の申し立てに対処しています。このビデオは、レベル97に到達するために必要な重要な時間投資を強調し、MuskがSpaceX、Tesla、Xでの責任をどのように管理できるかを疑問視しながら、同時に必要な時間をゲームに捧げました。
視聴者は、論争をさらに促進し、彼のストリーム中のマスクの明らかな経験不足に注目し、レベル97にキャラクターを後押ししたとされる誰かに期待される専門知識と矛盾しています。
マスクはアスモンゴルドのビデオに応答し、「ボスと調整する必要がある」と述べ、アスモンゴルドに編集者のチームに相談する前に編集者のチームに相談することを提案しました。アスモンゴルドは、マスクのコメントを、コンテンツの生産の舞台裏の側面に関する理解の欠如を示すと解釈しました。
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Two Embers – Part 1
By [Your Name]
The wind howled across the shattered plains of Eldryth, carrying with it the scent of ash and forgotten prayers. Once, this land had bloomed beneath twin suns—golden and silver—cradled in the arms of the sky. Now, only two embers remained: one buried deep in the heart of the Obsidian Spire, the other flickering faintly in the chest of a girl who did not know her name.
She awoke beneath a sky split in two.
One half burned crimson, the other wept silver mist. The earth cracked like old parchment, and from the fissures rose whispers—voices not of men, nor beasts, but of memory itself. Her fingers curled around a shard of obsidian, warm to the touch, humming with a rhythm that matched her pulse.
She didn’t remember how she got here. She remembered nothing—not her mother’s lullaby, not the sound of her first breath, not even the shape of her face in the still pools of long-dead lakes.
Only the ember.
And the dream.
“When the twins fall, the world will wake,” the dream whispered. “But not as it was. Not as it should be.”
She sat up. The shard pulsed. Her reflection shimmered within it—not a face, but a storm: a woman with hair like flame and eyes like dying stars.
“You’re not real,” she said, voice cracked from disuse.
But the reflection smiled.
And spoke.
“I am you. I am what was lost. I am what was never meant to be found.”
She stumbled to her feet, wind tearing at her tattered cloak—the color of dust and midnight. Around her, ruins of a cathedral rose from the earth, its spires fused with bone and blackened iron. The name carved into its fallen arch read: Aetherion.
Her hand trembled as she touched the stone. A vision tore through her:
A war not of swords, but of light.
Two beings—twin stars forged in fire—clashing in the sky. One wore the face of a god, the other… a child.
She gasped.
And the ember screamed.
From the east, a sound like a thousand bells made of glass. A procession of shadows moved across the horizon—hooded figures with eyes of ash, marching in silence. Their chants were not in any tongue, but in absence. In silence.
She turned to flee—then stopped.
Because behind her, in the west, a new light rose.
Not silver. Not gold.
Blue.
And from it stepped a man—tall, scarred, wearing armor of woven wind and memory. In his hand, a sword without a blade. Its hilt bore the same mark as the shard in her palm.
“Eira,” he said, voice like wind over graves. “You’ve come at last.”
She stepped back. “Who are you?”
He looked at her, and for the first time, his face cracked—just slightly.
“I was your father,” he said. “And I thought I’d buried you with the world.”
The ground trembled. The sky split again.
And from the ember in her hand, a voice rose—not hers, not his.
“The first ember dies. The second awakens. The war begins.”
To Be Continued in Part 2: "The Blood of the Twin Suns"
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