Photons’ Pulse

With the enigma of his identity now resolved, a surge of relief sweeps over me. I exit the Faction Room, my heart light with newfound happiness. Keen to familiarize myself more with the environment, I set out to check the new edifices that have recently emerged.

The first room that catches my eye is intriguingly labeled "Strength Level". Drawn by the potential of what might be inside, I open the door and step in. The room is more compact than I expected, yet something about it instantly grabs my attention.

The interior is unembellished, with stark white walls that seem to accentuate the room's small dimensions. A gleaming counter, scrupulously clean and free from mess, holds a central position in the room. It's the sole piece of furniture, adding a touch of minimalist sophistication to the space.

Behind this counter, a man is comfortably seated in a chair. His entire attention is absorbed by the phone in his hand, his fingers moving in a rhythmic pattern as they swipe upwards every few seconds. He appears wholly immersed in his task, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.

"Hello," I announced, my voice breaking the rhythmic swiping sound in the room. The man behind the counter instantly paused, his gaze shifting from the small screen of his phone to meet mine. 

He smiled and set his phone aside. "Greetings!" he exclaimed. "What do you need help with?" he wondered.

Intrigue piqued, I found myself asking, "What's the story behind this room?" 

He offered a nod of understanding before launching into an explanation. "This room," he began, "is the heart of the secret evaluations. Picture this: the first round of the tournament in full swing, each fight under the watchful eyes of a team of professional agents. They assessed each fighter's prowess, rating them on a scale from 1 to 30."

He paused, reaching for a document. "The average score for each fighter was calculated and documented," he continued, extending the paper towards me. "Here, take a look." I accepted the document, my eyes scanning over the list of a hundred names, each accompanied by a number.

At the top of the list, with an impressive strength level of 25, was Hassan Samsara. As I scanned down the list, a sea of unfamiliar names greeted me until my eyes landed on Stryker, holding the 8th position with 15 points. 

The list continued with more names I didn't recognize until, there it was - my name. I was in the 24th spot, with a modest 8 points. Not too far behind, in the 28th position with 7 points, was Ebubekir. 

Further down, Valdrin held the 45th place with 5 points, and rounding out the top 51, also with 5 points, was Mehmet.

My gaze then fell on the name of my opponent, Maya Patel. She was positioned at the 27th spot, with a score of 7 points. A wave of relief washed over me, knowing that she was ranked lower than me.

With a nod of gratitude, I handed the document back to him. "Thank you," I said, my voice echoing slightly in the room. With a final glance around the room, I turned and made my way towards the exit. "Goodbye," I called over my shoulder, the door closing behind me with a soft click.

Then there was the "Points" room. From the outside, it had a cool vibe. The door was sleek, made of a smooth, dark material that contrasted with the lighter, textured walls. The windows were large, letting in plenty of natural light, and the room had a modern, minimalist aesthetic. Despite its inviting appearance, I had no reason to go in. There was nothing I wanted to spend my points on, yet.

After leaving the Points room, I retreated to my own space. It was a room filled with familiarity, a silent testament to my life. I spent the day in solitude, mentally preparing for the upcoming battle.

The window served as a portal to the outside world, showcasing the city's modest skyline. As the day turned into night, the city lights twinkled like stars against the dark canvas of the sky.

My desk, a silent witness to my strategizing, was littered with plans for the battle. Amidst this chaos, a strange calm prevailed. It felt as if the room, in its own quiet way, was steeling me for the fight ahead.

As darkness claimed the day, the bed seemed inviting. A haven after a day of solitude. The cool sheets, a balm against my skin, promised a deep sleep.

Tomorrow was a new day, a day of battle. But tonight, in the quiet of my room, I found peace. The battle could wait. Tonight, the only fight was against the lure of sleep, a fight I was willing to lose.

Tomorrow, as the alarm sounds its wake-up call, it signals the start of a new day, exactly one hour before the fight. Shaking off the remnants of sleep, I step into the shower. The rush of water serves as a refreshing wake-up call, preparing me for the day ahead.

Then, it's time for breakfast. This isn't just any meal, but a carefully chosen combination of foods to fuel me for the fight. I opt for proteins like eggs or chicken, essential for muscle repair. I also include complex carbohydrates such as whole grains and fruits, providing me with a steady release of energy.

To enhance my performance, I incorporate red beets and pomegranate juice into my meal. A side of leafy greens offers health benefits, and a serving of fruit acts as a light, nutritious snack.

This meal, while simple, is a crucial part of my preparation. Each bite feels like a step towards readiness, fueling me for the challenge that awaits.

Then, without a moment's delay, I make my way to the arena. My focus is unwavering, oblivious to the world around me. My mind is a whirlwind of strategies, meticulously dissecting every possible move she could make and formulating counterattacks. A sense of certainty courses through my veins, whispering promises of an easy victory. Yet, a nagging thought lingers - could there be something I've overlooked?

Then, just before the fight commences, the weapons are presented to me, The sais, a trophy from my victory over Alexander. However, I dismiss the offer with a wave of my hand. I have no need for such crude weapons, not when my opponent is a manipulator of light.

As the gateway to the arena swings open, I catch sight of Maya on the opposing end. Her hands are adorned with brass knuckles, and she wields tactical tomahawks with an air of confidence. Observing her choice of armament, I can't help but question her judgement. Why would anyone resort to such primitive weapons in a battle of this magnitude? It's a puzzling sight, one that speaks volumes about her naivety.

Maya quickly dashes towards me, swinging her tomahawks with deadly precision. I brace myself, ready to dodge or block her attacks. I know I can't afford to use my power too much, not with the price I have to pay. Every time I create something out of thin air, I break a bone in my body. It's a cruel and painful curse, but also a powerful gift. I can make anything I want, as long as I have enough matter to work with. But I have to be smart and use it sparingly.

I sidestep her first swing, feeling the wind of the blade as it passes by my ear. I counter with a punch, aiming for her jaw. She blocks it with her knuckle, and I feel a sharp pain in my hand. She's wearing metal, I realize. She's not just relying on her power; she's using weapons too. She's smarter than I thought.

She follows up with a kick, aiming for my knee. As I jump back to avoiding the impact, she throws one of her tomahawks at me, hoping to catch me off guard. I catch it in mid-air and toss it back at her. She dodges it, and it lands on the sand behind her. She's down to one weapon, I think. I have the upper hand now.

I charge at her, hoping to close the distance and overpower her. She sees me coming, and smiles. She raises her hand, and I see a flash of light. Suddenly, I can't see anything. She's blinded me, I realize. She's using her power to bend the light around me, making me lose my vision. She's trying to finish me off, like she did with Mehmet.

I panic, feeling vulnerable and exposed. I hear her footsteps, getting closer and closer. I try to sense her presence, but it's too late. She's already on me, slashing her tomahawk at my chest. I feel a searing pain, as the blade cuts through my flesh. I scream and fall to the ground. Blood gushes out of my wound, staining the sand red. She's got me, I think. She's won.

I grab a handful of sand and fling it at her face, hoping to blind her. But she dodges it with ease and kicks me hard in the shin, knocking me down. I can't see anything, my chest burns, and I'm lying in the sand, helpless. The only thing I have left is hope, and I hold on to it with all my strength.

I hear her footsteps getting closer, and I struggle to get up. I quickly create a sword out of sand and hurl it at the sound, hoping that it will hit her. I hear a thud and a groan, and a wave of relief washes over me. But then I feel a sharp pain in my knee, and I realize that I've broken my patella.

My vision slowly clears, and I see her lying on the sand, glaring at me with fear and fury in her eyes. She conjures a kunai of light and throws it at me with blinding speed. I barely have time to flinch, and I feel a searing pain on my left arm as I see blood spurt from it. ...Or what's left of it. I look at my left side and see nothing but a bloody stump, and my severed arm lying a few feet away. I fall to my knees, a scream of horror and disbelief tearing from my throat. How could this happen? This was not my plan. I had to end this before it got this far. I force myself to stand up, ignoring the pain and the blood loss, and create a final weapon, a scythe of sand, to finish her off.

I charge at her, swinging the scythe with all my might. She tries to block it with her tactical tomahawks, but they shatter under the impact. The blade of the scythe slices through her shoulder, making her scream in agony. I lift the scythe again, ready to deliver the killing blow. But then I hear her voice, weak and trembling. "I yield, I yield," she cries. I want to ignore her pleas and end her life, but I can't. One of the new rules forbids killing an opponent who yields. If I do, I will be disqualified and lose everything.

I lower the scythe, feeling a surge of anger and frustration. I look at her, bleeding and broken, and I feel nothing but hatred. I turn away, leaving her to her fate. I walk towards the exit, clutching my stump, feeling the life drain out of me. I wonder if I will make it out alive, or if I will die before I reach the medics.

I stumble out of the arena, leaving a trail of blood behind me. I see a crowd of people waiting outside, some cheering, some booing, some looking shocked and horrified. I don't care about them. I don't care about anything anymore. I just want to get away from this nightmare.

I head towards the medical room, I push open the door and enter a small, white room with a few beds and some medical equipment. I see a nurse sitting at a desk, reading a magazine. She looks up and gasps when she sees me.

"Oh my God, what happened to you?" she asks, dropping the magazine and rushing to my side. "You need to lie down, now!"

She helps me to one of the beds and presses a button on the wall. "We need a doctor here, right away!" she says into an intercom. "We have a patient with a severed arm, a broken knee, and a fractured rib!"

She grabs a pair of scissors and cuts off the sleeve of my shirt, exposing my stump. She wraps a bandage around it, trying to stop the bleeding. She then moves to my knee and examines it. She shakes her head and says, "This is bad. You need surgery, as soon as possible."

I groan and close my eyes, feeling dizzy and nauseous. I hear the door open and footsteps approaching. I open my eyes and see a man in a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He has a clipboard in his hand and a serious expression on his face. He looks at me and says, "Hello, I'm Dr. Lee. I'm here to take care of you."

He checks my vital signs and looks at my injuries. He nods to the nurse and says, "Good job, Nurse Jones. You did well to stabilize him. Let's get him to the OR."

He turns to me and says, "Don't worry, son. You're in good hands."

He and the nurse lift me up and put me on a stretcher. They wheel me out of the room and into a corridor then they take me to an elevator and press a button. The doors close and the elevator starts to move. I feel a jolt and a slight change in pressure. I guess we're going down. I wonder where the OR is. I wonder what they're going to do to me. I wonder if I'll survive.

The elevator stops and the doors open. They wheel me out and into another corridor. I see more signs and doors, some with labels, some with numbers, some with symbols. I don't understand any of them. I don't understand anything anymore. I just want to sleep.

They stop at a door that says "Operating Room 1". They open it and push me in. I see a bright light and a lot of machines. I see more people in white coats and masks. They look at me and say something, but I can't hear them. I can't hear anything anymore. I just want to dream.

They move me to a table and strap me down. They put a mask over my face and tell me to breathe. I breathe and feel a cold sensation in my lungs. I feel a tingling in my limbs and a numbness in my head. I feel nothing else. I close my eyes and drift away.