by Wolfe Locke
Upon death, those who have a bound spawn point will find themselves revived in their personal safe zone in the accommodations closest to the location of their last death. This is an instanced location that supersedes the host location.
Emblems Earned
No Such Thing as a Stupid Question
For being one of the first humans to request a change of function to the query system, you have gained a personalized Lirai.
Big Brass Ones
Awarded for opting into Mature Mode. This Emblem prevents certain death from single-target spells. If an attack would kill the possessor, their health is instead set to 1. This ability resets when the user’s health rises above an 80% threshold.
Man Killer
Awarded for killing another sentient. The possessor of this Emblem will be viewed with derision by most people who do not yet possess the Emblem. No bonuses are awarded for this Emblem.
Weapon Specialization - Blunt
Mastery Level - Wet Noodle
Upgraded Items - Steel Core Bat
Steel Core Bat has become bound to the user and has been granted an upgrade and gained the passive on-hit effect of Frost. The Steel Core Bat and its user are immune to the effects of this passive ability.
Staggering Blow 1/10 - For each point invested into Staggering Blow you have a 2.5% chance of stunning an enemy with every hit. This bonus is doubled while unarmed.
Accumulate 3/10 - You may store power during battle to add up to 10% extra force per point invested on (X) amount of attacks, where (X) equals the number of points invested into Accumulate.
Black Tournament - Alias: Edgelord Supreme - Current Points: 9.
Level 12 > 12 - Current experience: 75/100.
Strength - 13 > 13 1
Agility - 1 > 4 1
Magic - 1 > 1
As soon as I added the three points to agility, the menu disappeared and I was unable to get Lirai to respond again. My opponent was close enough now that I guess it triggered whatever rules covered when the AI could be accessed. I’d have to wait on the upgrades for later.
I started to run towards the old man, cautious of his bloody war hammer but not wanting to quit, not now. Just as I was in the zone, so was he. He turned and gave me a smile, a smile that wasn’t mocking or malicious, but of contentment, like today was the best day ever for him.
He’s the real deal, another war junkie. My thoughts were interrupted by another notification and noise over the loudspeaker.
Notification: Participants remaining: 160/1000.
Details: Due to an even spread of participants across the remaining Battlefields, Battlefields #3, 7, and 10 will not be consolidated.
Chapter 27: The Glass Half Full
The thing about being in the zone was that it could pass pretty quickly, and once that hot streak was gone, all you had left to rely on was yourself. Meaning whatever natural talent, training, equipment, and experience you could lean on. As you can imagine, as somebody who had basically been a shut-in for most of the time before the arrival of the apocalypse, I didn’t have a lot of experience in blood sports to pull from, and anyone who wanted to pretend they’d be a natural was probably full of shit.
Despite being in the zone, I stopped being so hyped up pretty quickly. Yes, I was virtually immortal, at least I figured it was safe to assume as much, and yes, I had literally just minutes before thought about how much I wanted the fight, but I gotta be honest with you boys. He looked like he could fuck my shit all up, and that was definitely not my idea of a good time.
I wasn’t afraid of dying; I was afraid of fucking up my chance to fight this guy and learn a bit about the changes in the world. I also didn’t want to fuck up my standing in the game by dying prematurely so people could watch that on another highlight reel. A single moment of clarity had changed things for me. I wasn’t just going to survive, I would thrive, and try to carry as many people with me into the future as I could.
Even now, I can still remember the sound of my boots splashing in the pools of blood that soaked the ground around the old bastard. Some might say I should have tried to sneak up on him or move toward an easier target, one more in my league, but I’d say fuck that. First off, I’d never been a sneaky guy. Shady? Maybe. Sketchy? Sure, at times. But never sneaky and never wanted to be. I’ve always been a blunt instrument, never the subtle knife.
Secondly, and this is barely even relevant, hardly worth mentioning, even if I wanted to escape or avoid the fight, which I 100% did not, I couldn’t. I was trapped by a compulsion I couldn’t control. A primal need beyond instinct that drove me towards him, demanded that I fight him. Any thoughts I might have had of turning away were gone as soon as he turned that bloody hammer he held in his hand my direction and looked down the shaft of it, locking onto me with eyes of golden amber. I knew then, without reservations, a shit sandwich was coming my way. I was outclassed and going to lose.
Notification: You are being scanned by the “Eyes of Twilight.”
Details: The Eyes of Twilight reveal your status screen for the user of the ability to read.
In the retelling of my story, I knew there were some expectations about how the whole thing was supposed to have gone down. Something like that I went in, anxious but ready, weapons out and we danced around like it was prom trying to kill each other, and during all of this, I found room to somehow repeat over and over again with some kind of variation, “What a monster!” That was until, somehow, fate or providence managed to provide an asspull that helped me to survive.
That wasn’t the case. I mean sure, the old man was on a whole different level than me, but that wasn’t the only thing. He carried with him an oppressive aura of violence that made the very air hard to breathe. By oppressive, I mean it was humid and hot. Much like the South in the summertime or a public bathroom with an air dryer on. I couldn’t catch my breath at all. The negative status effect was kind of a big deal for me, since fatigue was something I hadn’t experienced since this little adventure had begun.
“Lirai, just who is the guy?” I asked, curious as I approached the man cautiously, wondering why he hadn’t thrown some kind of insane ability or attacked me outright.
I wasn’t supposed to get a response from Lirai but the old man spoke up, saying, “I’ll allow it.”
Notification: Query - “Who Is He?”
Details: The wielder of the War Hammer of Bloody Ruin is known as Griswold the Examiner. He is a level 112 member of the Crusader Corps. He is currently under a level seal that maximizes his effective level at 14. This level cap is equivalent to the highest level participant in the Black Tournament. He fulfills the function of recruiting for the Crusader Corps during the Black Tournament, and holds the effective rank of Colonel.
By the rules of the game, he is not allowed to kill participants unless they come against him with more than two fighters at a time.
Not much I can do with that. Mostly it seems like he has no fucking business being here in a noob arena. Those details left me with more questions than answers, but this wasn’t the time or place to get caught up in that. I needed to move on; I’d wasted enough time trying to get a feel for the situation.
Why? I know some might be asking that. Why would I need to fight somebody who was surrounded by the bodies of men and women he had killed, did I have some sort of death wish? I mean, maybe? I can’t say I didn’t, but this old bastard reminded me of something I’d lost, a sense of brotherhood and battle I’d left behind, and I was going to reclaim it. Doubt, fear, power, none of those words mattered to me when I rushed forward at him with the only answer I could think to beat him with, trying to bring the steel core bat down on his head to crush his skull.
Unlike the other pretenders I’d come across, this man was the first I’d encountered who was a real warrior, and carried himself like he’d been holding a weapon in his hand all of his life. He was the real deal, and at that moment, the only thing I craved and desired was the fight.
So when he blocked my s
teel bat with a swing of that mighty hammer, I wasn’t surprised even though I was disappointed. Sparks flew at the impact site from where the two weapons had crashed into each other. A single bead of sweat on his face was the only evidence that showed that maybe, just maybe, I had a chance as I noticed his feet sliding through the blood-soaked shredded rubber we were fighting on.
Notification: Blunt Weapons Mastery Level Increased - Wet Noodle ------> Limp Wrist
I felt the effect of the level up in my blunt weapons mastery almost instantly. I wasn’t a god or anything like that, but more like something just clicked. Like when you were in school and struggling in a literature class, when the real issue was that you couldn’t read so well. The last time it had upgraded, I hadn’t felt anything.
With a single swing with force beyond anything I’d ever known, he knocked my weapon out of my hand. Shockwaves and tremors traveled through my fingers. He smiled at me. The toothy smile of a predator as those eyes of his bore into me, eyes that saw more than they should. “Ah, one of the reincarnators. Your type is always so brazen. Immortality makes you weak and makes you stupid. You rush right in without trying to hone your skills and sharpen yourself. It’s not all a loss, though. My organization is interested in you.” He lunged forward, bearing down with the war hammer with a speed that would have been beyond mine, had I not upgraded my agility. I would have fallen right there and then. “Do you really think there aren’t fates worse than death? Immortality, reincarnation, regeneration; these things don’t mean freedom from pain.”
“I didn’t think that far ahead. And thanks, I guess. I don’t know your organization, though,” I admitted, no point in lying about it. I’ve never claimed to be clever and had no intention of it as I made a dive for my bat, noticing for the first time the difference in reach. Why didn’t I opt for one of those again? Oh, right, because clearly, I’m retarded.
“I’ll find you when this is over and we’ll have a proper chat about the details,” the old man promised and as he talked, I slammed the bat into the shaft of the war hammer, trying to arm myself and counter-attack.
Sure, I’d been in the military, but this was completely alien to a firefight; everything I knew about combat was going to need to change. He threw his hammer forward in another thrust that kicked up the bloody pools around us in a red mist as I tried to avoid the slashes, lunges, and thrusts that followed.
Mostly I swung about awkwardly. This was a hard but important lesson for me. In a span of seconds, all I could do was try to avoid him landing a killing blow on me as, little by little, he took me apart like a butcher. It wasn’t that my skills were good enough to actually avoid him, I think he was just making a point of not killing me, or wasn’t allowed to. Regardless, I just couldn’t get close enough to him to do anything. Seriously, I need to get me one of those.
“Lirai, function upgrade request: next time an important decision needs to be made, explain to me the difference before I chose, regardless of if I want to be bothered or not.” Whether I died here or not, I needed to change. “And how can I pick up a better weapon? Because this shit is not gonna fly long term.”
Notification: Query - “Equipment Change.” Query - “Function Change.”
Details: Request for Equipment Change - Denied. The participant cannot switch equipment without first specializing in the weapon of selection.
Details: Function Change request accepted.
Before I could even say, “Well shit,” the old man finally landed a killing blow with the war hammer as he crushed my heart and pierced it with a few pieces of a broken rib. As much as it hurt, I could only blame myself for being reckless. This wasn’t the first time I’d managed to get myself killed by not paying attention.
I collapsed on the ground, bleeding out, and he leaned over me and laid a hand on my shoulder as a mark burned into me, searing itself into my skin. When it was over, the number 3 remained as a scar. The old man laughed as he looked over me as I lay crushed on the ground. “Three more deaths is all you’ll be allowed during the recruit phase. So long as that number doesn’t hit zero before you finish tryouts with the Crusaders, you can join us.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me behind to die again as the world faded to black. I heard the announcement and received a notification about another earned Emblem.
Notification: Round 1 of the Decimation Series has ended. All surviving participants will be transported shortly to the champions lodge for healing, rest, and relaxation before the Survivors Battle Royale begins in 3 days.
Notification: Passive ability used: Big Brass Ones.
Details: Big Brass Ones has prevented a targeted attack from killing you. Instead, your health has been reduced to 1 until you’ve reached the recovery threshold.
Chapter 28: The Mixer Before the Storm
“You need to improve.” The old man’s words hung in the air and I was honestly surprised I could hear any of it. You know, over the sound of my own gasping for air with the sucking chest wound he’d made by crushing my torso with his war hammer.
Obviously, I needed to improve. Whatever else anyone might be thinking about me, I didn’t actually like dying, and I certainly didn’t like the world of hurt I was in. The passive ability I’d picked up had a bit of a downside; it only prevented death, it didn’t heal me, and being right at death’s door sucked. I’d much have preferred a follow on hit to get sent to respawn and move on with my day.
But the old man wasn’t having any of it as he reached into an interior pocket of his fatigue overcoat and pulled out a small manila pouch and tore it open, pouring the contents over me. “Not today, Reincarnator. You’ve things to do.”
Notification: Griswold the Examiner has used a “Healing Pouch” on you. Your health will gradually be restored to 60% over the next 8 seconds.
“Healing Pouch.” That sounded nice and friendly, right? It wasn’t. The contents of that pouch basically looked like ground up red glass dust that fell on me in a layer and started to embed into my skin as the “healing” magic went to work. Apparently, it was the same basic premise as burning a wound to stop the bleeding. How it worked I couldn’t tell you, only that it hurt a lot. I only screamed once or twice.
True to the notification, I was on my feet at the end of what had been only the second worst eight seconds of my life. I went to try to thank the old man but he waved it off. At the time, I thought he was just being difficult and didn’t want to make conversation, but I was wrong. The horribly familiar sensation of teleportation magic followed.
Notification: Now Arriving at the Black Tournament - Subsite - The Battery - Sub-Section - “The Reprieve - Convention Floor - Champions Lounge.”
Notification: The presentation will begin soon; the administrator will join you shortly. Drinks and food have been provided.
Notification: Grim Arena, “Decimation Series,” Placement: 90 of 90.
Details: Of the surviving 90 participants, you have been given the rank of 90 in accordance with your placement. You have been granted (1) Platinum Ability Token, (12) Upgrade Tokens, and (1) Crusader Token.
Platinum Ability Token - This token can be redeemed at any time. It is good for the purchase of any ability regardless of cost.
Crusader Token - This token can be used at any time to instantly and permanently increase the efficacy of whatever it is used on. Simply place the token in or on the desired object and say upgrade. Alternatively, this may be used during a spell or ability to upgrade it.
Regretfully, as you have not placed within the top 50 of all participants, the option to change your race has not been granted.
You have been returned to full health and your outfits, armor, and weapons have been restored.
The world lurched. As soon as I felt my legs solidify on the ground, I knew I’d arrived. The old man reached out to shake my hand. “Sorry about that, I just hate starting a conversation and getting interrupted. I’m Griswold the Examiner. I work for the Crusaders, and we’re looking for a few
good men.”
I took his hand and shook it firmly. I’d heard once from some boomer or another that it was the mark of a man, how firm his handshake was, and after getting my ass kicked by the old man, I needed to try to do what I could to make a decent impression. “Not a problem, I’m Dan, Dan Hanson, and I’m self-employed.”
The old bastard raised an eyebrow and I already knew he was judging me. Well, the joke was on him. I’d actually been the floor manager at a call center, but he didn’t need to know that. “What do you mean by looking for a few good men?”
He shook his head, gesturing with his hands that we were in a big open room. Unlike my home, the room appeared to be completely untouched by the apocalypse.
It appeared to be something boringly normal like a conference hall or auditorium. I’d been in places like this before, when corporate needed to do a mass training and certification to save on cash whenever a mandate came down. “Not a good conversation to have here; it’s a mixed crowd. I’ll find you in a few minutes.”
In another life and time, I would have edged away and ended the conversation there. But instead I settled for looking away awkwardly. Anyway, he was right. For the second time that day, I found myself in a room full of demi-humans, monsters, and humans. But more importantly, they were all chatting away as if the battle before had never happened.