Azeroth, Echos of the Grind

At 8:55, a summons brief, invite. Dot-metic’s digital whisper, sharp, DUDE WHY? A simple plea, layering was my reply. His scorn came quick, fuck off. A crystal lost, he felt the cost, wassted a shard. My laughter hidden behind three letters, L-O-L. Harsh my tutor. Just duel, "retard" and claim it back, as though it’s naught. "A shard holds no worth", I mock. But patience frayed like worn-out gear, "Out your goddamn motherfuckin mind". "Shut the fuck up", the echoes of the grind. A retort, bitter, filled the net. Wasste of time, trailer trash, get another account and stop cheesing other people. Duel me or s-t-f-u, "bitchass", my rebuttal stark. Accusations flew, sharp as a mage’s spark. Waste of space. Waste of queue. No one likes you, the barbs continue. You do nothing for no one. Everyone scams you. Secrets spilled, I’ve been stealing your gold. Trading trust for treasure bold. Idiot, the insult slips free, Laughter harsh, "L-m-a-o". Taunting thee. At 8:58, the final blow: "shitter". In the realm where warriors meet, even words can smite, A battle waged in whispers, a testament to the night.