The First Fight

There was some vibrant applause from a small number of enthusiastic spectators. The duel had attracted several with the clangs of metal, compelling them to stay with the intense fighting.

However, they didn't know just how impressive Lupe's feat was. Gram was three times his level, and a warrior, a difficult matchup for a longsword-based skirmisher. Moreover, Gram was armed with a far superior weapon and passed through two barriers of Assimilation.

In the past timeline, low-level players were colloquially referred to as the Assimilated and the Assimilates: those who passed Assimilation and those who did not. They distinguished players by their level of integration because of the substantial difference in movement fluidity and overall experience.

Players could adapt faster than the assimilation system, but the barriers were tied to level, causing those who assimilated slower to break through the barriers slower. Assimilated and Assimilates were thus an accurate evaluation of the vast majority of players.

Then there was Lupe. He was the lowest Assimilate but he exercised a greater control, one that even seemed to grow in real-time, than Gram.

Gram's virtual corpse dissolved into particles, and it's breathing virtual counterpart precipitated from them. He seemed pacified compared to the earlier onslaught. "Damn," he chuckled awkwardly. "Forget what I said – you're exceptional."

"Thank you," Lupe replied. "It was an enjoyable fight. You played admirably."

Around them, the applause died down except for one pair of hands that rather seemed to hasten. Kain could feel the blood surging through his veins. He normally didn't talk during tournaments but now he was free to act as he liked. "Yes, it was," he clamored. "A spectacle!"

The contestants broke their concentration, noticing the spectators and the fervent archer. "Would you like to duel now?" Lupe asked. "I'm sure Gram will be a wonderful opponent."

"Yeah, su-"

"Thank you for your consideration," Kain replied to Lupe, interrupting Gram. "But the defeated should not remain in the ring." He pointed his bow around point at a thief that had watched the fight silently with his arms crossed. The bow showed a certain sharpness that one might expect from a sword. "You, doesn't the fight excite you – ignite the fire in your eyes, the fighting spirit in your heart, the powder in your gun?"

Jodie, who had been standing beside John, felt the firmness of Kain's provocation even when it wasn't really directed at her. She turned to face John.

And then the thief moved.

"Excellent!" Kain exclaimed. "Let's have a fight!" He slid down into another vacant arena.

He waited for his opponent to appear over the edge of the sunken ring but nothing happened. Kain waited for ten seconds as his flames rapidly consumed the remaining fuel.

Back in the other arena, John leaped off the edge, landing with a roll.

"You want to fight him?" Gram asked as he approached. He was back to his casual nature.

"Yes."

"Oh..." Gram had been about to warn John about Lupe's formidable skills but shut his mouth. It was the seriousness that dwarfed John's expression during the Surge run. "I see."

Gram climbed back up the arena's stairs, leaving John and Lupe to their duel.

Jodie rushed over to him. "That was a great fight."

"It wasn't even close; I couldn't even really damage him."

"Maybe his remaining health was good but you pressured him the whole fight," Jodie encouraged. It had looked like Gram had the upper hand from the audience's perspective.

Gram shook his head. "Only at the beginning. It was like he didn't even need to try after that. His movements felt too smooth. He's probably experienced with the sword in another game. As soon as he understood my weapon, the match was over."

"Do you think John can beat him?"

"John's a beta tester but I wouldn't be surprised if Lupe is too. It'll be hard."

Meanwhile, the subjects of the conversation were preparing for a fight.

Lupe sent the duel request. In truth, he hadn't planned on participating in another fight. It was supposed to be just one duel but he could tell John was in a determined mode. Lupe silently respected that.

John instantly accepted and the giant numbers started counting down.

"Good luck."

John readied his weapons. The heavy recruit pistol was bolt action with immense recoil. He held the hand with the basic dagger beside it to increase stability. His right index finger rested against the trigger in excitement.

But despite his fury, John never lost his rationality. He had watched the earlier battle with an analyzing eye. Lupe seemed to be familiar with swordplay before he entered RISE. John doubted it was a different game: there were only two good VR games that featured swords before the release of RISE. Swordsmanship in those games was also very flashy and elegant, nothing like Lupe's practical swings.

Lupe's style was a well-developed one that emphasized efficiency. He seemed to be experienced too. His blocks never stopped Gram's swings but redirected the massive force with the lowest possible energy. The half-sword and inverted hammer swing were specialized tactics against armored foes, suggesting the medieval origins of Lupe's technique.

But in the twenty-first century, who learned swordsmanship? This only enhanced the mystery of Lupe's history.

Then timer hit zero.

Lupe immediately dashed to the side, trying to avoid incoming fire. This would become common against gun-based classes that had limited shots before a reload.

However, the commonness also meant John was more than practiced with moving targets. He smiled as the first step to revenge exploded out of the heavy pistol's barrel. The massive bullet hurtled forward at supersonic speed with a precise spin from the rifling.

And then it missed by more than a meter. The bullet flew wide, disintegrating against the rocky slope.

[Your wrist has become sore from poorly handling a powerful firearm.]

The recoil was humongous, far more than John remembered, and it felt as if his wrist was dislocated. The surprise was evident on his face as a shot that he had hit thousands of times before, missed.

Lupe frowned. He had hoped the shot would miss, but this accuracy was unexpected. Still, he pressured John, advancing with a weave motion.

John looked confused but quickly regained his focus and expertly cycled the bolt on his unconventional hand cannon.

Lupe managed to close another five meters when John aimed again. The gun barrel swayed as the arm shook uncontrollably. Frustration developed on John's face as his index rattled against the trigger and the tendons in his forearms lost their strength. It wasn't the numbing effect; he had made plenty of shots before under far worse collision procs.

John's breathing intensified as he struggled to point the weapon at the weaving swordsman. The shot was held for a long time.

Lupe was quickly approaching the danger zone. Any closer and he could threaten John with the longsword but at the same time, even a first-time shooter could hit a target at this range.

Bang!

The anxious bullet finally discharged.

-3

It clipped Lupe in the left earlobe and side of the head, drawing the first, but insignificant drops of blood.

John dropped the [Heavy Recruit Pistol] as his arm twitched uncontrollably. He laughed hysterically, and his head drooped, covering his face in the darkness.

Half a second later, Lupe was in range. He noticed John's questionable state but didn't drop his guard. Lupe always fought every duel seriously. He began with a cleaving stroke towards the thief's midsection.

The basic dagger moved like a flash, deflecting the blade's trajectory.

Lupe was prepared and urgently withdrew the sword. However, the block was beautiful, borrowing the longsword's speed to place it into a poor position.

-18

Like a serpent, John's dagger snaked upwards drawing a bloody line across Lupe's dominant arm.

[Severe muscle damage has led you to lose grip in your right hand]

Lupe's sword lost its power and the shock allowed John to continue his lethal combo. Thieves were known for their ability to cripple enemies and deliver severe burst damage before the victim could respond.

The dagger went towards the eye.

-10

Lupe caught it with his right hand and the blade penetrated all the way through the palm. He had already resolved to sacrifice his right side.

The dagger burst towards the neck.

-15

Lupe blocked with the right upper arm.

The dagger went towards the stomach.

-14

Lupe's right forearm ate the attack this time.

Lupe finally retaliated with Stab. Melee skills did damage based on a percentage of base damage, the amount of damage that was to be done if the same attack hit the enemy without using the skill. This meant that the left-handed thrust would do significantly less damage that Lupe's earlier Stab on Gram.

Regardless of the math, Stab had to actually hit to do damage.

Lupe felt the same amazement as Gram when John easily dodged the skill. The movement was almost leisurely like the thief was playing with him.

The barrage of stabs continued.

Stab towards the liver.

-18

[Massive bleeding has developed; death will result if untreated]

The leather armor could only offer a bit of protection.

Stab towards the shoulder.

-17

[A puncture in the left shoulder will inhibit its motion and cause bleeding]

Lupe had tried to block with a left-handed sword swing, but the dagger was too agile.

Stab towards the lower intestines.

-4

Lupe managed to push the blade aside and it skimmed his side, causing a minor flesh wound.

Stab towards the heart.

-38

The skirmisher looked like the victim of a London City gang stabbing. Wounds dotted his torso and arm - a lawn sprinkler that sprayed pretty streams of crimson water.

The sword clanged to the ground. Lupe fell backward, watering the rocky surface with blood.

It was another example of a duel in RISE: a fight of opportunities. It was even more abrupt than the previous fight, ending several seconds after John and Lupe came into melee range.

John dropped his weapon too. He gave another neurotic laugh, howling to the world in frustration. His right arm shuddered, not in pain but with a sort of insatiable itch. The left hand gripped the wrist, trying to calm the shaking to no avail.

John tumbled forward as the convulsion numbed his entire being. His legs weakened and he fell to his knees with his face upwards like a prayer to the arena light, bright as the sun.

Calmly, Lupe reappeared through the dissolution particles of his corpse. He approached the fallen thief. "You won."

"Why is it that the loser stares down on the winner?" John sneered, not quite asking Lupe, but no one in particular.

"You are a victor. That fight was… Not even close. I didn't get a single hit in. But you are unwell, you should disconnect and file a report to the admins. There's probably something wrong with your unit."

John didn't reply, but curled forward, clenching his head in agony. It was as if all the blood in his body pooled there.

"Why did you use the gun?" Lupe asked, somewhat insensitively. He was the most confused about two things. Why did John suddenly descend into madness? Why did he even shoot the gun? John's dagger skills seemed phenomenal compared to his shooting.

"That's a good question…. Why did you use the gun?" John repeated, croaking. Spittle flew from between his trembling lips. "You give me an answer…"

The thief vanished into particles.

"He logged out…" Lupe muttered.

The crowd, which had grown in size again, had watched with commotion, critiquing John's abysmal marksmanship. But they fell silent in front of the vicious knifing. They were somehow even quieter now.

"Thank you for the game."

…

Sweat coated John's body as his vision left the brightness of the arena and returned to the darkness of the night. His heart rate, although unmeasured by the primitive device, was through the roof. His eyes were bloodshot and breathing, heavily irregular. He found himself on the ground, in a pile of covers, his right arm still spasming.

As his consciousness grew firmer, so did his sense of sickness. His stomach was rolling. He felt a huge headache and nausea as dinner rose upwards.

John stumbled through his room's door, and lurched towards the washroom, crashing against a table and knocking down a potted plant. He turned on the spot for a moment, forgetting which way the washroom was.

Eventually, John managed to bumble his way to the toilet, where he retched. Nothing came up, only saliva.

The tap was turned on with jittery fingers. John washed his face, splashing the cool liquid everywhere. The water cooled his skin, but not the heat in his skull that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat he heard in his ears. The bathroom light somehow felt exceedingly bright, irritating his eyes. John rubbed them and took a look in the mirror. His reflection showed a youth that was drenched in water and illness.

But this image was thankfully accurate, he saw exactly what he should have.

John's condition wasn't a result of the game. RISE VR technology had never had an issue with healthy users, not once, over its previous ten-year history. Sensations were cut off the moment one disconnected from the game. There was no way an irritation could be transferred to the actual body.

Even so, John looked down to his unsteady, clammy palms.

But it didn't mean it was impossible. It was a trauma. No, a deeper inhibition, a sickness rooted in the soul, a by-product of the hateful resurrection. But the symptoms weren't only directly from this, also indirectly from sheer frustration that evolved. At a moment of revenge, he hadn't been able to do something he had done countless times, something he depended on – something that his rival could even do the real world.

John looked back into the mirror. He saw his reflection again.

That was the problem - that's exactly what he had seen when he fired that pistol - a pale, weak human, struggling under the blinding light to survive.

'How did you do it so easily?'