by Wolfe Locke
Which mostly meant I’d decided within seconds of arriving to not interact with anyone else, and I’d be trying to avoid having anyone touching me. Was I covered in gore? Yes. Did I have like a seven-day funk going that even respawning hadn’t fixed from basically all the nonstop zombie killing leading up to being teleported? Yes. Did that make me a hypocrite? Absolutely. Did I give a shit? Not at all.
My thoughts were interrupted when a voice came through an old fashioned-looking plastic loudspeaker. “Is this thing on? Hello, and welcome to the Black Tournament. The first event is starting shortly, and it seems we’ve finally got everyone here. Some of you took a little longer with your aliases than we would have liked, but here we are, just a bit behind schedule.” Here we go, already singling me out. A couple people coughed nervously, outing themselves as fellow guilty parties, and I realized it wasn’t a comment only aimed at me.
It shouldn’t have been news to me; I should have known that other people were going to have the same, or similar options that I had been given. It was a small oversight on my part, but this was my story, and I was trying to stay alive. Survival can make any of us pretty self-centered. Worrying about what to do makes it a bit harder to notice too many things about other people. It was a reminder that I needed to keep my ego in check.
With a quick glance around, I discreetly scanned the room, looking for threats and contenders. But I didn’t see anyone that stood out. Each person had a small bar above their head that showed a name in front of another glowing green bar. Alan, Barry, Brittney, Jessica, John, Ashley, Brian, Will, Charlie, also Ashley, and another Ashley, Len, and another three Ashleys. Maybe more Ashleys. So many Ashleys. I didn’t bother to try to introduce myself or do any more pre-battle intelligence gathering; nobody so far was impressing me, and to be honest, I didn’t want to get to know any of them in case it ended in violence.
I gave up looking around, mostly because anxiety at talking to other people had set in. Besides, everyone seemed boringly normal and seemed to want to keep to themselves, and the excessive number of Ashleys was a little ridiculous. These people seemed normal, and that made me super uncomfortable. If there was one thing my time in the Army had taught me besides how to get blasted in Korea, and how to lose rank, it was that scared people will get other people killed. It was like a law of the universe.
The loudspeaker began blasting again. “The first event will be the Decimation Series, followed by the Survivors Battle Royale, and then individual matches. Take this time to collect your thoughts and say whatever last words you might have before the matches begin.”
Decimation Series? I can hear the complaints already. Some fucking nerd in a chair making comments about that word not being used correctly. I shook my head at the thought; there was always going to be one neckbeard or another trying to call out language that literally no one cared about. Oh, the Romans used it thousands of years ago to describe killing every tenth man? Cool story, they also fucked animals.
“Lirai,” I called out, not seeing any sign of my exposition robot anywhere. “Do you have any ideas on how to best navigate this?” But Lirai didn’t answer. Wonderful, gone at the first sign of trouble.
The effect was immediate as people broke, demoralized. I wasn’t sure just how everyone else had wound up here, but I could guess based on the wailing that few, if any, wanted to be here. My opinion of the group went up just a tad. Nobody was pretending this wasn’t happening. This was going to be a fight to the death, and they had every reason to be afraid. A man to my right spoke up with a condescending snicker aimed at literally everyone else, the bar above his head reading “Dr. Senpai.” We all know his type.
Fucking nerd, I thought before my brooding was interrupted by Dr. Senpai, making a comment loud enough for everyone to hear with a chortle. Who chortles? “Decimation means one in ten, only one person is going to die. Assuming, that is, anyone even has to die; we don’t know the rules here. Besides, people always use that word wrong. It’ll be fine, trust me, we just need to find somebody who goes down for the rest of us.”
I recognized that kind of language; I’d heard plenty of douchebags and shitty managers with the same kind of mentality saying the same type of things. Always so quick to give up somebody else’s pound of flesh. Apparently, the idea was reasonably popular as a lot of the panic started to die off as more and more people agreed with him. My thoughts grew angry as my eyes narrowed in on this Dr. Senpai. He was going to be a problem. I knew firsthand the only people that make a big deal out of letting other people know they have the title Doctor are people with some bullshit Ph.D. in some kind of bullshit or another, usually psychology, and philosophy.
When I began to feel eyes staring at me, I knew that Dr. Senpai had zeroed in on me, and I returned his hard look with a glare of my own. What a bastard. “So, I nominate Edgelord Supreme for tribute. When we start, he’s the one we should all aim for.”
The pale and pasty-faced bastard started grinning at me. It was a subtle grin but I recognized it for what it was. He was basking in the moment, thinking he’d won some sort of petty victory over me. Yeah, not so much. There was only one way to handle these guys and it always ended in blood. As in guys like this Dr. Senpai stopped being dicks once somebody made them bleed, then they’d usually freak out and implode.
I looked right back at him and blew him a kiss. “I’m coming for you first, buddy.”
Dr. Senpai paled, bristling at the comment, but whether he turned away or disappeared into the crowd, I didn’t notice as the loudspeaker began to sound and I turned away from him.
“Fantastic,” sounded the voice over the loudspeaker. “It seems some of you have done a great job of using your time wisely. An interesting solution to the first round of our game. Let’s see how it plays out. Now please, select the melee weapon you want to use for the duration of your stay here.”
Notification: Choose a weapon based upon your available Sol.
Disclaimer: If you advance, you will have an opportunity between stages to swap weapons or upgrade the one you select, the choice will be yours.
You currently have 482 Sol.
-Scimitar * Costs 540 Sol.
-Steel Ax * Costs 650 Sol.
-War Hammer * Costs 700 Sol.
-Katana * Costs 1100 Sol.
-Bastard Sword * Costs 1200 Sol.
-Bone Shield * Costs 1300 Sol.
-Magic Wand * Costs 1600 Sol.
-Oaken Staff * Costs 1600 Sol.
-Silver Sword * Costs 1800 Sol.
-Red Halberd * Costs 2600 Sol.
-Lightning Spear * Costs 3600 Sol.
-None (Stay with current weapon.)
As soon as I saw it was a weapon list, I scanned down, ignoring all the details, skipping straight over to my first pick, the literal King of Battle, the halberd. When that didn’t work, I went to my second choice, the war hammer.
Notification: Error - Cannot Confirm Selection.
Details: You lack the prerequisites to choose this item.
This item requires an agility stat of at least 4.
You lack the required Sol to purchase these items.
Fine. I got it. I was poor as shit heading into some kind of death game with only a baseball bat. Not the best place to be. I had literally only one choice. But you know what? When you’ve got a good thing going, why change it? I mentally made my selection. “None.” My bat and I already had a stable working relationship, and I planned on keeping it that way. No need to try to upgrade away from something that was working for me, just for the sake of looking cool. I was sure plenty of those same neckbeards from earlier would choose the halberd or spear in my position, but they didn’t have the same limitations I did. I laughed thinking about all those “History” majors, thinking they had the inside track to winning, finding out they weren’t even strong enough to lift either of the weapons.
Notification: You have made the selection - None, opting to keep your current weapon of “Steel Core Bat.” Is this correct?
/> Obviously, yes, it is correct, I thought, dismissing the prompt.
Notification: Are you absolutely sure you do not want a different weapon?
The question pissed me off a little bit. First, they denied my first two picks because I didn’t have the money to pay for, or the stats to use them, and then they wanted to challenge my decision to just use the bat? If they planned on making me fight to the death, the least they could do was respect my wishes for how I wanted to do it. I’ll keep the bat, I thought in response to the notifications.
Notification: Selection - Bat Confirmed.
Benefactor’s Bonus: Item, Steel Core Bat, has been granted an upgrade and has gained the passive on-hit effect of Frost. The Steel Core Bat and its user are immune to the effects of this passive ability.
I felt the change immediately come over the bat I was holding as it started to hum with a charge of what I assumed was magical energy, gaining an almost glacial blue hue. Whatever they had done to my bat, I took some solace, knowing it was going to put the hurt on some people. “Thanks,” I muttered out loud for my nameless benefactors.
“Let’s do this!” I yelled out, ready to start fighting right then and there, even as some of the people around me shied away in fear. I wasn’t trying to be a hardass. I just wanted to get going; the wait was killing me. In hindsight, they might have just moved away thinking I was a weirdo.
Notification: Transportation - Now Moving to the Battlefield.
As I felt a familiar lurch and agony flow through my body from the effect of magical transportation, I thought to myself, I’m going to have to insist on walking places in the future.
Chapter 20: The Way of the Turtle
Notification: You’ve arrived at Battle Arena #5. For your safety and the safety of the other participants, you have been afflicted with a timed paralysis effect. It will automatically wear off in 180 seconds.
The notification didn’t just flash in front of my eyes, it also blasted through speakers, though I wasn’t sure where those speakers were. It was one of the few times during my entire time trying to survive the apocalypse that the notifications were narrated and not just shown through prompts. I heard the voice long before I saw the prompts.
Notification: Current Event - Decimation Series.
Details: For the Decimation Series, participants are divided into 10 groups of 100. All participants have been selected from amongst survivors. While participation is mandatory, we do hope you try your best, as the winners will be heavily rewarded. As the battle progresses, the individual battlefields will be consolidated as required. While you are not required to attack, maim, or kill any of the other participants, it is highly encouraged for your own continued survival to avoid pacifism.
Notification: Decimation Series - Victory Conditions.
Details: To advance to the Survivors Battle Royale, a participant must meet one of the criteria.
Criterion A - A participant must personally be responsible for over 90 individual deaths of other participants. This is not limited to a single cohort. The kill count of 90 is cumulative.
Criterion B - Survive until final consolidation when the remaining 100 participants will be allowed to progress to the Survivors Battle Royale to be hosted the following day. The arena will be the streets of the Battery.
Criterion C - Kill participants who have a combined total of kills that meet or exceed the 90 kill threshold.
All participants meeting one of the three criteria will be awarded a survivor’s medallion that will mark them as a participant and allow them limited access to the shops of the Black Tournament in preparation for the Survivors Battle Royale. Please ensure you watch your medallion if you are awarded one, as it is used to redeem access to the Survivors Battle Royale.
Current Crowd Favorite - Redux T. Bundy (3:1 Odds of Victory.)
Personalized Notification - Dan Hanson, alias “Edgelord Supreme.”
Current Stats - Level 12 with 13 Strength, 1 Agility, and 1 Magic. Current odds of surviving to the next round 19:1, with 2:1 odds of dying within the first 10 minutes of combat.
Well, that’s clearly some bullshit. I should be rated much higher, I complained to myself as I touched down on the grounds of Battle Arena #5. I lurched as I landed, even while paralyzed from the recent transportation. 2:1, really? The effect of the teleporting was easier on me this time; it was basically child’s play and the little bit of nausea I had quickly passed. Nothing like what I’d felt earlier. Now my math might have been a little off, but I think I got the gist of the information put out by the notifications. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit offended. They pegged me at like a 5% chance of surviving and a 50% chance of dying straight out the gate. I could do better; I’d just have to show them.
I couldn’t quite place where I was at, but I did notice that if I looked up, I could see bleachers full of people, demi-humans, and what looked like monsters. Spectators? Yeah, guess so, this is totally a gladiator match. It was hard to tell from a distance, but rather than energized and engaged, a lot of the viewers gave off a vibe of being bored and disinterested. I guess this is basically the pre-action draft and no one but the die-hards care. Everyone who matters will be paying attention starting next round.
Now I’m not a stupid guy, I read the prompts. I knew what they meant. Apparently, somebody here was a hardass I needed to watch out for and try to avoid. Nobody hosted a fight unless someone was watching, and nobody cared unless they knew in advance there was going to be blood. Things were about to get messy real quick, and I had no intention of getting worked over by some random lad, and if there was one thing I knew about blood sports, it was that they always had something in common. That thing being that in the end, there would always be a pile of glittering prizes sitting on top of a collection of corpses and I wanted it.
From here on out, I needed to be in it to win it. I needed to get stronger still, and I needed better items to make sure that happened. I had a lingering thought that I couldn’t quite shake, a conundrum that just didn’t make sense: if winning this survival game meant lasting until the end, why let me respawn unless there was a way for me to still be killed? It was a thought that I kept in mind as I readied myself to fight.
I tried to look around as best as I could, I really did, but my neck was frozen stiff due to the paralysis. Thankfully my eyes weren’t. I was still able to get a decent lay of the land once I decided to not pay attention to the watchers and instead on surviving at least longer than the next ten minutes.
When they said Battle Arena, that was precisely what they meant. The arena didn’t appear to be that massive, maybe a few times bigger than a football field, while still appearing to have at one time been a football field. I certainly wouldn’t put it past whatever rules now governed the world.
The only thing that really seemed out of place was the ground itself. You might have expected me to say something about its green grass or AstroTurf, and would have, if it’d been made of either of those things. I recognized the feel and smell of shredded tires. Not the sort you see on the road when a truck blows out, but the type you find in places that put on cross-fit workouts. The only difference being that no one had approached me yet to tell me they did cross-fit and ask for a photo-op to post their macros and gains on social media. I joke, but not really. As far as personality tropes go, that was one I was glad to see die off with the end of the world.
From what I could see, the entire arena had kept the rectangle shape of a football field, but had walls at least twenty feet high on every side that kept the lot of us boxed in. The area was almost entirely flat except for four tall pillars near each corner, and while the ground seemed to be flat, it was hard to tell what might be under the surface of the shredded tires. The one thing that really bothered me was that I should have been able to see everyone else, but I couldn’t see anyone. I’d only met a handful of the people I’d be forced to fight against today. I figured it was just another status effect forced on all the participants to make us wai
t until the start to do much of anything. I was fine with that, it just meant no one could coordinate too much in advance.
In those seconds before things were to start, the ghost of a plan started to form inside of my head. I just hoped my little robot voice would provide me the answers I needed to see it come to fruition.
“Hey, do you have any last-minute tips? Do you have any ideas about how to best win this thing, or at least survive this?” I asked, but Lirai didn’t answer and for a second I thought maybe it was part of the limitations of the arena I’d been warned about. But I quickly realized the problem was all of my own making. The problem was me; I had the prompt wrong. I was personalizing a tool and forgetting it was exactly that, just a tool.
“Lirai, what’s the best way to win this round? Do you have any advice for me?” I was really banking on it, hoping that with the AI’s feedback and some insight into the Battle Arena or the Decimation Series, I could come out ahead. I wanted to win.
Notification: Query Accepted - Battle Arena and Decimation Series, General Guide.
Detail: Once engaged in active battle, I will not be able to assist you. At 25, 50, 75, and then 90% casualties in any Battle Arena, one of the pillars will drop to reveal a perfect health potion. Whoever takes and consumes this potion will have all of their injuries healed. Most series take a little over an hour for full completion, even with the consolidations. Avoid taking too much damage, and prevent others from using the health potions. Please note that only verbal notifications are used during the Decimation Series.