by Tao Wong
“Not much of a Battle Mage,” Mikito grumbles, her arms crossed. But I note the bouncing in her foot, the way she’s leaning forward slightly as the next fight is announced.
“I believe none of you have visited us before, have you?” Quityan asks.
“No,” Lana answers him with a polite smile.
“Then I look forward to your fights,” Quityan says.
“What fights?” Lana says.
“And here we go, boy-o.”
“It is customary for first-time visitors to the arena to fight in it,” Asgauver says, then looks toward Emven. “Did you not inform our guests?”
“My apologies. I must have forgotten,” Emven says. His wooden delivery almost makes me choke with laughter.
“Well, as punishment, I’ll have to have you fight them,” Asgauver says, shaking his head.
“Of course.”
“Why are they doing this?” Lana sends the notification to all of us, and I shrug.
“Probably because they’re battle-crazy idiots. If you want a treaty with them, you’re going to need to be ‘worthy,’” Ali sends.
“I’m not so sure about that,” I send back.
Something about this setup doesn’t sit well with me. I can see Lana is perturbed, the slight crease in her eyebrows and the slightly longer look she gives Asgauver the tells. Nothing anyone who didn’t know her very well would notice.
“I’ll be your first opponent,” Mikito says, bouncing up from her seat and staring at Emven.
Lana and I are somewhat startled, staring at the little Japanese who looks ready to start the dance right this second.
“Ah… I’ll make arrangements,” Asgauver replies then looks at the pair of us.
“Lana’s here at my request. And while she can fight, I’d like to make a different offer,” I say, a coil of anger running through my stomach. They want to manipulate us and make us dance, make us fight for their entertainment? Fine. We can play.
“Offer?”
“I’ll fight you.”
Silence spreads at my pronouncement, the guests within the skybox turning toward our group. Asgauver gapes at me before bursting into a long, rumbling laugh that shakes the chair next to me.
“Done! Emven, make the arrangements.”
“Of course,” Emven says and taps his left shoulder before walking off.
A sharp pain erupts from my left ankle and I turn to look at a furious Lana.
“I don’t need you to protect me!”
“Wasn’t about you. I just don’t intend for them to get their way entirely.”
“I got to admit, boy-o’s got it right. The Fist are all about strength. This, this is strong.”
“So long as he wins.”
“I’ll win.”
“Show-off,” Mikito says, crossing her arms grumpily and staring at me. I laugh at her words, and she cracks a slight smile. “Baka.”
It takes an hour for Mikito’s fight to be arranged. In the meantime, the unlucky Samurai ends up losing all the matches she bets on. At Asgauver and Quityan’s urgings, Lana and I eventually partake in the betting after receiving contradictory advise from both Fist members. Toward the last couple of fights, Lana and I just decide to bet against Mikito’s choices, much to the mock outrage of the Samurai. If it wasn’t for the fact that some of the duels are multi-party free-for-alls, this might have been a winning strategy. It’s Ali who does the best, the Spirit quietly placing bets and winning a large number of his wagers.
While we wait, a few aspects of the arena battles which had puzzled us are explained. For one, use of grenades, portable shield generators, and drones are disallowed for most Classes. There are exceptions made for those who are not direct combat Classes, to make the fights a little fairer. Another thing we learn is while the arena can and does change its geography and features, providing everything from semi-permanent urban structures to even an aquatic environment, for today, a more sterile approach has been decided—a mano-o-mano fight. Unsurprisingly, many long-range, rifle-, and bow-wielding fighters have declined to fight in this kind of boring terrain. Without cover, portable or pre-made, they are in danger of being rushed by the melee fighters. And in this System-enhanced world, it is all too easy to close in on long-range fighters. My Blink Step is only one of the many teleporting abilities available.
All of this and the various safety procedures are explained to us while we wait for our friend’s fight. Eventually, it arrives.
Mikito walks out on the sand, her naginata already summoned and in her hands. She’s changed into a simple red-and-white armored jumpsuit, one that provides her full coverage and flexibility, with a simple helmet covering her face and hiding her long hair. Surrounding her body is the Ghost Armor of her Skill, giving her another form of protection similar to my Soul Shield, if more Mana intensive.
I stare at my friend, curious to see her really let loose in such a setting, before looking at her opponent, the shield guardian wielding a halberd-and-shield combination. Except the long blade of the polearm glows with an ominous light.
“What kind of Skills are we looking at with the Guardian?”
“In their main Class, mostly defensive Skills obviously. Two major builds that split along passive and active. Emven has a passive build, so while he’s got a significant health pool, he has a really low Mana pool and regen rate. He’s going to be able to soak up damage like a troll eats rocks.”
“I see you have bet heavily on your friend,” Asgauver says. “An admirable show of support.”
“I was looking more at taking you to the cleaners,” I say.
“Har. A nice thought, but he is not a champion for no reason,” Asgauver says. “She is good but young. Inexperienced. All of you humans are.”
Before I can answer, the referee signals the start of the fight, focusing everyone’s attention. Unlike Umma, Mikito takes her time edging toward the other melee fighter. Emven hunkers down low, his body clad in bulky, plate-mail-looking armor. Without warning, the champion fires a beam of brilliant purple energy from the head of the halberd. To my surprise, Mikito swings her naginata at the beam, cutting the attack apart and leaving the diffused beam to splash harmlessly against her armor.
“What the…?” I stare. It doesn’t make any sense. You can’t cut light.
Even with his initial attempt failing, Emven is willing to try again, firing another pair of blasts. Interestingly enough, just before the beam reaches Mikito’s attack range, they twist in mid-air, curving. Mikito casually cuts the pair of beams apart, her polearm spinning with blinding speed. As if deciding she’s had enough, the Japanese woman darts forward, seeming to appear beside Emven in a moment. My eyes widen slightly as she displays her Flash Step ability. She swings her polearm immediately, each strike somehow being blocked by Emven.
“What is that weapon?” Asgauver hisses, leaning forward.
I hear the whispered threads of conversation growing louder as Mikito’s repeated attacks begin to tell, each strike leaving larger and larger gouges on the shield, almost peeling back the reinforced shield.
“Mikito’s. I believe it’s soulbound,” I say, lying with a straight face. Inside, I’m sweating a little. Her weapon is more than soulbound—it’s a growth weapon. One which can gain strength over time. While we’ve taken steps—and I’m assured she has too—to hide the nature of it, there’s only so much you can do in a System-run world. If she attracts too much attention…
“Impressive. She has at least two Skills improving the weapon itself, but to do so much damage against Emven’s shield is astounding,” Asgauver says. “I have seen Master Class Skills do less damage.”
“Cleave and Reaver if you’re wondering. Though I’m pretty sure the second is actually part of the weapon,” Ali says.
I say nothing, though a thread of worry grows in my stomach for Mikito. The Soul Drinker Skill of her naginata means it will, eventually, become an Artifact. It’s the kind of weapon people get killed for owning.
“I
have a feeling… there,” I say, watching as Emven gives up on waiting for Mikito to exhaust herself and attempts to fight back.
Shield Bash, Shield Charge, Disembowel, Vortex Swing. The names of the Skills he triggers pop up in tiny notifications from Ali, each attack thwarted. But as Mikito ducks the spinning tornado that Emven’s last attack created, the Shield Guardian stomps, creating a minor earthquake. The attack only unbalances Mikito for a fraction of a second, but it’s sufficient for Emven to land a Shield Bash, disrupting Mikito’s balance further and stunning her.
The champion chains his attacks, each blow timed perfectly with a step, his movements keeping his body right next to the stunned Samurai. Her Ghost Armor bleeds light, cracking under the assault even as wide open wounds send splashes of crimson blood to the white sand.
“Inexperienced, as I said,” Asgauver says, almost smug satisfaction in his tone.
“Come on, Mikito,” Lana whispers, leaning forward and gripping her knees tightly.
I place a hand on hers, giving it a quick squeeze for reassurance. “I wouldn’t count her out yet.”
The halberd rises and comes crashing down, caught by Mikito’s naginata. But as she recovers, the shield is moving, smashing the body of her naginata into her body. A leg steps forward, striking the tiny Japanese woman’s knee and knocking her off balance, forcing her to block another strike. This one sends her tumbling to the ground, where she recovers with a roll. As Emven steps forward, an explosion of sand and smoke makes him blink, flame blinding him. When he recovers, Mikito is standing unsteadily, her weapon held sideways above her left shoulder.
“A good move. But not enough,” Quityan remarks.
Mikito’s down to five hundred Mana and barely four hundred health. Not enough, normally, for a powerful Skill. Of course, Emven’s Mana is in the low hundreds too, but his health is still two-thirds full.
I stay silent as Emven moves forward cautiously, Mikito holding still. It’s a stillness that sets the hair at the nape of my neck tingling, a tension which tightens my chest as primal fears rise up. Emven sees it, moving cautiously, but he can’t delay too long. Each moment allows Mikito’s greater regeneration levels to top up her Mana. And so he nears her, his halberd moving forward in low feints which elicit no response.
With a roar, the champion stabs the halberd forward, the weapon shooting its beam of purple energy at Mikito. The Samurai moves then, flashing forward as her naginata arcs downward, cutting through Emven’s shield and armor in a single motion. Emven staggers backward, his arm and halberd clattering to the ground as gravity takes hold and he slumps. Mikito herself sways, her health down to fourteen percent as she sacrifices her life for Mana.
The crowd exclaims around us, in multiple voices and languages.
“It is called Gi,” Asgauver says, surprise tingeing his voice.
“The first tenet of Bushido.” I lean back in my chair, a little of the tension I felt for my friend draining away as I read the details of the Skill Ali displays.
Gi (Exclusive Skill)
The Samurai exemplifies commitment with their next attack. A single strike, without hesitation or doubt, with full commitment must be made. If completed, the Samurai can deal significantly more damage in exchange for their own life.
Effect: Doubles Base Damage of attack. Health of user may be traded for damage dealt to recipient at a 1:1 ratio, but user must decide on amount of health traded before attack is made.
Cost: 200 Mana
Asgauver laughs, roaring in amusement, followed by everyone else. The group cheers, chatting about the battle. Lana stares at those around us, her eyes wide.
“Aren’t you worried about your friend? He lost his arm,” Lana says.
“Better than a head. They’ll reattach it and he’ll be ready for battle in a few hours,” Quityan says, waving away her protests. “Pity it’s a friendly match though. In a title fight, they’d continue until one really lost.”
“He lost his arm!” Lana sputters.
“Emven can fight without it,” Quityan replies unconcernedly. “He’s an elite member of the Fist. If he couldn’t fight without an arm, he wouldn’t deserve to be on the team.”
Lana shakes her head, looking toward me for support. I smile slightly at the redhead, shaking my head. She looks disappointed by my reaction, and truth be told, I am in hers. But then, she hasn’t spent the last four years in a Forbidden Zone. I can’t even count the number of limbs I’ve lost over the years.
“I find myself looking forward to our fight now,” Asgauver says, his wide mouth pulling apart to show those large teeth. I can’t help but notice that he probably could fit my entire arm in his mouth without a problem.
“Me too.”
No surprise our fight is at the end of the day, as the sun begins to set. Attempts by Lana and Ali to bring the discussion toward the reason for our visit—to an alliance or agreement for their vote—are firmly and politely rebuffed. After her return, Mikito is swarmed by the attendees, many requesting to see her weapon. All are rebuffed. None take offense, understanding the reluctance of a warrior to show a personal weapon, which is for the best. We can only hope that they’ll be fooled by the information we have left public, assuaging their interest in the weapon when they buy it from the Shop. If they do.
With no progress on the actual point of our visit, I find myself standing on the sand, knowing it’s likely the results of this match will dictate how much progress we make today. The arena is surprisingly quiet, the roar of the crowd a muted buzz in the background. The light within is just right, diffused and soft so that it never gets in the way. The sand gives way slightly, a bit more unsteady than I’d prefer but nothing so loose as to make purchase impossible. And the smell… well, the smell is of old blood, sour sweat, spent adrenaline, and other, more exotic chemicals.
I find myself raising my sword to my head, offering Asgauver a salute. It suits the mood; it suits the stadium. And it obviously suits the audience, as roars erupt. The werehippo before is big, tough and a Master Class with more years at fighting than I have. Odds of me winning are an astounding nine-to-one. Odds of me lasting one minute is seven-to-one. Barely better.
Pity I can’t bet on myself.
The chime, the slight shift in light and the referee’s voice is all the signal which is needed. Asgauver dashes forward, his movement so explosive a hole is left behind him as his strength is focused on approaching me. The giant monstrous hippo is here before I can dodge, but then, I wasn’t trying to. A single step takes me within the arc of his torso-sized fist and I raise my own, palm out. It hits his giant nose, squishing it slightly as my legs flex and I’m forced backward. A part of me reaches out backward, reinforcing the sand I’m standing on while my body braces against his attack. On a pure point basis, Asgauver probably has a higher Strength stat than me, but he doesn’t know how to use it, doesn’t know how to apply it fully. In the air, my arm extended before my body, Asgauver slams into the equivalent of an unmoveable object and bounces backward.
The hush from the stadium is gratifying. I grin, shaking my hand slightly while keeping my face smooth. The shake also hides the minor trembles going through my arm as over-abused nerves and a cracked shoulder joint slowly regenerate.
“Impressive!” Asgauver roars as he rolls himself upward, laughing as blood pours from his two large nostrils. He swabs at the blood with one hand, stomping the ground as if to set himself. A second later, his fists shimmer, fields of energy wrapping around them and setting my teeth on edge. “But a trick is trick.”
“Then let’s dance,” I say and salute him once more.
When the werehippo approaches again, this time it’s with a lot more caution.
“Done. Yet?” I say as I husband my breath. A flick of my sword sends droplets of blood flying, recoating the white sand with the Kudaya’s blood.
“And stop all this fun? Never!” Asgauver says but ends up coughing and spitting a gob of blood.
The damn hippo is covered in
cuts and stabs, my attacks having scored and torn at the monster again and again. But his Class is an upgrade of your typical Guardian, a tank which can absorb punishment and turn it into Stamina, Mana, and yes, even Health. He’s a juggernaut who just keeps ticking, no matter how much I damage him. His health keeps sliding upward, now at sixty percent, yo-yoing with his Mana.
The last thirty minutes has seen me go from using Spells and Skills to cut him down to a more husbanded approach. None of my Spells harm him, not even Enhanced Lightning. His resistances are high, his Class Skills making the little damage that leaks through negligible and even helpful to him. Next, I switched to more mundane attacks, backed up with the Thousand Blades. He ran through the blades, using his greater bulk and defenses to punch his way through them.
And punch he can. His Title is not for show. Boneshaker. His fist, encased in a wall of sonic attacks, hurts even when I block or dodge. My entire body feels as if it’s been holding on to a jackhammer for the whole day, my tongue a mess after having been accidentally bit so many times I almost consider a ball gag. My health is down to about forty percent, my Mana doing better at seventy. But Mana’s useless because my attacks just don’t do enough damage, not against him.
“Fine,” I growl and beckon the Kudaya on.
He rushes forward and I meet his fist with blades, a pair in hand as I dance and duck, my teeth and bones shuddering at near misses, my blades cutting into tough flesh. I have to use bigger motions, twisting and pushing against Asgauver’s Skill that robs my attacks of momentum, that threaten to stick my blades. I have to duck and dodge, stabbing and moving, my Stamina slowly grinding down, along with my health.
I fall for a feint of a retracted straight, the hand returning and dropping straight down. I get my sword up in time, but it doesn’t matter. The hippo drops his body, crushing me beneath his bulk. The earth flattens beneath me, a depression forming as Asgauver activates a Skill which triples his weight. I cough out blood, crushed and trapped.
