There he is.
I heard about this guy, he's the same one I had caught staring at my ass from across the arena as I left the magma arena earlier. 6'2, lithe but moved like a practiced athlete, and he was fast. I've yet to catch one of his fights in action, but heard all about him 'exerting his will' at the water arena, or 'shitting on everyone' as another shaky handed fighter so crudely put.
Curious of my competition, I visited the arena regularly hoping to judge the possible challenger's form between my own fights. Signing up for fights requires pricking one's finger into needles attached to totems that rested outside of each arena, and given I only chose the most populated arenas, the queues meant having extra time to roam neighboring arenas. The biggest flaw with the whole process was never knowing when you'd be teleported to fight, nor who you'd be dueling with. Though, that second part did offer some well needed anticipation.
The idea to explore first came after my time at the magma arena, where I decided cutting down such literal hotheaded idiots was getting boring. My father instilled the desire for competition early, teaching me to train with the best if I want any hope to beat them myself. He also bolstered black belts in several disciplines of karate, judo, and practiced pretty much every other martial art he could learn from. Eventually retiring from Special Forces, only for my mother to die of cancer when I was too little to remember. While his late night drunken tone was often soft and honest, our days were spent training rigorously together.
My mother apparently liked to fight too, I guess. I don't remember her much, but he told me she didn't need to be a soldier to carry a warriors spirit all the same. She came from a rough neighborhood in Illinois, and her brothers constantly tried to beat her up finding her annoying. She took to my father when they were young, since my father was the first to defend her in an scrap. It's still utterly insane to think they first met in the fourth grade.
Someone had shoved my mother to the cement over some handball dispute, and my father decided to practice a new kick his Sensei had taught him on a fellow child. Needless to say he wasn't at school for a while, but my father said they were practically inseparable after that. The entire story was always so weird to me, as I rarely ever even had a crush growing up, let alone some sweetheart holding me back from what I wanted. Sure, I've had fun, but nothing I felt deserved priority over my training.
Luckily that nonsense was removed from the equation once I joined the Army. It was quite fun really, apart from some laughable initial physical testing. Luckily after a word from my father, I was able to rush through the bullshit 'bootcamp' treatment relatively quickly, climbing in rank with every assignment until finally ending my contract and transitioning to private work. I was actually on an operation when this all went down and, thank fuck it did.
The mission, and myself, had been totally compromised. My cover was blown thanks to a fellow Op gone rogue in favor of a bigger paycheck. Long story short he's dead, at the cost of my own capture. The last I remember, I was sat in a chair bound by heavy metal chains with a crowbar headed directly for my kneecap before everything just went white.
Shaking my memories of failure, my focus shifted to a duel that had apparently just began judging by their wide distance and healthy appearances. I asked a few nearby spectators the name of the approaching fighter, who was clearly toying with his food. It was subtle, but the fighters explosive footwork evading his opponents ranged icy attacks genuinely gave me pause.
The fighter's clearly trained leagues ahead of the other guy, who frankly looked like he was about to burst into fucking tears at any moment. His opponent was a mage, about 5'8 and clearly had a thing for the cold given the icy, translucent wand he shakily clutched. Said staff waved frantically conjuring and hurling ice shards at the potential candidate for a fight I might enjoy, to absolutely no avail. The quickly approaching fighter wielding two short, curved swords continued casually side stepping, sometimes narrowly avoiding serious injury, but with absolutely no change in urgency.
What a smug asshole.
Every curious question of mind fell on ignorant ears as the fight slowly progressed. Finally, it appeared the swordsman was getting bored, suddenly bursting toward his opponent. The Mages eyes bulged letting out an audible gasp, unable to hide any of his fear any longer. Judging by the dozens of dull, almost lifeless stares that surrounded me, I imagine they've seen this swordsman's handiwork more than once by now.
As the swordsman encroached within 6 feet of the Mage, his pace slowed once more. His legs cross over one another, before pausing in place. It was an odd pose to maintain, keeping his rear foot in front of his lead while maintaining his bladed stance.
The mage must've shared my confusion, reacting frantically at the stance. He fired a long icy shard directly at the cocky swordsman's head harder than any of his prior jagged ranged attacks. There was no way this guy was going to dodge this all pretzeled up like that.
Heh, competition my a-
My train of thought stopped dead in tracks as I watched this smug, shifty combatant twist his shoulders and body just as fast as the ice shard released, rotating his body around and completely evading the frozen shard. Finishing his rotation, the swordsman lunged with his lead handed blade, jamming it into the mages shoulder in one fluid motion. The mage dropped his icy wand as blood poured from his arm.
What the fuck was that?!
The mage squirmed and hollered in pain like a wounded animal, scrambling to get his footing. Judging by his twitchy expression glancing between the wand and his opponent, the mage was clearly and understandably confused. It wasn't just speed that got him, it was the deception, timing, the sudden change of pace. The swordsman looked out of place, as if he'd made a miss-step at the worst possible time, egging the Mage to seize his chance. It was a trap, one admittedly I wanted to understand better.
The clear victor approached his victim at a casual stroll now. The Mage cowered as the man lifted his arm to finish off his opponent. The Mage crumbled to the floor, dropping his head and raising his hands. Pitiful. He really refused to go out with some dignity. His next move nearly shocked me as much as the swordsman's weird footwork. The curiously talented warrior I had just watched completely embarrass this mage was now extending his hand, gesturing to help the Mage up.
The wide eyed mage clearly shared my befuddlement, taking several skeptical seconds before apprehensively accepted his offer. I waited for a blade to pierce through the mages lame, long blue cloak instead, the swordsman helped him up, patted his shoulder, and gestured a 'fist bump' with a smile and a nod. This too was reciprocated, only the mage still maintained a fearful, trembling glare. The swordsman began speaking to the mage while gesturing his hands to the Mage and back to himself. They were too far to really hear, though the mages softening expression only worsened my confusion.
The talented warrior proceeded to step back, then slowly he stepped outwardly with his lead leg keeping his body facing the Mage, much like he had when dodging the prior barrage of ice shards. He then gestured for the Mage to do the same, and even replicated the same hand motion the Mage had made while casting his attacks. The mage obliged, slowly following in his steps.
Is he teaching this guy how he beat him right now?
Seeing this act of kindness felt like such a massive waste of time. He had to have figured out by now why we're here, and he doesn't seem like much of a healer, nor particularly noble in how he fought. Yet he spent the next few minutes showing the novice Mage exactly how to utilize his footwork.
Finally they shook hands, and the swordsman shifted to the side quickly piercing his skinny, curved blade downward into the Mage's spine from behind his neck. With that the Mage was gone, queueing me to leave.
I had no intention of discussing anything with such a foolish waste of talent, not until I decided whether or not I'd need to feign companionship in order to win, had it come to it in later on. There were a few more rumored threats I wanted to scout, though this was the first of many that were rather disappointing however. Of course I stuck around and disposed of them accordingly.
This one I'll be watching closely, but not until after I at least get a few more rounds in at the Metals Arena especially, given its growing reputation around the arenas. That, and checking in on a potential threat looming a few battlegrounds away, surprisingly back at the Magma Arena.
Day 0: Cheated
It's been 16 fights now. 16 brutal fights to the death spent surrounded by blistering heat wafting from volcanic magma clumps. Fires and molten chunks launched around the arena's exterior, beating down on me through my light armor plating I'd selected to maximize the use of my weaker agility. Instead, its absorbent threads burned my skin with every waking moment.
Not even an inch separated this from the neighboring battle arena's multicolored clouds that formed and dispersed quickly over an arena floating high in the sky. Powerful whipping winds audibly whistled whenever nearing the arenas borders. To make matters stranger, every single wound I suffer healed instantly after each fight. No matter how narrowly I'd come to death, mortal wounds and charred flesh be damned, I returned unscathed and a champion. It was exhilarating, but nothing like what I was accustomed to.
The latter half of my teenage years were spent training under my uncle, one not related by blood but through years of mentorship. A life long connoisseur of combative knowledge, he was a man of honor like no other I've had the privilege to know. It was his honorable nature that also troubled me deeply however, as his own son was the polar opposite of him. He had no remorse for a warrior's code of ethics, never once had he minded his actions through any other lens than that of a coward. Too afraid to lose, and completely fearless in the face of despondency from his masters, including his own father.
I never had the privilege of a father so involved. In fact, I never met the guy. So to see his snot-nosed son be so disrespectful and still progressed his training all the same, and with far more fervor at that, was appalling.
"It's not fair, Sensai. I understand he's your blood, but I've devoted my life to your teachings. I'm the first one here, and the last one to be dragged off the mat. He can't even bother showing up on time, and you live together?!" I recalled protesting when his son was being particularly unbearable.
His son had been bragging about 'achieving' his Brown Belt, even when he had technically failed his evaluation test. It wasn't that he lost his fights, it's how he won. Eye pokes, nostril pulling, feigning injury, it was deplorable. Every time he won, his opponent shared the same scrunched up expression I maintained the last 6 years watching this apathetic narcissist flounce his way up the ranks.
"I know, Hyde. I've told you this before, and it pains me each time, but my son is not like you. He cannot endure failure with the same grace, and has yet to see reason why honor should matter if it's yet to prove fruitful." He replied, unable to look me in the eye.
"Yet when anyone else is out of line, you remind them swiftly, with the punishment to follow suit. How is this fair?" I angrily countered. I'd never been confrontational with him before this point. Honestly, I'd hardly said a word past 'thank you' or 'yes' or 'sorry Sensei', but I simply couldn't contain it anymore. How could a man so respectable allow such a mockery to continue under his care, let alone it being his own blood?
"Hyde, you know that I hold the utmost of pride in you, and how far you've come as a man. But you forget, you were just like him when you first wandered in here. You insisted my son was a monster, and demanded the right to teach him some manners. Tell me, if I had treated you how you now wish for me to treat Hyde, do you believe you'd be here now?" His words were said as if intended to teach me, and reassure me in some way by reminding me of how misguided I was as a preteen. All the lying, stealing, the unyielding hatred I held for the world.
It didn't.
"Let me fight him now, then. No underhanded tricks, an honorable fight. If I win, he must retest, if he wi-"
"NO, Hyde." He bluntly shot back. The entire room had already been silent, but now the blood running in my head was audible.
"You forget yourself, this is not a debate. I'm telling you, as your Sensei, let it go." After failing to adhere to his warnings and protesting further, I was promptly punished. 200 pushups under 6 minutes for 5 sets. It was shortly after that this whole…'thing' happened, and it's the only thing burning hotter than the fires smoldering around me. The hatred I feel burns far worse far worse than my arms did after a lifetime of punishments.
I will find you, Jackson.
I knew he was here, I'd seen him, and followed him to this arena. I'd watched him perform all of his dirty tricks on an unsuspecting few. They were undeserving of this cruelty, I'm almost certain he didn't need to cheat to win any of those fights. I knew I just had to keep winning, and I'd not only get to prove to Jackson once and for all who's the better fighter, but I'll have the Godly backing to prove it. Already I'd received a few notifications, each labeled with a God's name articulating their interest in me. Finally, now I was getting my recognition. I just had to keep winning. Plus, I knew he was watching me, too.
My thoughts drifted back to the present at the sensation of suddenly no longer being surrounded by fellow challengers awaiting their next round, only to be replaced by the vast flaming arena I had grown accustomed to, and a new challenger that stood ahead of me. As I focused, I recognized the figure from watching a few other fights here, hoping to see Jackson and ensure my plans were not foiled by another contestant. I half-payed attention, as usually if it wasn't Jackson, I'd reserve my mental energy for reaffirming my purpose, not letting anything distract me from my goal. Still, his fights were usually rather quick, so I knew I was in for a challenge. It wouldn't be the first hard fight, but I knew I could handle it.
"Hey, what's your name, buddy?" The man hollered in a playful tone, raising his empty hand in a cup shape to amplify his voice. We started a mere 15 feet away from one another, so why he did this was beyond me.
"Hyde, Hyde Kaldor. And yours?"
"Korbin, just Korbin."
Interesting, maybe he too had little care for his bloodline.
"Korbin, you've fought well up to this point. I will warn you though, your impressive journey ends here today."
He scrunched his face in thought for a beat, his eyes widening before cackling abruptly, gripping his stomach with his sword in hand.
"Oh-hoho, ohh man. We'll see." He said between chuckles and assuming a readied stance. I'll admit, his confidence is respectable, but it's clearly crossed into the realm of arrogance. This will be his undoing.
"Whenever you're ready then, Hyde." He said through a wicked scratchy tone. With that, my resolve was affirmed assuming my own stance. I began encroaching carefully, making sure my range wasn't a hair past where I wanted it to go.
My weapon of choice, the Spatha, was one that carried a decorated history to the Romans, in a time where warriors were far more honorable. Its broad blade combined with exceptional length provided a perfect weapon for attacking at range, and my shield made those openings possible though parrying. Sure, some faster guys were tough to defend against as their attacks were tough to even see if they got behind your blade, but skill always outweighs pure speed. Most of these people had no clue how to use the weapons they held, and it was obvious.
I crept an inch closer, surmising this was all the distance I needed for the blade to reach deep enough into his chest and possibly end this fight before it started, when a shiny glimmer danced across the left of my peripherals. Instinctually, I raised my shield, only to have the impact of his sword slamming my shield knock me from my feet. Feeling the ground on my back, I rolled through the impact popping up to my feet using the falls momentum.
Damn, I didn't even see him move.
This was by far the fastest attack I'd seen in my entire life, the tournament be damned. Sensei hadn't even been capable of this speed, at least not in his old age. Not to mention the sheer force. Even if I hadn't sheathed his attack off my round shield, it shouldn't have thrown me 4 feet in any direction. Clearly, he'd been reaping some sort of super human abilities from a God or something. Otherwise that exchange would've ended with my sword in his gut, not my ass to the floor.
"Hm, Spatha and Scutum? A man of culture." He said, looking at my sword and shield. I lunged at him once more, only for him to parry by smacking the side of my blade. I tumbled at the change of direction, but quickly gathered myself.
"A keen eye, what discipline do you follow, warrior?"
His demeanor seemed to change at this comment. Where before he carried a whimsical tone about him, now replaced by a glaring look.
"Heh, the day I let just anyone discipline me." He snickered vitriolically, clearly conveying this being his genuine opinion based on the eye contact that followed.
"We don't have to be enemies, Korbin. I have mine, you are only my opponent, nothing more."
"'Nothing more?!'" He fired back, followed his sword appearing once again at the corner of my vision just in time to raise my guard, before tumbling once more.
"I'm your humbling incarnate, in case you forgot about the last 10 seconds. You shouldn't worry about your enemies so much with your father standing right in front of you. How you been, kiddo? Your mother still a raging bitch?" Korbin jeered wearing a wicked grin.
You motherfucker.
He had no clue what kind of pain he just promised himself. I will not make this quick.
"COME HERE-" I shouted, enraged by the audacity of this putrid filth. This utter stain on the name of any warrior who might've considered this trash as equal. He held no respect. No dignity for his fellow man. No honor. I exploded at him, activating the skill I'd received after picking my class.
Quickened Impale, a skill that allowed for my first stab to be far faster than anything I'd been able to achieve before all of this. It was like my arm had known its true purpose, that it was to serve my intent based on what must be done, not what's typically considered possible. My very first inkling that life might just become how it was supposed to be, that I'd be a part of something better for humanity. This heathen before me, however, stood between me and that eventuality right now, but not for long.
Lunging forward, his eyes widened once more as my blade made purchase with this slimy snake's skin-like hide. It felt too clean but, why else would his body have recoiled backwards so violently? For a moment I was disappointed. I figured based on that first attack, he'd be a tougher match. I pulled back my sword, and was about to lop this big mouthed fighter's head clean off when a cold sensation overtook my lower stomach, and felt like it was quickly running through my garments and down my legs. I looked down, now with my own eyes wide, seeing his sword stabbed to the hilt into the center of my breast plate.
"You missed." He muttered into my ear through a toothy grin, holding me up by his sword. By now realization struck that, not only wasn't he wounded by my stab, it had never touched him. He pretended to get hit. He fucking lied.
"G-you..m-thonuva…"
I couldn't muster my thoughts coherently, gagging only my own blood now, fighting for air. I couldn't believe this.
"You know Hyde, I'll admit, you're pretty quick. Quicker than what I've dealt with so far, and I'm not really trying to sweat just yet."
He fucking lied.
"I'm sure you understand, a win's a win. We're all here trying to do the same thing bud."
He didn't care about how he won. About any moral code or creed. He didn't care how he conducted himself in the heat of battle. He had no honor.
"A word of advice though? Keep the 'discipline' and 'warrior' talk to a minimum, cause you really pissed me off there for a second, I'm not gonna lie."
He was selfish.
"So, naturally, I had to end this fast, or else I would've gone way too hard on you. Frankly, I don't want that. You don't want that."
Scheming.
Narcissistic.
Weak.
He's just like him.
"Awww, Don't worry champ, you'll get 'em next time."
Mustering all my rage, my newfound hatred for this false-victor, this disgusting fucking rodent, I grabbed his shoulder with all the strength I had left.
"You…fffugcking…"
He ripped his sword from my chest, and before I felt myself now standing, surrounded by white walls and other people, I roared with newfound vigor.
"RAAAAAAAT!!!!!!!!!"