“LADIES!!! GENTLEMEN. Both! Neither. Etcetera…” The announcer’s voice erupts from precisely everywhere at once across the miles-long stadium.
Groans, complaints, and everything in-between emanate in groggy unison from the hundreds of thousands of people packed like sardines into the stands.
Their reaction is understandable. A good number of them must’ve just gone through the rudest awakening of their afterlives, from sound asleep, to literally screamed at by the entire arena at once.
The main one. Rather than an instance like every other match this round, this is the actual, physical stadium. The one perpetually hogging half a dozen square miles of prime real estate in the middle of the largest human city to ever exist. We are well, and truly on the main stage.
So why do I feel like a sideshow?
The last time I stood here was almost exactly one year ago. It was even against the same opponents. Although that’s not exactly a coincidence.
We also fought the same match the year before that.
And the year before that.
In fact, this match has repeated itself annually for as long as I’ve been on the Archive’s Tournament Team.
We always beat the Anime Club, of course. It’s become something of a tradition. Like a literal, organization-wide rejection of the very maligned legacy they would presume to form a guild around.
Ah. So that’s why…
The instanced matches include audience seating as well, of course. But nothing quite sells tickets like the one that happens in physical space. Although there certainly seem to be more of them this year, grumpy though they may be from the announcer’s poor, yet undoubtedly effective impression of an alarm clock.
And in an apparently far less introspective mood than myself, that very audience responds. Kind of. Mostly, it’s just a lot of back-handed muttering and other, louder criticisms directed at the still-louder announcer.
Some are showing one particular finger or elbow or whathaveyou to the operations center where he presides.
Others are even more childish.
A few seem to actually be competing over who can be the worst. Likely due in no small part to the nearby Royal Box Seats that tend to draw all the rudest people’s ire by default, wakeup-call or no.
But the announcer takes it all in stride as he ‘fails’ to giggle far enough away from his mic for it not to come through while he waits for the general jeers and booing to plateau.
At which point, he yells even louder over them all. “LETS!!!”
And louder. “GET!!!”
And louder. “THIS!!!”
At the challenge, many of the audience’s rowdier members become downright apoplectic, activating their own voice-enhancing Skills and Equipment to counter.
But the Arena’s all-encompassing speaker system is no joke. No individual, not even with a build focused on sound amplification for some reason, could ever hope to compare.
On the other hand, the announcer only gets louder from there. “PAAARTY!!!”
And even louder still. “STAAARTEEED!!!”
By now, all but the audience’s most enthusiastic hecklers have given up on out-shouting him.
His last word echoes throughout the stadium. Aside from those few relatively inaudible sporadic outliers, the echoes of the announcer’s last word is matched only by a scathing, discontented silence.
The announcer smugly meets that silence with a complete lack of adjustment to his own volume. “NOOOW!!!”
My heart practically jumps out of my chest at that word. “Hold on, what?”
“STAAART!!!”
Oh my. Are we meant to go right away? Is it because we’re starting late?
I can’t help but stutter through a half-baked attempt to find the reins on the situation. “I-i-is everybody ready-”
“THEEE!!!”
Oh…
“COOOUNTDOOOWN!!!”
[ 1:00 ]
Jackass…
“AND FROM THEN ON!!!”
[ 63 ]
“THE LAST GUILD STANDING!!!”
[ 62 ]
“WILL!!!”
[ 61 ]
“WIN!!!”
[ 60 ]
“IT!!!”
[ 59 ]
“AAALLLLLL!!!”
[ 58 ]
[ 57 ]
Not falling for it.
[ 56 ]
“‘IT ALL’ BEING A SINGULAR BRACKET IN THE FIFTH ROUND OF A TEN-ROUND TOURNAMENT.”
Aaand there it is.
Fighting back a groan, I try to distract myself from the instinct by coughing. Too loudly, as it turns out.
I try to parlay that into placidly clearing my throat.
But it’s too late. I’ve already grabbed my team’s attention.
Meeting each of their gazes, I only sink further into this hole I’ve dug for myself as I reinforce the impression that I actually have something to say.
So, doomed to fail as I know I am, I try to think of just that. “Okay.”
Something. “Alright, everyone.”
Anything. “Any, that is, last-minute updates?”
No one responds.
Not that I expected them to. None of us have stopped being just as ready as we were yesterday. Except for Brent.
Once more breaking the silence, I don’t bother fighting the groan this time as I stand right where I’ve been this whole time, ready and waiting in my assigned starting position.
He’s the only one not doing likewise, still tucked into the same bed he’s been lying in almost since we got here.
I try not to think about it.
We’re one of the strongest teams in Midgard, folks. That’s us. And this is the most important thing we’ll do all year. So how do we present ourselves? With demonstrable proof that the strongest unascended team in one of the strongest guilds in all of humanity is made up of at least one layabout, and at least seven enablers.
Good lord, the competence on display here is embarrassing.
Having clearly failed not to think about it, I try to distract myself with what is, in a way, the polar opposite of a cough. Time for some information gathering…
[ COMMON TOGGLE ON: TARGETED HEARING ]
The instant my Skill activates, I go totally deaf in one ear as its input switches to that of my target. Which, at the moment, is Brent.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to feeling like half of my head is so far separated from the other. I keep thinking my entire face is stretched between the two locations. And the inner ear issues mean I’d need a lot of tedious training just to move around while It’s active without falling over. But nitpicking aside, Targeted Hearing is just so handy.
Especially since the System multiplies my max targeting range after the static boost gained from another Skill.
[ UNCOMMON PASSIVE: EXTENDED TARGETING ]
It does what it sounds like. Super simple. Super useful too. Makes just about everything easier. It’s popular for a reason. Especially for CLASS-focused builds where targeting distance basically equates to optimal range. And especially for melee fighters. And especially for me.
So, I picked it up anyway, and just happened to hit the jackpot with a nearly broken synergy between two Core Skills of all things.
Naturally, I can’t target any of the enemy team right now. That would require line-of-sight or a Vengeance Quest or one of the other methods that are disabled in the arena proper. Although, I suppose that if I had unmitigated access to all my tools, Extended Targeting wouldn’t even be necessary. Which is probably why they don’t let us do that. Or see each other at all, for that matter.
But we can see the audience. And they can see our opponents just fine. They also happen to be well within my newly multiplied range.
With that in mind, I select one at random.
[ HERO TARGETED: KEVIN ]
Kevin immediately disappoints. “W-where did Trevor go? Hey, did anybody see a guy named Trevor? I don’t know anyone else here…”
So I immediately switch targets.
[ HERO TARGETED: SHAREEN ]
Shareen seems to have more pressing concerns as well.
She, and everyone nearby, likely her friends, refuse to let a single moment contain anything resembling silence as they spew disparate streams of incomprehensible gossip at each other.
For my part, I would rather forfeit the match now than try to parse any of what they’re saying.
Guess I’ll try my luck over near the top…
[ HERO TARGETED: BRANDON ]
“WAKEY WAKEY, FUCKWADS!!!” This and similar expletives stream from the mouth of some asshole far up and behind the enemy team as he laughs maniacally down at the sea of seats below.
His enthusiasm seems to imply that he doesn’t particularly mind the total lack of response to anything he says.
Charming… Yeah, this isn’t working.
[ COMMON TOGGLE OFF: TARGETED HEARING ]
At least that killed some time, right?
[ 47 ]
What? How has it only been nine seconds? Oh my god, this is one of those, isn’t it? I’m nervous, aren’t I? About this? Why?
With effort, I turn all my focus to remembering.
Just the fact that it’s neither instant nor easy tells me a lot. That’s almost never a problem thanks to another Core Skill of mine.
[ UNCOMMON PASSIVE: EIDETIC MEMORY ]
So then I’ve realized something important, but only subconsciously? This is a once-per-year event, so… Performance anxiety? No, I’m fine there.
This thing is objectively important… It’s not the sort of appointment you arrive late to. As far as world-relevance, it’s like the Olympics. Except if all the teams for all the sports just took turns killing each other.
Not the best analogy I’ll admit. But the fact remains that only half the enemy team even showed up. And then they refused to get on with the match until the rest of them got here. Hence the twenty-something hours of boredom just now.
So the fact that this is even still happening at all is where the analogy really breaks down. If you didn’t arrive in time for an Olympic event, I’m relatively certain you would’ve been instantly disqualified. The victory would naturally default to the team that actually showed up.
Not here though. Here, you get a day. A whole. Entire. Day. A day that all but expired by the time the announcer kicked into gear with his little wakeup call.
I suppose that means our opponents are here now. But why at the last minute? That can’t be an accident… What is Tyrone doing? Is it some kind of convoluted exhaustion tactic?
But no, that’s not even remotely his style.
[ 46 ]
Damn. Well that certainly backfired.
Nerves still mounting for some reason, I take another look at the mostly lethargic audience before turning back to my team. “I’m not sure if any of you have noticed… But I’m feeling rather on edge.”
Nobody looks surprised.
“Well, I just figured out why. Does anyone know when we got here?”
Still in bed, Brent rolls over to look at me like one of my French girls. “Yesterday.”
“Thanks, jackass. I mean ‘what time’?”
Kvothe raises his wrist in search of a nonexistent watch, old habits apparently dying hard. “Precisely 31 hours, 63 minutes, and…”
[ 34 ]
“30 seconds ago.”
The collective side-eye I’m getting from the rest of my team turns less side and more eye as each of mine widen. “One day… Exactly?”
Kvothe looks at his empty wrist again before hesitantly nodding. “Y-yes?”
But then he gets it. “Ah…”
No one else’s reaction to the news is nearly so placid.
But Heron is the first to say anything. “You sure, Pat?”
She looks like Christmas came early. And maybe it did. Or…
Hedging towards pessimism, I blow out a puff of air. “Which almost definitely means the Anime Club has fewer than eight people fielded right now. But how many is ‘fewer’?”
In the last few seconds, Brent has contorted himself into a misshapen sprawl under his covers. “Does it matter?”
“How many enemies we’ll have to kill less than a minute from now? Yeah, I’d say it matters.”
“Not to us, Jim.”
Even discounting the ‘Jim’ thing, his constant dismissal of everything I say has officially worn out its welcome as a gag. “Especially to us. Brent, what in the hell are you on about?”
“Okay, riddle me this, Jimmie-boy… What-”
I kick him from the party.
[ TEAM: DURZO REMOVED ]
The dramatic battle between all the lines on Brent’s face comes to a tragic end along with any trace of a smile. “I’m saying, Robert, that their number doesn’t change the plan no matter what it is. The timing doesn’t actually prove anything. All eight of them could be over there. Or one. Or anything in-between. But the plan itself is solid. If it works with eight, it can only work better with less.”
To my surprise, no argument comes to mind. “That’s… Actually pretty smart. Congratulations.”
I invite him back.
[ TEAM: DURZO INVITED ]
Brent glares at me. “I’m the strategist, you dick. Got the job straight from Ben himself. But you know that. You were there. And I’m right about this. I just don’t have a stick up my ass. Which, by the way, still, Robert? I mean Christ, how long has it been?”
[ TEAM: DURZO JOINED ]
In light of his singular brain cell actually doing something for once, I somehow resist the urge to go on about how he has the intellectual fortitude of a slip-n-slide.
As cathartic as that would feel just now, I instead get to the point. “What about the new girl?”
Brent shrugs limply from his bed. “What about her?”
Blinking at that, I look around at my clearly confused team before feeling my stomach drop. “Really, guys? The Crimson Bitch? Nothing?”
But there’s no response from any of them.
“So none of you even recognize… Okay, wow. To be concise, in a few seconds, we’ll be fighting someone who apparently killed Oneshot. Alone.”
All but three of them wince at the memory. No one likes to talk about that guy for a lot of reasons.
Brent and Hoid jump and yell the same thing in very different ways. “How?!”
One excitedly bounces in place while the other finally gets out of bed.
Haron wonders aloud. “Is that why she’s a bitch?”
I successfully ignore her. “I don’t actually know the specifics. All the information we have says she’s abnormally strong. And fast. But nothing that’d explain… I assume she has some kind of trump card? At first, I thought it was that convoluted counter-teleport she’s been doing all month. But then why did the fight last so long?”
I shake my head. “The only thing it means for sure is that we have a high-risk unknown factor in this fight. So, oh great strategist, what should we do?”
Brent plops right back down where he was laying. “We shooould…”
He rolls over to be someone else’s French girl for once. “Hey, Marty! You up for setting a trap?!”
Our skinniest team member recoils as though literally punched by the attention.
But, to his credit, he does eventually collect himself. “I… I guess…”
Immediately spotting the fear he’s trying to hide, I smile in a way that I hope projects all the calmness I haven’t actually felt all week. “Don’t worry. You got this. And us behind you.”
But it doesn’t seem to help how nervous he clearly is.
Forcing out a hopefully convincing chuckle, I figure I work to defuse a bit of that. “I’ll go big and charge in right from the start.”
That’s the ticket.
All hesitation disappears from his face, only to be replaced with what looks like the start of a genuine smirk. “In that case-”
[ 3 ]
“THREE!!!”
What in the… Oh. The announcer.
Once more, I look over my team. My guildmates. Even my friends, some of them. All ready to fight and die by my side.
Resolving to return the favor, my gaze lands on one of those in Marty.
[ 2 ]
“TWO!!!”
Marty shoots me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
[ 1 ]
“ONE!!!”
I shoot back one of my own, with a conspiratorial smirk to the left of where I know the other team is standing.
Noticing as Marty’s shoulders relax, I feel my own do the same. “Very well then…”
[ 0 ]
“FFFIIIGHT!!!” Announcer and audience join together for once.
[ LEGENDARY BUFF GAINED: PERFECT TEAMWORK ]
On that mark, I jump to the left and away from my teammates.
The moment I’m clear, I activate some of my favorite Skills. High MP drain, but absolutely worth it.
[ COMMON TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 1 ]
Over the period of a second, I shoot up to twice my original height, width, and depth.
[ UNCOMMON TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 2 ]
Then four times.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
[ RARE TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 3 ]
By the time I expand to 512 times my original body mass, I’m already running at a full sprint.
But why does my left foot already feel like it’s on fire? I haven’t even put any stress on it yet. I’m sure I was fully healed before we started…
The burning is strange too. It’s getting hotter by the moment whether I have any weight on that leg or not. And why is it just a surface thing?
Come to think of it, this is nothing like the normal muscle inflammation from using three tiers of Growth.
And did the burning sensation just yell a racial slur?
Oh. Oh no. I didn’t jump far enough, did I?
But my next step is already past its midpoint. And at this size, I know I can’t actually stop it.
How does Brent’s build work again? Will this kill him? I don’t remember.
And my foot’s about to hit the ground with him wedged underneath.
Except No. No, it isn’t.
With all my strength, I kick my falling leg forward and out from under me.
A royally pissed blur of rainbow light rockets upward from my upraised foot and off towards the enemy’s starting area.
But I don’t catch any more than that. I’m far too busy doing the splits.
As the terminal angle is reached, and then exceeded, I can swear I hear the crack of a conjoined redwood getting pushed down the middle by an at-least-double-redwood-width hydraulic press.
As a human grows larger, the architectural limitations on their body becomes exponentially more exaggerated. And at my size, this demonstration of flexibility I don’t have no matter the size, costs a lot of HP. So much so that shrinking now would instantly kill me, having just sustained more damage than my proportionally tiny normal-sized health pool can handle.
So as the electric shiver runs up and down my still-massive body, I can’t do much but fall over on my side.
And as the rest of my team disperses to fulfill their own respective roles in the plan, I curl into a fetal position.
Finally, as they disappear over and between the nearby hills, I’m left here twitching. Fully unable to do anything more than lay on the ground, much like a certain slip-n-slide that doesn’t bear mentioning.
Seeing as I’m prone and stuck that way until my thankfully boosted passive regen does its job, I might as well get this over with. At least mentally typing into team chat doesn’t require fingers, steady or otherwise.
[ TEAM / ROBERT: SORRY BRENT ]
[ TEAM / DURZO: FUCK YOU ]
[ TEAM / ROBERT: THAT HURT ME MORE THAN IT HURT YOU ]
[ TEAM / DURZO: FUCK YOU ]
[ TEAM / ROBERT: I’M A LITTLE OFFENDED YOU WOULD EVER BELIEVE I WOULD PURPOSELY DO SOMETHING SO ASININE ]
[ TEAM / DURZO: WHATEVER ]
[ TEAM / DURZO: SORRY I OVERREACTED ]
[ TEAM / ROBERT: IT’S FINE. IT WAS PRETTY ASININE. JUST KILL THE BITCH ]
Speaking of which, I can finally see straight. It doesn’t sting that much, really. I can power through this…
With that in mind, I try to get up.
Nope.
Falling right back down, a jolt surges through my entire lower half and I feel a distinct shifting around my groinal region. It’s not quite ‘pain’. But it’s also far from pleasant. More to the point, I’m fairly certain that nothing in there should ever need to do anything aptly describable as ‘shift’. Not like this…
I try to roll over.
NOPE.
That settles it.
[ EPIC ACTION: FULL RESTORE ]
That Skill has a daylong cooldown, but… “Oh that’s the stuff.”
[ TEAM / HERON: ROBERT, DID YOU SERIOUSLY JUST USE YOUR RESTORE? ]
[ TEAM / ROBERT: INDEED ]
[ TEAM / ROBERT: I HAVE ALSO RE-EVALUATED WHICH SKILLS TO SPEND MY LEVEL 23 POINTS ON ]
[ TEAM / HERON: YOU SHOULDN’T END SENTENCES WITH PREPOSITIONS ]
[ GUILD / GRAMMARNAZIRETALIATIONBOT: BREACH DETECTED ]
[ GUILD / GRAMMARNAZIRETALIATIONBOT: ANALYZING FOR APPROPRIATE RESPONSE ]
[ NEW GUILD QUEST: REPRIMAND HERON SUCCESS: HERON HEARS AND UNDERSTANDS YOUR REPRIMAND — XP: 8 — REWARD: $4 USD — DIFFICULTY: VERY EASY ]
[ TEAM / ROBERT: SERIOUSLY, JOANNE? ]
[ COMPLETED GUILD QUEST: REPRIMAND HERON — XP: 8 — REWARD: $4 USD ]
[ TEAM / DURZO: SORRY TO PILE ON, BUT THAT REALLY IS INFURIATING ]
[ TEAM / HERON: WHATEVER ]
[ TEAM / HERON: LIKE I’M ABOUT TO LISTEN TO A COUPLE OF QUEST BITCHES ]
[ TEAM / DURZO: SO ANYWAY, I CAN’T FIND THE OTHER ONE ]
But my new orders are rendered obsolete, even as I don’t quite think of them yet.
[ LEGENDARY BUFF LOST: PERFECT TEAMWORK ]
[ TEAMMATE ELIMINATED: HERON ]
What?
“FUCKING!!!”
I recognize that voice. No time to figure out what happened to Joanne. Is she here? Where’s it coming from?
“GIRI!!!”
Above? Oh, of course. The killcam.
Even as the literal flood of adrenaline at this size settles back down to a steady simmer, my gaze moves skyward. It’s a surprisingly straining task for a giant to crane his neck like this.
But it’s a task I don’t exactly have time to do slowly. “Ow.”
As though in reaction to my own neck pain, the crowd erupts in cheers.
Whenever a combatant dies, a video feed of the spot where it happened is shown to everyone on a massive, downward-facing screen that blots out the sky above the Arena. And at several miles wide, it’s a truly massive screen at that.
Looking up, we all see exactly what Brent’s entire plan hinges on not happening.
Joanne is up there, front and center for all to see, and split in half down the middle.
Which is actually a rather banal way to die at our Level. That kind of death is only strange because of the one thing that she isn’t.
For all her current, impossible near-dismemberment, she’s somehow still not dead.
Her eyes are darting back and forth. And obviously of her own volition.
But the only other movement she makes involves her entire bisected body slowly folding in the opposite direction as her organs spill out the seam.
I wish I could do anything but watch as her impossibly functional eyes dart around in confusion.
But eventually, each half of her face bends too far to be visible from the downward-facing projection’s vantage.
I can’t help but gag a little at the sight of my friend eviscerated like this.
To have your body literally open like a flower… And to be conscious for it?
She doesn’t deserve that kind of trauma. Sure, she can be an unrepentant asshole at times. And she’s not exactly the tallest knife in the attic. But Joanne is my friend, damn it.
And I don’t make it a point of associating with people who deserve… That.
After far too long, the two halves of Heron’s body simultaneously explode in a literal shower of blood.
At the same time, the ground underneath her is blasted upwards, even as it separates into nearly identical cubes connected only by dancing arcs of electricity.
On the screen, chunks of her go flying everywhere at once.
Moments later, all that’s left is a crater that spills over with debris and shrapnel, both biological and otherwise, all of it sparking with remnant static energy.
But I don’t dwell on that.
I’m far too distracted by the fact that Joanne is finally, definitely, dead.
Thank God.
I feel my over-large stomach unclench.
It takes all the control I can muster not to fall to my knees and vomit the same energy bar I’ve been regurgitating for the past century.
It’s disgusting as always. But at least the bitter taste from deep in my throat brings me back to reality. And considering the implications of what just happened, that wakes me up in full. “No…”
Joanne should’ve been safe. “No, no, no…”
We needed her safe. “THAT LITTLE-”
She was safe. “That overpowered-”
I’m sure of it. “Bitch…”
[ TEAM / ROBERT: CODE O ]
[ TEAM / ROBERT: PLAN O-15 NOW ]
[ TEAM / HOID: OOOH FUN ]
Right away, the ‘O-15’ comment gets six thumbs-ups.
Turning sharply to the right, I break into a sprint, straight for Joanne’s death indicator icon.
If there was anyone nearby, my passing would feel to them like a series of minor earthquakes hitting at the rate of footsteps.
Between steps, I double my size again.
[ EPIC TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 4 ]
And again.
[ LEGENDARY TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 5 ]
The rest of my favorite Skills active, I start jogging over since actually running is an issue at this size.
Long ago, I customized my HUD to have the same setup as an FPS I used to play. I even recreated the same Fallen Teammate Icons.
Looking towards Joanne’s, I see straight through what few hills and trees I can’t see over, to the dull gray outline of her body’s silhouette.
It contrasts with the vivid green ones around the rest of my team.
Although at the moment, Joanne just looks like a bucket of grey paint exploded against a bunch of unnaturally cubic boulders, along with the hole they were clearly excised from.
Halfway there, something big and slow smashes into my somehow smaller left cheek.
Stumbling from the blow, my lumbering body almost falls over again. That’d do even more damage than whatever just hit me.
But I don’t fall.
Instead, I transfer the angular momentum of my stumble into a much more constructive use for that potential energy.
Twisting into that trajectory, I focus on my right arm as I make a fist.
[ RARE TOGGLE ON: MYTHRIL LIMB ]
I can’t move anything below my elbow anymore. But I’ve found that there are certain situations where such a loss to one’s already limited fine motor control is well worth having a mythril meteor attached to the end of one’s wrist. Such as midway through a punch, for example.
Transitioning recovery into a haymaker, my new, even larger opponent does likewise. It seems Joanne’s killer must wait for me to teach this… Robot? Damn, my one weakness. Not looking like a damn hypocrite. I bet I could outrun him… But no. There’s a giant robot on the field. This is my job now.
So that’s Simon’s, attempt this year then? It’s certainly bigger than the others I’ve fought… I could always just kick them over. But this purple one with green and orange accents is even bigger than me. If only by a little. Really, just the shoulders. Either way, it definitely looks like it’s about to lack the necessary dexterity to take any sort of advantage of outgrowing me.
The movements from all those smaller guys last year were surprising. Inspired, even.
But this? Just the jerky way the Pyramid-Guard-Looking thing stumbles back from my punch tells me everything I need to know.
In other words, it’s time to teach this tin can some manners.
Accepting the robot’s implied challenge, I steer my own mythril hammer of a fist straight into the purple one at the end of its black arm.
For a brief moment, our fists resist each other.
But then the purple hand and arm past the elbow crumple like the tin can they’re attached to.
The force is enough to make the whole thing spin around, do a flip, and land flat on its stupid mushroom-looking face.
Gripping the ground, with its remaining arm, it actually starts to move more like a person.
Gripping the ground with its other one, it actually starts looking more like one too. Too much like one. Way, way too much.
Grown from the injury I gave it, the robot’s bicep ends in a well-toned human arm.
And it has teeth now.
And it rushes me.
[ RARE TOGGLE OFF: MYTHRIL LIMB ]
With an individually earth-shattering crack of each knuckle on my right hand, I wait for it to come to me. At this size, the noise of the air escaping my finger joints is significant. It even does a little damage.
But I ignore that in favor of striking up a conversation. “Simon? Is that actually you in there this time?”
After a moment, an electronically distorted, distinctly bored, distinctly male, distinctly Russian voice comes from what I have to assume is its mouth. “Da.”
Reaching me in a few leaping strides, it swipes at my face with the too-human arm. But, bestial or not, creepy or not, its movements are still telegraphed from the next time zone. Despite the new moveset, as with every robot I’ve fought at this size, matching anything with the flexibility of a person. Not with this pilot at any rate. All of its moves need so much windup just to perform the same, if angular, moves each time.
My dexterity is nothing to write home about either, even on the best of days. Or the smallest of sizes, for that matter.
Even so, my sidestepping of its attacks is the next thing to casual. It really feels more like high-intensity yoga than dodging. It even gets me to untense a few over-large muscles. Which, while not particularly impactful on the fight, feels amazing.
If I needed to take this seriously, I’d risk catching both of its arms by the wrist in the hopes of kicking it in the chest.
Instead, like a preschooler bully on a playground, I just ignore the arms and kick it over anyway. “Simon, would you mind telling me where you got the Blueprint for that robot? I’m sure I know a few hundred people who’d love to either make or commission one of those.”
The robot tries to get up. “Is not robot.” The Russian voice is distorted and echoey now, as though from inside a missile silo, even as his robot fails to get the purchase that came so easily before.
I just fold my arms and watch the lumbering thing try to raise itself from the awkward sprawl I pushed it into. “What is it, then?”
Eventually, it raises itself to its feet, green accents now a vivid red, with its human arm no longer skin-colored, but instead incandescent with a shining, yellow-orange light.
The very air around it seems to depressurize as a matching halo bursts alight above its head. “Is mecha.”
“And the difference is?”
The robot’s eyes glow an even brighter red. “This.”
Turning its head to the left, a thin pink laser extends from those eyes to burrow through the ground behind me like… Well, like a high-powered laser.
then it turns its head the other way.
As the laser passes through the landscape at a horizontal axis rapidly approaching my vertical one, nearby trees distort and bend away from its mere passing existence, where they don’t melt away from its touch.
I would nod in approval if I had the time. It’s a good tactic. Indeed, I can neither jump high nor fast enough to clear it.
But I can duck.
[ LEGENDARY TOGGLE OFF: GROWTH 5 ]
[ EPIC TOGGLE OFF: GROWTH 4 ]
[ RARE TOGGLE OFF: GROWTH 3 ]
[ UNCOMMON TOGGLE OFF: GROWTH 2 ]
[ COMMON TOGGLE OFF: GROWTH 1 ]
With a curious glance upwards, I renew my appreciation of normalized neck muscles as I examine the deadly light passing overhead. A truly devastating weapon. Obviously powerful, but pointless if it can’t hit me. Even if it is rather toasty to be near…
Having completely whiffed what I’m guessing is its ultimate move, I watch the thing bend its neck too far sideways, overextending its arc to slice through the tops of even more grassy hillocks like they were made of butter.
Apparently not missing the fact that I’m the size of a human, the human-mouthed monstrosity cranes its neck back just above me, fires another laser, arcing it vertically to bisect me down the middle.
I mean if he’s not even going to humor me after all that…
[ COMMON TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 1 ]
[ UNCOMMON TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 2 ]
[ RARE TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 3 ]
[ EPIC TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 4 ]
[ LEGENDARY TOGGLE ON: GROWTH 5 ]
The next second, I weigh 32,768 times what I did before the match started.
Standing 32 times my original height, I once again tower over everything else in the stadium except the robot whose pink laser I casually sidestep before moving in for the kill.
Apparently, it was waiting for that as it raises its glowing post-human to intercept me.
That arm starts doing something… Twisting in and out and around on itself almost like the cubes from when Joanne died.
Whatever this is, I don’t give it time to finish. Or even to charge another laser.
Simon seems to realize I’m getting too close, too fast for him to compensate. “…Oh. Etah Pizdyets…”
I’m not sure what that means. Phonetic Russian isn’t something you hear very often in a world where everyone has a built-in universal translator.
[ RARE TOGGLE ON: MYTHRIL LIMB ]
But its meaning proves largely irrelevant as I kick the mech like the can it is with all the considerable strength I can muster at this size.
The halo goes out. The human arm stops glowing. The red parts even turn back to green. And… It seems like the overall body gets somehow less purple when the flat of my shoe caves in the fresh scrap heap’s smooth chest.
At the end of its flight halfway across the arena, the whole thing lands in more than one piece.
I zoom my vision to the totaled robot, and immediately spot the expected long-haired blonde man lying face-down on the ground, right in the middle of what looks more than anything like a plane crash.
No killcam though.
Damn. He’s not dead, then. Yet…
[ RARE TOGGLE OFF: MYTHRIL LIMB ]
Charging forward, I reach him in only a few bounding colossal steps. Time to finish this.
Midway through a final step, I shift my considerable momentum and body weight, transforming it into a skyscraper-sized stomp.
[ RARE TOGGLE ON: MYTHRIL LIMB ]
Just then, a bolt of lightning zips under my mythril asteroid of a foot from somewhere behind and to my right of me. Another laser? From a weapon? A Skill?
Did it miss?
“ONI!!!” A distinctly aggressive, distinctly female voice sounding nothing at all like Simon announces itself from just beneath my boot heel.
Oh.
[ RARE TOGGLE OFF: MYTHRIL LIMB ]
Well, that’s something at least. But it’s not much comfort if I can’t stop my foot. I’m too big. Too much momentum to deactivate Growth. I need to stop that attack callout.
I’m not stupid. I know it’s futile. I knew covering up that cough was futile too. But once again, that has nothing to do with whether or not I’ll try.
It’s only thanks to my Eidetic Memory Skill that I even know enough to worry. I’ve only heard that yell once, after all. It signifies activation of a teleporting counter. Even so, it’s had me worried since the moment I saw how much damage it did. An entire magnitude more than my most generous estimates.
I worry a lot, in fact.
The multiplicative physical damage buff from each successive tier of Growth scales right along with its defense and health ones. That is to say, I like to avoid being countered as a rule. Which is why Brent was supposed to deal with it. But here we are anyway…
With me focusing the entirety of my body and mind towards the singular, futile goal of stopping, or even diverting my own damn leg.
It’s no use.
I wish I had a Skill for this. But one does only earn so many Skill Points. Other things simply took higher priority. Which was, apparently, a mistake.
The back-left corner of my boot crushes a nearby tree like a blade of grass. A blade of grass is an apt metaphor. For the tree. For the boulder crushed by my big toe a moment later. For all the strength I can muster in canceling, diverting, or even slowing my own stomp.
Any or all of that may as well be a blade of grass for the difference it makes.
Perhaps slowed, perhaps not, hard to tell, my foot hurtles exactly where it would’ve gone if I never even tried.
One moment, I’m quite literally unstoppable.
The next, it feels almost as though I’m flash-frozen, then instantly thawed, totally unmoving with my foot practically on top of an apparently unconscious Simon. But there’s no resistance to any of it.
All my momentum is just… Gone.
I successfully twitch a finger.
Yep, definitely still alive. Which means I have time. I’ve seen this move before, after all.
Next, she will have teleported… Somewhere.
If it were like similar counters I’ve seen, then the second sword she uses for this would add both effects together, each doubling the original damage back at the attacker.
Now, if I got hit with my own stomp, multiplied four like that implies… I can tank that.
But if she manages to double even that like I suspect she can?
I think I can take that. Maybe. But it would be close. Too close.
Speaking of which, where the hell is she? No matter where I look, it’s just Heaven as usual, towering as I am over the stands.
“FUCKING!!!”
My overly large eyes overly bulge at the sound of three full-on thunderclaps just behind my head.
Ah… That answers that, I suppose. I guess I had been relying on my peripheral vision to cover that area.
With a forced calm, I whip my head around further, just enough to confirm her exact location through my periphery.
Crimson hair… Black heavy armor… Swords enveloped in yellow lightning… So much so that they look closer to overcharged lightsabers than the katanas I know them all to be.
Three swords to her left face three open scabbards to her right.
They, and she, are hovering above and behind my head, just barely too far away to swat out of the air like the moth she might as well be at this scale.
I don’t need to make out her face staring the same direction to understand I’m being mocked. Waiting for me, huh? Think I’m not fast enough to stop this?
We’ll see about that…
Regaining more than the necessary momentum, I stomp on Simon as hard as I can.
[ OPPONENT ELIMINATED: SIMON ]
Using that same foot as a pivot, I launch my opposite arm into a jumping uppercut.
[ RARE TOGGLE ON: MYTHRIL LIMB ]
It’s the fastest I could move, even without confirming the kill. Too fast, in fact. This is going to launch me. But I need to interrupt this counter now while it’s still incomplete.
My arm rockets towards the Crimson Bitch faster than something my size has any right to move.
It’s not even close.
She doesn’t start moving until I’m nearly there. “GIRI!!!”
At once, all three swords slam home into their scabbards.
All at once, my HP empties.
And with that, I’m… Paralyzed? This is what happened to Joanne isn’t it?
From where I was already looking, I catch a mirrored view of Simon’s killcam playing out just below my eyeline. Almost like I’m bathing in it.
But I lose sight of even that and all other scenery as I’m quickly surrounded by some kind of floating walls that emerge from the nearby landscape.
Oh. It’s those cubes again, huh?
They just float in place, surrounding me like a hole to their donut. At least if I’m lucid enough to come up with food metaphors, then this clearly isn’t as bad as I thought Joanne had it.
That’s a relief. Or maybe a distraction. I’m about to explode, aren’t I? At my scale?
It’s odd… I never even considered worrying about those overly-flashy death-triggered fanfare skills.
The cubes glow with a dark-red light.
Brent…
Then a brighter yellow.
Joanne…
Then an even brighter blue.
Everyone…
Then a still brighter purple.
I’m sorry.
Then a blinding white.
This one’s on me.
[ YOU DIED — XP DEBT: TOURNAMENT EXCEPTION — RESPAWN DELAY: 8 HOURS ]
[ 8:00:00 ]
I was underestimated, was I?
[ 7:63:63 ]
I was dead from the moment my foot stopped.
[ 7:63:62 ]
I knew it wasn’t additive.
[ 7:63:61 ]
I assumed multiplicative.
[ 7:63:60 ]
But no. She’s gone and developed an exponential counter somehow.
[ 7:63:59 ]
And that’s assuming I was only just barely killed.
[ 7:63:58 ]
Truthfully, I don’t actually know how much damage I took. Or what other Skills she had active. But this has so many implications-
[ 7:63:57 ]
I have to-
[ 7:63:56 ]
Have to figure this-
[ 7:63:55 ]
Christ almighty, I can’t even think with this damnable clock announcing itself with every sense-organ I don’t even have right now.
[ 7:63:54 ]
I suppose it has been some years since the last time, hasn’t it?
[ 7:63:53 ]
First, I imagine a meditative pose…
[ 7:63:52 ]
And then…
[ 7:63:51 ]
Zone…
[ 7:63:50 ]
Completely…
[ 7:63:49 ]
Out… Ah, there we are. How did it start again? Oh, that’s right. Now then. Once more in chronological order…
Chapter 1 - The Hunt Begins
Lews Therin Telamon lay on a hammock of pure air, relaxing just above his Scrooge-McDuck-style pit of all the world’s money.
A group of Aiel children sang in perfect harmony not far off.
He could smell the trees as they grew visibly with each passing second. “We are living in a perfect technological paradise.”
“Yes,” Ilyena sniffed, staring at him like a moose in headlights.
“And we have yet to visit the moon.”
“Indeed.”
Lews Therin stared down at all the world’s resources. With this, they could do anything.
He glanced up through the open skylight, at the promise of infinite adventures. It was then that he knew what he must do.
Manipulating the threads of air just so, he slingshotted himself to the edge of the money pit where his fedora lay in wait.
He smirked at his wife as he donned it with a flourish. “Whelp… Imma go dig up the Satan-hole at the top of the planet.”
“Oh no,” Ilyena said, smoothing her skirts.
“Oh no!” Nakomi said, tugging her braid.
“OH YEAH!!!” Ishamael exclaimed, bursting spread-eagled through a wall of pure cuendillar.
