《Player 47 - Rewritten》


 001 - Missing

    Frey woke up in a crumbling hall of stone and dust, a splitting ache in his head. A dozen set of eyes were on him--eyes that were distraught and restless, eyes that quickly lost interest in him as he stood up, pushing his dead-heavy body up with quaking arms.


    He stood among the crowd of a hundred people, maybe more, and all the faces he saw were nothing like each other: there were men and women, boys and girls, and they were all young, some barely in their adolescence, some nearing the end of or past their teenage years. Some were Caucasian-white, some African-dark, while others were copper-skinned and others still were yellow, the only thing they all have in common being the dumbfounded and clueless looks on their faces.


    Vast, stone-vaulted ceiling hung thirty feet above them, webbed with thousand-year-old cracks and neglect. Golden daylight streamed in through the thousand arch windows lining the chamber''s walls that circled them, giving the hall an old sepia hue. Frey heard whispers, cries of ''where are we'' and ''what happened'', and those who weren''t darting their eyes across the hall nervously were pinching themselves back to reality.


    "Excuse me, Mister." he felt a tug at his left sleeve. Frey turned around to see a short girl (she might''ve been close to his age, but she looked much, much younger) in a black minidress with a pleated skirt that stretched until above her knees.


    "Yes?" he asked. She had silk-white skin, with flowing jet hair and bangs as flat as a plateau. Her eyes weren''t any less black than her hair, and they were narrow at the corners, which might''ve told him all about her ethnicity.


    "Do you know where this is?" she asked with a smile, like a lost tourist asking for directions, although she was too collected herself that he could''ve been the one asking her.


    He shook his head. "No, I''m afraid we''re all on the same boat here."


    "I see." the girl sighed. "Thanks anyway, Mister...?"


    "Frey. Frey Alcott." he replied.


    "Mister Alcott. The name''s Airi Ohara. Please remember it." the girl said.


    "I''ll try. Nice meeting you." he said, and the girl''s face went dubious, almost cynical. "Is it? Is it nice meeting me? I think you are speaking too soon." She walked away and disappeared into the crowd, and Frey didn''t know what she meant then.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    "Weird girl." he muttered, looking at the direction the Asian girl, Airi Ohara, vanished.


    In front of them was a circular stage of some sort, made from marble, but was far too weathered to be called majestic, elevated a good four feet from where they stood. At the center of the stage was a gargantuan archway, with runic characters carved along its craggy surface. The first time he ever really noticed it was when the people around him clamored and pointed at the arch. The runes from the edges slowly filled up with blue light that danced and swirled like smoke. This lasted for ten seconds, maybe more, and Frey could not help but gawk at the sight. Were they neon lights, he wondered, or LED lights behind a smoke machine.


    Or perhaps it was something entirely absurd, like the fact that he''s in a weird place suddenly, with a hundred people none of which he knows.


    Like the fact that he completely had no memories as to how he got there, no matter how deep he dug in his brain?


    When all the runes were filled, a cyclone of blue stars warped the insides of the archway, like the flat surface of a glass being distorted and deformed by intense heat. Everyone held their breath as they watched impossible happen.


    When a figure stepped out of the typhoon of blue luminance beneath the archway, Frey swore they could have picked their jaw off the floor.


    "Greetings, Players." the figure was a woman in a pitch-black ball gown accented by blood-red frills on the sleeves and bodice and skirt. She had flowing long platinum-gray hair, and was the prettiest woman Frey had seen, no matter how badly he didn''t want to admit. But, as far as women''s wiles go, it didn''t distract him enough to miss what she just said.


    "I am Victorina, and welcome to the Hall of the Lost. I guess this is what you call Purgatory back on Earth, though I assure you it doesn''t work quite the way you think." Another round of whispers and exclaims swept the crowd, only to be extinguished when the woman, Victorina, laid down her next words.


    "Before I explain to you this... unlikely predicament you are in, I feel it is my obligation to tell you all first one, most important truth." people held their breaths.


    "All of you, are already dead."


    The hall was grave-silent. Frey couldn''t move. It was as if his body was an intricate sculpture of ice--static, stiff, cold.


    The woman in the black-red gown glanced at him, and in the golden sea of her eyes he saw his life flashing before his eyes. He saw stars and skies and soul and death, his failures in life, successes and victories, the faces of the people he have met throughout his life and even some he haven''t, or he couldn''t remember. He saw everything, and at the same time he could commit nothing of what he saw into his memories, then with the shutting of the eyes his vision went black, and he remembered.

 002 - Genesis

    It was his girlfriend''s birthday and Frey, getting up as early as he could, which was somewhere around six in the morning, jumpstarted his day with a cold shower and a cold soak on a freezing tub. He doesn''t usually do this--preferring the lukewarm bath in such a cold autumn morning, but today he felt himself in need of a push. A hard one, at that.


    He knew the common problems of having a girlfriend--had heard it a lot from his friends, that money was the greatest issue when dating a girl. He had enough money. The next worry he knew were the places to go to, and it wasn''t his problem, either: Elise was easy enough to please, and he only need to take her to a resto with good chilies and spaghetti, and she''d be happy as the sun. No, his worry was neither. He let himself slide deeper into the tiled tub of his apartment''s bathroom, heart shivering as the cold bit through his skin.


    He made a list in his head, places where he would take her today, the first one being the eco-park two blocks from here. They''d watch the butterfly garden there, maybe pick a few mulberries from the open farm, and then he''d take her to the new caf¨¦ that opened in front of the mall down Naval Street a few weeks ago. Andy said the place served good carbonara, and carbonara was one of Elise''s favorites. Then, after eating late lunch at the caf¨¦, when the sun is well setting, they''d go to an arcade. He''ll play the claw game (he was good at it, the few times he tried playing), maybe get the girl a stuffed bear or two, and they''ll walk home, and that''s where he hit a roadblock: he hadn''t made up his mind on how he would put the ring on her finger.


    He''d been through scenarios in his head, on the various ways he could play it, and each one ended up leaving him exhausted and embarrassed. Should he propose to her before they go to the arcade, or after? Should he give her flowers with the ring inside the bouquet, or just give it to her on bended knees? Before he could finish pondering and freeze himself to death, he was out of the bath and was shaving his stubble and brushing his teeth. He dressed himself in a cool, but not too formal, blue button-down shirt, ironed at the ends, and black slacks. He opened his drawer and took a red velvet ring box, then shoved it in his pocket. He shouldn''t think too much on how he should do it, he thought, and he walked out of the door feeling a rush of blind confidence.


    He took the elevator to the fourth floor where Elise''s unit was at, walked down a hallway of synthetic wooden doors and wine-red carpet, and knocked on the door at the end of the hall.


    "Who''s there?" grumbled a woman inside.


    "Guess who?" Frey teased.


    The door opened a crack. "You''re too early." Elise peeked out, pouting, eyes half-closed. Her chestnut tresses were a bed-hair mess covering her face, but even then Frey found her as beautiful a woman could ever hope to be. "I''m gonna get changed."


    "Will you let me in?" he asked.


    "No way in hell." Elise growled, shutting the door on his face.


    "Hey, it''s not like I''ll peek, you know. It''s cold in the hallway."


    "Go elsewhere."


    Frey sighed. Sometimes he never did get Elise. He''d seen her naked before--just one time, actually, and that time it was an unavoidable situation, but the point is he''d already seen her--what was left there for her to hide from him? He shook his head, chucking it up to the woman''s overall conservative nature. Why, she''d never slept with him, not once in the six years they''d been in a relationship. She told him she wanted her first to be their honeymoon, and her sentiment was very unlikely in this day and age that he thought she was a Victorian woman sent to the future.


    He went out at the front of the apartment, Naval Street stretching before him, and watched people and cars pass by. Every five minutes he would glance at his digital wristwatch and stare up at the blue cold mid-autumn sky, then at the streetlights. Girls sure take forever to prepare, he thought, but if it was Elise, then waiting shouldn''t be a problem for him. It''s boring, though, to the degree that he found the occasional traffic jams entertaining. After what seemed like forever but was actually just thirty minutes of standing in front of the building doing nothing, he fished his pocket for his phone and opened a card game.


    He was not much of a gamer: he knew none of the latest console games, nor the smoothest gaming platform currently available in the market, which were all the rage among normal males his age. The card game was his only game and it came with the phone--a simple solitaire platform, and he''d been playing it at his leisure ever since. He took a liking to the idea of a game you could play with no strings attached; when you win, you win, and you start another, and you can quit whenever you''re bored or life comes back to bother you. No commitments, no ''online friends'' to be disappointed in you when you start playing less--solitary, as implied by the name of the game. That, he thought, was what people of this ''social'' generation needed. Less sharing and talking and telling, perhaps more silence and retrospection. Maybe he''d love the company of people more, then.


    As of now, the only person whose company he truly enjoys is Elise, sharing the same sentiment. From time to time Elise would ask him for quietness, and they''d lay hugging each other on his bed, not saying anything, but happy and strongly bonded together. Women like Elise, he imagined, are very, very hard to find, if not wholly impossible. He breathed, tore his eyes away from his phone screen, his solitary game, to look up at the sky. It was clear and blue as a pristine ocean covering the Earth, and he decided he was lucky to have a girlfriend who understood him and his wants, even if she was a grump at mornings, and he''d be willing to wait for her, for the rest of his life, even if he gets bored again and again.


    He glanced at his watch: forty-five minutes, since he''d gone out of the lobby into the freezing outside.


    --HELP!


    An agonizing shriek, coming from deep into the narrow alley between the apartment building and a tailor''s workshop that sold hand-made woolen sweaters and suits. It was distant, but by no means weak: he could hear it in his ears, as loud as it would''ve been coming from beside him. So loud, that he was sure he couldn''t have been the only one who heard it. The screams that followed were gut-wrenching, causing his limbs to stiffen. Yet, not even a single person from the crowd of hundreds passing by the building, passing by him, even took the second to look around, hold their phone calls, to find where the scream came. They moved, unfazed, business-as-usual, as if they heard nothing.


    Disgusting.


    Before he knew what he was doing, he was speeding into the dark, obscure back-alley. The cold morning air burned his lungs, but he paid his wellbeing no mind. Dodging garbage cans and jumping over used carton boxes he plunged deeper into the alley with the wind on his back. The surroundings got darker and darker as he ran. He ran, and ran, until the path was only a bit short of pitch-black. Then there was light, shining, faintly, beyond a sharp corner turn ten meters ahead.


    Inside his head, a voice was shouting at him to run back the way he came, to not take the turn, but if there was something Frey was not good at, it''d be listening to himself. He looked around for an object he could use to defend himself, if worse came to worst, which was a thin PVC pipe about two feet long he picked up from the top of a green closed garbage can to his immediate left. He approached the source of the blue light, each step silent but trembling. Right foot, left foot, right foot. He stopped, one step away from the open. Everything was quiet. Dead quiet. He leaned on the wall to his left to breathe and think. His breath was rough as a horse''s neigh, knees buckling from the sudden sprint. Frey pulled out the cellphone from his pocket. No cell signal. No calling the police. Frey took a deep breath. What he would find beyond this wall might include from petty criminals like pick-pockets and addicts, to the worst, kidnappers and serial killers.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Think. Regardless of the kind, catching criminals required police intervention. And what was he, but a lanky young adult male armed with a pipe? He was no police. He considered running back into the open, call the police, and let them handle this. But what if the police came a moment too late and someone dies?


    What does he care?


    That''s not his problem, he''s not Superman. Nor was he the hero of Gotham. And besides, it''s been a good two minutes since he heard the shriek, and it''s been nothing but quiet. The victim might already be dead. Yes, the most logical step is to call the police. He took a step back, two steps, three. Turned his back and broke into a silent sprint.


    He didn''t make it far. The shrill scream of a female rang out from beyond the turn--the same gut-wrenching shriek he heard from earlier, only now it was much closer, and deafening. All thoughts of fleeing inside him was flooded with the moral urgency to save. He turned around and ran. This time, there was no thinking twice as he stepped out of the safety behind the corner wall, into the sea of faint blue light. He raised his pipe, prepared to thwack whatever criminal would come at him.


    He was stupid. So stupid. Frey realized that only a moment too late.


    Four meters ahead of him was the one making the shrieks. It wasn''t a damsel in distress, nor was it a hardened criminal in ski mask and black leather coat. Hell, it wasn''t even human.


    It was... Frey didn''t even know what it was. An octopus? Only that it was at least three meters tall, and had a hundred tentacles too many, wriggling beneath its head which looked and was colored like an exposed brain, with dark red nerves pulsing beneath its translucent, slimy skin.


    Frey couldn''t move. Instinct told him he would die if he ran, but who was he kidding? He would die either way if he just stood there. He should''ve listened to himself. Shouldn''t have tried to be a hero. There was no victim. No victim, perhaps except him. Whatever the thing was, he knew it wasn''t so kind as to spare him, nor was it something that could be killed by a flimsy pipe.


    The flesh in the middle of the thing''s head parted like lips, opening up to reveal an eye, as big as a football, solid yellow in color with black outstretched nerves. Then a dozen smaller ones popped open around it, and it was the most horrifying sight he had ever seen.


    "Hihihihi..." an ear-grating screech vibrated from the monster.


    It latched onto the wall to its right, like a leech, and slowly crept toward him. Frey dropped the pipe and sprinted away from the thing.


    "Hihihihi..."


    Sharp pain pierced through his back and straight through his lower spinal column. He hadn''t gotten far. His legs went numb, and he couldn''t feel his body from the waist down, as if his legs were severed from him. Protruding out of his ravaged stomach was the tip of a tentacle, black and bulging with red veins. It wriggled like a worm, as if mocking him and his futile attempt at running. It lifted him three feet off the ground, and he yanked and thrashed and he imagined his feet would''ve been flailing then, if they didn''t limp still, unable to be felt, much less moved. The monster pulled him in slowly, its writhing tentacles waiting for him at the end of the line. His hands were painted red with his own blood, and with each passing second his consciousness strayed farther away from the reality of the situation.


    "Damn..."


    Bright blue light shone behind him. He looked over his shoulder. It radiated from the monster''s eye.


    ---


    "This is bullshit."


    "I can''t be dead!"


    Some cried, some shouted, but most were like Frey: paralyzed.


    He really did die. Anger, fear, anxiety and sadness all attacked him at once, and he was feeling everything at the same time, or nothing at all. He didn''t really know.


    Airi Ohara, the Japanese girl, stood a few meters ahead. In his eyes she stood out among the crowd of youth as the only one who didn''t seem daunted, surprised, in any way at all. Both her ears were on Victorina, but her eyes darted across the crowd, from one person to the next, as if she were instilling their faces in her mind.


    Victorina spoke again, gathering attention. "I know how all of you feel; you are but children, with so many great things left undone, so much love left unsaid. For the curtains of life to close on you so soon, I know not of a greater anguish."


    Hateful yells became weak whispers before the woman''s voice, cries turning to sobs as quick as the turn of a leaf, a calm, soothing melody, sweeping over the crowd as if her words were anesthesia to their sorrow.


    Even Frey found Victorina''s voice a calming salve, but it couldn''t warm the chill he felt, like the cold of becoming a corpse, and the woman''s spell sat on the surface, unable to penetrate the murky depths of emotions ebbing and flowing in monotony in his gut.


    He was dead. As far as the world was concerned, Frey Alcott was dead, a hole in his stomach, body bathing in the pool of his own blood, in a back alley along Naval Street, or not; maybe the monster--whatever the hell it was--had eaten him whole, then Frey Alcott had simply gone missing, one cold autumn morning, and Elise, she might be looking for him now, knocking on his door, checking with the security, calling the cops, and she''d never find him.


    "However, all is not lost." Victorina smiled, a gentle, sweet smile, the reassuring smile of a surgeon before an operation, or the confident smile of a lawyer before a defense. "The gods have brought you here, all one-hundred-sixty of you, for the chance to live again. Redemption, how does that sound?"


    All eyes were on her then, and she paced around the stage, like a beautiful actress addressing the audience. "That said, a second life is not without a cost. You must prove yourself worthy of such a sacred gift, and you can only prove it by playing." she paused, sneaking another glance at Frey.


    "That''s right, you''re going to play a game. One hundred and sixty Players, all of you, but only one should win. To be that one, the other one hundred and fifty-nine Players should be eliminated."


    "Eliminated." Frey had a bad feeling, as if everything could get any worse.


    Victorina breathed on her palm, her breath a gust of blue stardust that swirled and spun above her hand. The dust formed a galaxy of blue specks in the air before imploding, and materializing, into an orb of green and blue and yellow--a representation of a planet, like Earth in color and vibrance, and it floated on her palm like hologram.


    "Your game is set in Eideleir, a place of gods and monsters, as well a place for humans." she flaunted the globe on her palm for everyone to see. "Each Player will be in a borrowed body, and is eliminated when his or her body ceases all life function. Put simply, dead." this earned more than a few cries of indignation from the youth, now appropriately called Players, and Victorina waited for the noise to die down, before speaking again in her mellifluous voice.


    "To eliminate other Players and achieve the main objective of the game, each will be given the appropriate tools, at the start of the game."


    Frey was lost. He had some idea about what the black-gowned woman was saying, although he kept wishing he was wrong. Killing others for the sake of living again? It sounded stupid. And sickening. To think that someone, or something out there, would think of something so atrocious and call it a mere "game".


    And yet, it was the way out he needed. It was the way for him to bring back his life, to see Elise''s smile again. He clenched his fists and looked up at Victorina. She met his eyes, and she winked at him, a slow, playful wink, and he understood.


    The ground at their feet began to vibrate, and then crumble, cracks running like electricity through stone. the floor broke off in chunks and pieces, before it collapsed entirely, and Frey closed his eyes.


    He was falling. His eyes were still shut. Elise smiled at him from above, and as he fell farther down the abyss the face of his love became smaller, and smaller, until all he could see was black.


    "Wait for me." he muttered softly.


    He knew what he needed to do. He understood it was evil, and selfish, but what choice did he have? If it was for Elise, then, even if he had to eliminate a hundred people, he''ll do it. He must do it.


    Frey woke up in the middle of nowhere, that nowhere being a rainforest of ancient trees and thick shrubs and overgrowth.


    At his feet was a wooden chest, square, measuring one foot on all sides. Carved on the back of his right hand was a tattoo, of a sword encircled by two crescents on both side.


    He sat up, nausea in his motion. The sun was high in the sky, but the roof of leaves above him filtered the harsh sunlight, diffusing its rays into weak sepia. He inspected the chest, first looking at it, searching for openings, or locks. There were no visible locks, but the moment he touched its wooden surface something inside clicked, and the chest lid sprung open.


    Inside was a bracer of some sort, or an arm guard, made almost entirely of shiny steel. A blue rhombus gem was embedded into the arm guard''s surface, and inside the gem sea-green-colored dusts swirled like a galaxy in a universe of blue.


    Along with the arm guard was a green booklet, a little like the student handbook the school issued him when he was still in college, and it contained brief and trivial info about the school, and gave short description of the courses available. Frey opened the booklet, expecting a guide of some sort, like the student handbook, but it was empty. Then the first page caught on fire and he dropped the booklet on the ground. There was something funny with the way it burned: first, the flames didn''t spread to the dead and well-dried leaves around it and second, letters were forming on the page, written with the black color of burnt parchment, and when it was done writing the flames died, snuffed-out.


    Cautiously, perhaps a little spooked out, Frey picked up the book, and the first page that should''ve been blank, read:


    Player 47


    Frey Alcott

 003 - Player 47

    Player 47


    Frey Alcott


    No more text seemed to burn on the first page, other than his name and "Player 47". Probably that''s his ID as a player. He turned to the next page. Sure enough, it was empty. He waited for a minute, two minutes. Nothing seemed to happen. He flipped again. Waited. Nothing. He repeated the routine until he was well half into the book, in which he caught glimpse of a page that had something in it. It was a drawing--a sketch of the arm guard that laid in his starting chest.


    The silver arm guard was long as to cover the whole span of his forearm. Its steel was a half inch thick, and looked like it could stop a bullet or two, but was totally useless since it only covered his forearm. At the center of its span protruded a clean-cut blue gem the shape of a rhombus square, and was about 2 inches long by 1 inch wide. He looked deeper into the gem, and saw a galaxy of green dust swirling inside.


    At the front end of the arm guard was a thin wide slit, which for all he knew might be a big SD card slot, or a place you can swipe your credit card through. Jokes aside, he was curious what the slit was for. Maybe something will come out of it. He didn''t know. In the first place, this whole affair was occult from the very beginning--no sense trying to make sense of it. He looked at the book again. No change on the sketch. He flipped to the next page, and three question marks burned in the middle of the new page.


    "Isn''t this book so useful..." he sighed and closed the book, put it in his jeans'' pocket, and went back to scrutinizing the arm guard. It was a little too large for his arm. The arm guard was, he discovered, large enough for his hand to pass through its ends without a problem. It was an arm guard, but it felt more like a hoola hoop for his thin arm. He didn''t know how something as faulty as the thing could be so useful. Was he supposed to fling it at enemies? Stupid. He''d die before he gets caught doing something so silly. The thing was useless as a tool, and looked more ornamental.


    Well, the blue gem at the heart of it looked beautiful enough to pass as valuable. He touched the gem. It lit brilliant green, the color of the dust trapped inside the blue gem. He should have expected it to be touch-activated from the chest, but Frey Alcott was as ever a logical man. The steel of the arm guard melted into thick, mercurial liquid. The melted steel did not drip down to the ground, as the law of gravity might suggest, and seemed to have life on its own, clinging to his skin like a leech would to its host. The steel was scorching hot to the touch, and he could only wriggle in pain as the arm guard fitted as it pleased on his skin from the elbow down.


    He screamed and trashed around, with the crunching sound of dead leaves accompanying his every footfall and chirps of disturbed birds with every swing of his arm, which he thought was gonna fall off from cauterization. It was not long till he lost energy and succumbed to the pain and fatigue.


    ---


    When he came about, it was already night. The forest that had been dim during the day was ever darker during the night. Starlight filtered by the forestial roof of tree leaves gave barely enough luminance for him to see his surroundings. What happened? He remembered. His right arm was fine. He could still feel it as a part of his body, and could still fold and unfold his fingers. He sat up, took a look at the arm guard wrapped on his arm, and tried to pull it off, at first gently. It didn''t budge. He pulled on it again, with a much stronger force, and then decided his skin will tear off first before the damned thing let him go. He next felt around the arm guard''s steel body to perhaps find a lock or the like, but its surface was impeccably smooth.


    It was almost embarrassing as it was ironic that he thought the arm guard was too large earlier. Now it''s stuck on his arm. Hell, with how hot it was earlier, the steel might''ve even burned itself into his skin. He yanked on the arm guard for the last time, before giving up entirely. He glanced around. Not that he could see much in the dark. All he could see were outlines of shrubs, and the towering shadows of trees in the distance.


    He was starting to worry for himself. He hadn''t forgotten what Victorina said. The world was home to monsters and deities. Was it really okay for him to be in the middle of a dark forest this time of day, in a world where wild animals were the least threatening things you might find lunging out at you? Basic law of probability showed that there was a high chance of there being a bloodthirsty beast just waiting to pounce at him from behind the shrubs. The damned woman might be the reason he''s in this world, in this game, but he figured she wasn''t lying as much as he hoped.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The real question of the day was, what was he going to do next? He''s in the middle of a forest, in the middle of God knows where, with not a map nor even a compass to start with.


    Not to mention food. Frey knew he was dead, but he doubted this "borrowed body" he''s in now can live with just air for sustenance. He had just rested and wasn''t yet hungry, but figured if he was going to survive this game, he''ll need the proper nutrients. He''ll need them sooner than later.


    For now he decided to consult his booklet. The blue gem in his arm guard glowed mild amidst the shadows. He used the glow of it to make of what''s written in the booklet. He flipped through the pages until he landed on the page where the arm guard''s sketch was drawn. Nothing changed much, except that there were now three question marks above the sketch, which was not there the last time he checked. The next page displayed three big question marks, as before. He flipped to the next page, and was surprised to see that something was actually written on it.


    Goblin Hound


    Only those two words were written on the top of the page. Must be some kind of monster and, by the name alone, a dangerous sort. He turned to another page, but nothing was written on it. A sense of foreboding made him want to dig a hole in the ground and hide in it until morning, but then the ground might eat him alive. Wherever teleport and sentient mercury is possible, everything is possible.


    He stood up, shook his legs awake. The first to-do on his list was finding shelter. A cave would be nice, decreases the chance of him getting eaten alive by whatever monsters lurk in the forest. One of them might be this "Goblin Hound" written on the booklet. He walked aimlessly but in a straight line, the glow of his arm guard the only guide preventing him from crashing into a tree. Finally he was finding some use for the thing, albeit a bit more trivial than he''d wanted and expected. He needed more than a lantern. He needed something to defend himself with. On his trail he found a broken branch, not a meter long, lodged between the thick roots of the oak (it looked like oak, but probably wasn''t) it fell from. He pulled it out and took it along. Better than bare hands.


    Frey stopped when a nearby shrub rustled. He pointed his arm guard at the shrub, his twig at the ready. The shrub was three feet tall, with green berries peppering its leafy exterior. The shrub shook again. Frey took a few steps back. He didn''t really know any fighting technique, and having a stick for a weapon didn''t make him any more comfortable.


    He could run, but that might attract more danger to him. Not an option. He took on an impromptu crouching stance, and waited for the monster to come out.


    It wasn''t a monster. Well, not by his standards, anyway. What shot out of the shrub was a furry pink animal the size of a bunny. It had looped horns like a ram on the two sides of its head, and it had blue marble eyes that shone as they reflected the green glow of Frey''s arm guard.


    Cute, he thought. And the shrub grew fangs and teeth and gorged on the little creature. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn''t the shrub that ate it.


    Came out of the green, still chewing the furry pink animal was a dog as large as a tiger. Its eyes were bloodshot, its mouth holding three rows of shark-like teeth, and two large front incisors that dripped with the critter''s blood. It looked pretty much like a "Goblin Hound" to him.


    The beast jumped, tackling and mounting him as his back crashed down the forest ground. Breath was knocked out of his lungs as the hound''s ton of a weight pressed on him, and sharp pain stung his body as the monster''s claws sink on his thighs. He swung his twig, and the Hound caught it between its razor teeth. One chomp was all it took for the wood to break off the middle. The Hound snarled a pissed-off snarl and it bit down, with the intention of swallowing his head whole, and would''ve succeeded if he hadn''t put his left arm between his face and the monster''s jaws. Tearing pain shot from his arm to his head as the dog gnawed on his left arm.


    "Shit, shit, shit!" blood and chunks of skin flattened on his face as his arm flesh was torn to shreds. In a panic he punched the monster with his right hand. A metallic clink came from the arm guard and, at the same time his fist collided with the beast''s jaw, a metal tip protruded out of its head, covered with dark-red blood. The gnawing on his left arm ceased. The hound went lifeless, suspended over him by the silver blade that pierced it. The blade, he realized, came out of the arm guard--from the thin slit on its front. The blue gem of the arm guard glowed bright green, as if to proclaim its blade had won.


    The blade retracted back into the arm guard with a shing as the blue gem''s light extinguished. The dead weight of the monster fell to the side, away from him.


    He was alive. He looked straight above, at the starry night sky past the tree leaves, feeling in his whole body less pain than numbness.


    Get up, his head told him. He tried. With only one healthy hand to push him up, it was more than a chore he could handle. His body was heavy, his thighs were cut pretty bad. The monster must''ve had knives for paws. He managed to sit up, but that was as far as he got before the world wobbled and blurred around him. He had to seal his wounds, but without strength to tear a piece of his clothes, he was helpless.


    He had to go. Anywhere but there, where scavengers might smell the dead Goblin Hound and think he was part of the happy meal.


    He pushed himself to a crawl, which was more of a creep along the floor. His mangled arm gushed out more blood with each movement, and soon blood loss got the better of him. He fell to his side, heat leaving his body fast, and he laid there on the ground in the middle of the forest, with a dead monster for a companion.

 004 - Generation

    He was back in Purgatory. Or Hall of the Lost, as that Victorina had called it. Unlike the first time, no other Player was around except him.


    The hall was dim, but not pitch black. Purple night seeped from outside through the thousand arch windows carved out of the yellow ancient walls of the chamber.


    Victorina was, as before, under the stone arch in the center of the stage. She sat on a chair before a porcelain-white round table, sipping on a quaint teacup in one hand, holding a saucer in the other. He found her motions hypnotically fluid and graceful, down to the way she tipped her teacup further up as she emptied her drink.


    When she noticed Frey from the corner of her eye, she brought down the tea cup and its saucer on the round table before her.


    "I didn''t realize I have a visitor. How are you?" her voice echoed throughout the empty chamber, as melodious and charming as he heard it the first time.


    "I''m not a visitor." he replied, trying his hardest not to swoon over at the woman''s spell-like voice. "I don''t even know why I''m back here. Did I die again?" he answered, with none of the pleasantries he couldn''t afford to indulge in.


    "Hmmm..." she put a finger up her chin. "No you didn''t. You are merely... sleeping, for the moment.


    "That aside, come have a seat." Victorina ushered him to the seat across from her. Frey took the stairs up the stage, walked up to the archway and sat opposite to Victorina.


    "So you can watch us without actually being there, eh? Why am I not surprised?" said Frey as he settled on the cold, white-coated metal chair.


    "Frey Alcott, is it?" Victorina flashed him a seducing smile. "I am a goddess. I can see what every Player is doing. Can see what every living thing on Eideleir, is doing."


    "Right." he looked around the chamber nervously, gathering his thoughts for a moment. He didn''t like the place, for some reason, and he was convinced it had to do with more than just petty dislike. It was more of an instinct, that if he stayed for too long in the Purgatory, something would happen to him, or to his soul. Maybe the air feeds on his energy, as his shoulders began to slouch, and as the silence went on between him and the goddess he felt his teeth and tongue loosen.


    "I was... I was attacked by a monster." he uttered, breaking the silence of the hall. He remembered what he went through in that back alley. How the thing laughed as it chased him to his death. No, it didn''t even need to chase him. It was just toying with him, made him think he could run.


    "Yes, a Goblin Hound, wasn''t it?" Victorina sipped on her tea cup. "You''ve done well killing something so ferocious. Did you know, that villages send out ten men just to hunt one?"


    "No, I''m not talking about that hound." he shook his head.


    "Eh?" mild surprise shone on Victorina''s golden eyes.


    "I was attacked by a monster. On Earth." Frey continued. "It looked like an octopus, but big, and it had a lot of eyes and it could mimic people''s voices. I know, I fell victim to it." his eyes were swimming around as he said this, looking at the ornate teapot on the table one second, noting the poppies and bougainvillea painted across its porcelain surface, before his attention slipped to the teacup Victorina was consoling the next moment. It was akin to getting drunk, not that he''d drank himself silly before, he just assumed that was how it felt. "I assumed you knew, because you were the one who brought us here."


    "No," she shrugged. "It is my first time hearing it."


    "But I thought you were a goddess?" he raised a brow, or thought he had, since his eyes were half-closing then and he was less aware of what was happening.


    "Aren''t you a rude little thing?" Victorina snorted. "I''m a goddess of Eideleir, not of Earth. Although it is theoretically possible for a monster to cross worlds, this is my first time hearing a case of an earthling getting attacked by one.


    "I mean, it''s one thing if a monster managed to cross worlds, but whether it can stay alive on Earth long--given that Earth is a magically-dry world--is another thing in of itself. Monsters, unlike beings with soul, need to suck up magic power constantly to maintain its form. I guess I don''t need to explain to you what happens when they don''t get enough magic to feed on?"


    "So, you''re saying," Frey shook his head awake. "the monster should''ve died of starvation before it could even attack someone?"Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "It shouldn''t have been able to even take form, in the first place. Or it could have, but it''d look more like a moving black sludge, than anything like a monster." she sighed. "But then again, we''re running on the assumption that it really WAS a monster."


    Frey tilted his head. "You mean it wasn''t?"


    "I''m not saying absolutely. I''m just stating the possibility that it might not have been a monster." Victorina''s expression changed from factual to one that hinted playfulness. "All these things aside, aren''t you playing my game right now? I love my players, but I see them as nothing more than pets. I believe you''re being... too hasty, with your advances towards me. I am a goddess, you''ll find me not so easy to court."


    "... Court?" his brain barely functioned.


    "Was that not your motive for visiting a woman so late at night, in the first place?"


    "I''m not here... for a night raid. I don''t even know, why I''m here. There''s so many things I don''t know." Victorina heaved a sigh of disappointment, her chest rising and falling as she breathed. In an effort to keep himself awake Frey''s gaze darted across the hall looking for something, anything, to focus on, not that he found himself momentarily focused on her chest, no. "Well, I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Frey Alcott," she put down her teacup on its saucer and rested it on the table. "but I''m afraid, Purgatory isn''t a friendly place for your physically-bound soul. Look, if you sleep here, you might never wake up again, you know?"


    "That, would probably be bad." he agreed. He rose from his seat with the grace of a drunkard. "I should go... I hate this place. Where''s the door?"


    "There''s no door here. Only me." Victorina ended their conversation with a mutter and a last seductive smile, then snapped her fingers.


    The corners of Frey''s vision wriggled. The space around him warped and skewed, Victorina''s face liquefying into a mix of colors of silver and peach and gold and he closed his eyes, let the transition between worlds, between dream and reality, pass him by.


    ---


    When he opened his eyes, he was laying alone in a small, dim-lit room. The dream had broken into incomprehensible fragments in his head. The ceiling was made of woven layers of dried grass, and the walls were made of thin wooden logs. There was no lighting except from the rays of golden sunlight peeking from the tiny spaces between the logs of the wall.


    He laid on a single sheet of cloth. Hardly comfortable, but it was enough. And no pillows. He was no longer in his shirt and pants. Instead, a loose white robe wrapped his body. What was this kind of robe called again? Kimono? His dirty shirt and slacks lay in a heap on one corner of the room.


    Rough bandages covered his arm from the elbow down. He could still feel it throb with pain, but he was safe from blood loss.


    He lifted his body up. With only his uninjured arm as support, he found it quite the struggle. His torso still ached all over, he wouldn''t be surprised if, under the robe, his body was peppered with bruises. The goblin hound wasn''t exactly light. Getting mounted by it was like getting run over by a scooter.


    He looked around the room, and couldn''t help but feel no one was living in it before him. Apart from the sheet of white cloth under him, nothing in the room suggested that someone used to live here, which made him wonder who could''ve helped him. Or what, and was he really helped.


    Just as he thought that, the sword mark on the back of his right hand, which existence he had completely forgotten until now, flashed bright. It lit bluish-green as though his skin was injected with neon lights, and it was bright enough to paint the wooden walls of the room with its intensity.


    He shuffled to his feet and readied his arm guard. He thought back to his fight with the goblin hound, the blade deployed right when he punched the monster.


    He look down at the arm guard, then at the flimsy door. He could feel it--footsteps, the breathing of the enemy. As if the mark on his right hand was feeding him information on the threat, whatever it was. He balled his right hand to a fist, and tore the air in front of him with a punch. Within the arm guard was a click, and out of it sprung a blade about one and a half feet long. Sleek and sharp, the silver blade had a double-edged body that tapered slightly until the tip. The blue gem of the arm guard glowed to life, eager for battle.


    His mark glowed brighter and brighter, as the detected enemy approached. It took leisurely steps, until it stopped in front of the door. Frey crept toward the door, careful not to make any sound when...


    "Oh good, you''re awake." the deep voice of a man--his enemy, rung from beyond the wooden door. "Hey can you uhh, open this door? My hands are full."


    "Who are you?" Frey shouted.


    "Me? Just an old man who found an injured boy deep in the forest sleeping with a goblin hound." the man said with not a hint of seriousness.


    Frey went still, then, torn between opening the door and not. The man outside protested.


    "Hey, you gonna open the door or what? Actually, this is my house, you know? I would hate to kick down my door."


    His mark only glowed brighter, as if telling him not to open the door. He grabbed the door''s steel ring. If the man really was an enemy, then he should''ve just left Frey to die in the forest. He relaxed from his stance. The blade withdrew. He pulled open the door and warm air and daylight poured into the room, and the man, carrying two large bags on both hands, passed by Frey as he entered.


    "Man, it''s a hundred degrees outside." the man said as he put down his bags on one corner of the room. He was tall and huge, head nearly touching the ceiling. Mid-40s, dark-skinned, wearing white kimono perfectly identical to the one he wore. A katana hung on his waist and, like Frey, the back of the man''s right hand glowed strong bluish-green.


    "You, you''re a Player." Frey uttered in disbelief.


    The man, without turning to face him, spoke.


    "So, what if I am?"


    "The game, is to eliminate other Players, isn''t it? Why didn''t you kill me?" Frey said.


    "Y''know, I really hate it when people talk about killing like it''s a damn sport." The man turned. His eyes were ice-blue sharp, betraying his laid-back facade. Frey was never an easy one to scare, but the glare of the man made his hair stand on ends.


    "And besides," the man continued, his expression slacking for a bit. "you don''t belong in my generation. What would I get by doing that?"

 005 - Veteran

    Airi Ohara peeked from behind the bushes. Her unfortunate target stood in the middle of the arbor, looking around nervously, scanning the foliage and tangled roots--searching for her.


    He was perhaps, in his late teenage years, but she could be wrong. He could''ve easily been twenty, or twenty-one, who knew? But, whatever his exact age was, Airi''s sure he wasn''t more than thirty, or even twenty-five. From her observation back in the Purgatory, all the players were young, more or less her age of 19. That couldn''t have been a coincidence--the entity that identified itself as Victorina, said so: they all died young. Not Airi, though--she didn''t die. At the very least, not in the usual sense of death.


    Her target wore white shirt under an expensive black coat, that had lost its charm due to the dirt smeared all over its silky surface. His brunet hair was combed up and gelled, with a menacing, condescending grin that completed his picture as a filthy rich bastard''s son. Vain, Airi mused, in every sense of the word. He won''t last long. The sword the boy held was 60 centimeters long--short for a broadsword, but was light enough for fast swings and parry. The mark on his right hand beamed strongly of sea green, as bright as her mark would''ve been if she hadn''t wrapped her right hand with a strip of black linen she tore from the hem of her skirt.


    "I know where you are, little prick." the Player muttered, cutting with a swing the hanging vines that got in his way. "I can feel you." he closed in, a smug smile plastered on his face. He flailed his sword as he walked, trimming shrubs on his way.


    "Idiot." Airi couldn''t help but murmur. She felt the ground for an arrow without taking her eyes off her target. She knocked the arrow on her bow, and she drew.


    Her bow was something she made out of a curved twig she chopped off a shrub, and a string she fashioned out of fibrous vines she found hanging down from an ancient tree. The bow was a bit too rigid, and the force needed to draw it was tremendous, but that''s to be expected: She was in a different world, and used materials she was not familiar of. She couldn''t hope to get the perfect quality in such a bare environment without the proper tools.


    He turned her way and smiled even wider, thinking he got her.


    "Come out, ''ya scared bastard. Or did your momma teach you to hide like a sewer rat?" the boy mocked.


    Airi''s aim was still trained on him. With a breath, her sleek fingers let go of the bowstring. The arrow flew forth with an inaudible whistle, bursting through leaves and grass that were her cover. It settled into the boy''s heart with pin-point accuracy. He fell to his knees, clutching the arrow on his chest.


    Airi walked up to the boy, who then laid on the ground, writhing in pain as blood came out of his mouth. His swimming eyes followed Airi, who pulled something out of her ankle-high rubber boots. A dagger, with a curved blade about six inches long. It had the color of obsidian, its black sheen a flash of the death that was about to come.


    "Y-you..." the boy hacked.


    "I''m sorry." Airi closed her eyes and bowed to him, before bringing down the dagger upon his stomach. The obsidian-black dagger lit, its cutting edge glowing purple, and she felt energy surge from the grip of the blade, through her veins: a warm, intoxicating juice that made her cognition faster, the world around her turn slower, ever so slightly. Power surged through her muscles, making her stronger, faster. At the other end of the dagger was the boy becoming paler, colder, withering into a ghost of his former youth and vitality.


    His breathing stilled. The light of both their marks faded. She pulled her booklet from the hidden pocket inside her skirt and opened it.


    Player 106


    Airi Ohara


    She turned to the next page, and it caught on fire just like the last one, writing in trails of carbon across the parchment:


    Player 86 - Eliminated


    She closed the booklet and knelt beside the boy, whose name she didn''t know. Whose name she didn''t have to know.


    The boy was stark-white, with not a hint of a rosy glow all new corpses had, for a brief moment after death. He was frail, a skeleton covered in thin, crumbling skin, and he looked as though he would disintegrate with a touch.


    She shook her head--she can''t afford to feel remorse. Not now, not ever. Remorse means death in this world, in this game.


    The game had just begun, and she claimed its first victim.


    Airi clutched her booklet and looked up at the blue sky beyond the tree leaves. It was no different from Earth''s morning sky. Earth. She have to go back. Soon.


    She opened her book on the second page, where Player 86''s elimination was reported, and traced the words with her fingers. The paper felt rough under her fingers, the text even rougher.


    158 Players to go.


    ---


    The small confines of the cabin was saturated with green, by the mark on Frey''s hand and the man''s. The light of their marks kept trying to outshine each other, so much that the sunlight from outside was lost as soon as it poured in through the open door.


    The two Players stood on opposite corners of the room, with Frey looking as confused as he was shocked.


    "Generation. What do you mean by that?" Frey closed the door behind him. The man turned his attention back to the two cloth bags he brought in. One bag, he assumed from the black apple-shaped fruits peeking out of it, were full of food. The other bag had swords, clothing and various tools mixed in. The man started by pulling out equipment out of the second bag, which were a pair of leather gloves and a roll of what seemed like cloth bandage.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "It''s exactly what it sounds like. Catch." The man tossed the gloves and the roll of bandage his way. Frey caught them with both hands.


    "What am I supposed to do with these?"


    "Wrap your right hand with the bandage then put the gloves on. Or would you rather have the back of your hand glow all day, like you''re some walking lantern?"


    He did as he was told. He wrapped his right hand in bandages. However, some of the green light still escaped from underneath the layers of cloth, albeit muted. He then slipped his hands into the leather gloves, which was a perfect fit for his bandaged hand, but a lousy fit to his other. It took care of his mark, but the man''s mark still burned with intense Turquoise light.


    "What about your mark?" Frey asked the man.


    "This?" the man caressed the back of his hand with his fingers. "This is actually called Victorina''s Symbol, or the Death Goddess'' Crest. We call it the Bitch''s Cross."


    "That''s misogynistic. I''ll stick to calling it a mark."


    "Anyway, I don''t have to cover my hand like you do. My Cross is a bit... special."


    The man smiled a devious smile, and it didn''t take a genius to know he deliberately kept Frey hanging. Within seconds, the light of the man''s mark began to weaken, until it went back to looking like a normal tattoo. Only then did Frey notice something different about the man''s mark. If Frey''s mark was a normal sword within two enclosing crescents, the man''s was an arrowhead inside a full circle.


    "Your mark is different." he concurred.


    "Mine''s an evolved one. At the start of the game all the players get the same mark as you, the standard Bitch''s Cross. But after three months, give or take, considering you have grown accustomed to fighting, you''ll start to notice change in the behavior of your Cross, or "mark", as you want to call it. My generation calls it Evolution, though, it''s not really the official term for it, I''d wager.


    "The end product of Evolution differs from each Player. You can say that each Player will have a unique mark, although there''s no hard evidence of that yet since I haven''t met enough Players to say for sure, and most I have met are already dead so there''s no asking them."


    "So," Frey eyed the man''s mark like it was a fascinating gem. "Your mark, what does it do?"


    "Mine''s called the Assassin Sigil. I can turn its light on and off with only a thought."


    "I can''t see how that''s useful... aside from the convenience of not having to wear gloves."


    "It''s well damn useful." the man retorted. "You don''t underestimate the Cross'' light, let alone the ability to switch it on and off." he sat on the floor, his back straight, feet folded beneath him. "Gonna sit?" he asked Frey.


    Frey sat on the wooden floor, not taking his eyes off the man. The planks creaked quietly as he crossed his legs to a clumsy Indian seat.


    The man breathed in, wiped the sweat off his forehead and temples, and he started. "A Cross is more than just a fancy proximity sensor. It''s hard to explain the theory in a few words, but think of it like a signal emitter, that is also a receiver, at the same time. When two players get within certain distance from each other, say, 30 meters apart as the crow flies, both their marks start to glow. Now this glow, isn''t just a candle saying, "Hey I''m here, come at me" no. You''ll see what I mean." the middle-aged Player caressed the black arrowhead at the back of his right hand, and it lit, slowly filling up with blue-emerald light. The rays started faint, growing brighter, denser, until he could see white glare streaking in between the green and azure beams.


    "Now, take off your gloves."


    Frey did, pulling the leather gloves off given to him by the man first. His hand was covered in bandages like a mummy, but there was a hint of green light coming from underneath the cloth. He was compelled to look at the faint trace of light, like gravity pulling his focus toward the mark on the back of his hand. The harder he stared at the diffused glow his mark was giving, the more he started to feel weird: he began feeling himself sitting, not in the way he sat with his legs crossed, but were instead folded beneath him. Another set of heartbeat overlapped with his, although much weaker, and he felt as though he was breathing for two people. The man smiled, and he felt his lips curve the same way, although he knew it wasn''t him who was smiling, but the man, the same way he felt the man''s walk earlier.


    "The light of your mark, when it registers to your eyes, transmits to you the faintest feeling of what the other Player is doing. Now, try putting the gloves back on."


    Frey slipped the glove back on. His senses went back to normal.


    "So, now that my hand is covered,"


    "Now that your hand is covered, it still glows, you can''t just see it. But, because you can''t see any light from it, the link is severed, you don''t gain information of the enemy. The principle is complicated, but, if your mark is covered considerably, it''s also unable to broadcast your feed to the enemy."


    Frey nodded, getting the gist of things. "Like a data exchange between two linked computers, only with lights as signals and eyes as receivers, right."


    "You''re a quick one to catch on, kid."


    "I''m already 20." Frey''s eyes narrowed into slits.


    "But," and his rebuttal was ignored. "You can still see the light of your enemy, assuming he''s not also covering his hand. You''ll know he''s a Player, but he won''t know you are."


    "Useful," concurred Frey.


    "Useful. This game isn''t played with just raw strength, you''ll see. This game will test everything you are, use every skill you have, exploit the most fundamental of weaknesses inside you. That Cross you have on your right hand, it''s just one of the tools you would need to survive this game." The man looked down, at the back of his own right hand. For a second Frey saw the shadow of a grimace on his face, that went as soon as it appeared.


    "You... know a lot about this game." he stared straight at the man''s eyes. He intrigued Frey. There were too many things Victorina didn''t tell them, things that this man knew, and was sharing with him so openly, and the reason bugged him. Was the man doing it out of good will? Or was it pity? What, if there was anything, was the man expecting he''d do in return for this gesture? He had to know. "Just how long have you been here, in this world, playing this game?"


    The man scratched his head, heaved an irritated sigh. "Brings us back to the original topic, eh? Well..." he paused, looking over at Frey, staring at his face as he looked for the right words. "Let''s just say that, I''m from another Game. The last Game. Yes, you kids aren''t the first ones to play it. This game has been going on for I don''t know, maybe millions of years now? It''s run by gods, see."


    "Gods..."


    "Yeah, like that bitch. She''s a goddess, y''know. The goddess of death around here, something like that. So, every twenty years--in this world, anyway--a new game is started. And I can see it doesn''t care whether the last game had ended or not, seeing you''re here. Where you from?"


    "UK."


    "A Brit, I see. The last Brit I saw wanted to flay me alive--it was fifteen years ago, if memory serves me right. Call me Shin, from the Land of the Rising Sun."


    Frey looked up the ceiling, digging his brain for a country with that title, when Shin interrupted him, "It''s Japan."


    "Ah." Frey knew that. He had simply... forgotten, as temporarily he had forgotten everything earthly.


    "So, you were asking how long I''ve been playing this game? I''d say twenty years is about right." Shin said, with ironic nonchalance.


    "That long?" he asked, and he wondered if he''d be trapped in this world as long as the man in front of him had been.


    "Our game has... stagnated, I should say. There''s only four of us left but, damn, what a pain the others are. One had become a king of a giant empire, the other a leader of some cult and the last, well, became a blacksmith. They''ve really settled here. Enough about that--how about I train you?"


    "... Train me?" Frey asked, confused.


    "Yeah. I''ve seen kids like you. The lanky, pathetic type who had never played outdoors. This world gobbled them up for breakfast and pretty soon, too."


    Frey wanted to hit the man, although he wasn''t exactly wrong--he was pathetic. He fell for a nasty trap trying to be a hero and he ended up dying because he couldn''t run fast enough. And, even though he knew no human was fast enough to outrun such monster, the fact that he couldn''t do anything about it still infuriated him.


    "How are you going to train me?" asked Frey, one brow raised.


    The man snickered, showing a toothed grin. "I''ll teach you the sacred art of keeping your head intact."


    "That''s handy." he replied.


    "And also how the game works. That lesson about the Cross was the free trial."


    Frey took in air, and exhaled--a sigh with only nose involved. "What''s the catch?" he asked, and it was not his first time asking the question. His father--although the man that had produced him could barely be called such, absent as he was in Frey''s life--thought him one important thing, if not much else, and it was that there''s no such thing as free lunch. Any man, woman, or otherwise, living in a world of loan sharks and bankruptcy and corporations, and whose only real currency is their time, would give none of it willingly without expecting equal or greater return, consciously or by instinct. Whether it was for bought affection, or bought happiness, or boot-lick approval, people would expect something, anything, than none.


    The man''s grin grew wider, more menacing. A living testament to his father''s lesson. "Hmmmm. There are actually two things I want from you." Shin said, playing with his stubble. "One, is you have to win your game."


    Easier said than done, Frey thought as he studied Shin''s face. Shin looked like a goofy, conniving uncle with his smile, and Frey thought he was joking, but he wasn''t.


    Frey gulped. "And the other?"


    "The second... Why don''t we talk about that over lunch?"

 006 - Mentor

    Frey spent the better part of the morning following Shin, much like a tourist following a tour guide, minus the trivia. Personally, he felt like a bull getting led around by the nose. Outside the cabin was a clearing matted by thick green grassblades, bound by the treeline on all sides. Past the treeline, into the woods, west from the cottage, perhaps a hundred meters walk, was a babbling brook. It stretched toward a deeper part of the forest, and he remembered how the forest almost took his life, in the form of a not-so-friendly reptilian-canine hybrid with larger-than-life claws and more-painful-than-death fangs.


    The narrow brook had glass-clear water, foaming white against the rock heads jutting from its volatile, noisy surface. Shin said they were grabbing lunch, but he didn''t say anything about getting wet. Frey peered beneath the water''s clean surface and saw a family of silver-scaled fishes a bit larger than the palm and only swam close together. The fishes were burying their faces into the gravel below, working up dusts of gray and dirty brown, and he thought, this time clearer, "lunch".


    Shin carried a wooden pole as tall as Frey, sharpened brutally at the end. "Now, you think you''re not hungry, but," Shin walked up to the brook edge. "believe me, once you''re used to that body, you''re gonna be. In a week or so, you''ll feel like a human again, in your perfectly normal human body."


    "I don''t think so." Frey said, almost a snort.


    "Physically, anyway. I know mentally, you''ll never be the same." Shin lifted his spear--which looked more like a sharpened staff--and pierced the flowing water. "With that said, food, you''re gonna need it everyday." he had impaled a silver-scale fish square in the middle of the body. "Or every other day, if your body is efficient in burning energy."


    "Is this part of your training already?" Frey was inclined to ask.


    "Yes?" Thrust. Another fish was caught, a bit larger than the first. It flailed its fins and tail, in a futile attempt to slide free off the pike.


    "I thought you said we were going to discuss it at lunch. I haven''t yet agreed, and you haven''t yet told me what your second condition was."


    Shin glanced at him--a confused, unamused glance, the "what''s your point?" kind of glance. "You ought to chill my boy. I''m not conning you into working for me or something. And, this is a very important fact: my second wish isn''t even close to being as hard as my first."


    While the man was talking he had already caught four fishes, all plump and all shiny, scales glittering like beads of paste under the sun, a little like fishes decorated fully by Swarovski crystals.


    "I''d prefer you just say it now, so I can think clearly." Frey said.


    "Impatient, as all youth are. I''ve been impatient once, so I understand." Shin speared another fish, and another, pushing the fishes farther into the pole to make room for more fish. He looked at Frey, and smiled. "I hope you were watching how I caught fishes. I would''ve taught you hands-on how it''s done, but your arm is not yet up for strenuous exercises, so maybe later this week. Back to the topic, I''ll tell you what I want.


    "After you''ve won, I want you to find my daughter. On Earth. You don''t have to greet my family, just my daughter. I want you to tell her I loved her, and that I was alive, not on Earth but alive, and thought of her dearly everyday. I''m not sure how time works between here and there, but I''d assume she''s still in her teenage years. And she''d be the color of pure white snow, and she''d be beautiful, I hope anyway, that she looks like her mother. Her name would be Aoi, as her mother promised me she would name her." Thrust, another fish skewered at the midsection.


    "I want you to do that, and in exchange I''ll teach you how to live, if only for a month, but I''ll make sure I''ll have taught you all you need to know about the game by then." Shin pushed in two more fishes before calling it a day, totalling to eight Silver-scales. He smiled at Frey, annoying, but somewhat pained, and Frey had trouble answering. "Well? What do you say?"


    "I don''t have a choice, do I?"


    "There''s always another choice," Shin said, ripping off what must have been a cliche line from a popular movie. "In this case, it''s going off on your own and figuring stuff on your own."If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "That doesn''t sound as good an offer." Frey agreed, almost reluctantly.


    They walked back to the clearing, a patch of yellowing grass vast as a basketball court, only that it had an unidentified shape, resembling a rough circle. On their way home Shin had picked snapped-off branches sticking out the mud and managed to collect a dozen of them, fit for a fire. He set up the twigs by the cottage, in crossing piles, and started a fire by rubbing two of them expertly.


    The spear became the rod of a spit, with the fishes skewered into its pole. Shin roasted the fishes, rolling the spear over the fire, until the scales became equally healthy brown on all sides, and let it cool off. As they waited for the food to be edible-warm, Frey had declared his stand.


    "I," he stared at his feet, awkwardly. "I''d never been much of a fighter. As a child I didn''t go out much to play hopscotch with the neighbor kids, and my P.E. teacher always threw a fit because of how I ran behind everyone else. I never fought for my life, before I came here." he almost chuckled, remembering the eldritch abomination that had killed him. He guessed that one didn''t count as "fighting" for his life but rather "running" for it, and it didn''t end well.


    "I guess, I did well in class. When I graduated, immediately I was offered an okay-paying job, working as a librarian-slash-curator of a private library, and I was getting engaged, to a wonderful woman, before I died."


    "Well," Shin pondered, in an objective way, "Do you want to return to that life?"


    "I do." Frey said, without hesitation. His brain was hard-wired for a life in a modern world, where the worst that could happen were traffic jams, or thesis deadlines, or peer pressure--none of the monster he had seen on his last day alive, nor the monstrous Hound that tried to chew his head with its kukri-like fangs.


    "Then, are you prepared to kill others to have that life back? Prepared to deprive them of their chance to live again, for that life?" it was a question he had no fast answer.


    Frey asked himself, was he? Was he prepared? Was his old life more important than others''? And then, as if a reminder of what he had lost, Elise popped in his head, wearing a black dress and had black veil covering the left side of her face. She was alone in a wake, his wake, weeping and sobbing on a white casket that housed his dead body, embalmed and smelling of moth balls and formaldehyde. For a moment he was sadder than he ever was sad for himself, and he opened and closed his mouth, before nodding, hesitantly.


    "That''s all I needed." Shin, still holding the spear that was at the same time a giant fish skewer, clapped him on the shoulder. "We eat, we let your body heal for a couple more days, and we''ll start."


    The two sat on the grass, the fire crackling between them. Frey ate fish the way Shin expected him to: with bare hands. In one hand he held the smoked head between thumb and finger, and in the other he had the tail. He was munching on grilled fish flesh as he would a corn, occasionally having to spit out sharp bones that stuck between his teeth. The meat tasted of, well, fish, the cream dory type of taste, that, when cooked well, melted in the mouth like good tofu.


    He''d already forgotten the last time he ate, much like how his life on Earth, which had ended a mere day ago, was already a memory of a distant past. But, he did not forget Elise. Could still see her, like he always had, in the back of his head, and when something troubled him he''d see her, smiling, and he''d smile thinking "this will be over". Not this time, though.


    Frey was not convinced this game will be over, anytime soon.


    "Let me with your arm." Shin said, cleaning his fourth fishbone.


    Frey was still halfway through his second fish. He extended his left hand, bandaged white from wrist to elbow, with dull blotches of brown-dried blood beneath the rough folds.


    "Not that." the old man shook his head. "The other one."


    The sun above was a glaring jewel, riding hinged to an invisible path that bisected the sky. The sunlight it threw reflected off Frey''s silver arm guard, giving it a painful glimmer that stabbed the eyes of the beholder. He held it up for Shin to look at.


    Shin crawled up to him and took a closer look at the arm guard (was it really called an arm guard?).


    "What''s wrong?" asked Frey, mouth full of fish and prickling, hair-thin bones.


    The old man scrutinized the weapon as a coin collector would an authentic 16th century coin. He didn''t miss an angle. Finally, Shin said, "Nothing. Can you remove it?"


    "Tried and failed." Frey swallowed, picking out the bones with his tongue, while letting the soft meat into his throat. "I think it''s bonded with my skin. I don''t know. Why?"


    "You used that to kill the goblin hound, eh? Did it speak to you?"


    Frey looked at Shin, puzzled, whether he was asking about the hound or his weapon. Realizing he was asking about the weapon, Frey shook his head. "No. I haven''t fallen that far into psychosis."


    "There are weapons that talk, though. The strongest kind of weapons, Artifacts. They bond with the owner, the same way yours had, and more often than not the owner and the Artifact would be in some sort of mutualistic relationship. The Artifact feeds on the owner''s energy bit by bit, so that when it''s used, it dishes out its own energy. They''re like magic weapons, but with separate battery. If it talks, you''ll know it''s an Artifact."


    Frey wasn''t sure if the man was babbling on himself, or he was expecting Frey to make sense of everything he said, but one thing he knew for certain was that weapons don''t talk.


    Shin was silent, for a moment, deep in thought, sight alternating from the arm guard that clung to Frey''s arm, and then at the sky above, and back to the fire in front of him.


    "Um. Shin?" Frey called.


    "About the goblin hound." Shin said, snapping out of his head. "Good job killing it. You were either dumb, or smart, or stupidly brave, to fight and defeat a monster that would''ve killed a dozen men in a tussle."


    "Thanks." said Frey, meaning it. "I couldn''t have survived though, if you hadn''t found me. I guess I owe you one."


    Shin laughed, heartily, like an uncle in a fairytale, because Frey had known no uncle who smiled and laughed like uncles did in heartwarming fantasy stories. "I don''t know about owing me." Shin scratched his graying stubble. "I was kinda tracking the beast for days. Color me surprised when I saw it dead beside an unsufferable-looking brat."


    "Well I''m sorry I stole your game."


    "No, it''s fine. You actually helped me cut it down. I only needed its eyes anyway--good magical items, would fetch quite the ruby at an alchemist."


    "So you sold it?"


    "The skin and eyes." replied Shin. "I didn''t spend it all on myself, mind you. You were the one who killed it, so the money I got from it I used to buy materials for your training, and your food."


    Frey just nodded. He wasn''t really concerned at all about the proceeds. He hadn''t even thought of hunting the hound for money; he just wanted to live. Although, knowing he was dead already, gave the sentiment an almost metaphorical quality to it.

 007 - Struggle

    A massive beast towered before Moreen Dell. It had three yellow eyes forming a triangle on its wide forehead. Red-skinned, biceps bulging with muscles, the Hill Giant laughed at how tiny Moreen was. A booming, derisive laugh that echoed throughout the grass clearing, carried by the whistling wind blowing from east to west. Rays of the mild sun hit the back of the giant, casting upon Moreen an enormous shadow the deformed image of his colossal opponent.


    Moreen''s only weapon was the double-bladed axe he held with both hands. The edges of its crescent blades were fine and sharp. At the summit of its metal pole was a spherical ruby gleaming with bloodthirsty sheen. Earlier he had hunted small animals with it, with the largest being a ram-sized beast with six feet and a snake tail. He was dubious as to whether his weapon was effective against something as thick-skinned as a four-man-tall giant.


    The giant growled. It brought its fist down on moreen, tailed with the shrill sound of air being cut. Moreen jumped back, barely escaping being pummeled to death. The soil trembled as if the giant''s fist was a boulder that fell from the sky.


    He had to run.


    Moreen kicked the ground and ran as hard as he had ever ran. Just when he thought he was getting away, he looked back only to see the giant''s stride diminish the distance between them in a second--a distance he accomplished in more than three seconds. He admitted he wasn''t the athletic type of person, and his running speed had always been ridiculed by his peers back in middle-school, but seeing the giant shrink his gain in just a stride brought his self-esteem to its all-time low. He should''ve gone out a bit more, instead of holing up in his room, playing video games 24/7.


    The giant launched a downward jab to the direction he was going to run to. This time, his momentum did not allow for him to dodge. The red fist of the giant was fast approaching, and in a last ditch effort to save himself, he swung his axe toward the giant''s fist just before it slammed against him.


    The giant''s fist and Moreen''s body recoiled from the impact, although he was worse off than the giant. He flew four, five meters away from the impact, a few of his bones cracking as his body rolled across the dirt, mowing grass in his wake. His vision shook, his consciousness groggy. His axe lay a good three feet ahead his sprawling body, half its blade buried into the soil. He wanted to crawl but his hands numb from the impact didn''t have the strength to carry his body.


    The giant roared. It cried as it picked up three fingers severed from its right hand.


    "So it works, huh?" he looked at his axe that stood out from the ground. Its edge was bathed red with blood, which seemed to flow from the blade, to the pole, then sucked into the ball of ruby embedded into its pole. The ruby glowed blood red, and soon the edges of the blade lit with the same atrocious color.


    The enraged giant caught sight of Moreen. It bellowed, slamming the ground with its left, undamaged fist. The sword tattoo on Moreen''s right hand glowed faint, growing brighter each second, but he didn''t notice. His eyes were on the giant, who shook the ground with each furious step it took toward him. He was going to die. His body won''t move. His axe glowed red with power, but he didn''t have the slightest capability to walk up to it. The giant once again casted shadow on him, as it towered before his lying body.


    The giant was not exactly pleased his fingers were cut. The giant''s nostrils flared with untold rage, and red veins have webbed into its three yellow eyes. He was going to die, for sure, Moreen thought.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    He had seen his fate reflecting off the giant''s bloodshot eyes.


    Projectiles flew from the corner of Moreen''s vision. Three ice shards, each a meter long and emitted white vapor, shot through the air and dug into the giant''s bulging biceps. The giant looked down at his arm, then back to Moreen, rage all but lost in the confusion. The ice shards emitted audible cracking sounds, and in a blast of vapor exploded into a rain of smaller shards, and ice crept on the skin of its arm, slowly covering, encasing it in crystal.


    The giant pounded with his left hand the ice clinging to his right arm, in an attempt to break his arm free of the frost. The ice did break under the giant''s brute force, but with the shattering of the ice came the shattering of his entire arm, severed from the shoulder down and broken to pieces with ice still clinging on its shattered remains. The giant roared in pain louder than before, almost destroying Moreen''s eardrum with pressure.


    Moreen''s breath caught in his throat, as he watched the monster he found impossible to defeat just lose a whole arm in one attack.


    Attack from whom?


    "Are you okay?" a woman''s lovely voice reached his ear. He turned to the direction of the voice and found a girl running up to him. She had straight and long black hair, a contrast to the white coat she wore that billowed outward from the wind. On her left hand she wielded a rapier. Her right hand glowed bluish-green. A Player. An enemy. But, instead of feeling dread and danger he felt hope swell up from within his heart at the sight of something other than monsters and trees. While the giant mourned for the loss of its arm, the girl helped him up.


    "Can you stand?" the girl asked sweetly. She slid her silver rapier into the sheath hanging from her waist and draped Moreen''s left arm over her shoulder and carried him away from the giant.


    She was beautiful, Moreen thought. Her skin was porcelain white, her eyes a swirl of amber and gray. And she smelled nice too, with a floral scent he haven''t smelled before on Earth. Unlike him, who had been stuck roaming the forest the whole two weeks he''d been in this world. He was not in a shape to feel self-conscious, but he felt it anyway. With such a beautiful girl around, who wouldn''t be?


    "Wait," The girl looked back. When she saw the giant slowly come to sense, she unsheathed her blade and brought him down gently to the ground in a sit. "stay here, okay? I''ll be back."


    "Uhmm... Yeah." Moreen nodded.


    The girl smiled. Moreen melted into a speechless lump of goo. The beautiful girl charged the beast head-on, her long black hair flowing with the wind as she ran.


    She thrust her right hand forward. She opened her hand and two ice shards flew out of her white palm. One ice shard hit the giant''s chest, freezing the entirety of its massive torso. The other shard pierced its only arm left, which turned into a block of ice. The giant couldn''t bare the weight of its arm and fell to its knees. The girl used the monster''s frozen arm as a staircase to its body, though Moreen didn''t know how the girl didn''t slip off the ice. With her rapier gleaming from the sunlight, she thrust her blade into the giant''s frozen skin. To Moreen''s surprise, the rapier did not break the ice. Instead, it phased through the ice''s crystalline surface, as if it was a ghost. The giant couldn''t even spit out a last cry, and just fell to the ground with a shockwave of dust and grass, its three yellow eyes still open.


    Atop the fallen behemoth stood the mysterious girl, her coat and hair swaying with the wind, right hand glowing green as bright as his was. When the game started, when he saw in his booklet the first death, he thought for sure all Players were at each other''s throat. Now, as he watched the girl jumping off the giant''s carcass he realized one thing.


    Not all Players are killers. At the very least, one of them isn''t. Two, if he counted himself.


    The girl ran toward him with the light strides of someone in a good mood. Both the girl''s and his mark glowed more intense as they got closer to each other.


    "That was amazing." Moreen stretched an awkward smile. The girl smiled at her in return.


    "Isn''t it? I only learned that two days ago."


    Moreen''s black eyes widened. "How?!" he asked. Two weeks into the game and all he learned was how to skin weird animals and cook their meat. And while he was playing forest chef, this girl was training to be a badass, cool and beautiful giant-slaying battle-mage straight out of an RPG game.


    "How? Don''t you have one? It''s a Crest..." the girl fished for something on the flip side of her coat. It was the green booklet he also happened to have. "Look." she opened the book, turned a few pages, and showed him a page with the words "God Crest" written on top.


    Below the page title was a sketch of a weapon. It looked like a scepter with its pole roughly sculpted from ice, with ice shards floating beside it, and was encircled by two long dragons chasing each other''s tail.


    Under the sketch was a name and a description.


    Poeia


    Crest of the envious god imprisoned in eternal cold.

 008 - Contract

    It''s been two weeks since Frey started training under Shin on how not to die. So far, he had taught Frey little about anything aside Japanese Sword Art.


    Everyday, Shin would wake him up before the sun even rose. After a quick breakfast of Corberries--black, apple-sized fruits that tasted like bitter seaweed, Shin would make him spend his morning doing five-hundred basic swings with a real Japanese sword, which was something Shin requested from an old smith friend.


    Frey thought that five-hundred repetitive swings a day was a walk in the park, but that turned out to be nothing but a foolish assumption. The katana wasn''t exactly light, despite having a thin blade and an overall sleek design, and five-hundred was a really big number. The first three days were hell for his biceps, but after two weeks of basic swings, he''d gotten comfortable with the weight of the sword, and could already swing it fast enough to actually hit something. Still not fast enough to land a hit on Shin, though.


    After the practice swings in the morning came deflecting techniques. Shin happened to tell him during one of their training sessions that Shin''s family owned a dojo on Earth which pretty much explained Shin''s skill in both the sword and the art of using it.


    Frey learned a lot from him, like the fact that practitioners of the Japanese sword don''t use shield. They fend off attacks with their sword, but not quite in the same way the shield does. Instead of pushing against the enemy''s attack with equal strength, a practitioner must learn to deflect blows by letting them slide across the blade and shift the weight of the blow away from the practitioner using minimal force. Clashing swords with the enemy by using brute strength will chip the blade of the katana, and that was one lesson Frey hoped to never learn the hard way. Shin loved his swords, after all, took pains to clean it every night with cloth. Who knew what he would do to Frey if he so much as dented one.


    In the afternoon came the attacking techniques. Again the training was done solely by using a katana. For some reason, Frey got the feeling Shin didn''t want him to rely on his arm-blade, and although he asked Shin why, the man dodged the question. It may simply be that Shin only knew how to use katana. Whatever the case was, Frey never bothered to ask him again. It didn''t matter much, after all, he can just swing his arm-blade anytime, no training needed.


    The attack techniques of the Japanese sword relied on swift attacks and the sheer sharpness of the blade, to deliver deadly blows with just the right amount of power. The katana''s curved blade was ergonomically-designed to reduce the air resistance met by the blade during a swing, or so Shin said, allowing for faster attacks for less effort.


    Shin taught him moves and styles that had long, weird Japanese names that translate to animals like cranes and snakes and dragons, and plants like grass and cherry blossoms. Frey aced the moves, for the most part, but the names were impossible to retain.


    After the sun had set and Frey had learned the particular technique Shin taught him for the day, Shin would pack up the physical training and they would set a little campfire just outside the cottage and eat dinner. Dinner would always be an animal Shin hunted from the nearby forest, or fish he''d caught from the nearby pond, skewered with a stick and roasted above the campfire.


    Today Shin caught fish that had the mouth of a squid. While they both waited for their food to cook as they held it over the fire, Frey saw this as a perfect chance to ask what had been bothering him for the past few days.


    He made sure Shin heard him clear his throat. "Hey Shin."


    "What?" Shin answered. Both of them sat on two logs facing the fire.


    "I know you''re teaching me how to fight, but I just have to ask. Why the katana?


    "I mean, before we started with training, I thought you''d teach me a little bit of everything, like hand-to-hand combat, how to use my Player Weapon, kinds of monsters I should avoid, basically stuff about this world and the game I''m better off knowing."


    Silence hung between them, only disturbed by the crackle of wood burning under the heat of fire. Finally, Shin burst into laughter as if Frey had cracked a joke.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "So that''s how you feel, eh?" Shin wiped the corner of his eyes with his finger.


    "Yeah and I didn''t remember joking." Frey narrowed his green eyes at the man, like he was looking at an idiot.


    "Sorry, sorry. Tell me, how do you think I''ve survived the game this long?" Shin''s sapphire gaze pressed him for answer.


    "You''re pretty strong. You''ve been training all your life in your family''s dojo, right?"


    "Wrong, but that''s a part." he turned his fish by the stick for the other side to get cooked. "In my opinion, I only managed to stay alive this long because I had discipline. And, to tell you the truth, I''m not teaching you the sword as much as I''m teaching you discipline."


    "Huh?"


    "There''s a reason for everything I''m teaching you. Those swings you do every morning? You may see it as just physical training, but more than that, you learn patience. Learning how to deflect an attack is not just learning how to not get hurt: It''s learning that raw strength is no match for true skill, that raw strength alone gets you nowhere.


    "Last, the strokes of the blade teach you that there must be reason within your every attack. Each technique exists for different purposes. You can''t just flail your sword around mindlessly, hoping you''d eventually hit your enemy. No. Whether it''s to incapacitate, hurt, or kill, your attack must have a purpose, just like every living thing has the reason for existing.


    "Those three lessons are anchored to discipline. If you''re not disciplined enough to keep on training, forget winning the game."


    Frey fell silent at Shin''s profound reasoning. Clearly, he hadn''t thought of his training as something so philosophical, so... meaningful. He only thought of it as learning how to swing a sword but in many fancy ways.


    He pondered about Shin''s words the whole time he was eating, thinking how he''d taken his training for granted. He was too deep in thought, that he didn''t notice Shin going back inside the cottage. Frey only noticed he was ever gone when Shin returned to the campfire, a familiar object in hand. Shin sat beside him and held Frey''s booklet.


    "This," Shin said. "Do you know what this is?"


    "My book?" Frey tilted his head.


    "No. This is you, as a Player." Shin''s eyes betrayed no softness. Cold as a glacier, the blue of his irises were. "You asked me to teach you the game, didn''t you? Well, you got it."


    Frey nodded. It was high time he learned how to play.


    "Again. This thing, stop thinking it''s your book. It''s you. It''s Frey Alcott in this world. This book will contain anything and everything about you, as a Player. All your weaknesses and strengths. Information about your weapon, your magic, your name, your Player number, along with a list of Players who have been eliminated. Well, it''d be pretty bare right now since the game starts slow. At least that''s how it was during our game. This is a tool to track your progress and the progress of the game, but most importantly, to see yourself. And believe me, it''s useful, but only for as long as you have it.


    "Lose it, and you''re dead. At best, you''ve lost your only way to know changes within you. The book doesn''t stop writing itself, no matter how far the owner is. It will write everything about you, even if you''re a million miles away from it. You also lose track of how many of your enemies are still kicking. Worse, a Broker gets ahold of it, assholes who''d sell your book to other Players. By the way, Brokers are also tools you can use to your advantage. After all, there are no rules to this game, you can play it however dirty you want."


    "Right." Frey rolled his eyes.


    "Your worst case scenario is if another Player gets your book. You''re in deep shit, no question."


    Kinda figured that out, Frey thought.


    "However, there''s a certain way to avoid that."


    "Which is?"


    Shin hung the booklet over the fire. "Burning it."


    Frey understood quickly what Shin was suggesting.


    "Now the choice is yours kid. Keep it and run the risk of it getting stolen or burn it now and be done with it."


    "No." Frey shook his head.


    "Why not?"


    "I''m not stupid enough to get robbed."


    "Correct answer." Shin put it away from the flames and handed it to Frey.


    "No really, that was a trick question, wasn''t it?" Frey took the booklet from Shin.


    There was actually no upside to burning the book, unless he was careless enough to accidentally lose it. Otherwise, he''d have to be dead before someone else got ahold of his booklet, which will render the booklet useless. Besides, when two Players meet, chances are they will try to kill each other, not get their enemy''s book. The game was to kill, after all, not build a collection. Shin was testing his confidence and how serious he was about playing this game. Well, if Shin only knew how far he''ll go just to win.


    Shin slammed his back and grinned. "I like you, kid. If and when you find my daughter back on Earth, you''ll have my full permission to marry her."


    "I have a girlfriend. Her name''s Elise." Somehow, the warmth of the campfire stopped reaching Frey. Everything suddenly got cold, the freezing night wind seeming more real than before.


    "Oh no... Now you have zero motivation to find my daughter. That''s so sad."


    "I will still find her, your daughter." Frey looked straight into Shin''s cold blue eyes. "That''s our deal, after all."

 009 - Artifact

    "I like you. I honestly like you." Elizabeth Everwood''s words were foreign language to his ears. Frey understood none of it. Or maybe, his head had simply stopped working altogether.


    He only came all the way up to the school rooftop because Perry told him there was a surprise waiting for him up here. Should''ve known that idiot''s grin spelled nothing but trouble for him. The guy wasn''t exactly lying, but this was a worse surprise than what Frey could ever have thought of on his own.


    Alone on the rooftop the two of them were. Elizabeth stood three meters ahead, and she''d been sightseeing, leaning against the railing, before she sensed Frey. She began marching closer to him, with large strides of confidence.


    "Hey Elizabeth," Frey cleared his throat. Elise kept pushing forward. "aren''t you mistaking me for someone else? I only came here because my friend told me to--"


    "--Shut up." she cut him off. Elizabeth was finally in front of him, her face inches close to him.


    The sky was deep orange laced with purple strips of cloud. The sun, well setting to the west, painted the whole scene with a scarlet glow.


    Sunlight complemented Elizabeth''s face like a charm, and suddenly Frey was aware of how long her lashes were, colored chestnut like her wavy short hair. How her blue eyes glowed. How soft her pink lips looked. Frey never found Elizabeth so beautiful before. Sure, she was beautiful, treated the Campus Queen by everyone in the school, but he couldn''t care less about her. Until now.


    Even when they go to the same book club every Thursday, Frey always had his head buried in his book, that the most he''d seen of her was around the corner of his vision.


    "Elizabeth?" Frey turned away, cheeks burning, palms cold. Her face was close. Too close. Safe to say, it was the closest they''ve ever been to each other, physically.


    "A lot of boys had asked me out," Elizabeth started. "but none of them interested me more than you. You never tried to talk to me, never tried to impress me, and to be honest, I took it as an insult. Who does this guy think he is, ignoring me?"


    "I didn''t mean to ignore you."


    He was ignored.


    "I sneaked glances at you when you weren''t looking, and I always tried to make you look my way, even hiding your books so that you''d ask me if I knew where they were. I didn''t notice it, but I began looking forward to attending book club every week."


    "Uh... So you hid my books?" Frey asked.


    "Yes. It was your fault anyway, you were such a snob. You got a problem with that?" Elizabeth raised a brow.


    "N-no." he had a lot of problems with it.


    Frey didn''t know Elizabeth Everwood was so... irrational. He was reminded again why he didn''t talk to people, especially to women.


    "So if you don''t have a problem, that means we''re dating now, yes?"


    "Yeah we''re--wait what? No. Absolutely no. Aren''t we taking this a little too fast?"


    Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "So you''re saying you don''t want to be in a relationship with me?"


    "No I don''t mean... I mean I don''t mind, but don''t you think we should get to know each other better first? Look, I don''t even know a thing about you."


    "You''re right. We should get to know each other." Elizabeth held his cheeks. She pulled him in for a kiss. Frey closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of the moment. What was just three seconds of touch of their lips felt eternal to him. An eternity that ended too soon. He opened his eyes.


    Elizabeth... Elise, was no longer the one in front of him.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    It was a woman with golden eyes, seductive red lips, wearing a black gown laced with red.


    "Frey Alcott." Victorina smiled. Paralysis shot through his body.


    "No..." He couldn''t take a step back. He couldn''t do anything. Victorina locked lips with him, but it was cold, poisonous. He felt as though she was sapping the strength out of him. He didn''t close his eyes. Who knew what would happen if he did.


    Over the rooftop''s metal railing a fray of black tentacles appeared. They coiled around the railing, as bright blue light slowly rose up. Victorina still held him in a kiss. He could hear the slurch as the thing that killed him dragged itself over the railing and onto the rooftop, its dozen eyes glowing fatal blue.


    Frey''s eyes shot open. Above him was the cottage''s ceiling made of weaved grass.


    "Elise..." he murmured, still laying in bed. His heart pounded on his chest. Beads of sweat peppered his face.


    It''s been a month since the game had started. A total of four Players had been eliminated since then.


    It was the end of his training. He dragged himself up and wiped his body with cloth, before going out.


    He walked up to Shin, who sat on the grass outside the cottage in deep meditation.


    "Shin." he called out from behind.


    "Yo." the man said without turning to face him. "It''s your graduation day. You ready?" The wind blew, cold and gentle, ruffling the grass and soothing their kimonos.


    "Hell yes." he said. He meant it.


    "Then you best pack your things up and get suited. But, before that," the man stood up with a grunt. "follow me."


    They both walked to the back of the small cottage. Frey didn''t know why. Shin unstrapped the sheathed katana from his waist. Frey never saw Shin use the sword, but he knew it was his Player Weapon.


    "Hey, kid. Remember what I told you about Artifacts?" Shin asked.


    "That they''re the strongest weapons that grow stronger with use?"


    "Right. Actually, there''s one thing about them that I forgot to tell you."


    "What is it?"


    "Well Artifacts grow with time and use, but they have a side effect to the owner."


    "Which is?" He was growing suspicious. Why did Shin choose to tell him now, of all the times, and not sooner?


    "Artifacts, they bind with their wielder, one way or another. It''s some sort of a mutualistic relationship between owner and tool.


    "I''m gonna go straight to the point, Frey. The reason why I never taught you how to use your Player Weapon, is because your armblade is an Artifact. And it''s not a good one."


    "What... do you mean?"


    "I''ve seen your weapon--fought against it, even, twenty years ago."


    Frey''s face contorted in bewilderment. "You mean, a Player of your generation had the same Player Weapon?"


    But how can that be? He thought each Player was given their own unique weapon suited to their fighting tendencies. Was that not how it worked?


    "I don''t know. It''s been a long time ago and honestly, I wasn''t sure it really was the same weapon, until yesterday Mori confirmed it."


    "Who''s Mori? Your smith friend?"


    Shin tapped on the hilt of his katana. "This, this is Mori."


    He grabbed the sword''s handle and pulled it from its scabbard with a flash. Gleaming acidic green was Shin''s mysterious blade drawn for the first time in front of Frey. It was a thin Japanese sword that, instead of having a black and silver blade, was colored jade all over, with a toxic, green luster. On the blade collar just before the guard, a pupil-less yellow eye was affixed.


    The eye shifted, staring at Frey with its jade-colored iris. It blinked a few times, before turning away.


    Frey had pretty much lost it at this point. In this world, books write themselves. He thought he had understood that this world was magical, and therefore he shouldn''t expect anything "normal" to come out of it, but still a sword with an eye? Is it gonna talk next?


    "I do not like the stare your student is giving me, human. He''s perfectly like you when we first met: Rude." The sword told Shin.


    Okay it talked. Without having a mouth.


    "Now, now." Shin stroked the blade softly with his hand as if caressing it. "He''s a good kid."


    "Stop whatever you are doing right now, or I will be forced to kill you." Shin stopped soothing the blade.


    "Anyway, Mori here is my buddy, as you can see. He doesn''t like people except me so--"


    "--I don''t like you as well, human." the sword cut him off.


    "Savage." Frey tried not to giggle.


    "Harsh." Shin forced a dry laugh. "Mori here has better memory than I have. He was the weapon I was using when I had an encounter with the owner of your armblade. Isn''t that right, Mori?"


    "It is. It''s the same weapon." Mori confirmed. "Though I do not know how that can be; I was the one to destroy that weapon. I''ve cut it to a million pieces, after its Player had died."


    "You see, when a Player dies, his Player Weapon becomes the property of the Player who killed him. I have killed thirteen Players. Twelve of their weapons I buried. They''re thirteen feet underneath the soil we''re stepping on right now, in a large chest only I can open." Shin glanced at the ground and tapped his foot. "The one remaining, I destroyed."


    Shin was onto something, Frey was sure. And he didn''t like where things were going. He looked at his armblade, on the green-speckled blue gem sitting on its steel. "And that one you destroyed, you believe it''s this weapon?"


    "Right." Shin nodded.


    "But why? Why did you destroy it, instead of burying it with the other twelve weapons?"


    Shin bit his lip, head bowed down. The only time he''d seen Shin like this, was when he talked about his life on Earth.


    "Foolish human." Mori interjected. "You would have done the same, if you knew what that thing on your arm can do.


    "No, I am sure you will, once it goes out of your control."

 10 - Scar

    "Get to the point, Shin." Frey said. "This thing on my arm--"


    "--is a demon, Frey." Shin sheathed Mori and strapped it back to his waist. He grabbed the left shoulder of his white kimono, and without hesitation pulled it down, revealing the entirety of his left torso.


    "What... the hell?"


    Green roots webbed all over his chest, like overgrowth protruding out of the land. They pulsed and throbbed, along with the rhythm of his heartbeat as if they were a part of his body. Beneath the roots Frey could see bits of dark, jagged, circular scars that made gunshot scars pretty in comparison.


    "If Mori didn''t take over this part of me, I would''ve died." Shin slipped his robe back on. "The Player who attacked us, he was no longer human. He was faster, and stronger, moving as though he was a beast, a frenzied monster. His weapon was a silver arm guard like that one, but with a key difference. It had many blades, and they moved on their own, seeking enemies, as though they were alive.


    "A friend of mine was unlucky, got impaled by one of them blades, and he was already dead. You''d think the blade would leave him alone because he was already dead but no: the other blades followed suit and dug into his body over, and over, as if they were feasting on his flesh."


    Frey listened to Shin''s narrative with hollow eyes, faced contorted with horror more than disgust. He remembered how Shin''s body looked, feeling in his bones how much torture it had been.


    "While the blades were busy desecrating my friend''s dead body I moved in, chopped the Player''s head off. I thought it was over, but it wasn''t. One moment of carelessness and the blades had gone through my chest. The bastard could move without his head. That''s when I realized I wasn''t fighting a human. He''d been consumed by his weapon, and I was fighting the Artifact, itself."


    A big lump got caught in Frey''s throat. He looked at the silver arm blade like it was the most repulsive thing he''d ever laid eyes on. The idea that something so malicious was on his body terrified him the most. If it really was the same weapon as the one in Shin''s memory, he may very well share the same fate as that Player--a slave to his Artifact.


    "We should destroy this¡­ this thing." Frey said.


    "No."


    "Why not?"


    "Because we don''t know what would happen to you if we do that." Shin sighed. "Artifacts bind with the wielder in some way. The growth on my chest is the connection between me and Mori. Now your weapon, it''s already bonded with your arm. If we destroy it now, you might die. Or not. Maybe something even worse will happen to you, since you''re already dead, and you''re just in a body given to you by that bitch Victorina. You can''t take the risk.


    "I know you can''t."


    Elise''s smiling face flashed before Frey''s eyes. Seemingly satisfied with Frey''s reaction, Shin nodded.


    "However, to prevent it from growing, I suggest you avoid using it, as much as you can."


    "Easier said than done." Now that he thought about it, he would need another weapon, if he was to survive this game at all. A weapon that wasn''t going to eat his soul, preferably.


    "Hey you''re worrying too much." Shin chuckled. "I won''t throw you into the battlefield without bullets." Shin kneeled to the ground, his left leg folded beneath him. He drew Mori and planted half the blade into the dark forest soil. Shin began digging the ground with it.


    That can''t be good.


    "Hey Shin," Frey called. Shin returned a ''hmm?'' without looking his way.


    "Wouldn''t your sword get mad? I mean, you''re using him, literally, to dig dirt."


    "Oh that? Don''t worry about it. Artifacts, well, each of them contain the soul of a powerful creature. Some house fairies, others, gods. Mori, he was a forest deity once before he died. He had a different name then, but I named him Mori, as in the Japanese for ''forest''. Believe me he likes the dirt."


    "Stop babbling nonsense human and get to work." Mori growled.


    "Slave driver." Shin mumbled before picking on the ground double-time.


    So the sword that talks coincidentally likes the muck. This can''t get any weirder, Frey thought.


    With a twang, Shin had hit a hard object beneath the dug soil. He shot Frey a playful wink. He dusted off the surface of the object with his hand, revealing the wooden planks of a chest at least a foot wide and two feet long.


    "Is that,"


    "The Player Weapons? No." Shin said. "I''ve buried those much, much deeper. And besides, I can''t give them to you, even if I want to. Since I''ve killed their Players, game rule is that they''re mine now, meaning only at my touch will their special... properties, become usable."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "I see." Frey nodded, storing the information into the back of his mind.


    "Unless you kill me, then they become yours."


    "I don''t think I can do that, even if I want to."


    Shin laughed. "Nothing''s set in stone kid. You''re just half my age, yet you''ve learned in a month what I''ve trained for in years."


    "Just proves you''re a good person," Frey meant it. If Shin hadn''t found him in the forest that night, he would''ve died from blood loss. Or he could''ve been eaten by scavengers. "and a good teacher."


    Shin pulled the chest up the ground with a grunt. "I''d rather be called a good father, though, but that''s not gonna happen anymore." he said with a wry smile.


    Shin didn''t know much about his daughter, aside the fact that he and his lover agreed to name her "Aoi". However, their child was only three months inside the mother''s womb when Shin died. Frey may never understand his pain, but at the very least he knew that never getting the chance to see his own child, was a scar worse than what Shin had on his body.


    "You''re a good father, Shin." Frey began. Shin looked up at him, tears welling up on the corners of his eyes.


    "This isn''t out of pity or bullshit like that. Maybe you never had a chance to be a father to your child, but you''ve been a good father, to me. It may have been for just a month, but you''ve taken care of me far better than a stranger should''ve. That''s more than enough to earn you the title."


    Shin had taught him more lessons than his real father ever had. Frey had been a credit card baby ever since he was born, and the most his father had taught him was how to use his credit card to buy anything he wanted. Owning a large software business was tough job, Frey understood, but he just couldn''t grow to sympathize with his father.


    "Thanks, kid." Shin laughed as he wiped his eyes before the tears dropped.


    "I''ll win my game. I''ll find Aoi, tell her how much you love her. Better yet, I''ll finish your game. Then you get to talk to her yourself." He might be getting a little too cocky, but for the minute he didn''t care. He was feeling it: the desire to win. The desire to see Elise once more. The desire to pay Shin, his mentor, his second father, back.


    "You just focus on your game, kid. I''ll play my own." Shin''s eyes glowed with determination Frey had never seen before. After twenty years his game had stagnated, finally he had regained the spirit to resume and win.


    Shin opened the chest, and Frey peered in.


    "Now this is not much, but it''s the gear I''ve used during my playing days." Shin said.


    Inside the chest was a black, long coat made of thick-woven, wool-like material, folded haphazardly. A pair of black leather gloves, black boots, black pants, a steel plate vest, a dozen steel throwing knives, and the most impressive pieces of the collection: three black Japanese swords, each one smaller than the next, strung to a black leather belt.


    "Who needs this many blades?" Frey joked, but deep inside he was excited to try all the swords.


    "Each of them have their own purpose." Shin picked up the longest sword of the three and pulled it halfway out of the sheath, revealing a carbon-colored blade. "This is the katana, your main weapon."


    He brought the blade back to its sheath and put it back in the chest. He picked the second blade, shorter than the katana but longer than the last.


    "Your companion sword. You use this in situations where the katana would be unwieldy."


    Frey nodded. Smaller sword for when you''re fighting in confined spaces where the katana would be hard to use due to its length.


    "What about the last one?"


    "This," Shin picked up the last, shortest sword. It was more of a knife, and unlike the first two which were curved, the last one had a straight blade. "This is for close quarter combat, and also for utility purposes. You can use this to skin animals, throw it to distract your enemy, among a myriad of things."


    He gave the knife to Frey. Frey pulled it off its scabbard and held it in a backhand grip. It was light as though he wasn''t holding anything. He swiped the air in front of him with it a few times. It felt good.


    "Now these things are cool and all," Frey clipped the sword back to the belt with the other two. "but I think you''re gonna need them now that you''ve found the will to play again."


    "No kid." Shin grasped his shoulder. "I''m giving these to you as your graduation gift. You earned it. And besides, using these things will only bring back painful memories. All the comrades I''ve lost, all the mistakes, all the Players I''ve killed. If I''m gonna start again, I have to start fresh."


    "I see."


    "I can sense your excitement. Get inside and try the gear on."


    So he did. After thirty minutes and a few struggles getting the steel plate vest strapped, he stepped out the cottage looking and feeling like a bona-fide warrior in black, stealthy gear. The black long coat was a perfect fit, and the steel vest although it looked bulky at first, was light enough to allow swift movement. Strapped to his black leather belt were the three swords, the katana and its companion sword on one side and the knife on the other, along with an array of steel throwing daggers tucked into small holsters the belt had.


    Shin was waiting for him outside, under a clear blue sky, in the middle of the little grass clearing that had been his training field for a month. Thirty-six Eidelian days, not that long in others'' eyes, but to Frey, it was all he knew of this world. That''s about to change today, he figured.


    He walked up to Shin and bowed. "Thank you for this. For everything."


    "Hey, you''re gonna make me tear up." Shin laughed his hearty, old-man laugh. "Here."


    He held out his calloused hand to Frey. On his palm were two white fangs each a handspan long. The fangs of the goblin hound he killed, Frey recognized.


    "You should save one as a trophy for your first monster kill." Shin said. "The other, use it."


    Frey took the fangs and appraised them. The insides of the fangs were black and hard like metal. "Use it how, exactly?"


    "Go to Redel and, remember that friend I told you about?"


    "The smith who makes all your weapons?"


    "That. His name''s Barton. He owns a workshop there. Bring the tooth to him and tell him you''re my apprentice. He''ll know what to do."


    "Barton... Sounds like a Western name."


    "That''s because he''s also a Player. He''s white, used to live in New York if I remember."


    "You made friends with a Player of your generation?"


    But that meant Shin would have to kill him eventually, or else their game won''t end.


    "We''re in a truce. We won''t fight each other until we''re the last ones standing. There are still two other Players, so until they die, we''re good. You best get going, kid. Redel is five days away from here."


    "How do I get there?"


    "Go directly north. Within a few hours you''ll find a road leading west. Just follow that and you''ll get there. Go."


    Frey bowed to Shin for the last time, before walking forward. He accelerated to a jog. He didn''t look back. His jog turned to a light sprint. Only then did he hear Shin''s large voice shouting at him.


    "See you on the other side!"


    Frey smiled. He ran.

 011 - Morals

    With the sun going down and the sky shifting to a magical mix of purple swirls and scarlet clouds, Frey decided to set up camp for the day.


    He got off the dirt path and conjured a campfire from twigs and dead leaves, not far from the roadside. Aside from the goblin hound that attacked him on his first day, there weren''t any dangerous creatures native to the forest, and so he wasn''t worried about the fire attracting monsters. Frey sat by the fire in a seiza, and closed his eyes as he breathed in the warm air radiated by the flames. Shin always used to do the same thing after they ate, and ever since Frey left Shin for Redel, he''d started to take on the practice. Helps clear the mind.


    It''s been three days since he set off for Redel. If Shin was to be believed, then Frey was only halfway through the journey.


    Thirty-nine Eideleir days since the game had begun, he had yet to meet a Player of his generation. Didn''t know what would happen if he did. He was almost certain it would come to a fight, but whether he''d have the guts to kill when the time came, he didn''t know. He shook his head. No, he couldn''t afford to doubt himself. He''ll never win if he doesn''t grow the stomach to kill. And he had to win. He already made a promise to himself, that he''d see Elise again, and to Shin. He can worry about his wellbeing later.


    He opened his eyes. The sky was then completely dark. The campfire crackled with life as it fought the cold night wind. Frey reached inside his black long coat and pulled his booklet out.


    His name and Player number, 47, was written on the first page. The second page displayed the Player numbers of the four who have died so far, which were as follows:


    Player 86 - Eliminated


    Player 92 - Eliminated


    Player 34 - Eliminated


    Player 20 - Eliminated


    The following pages were empty until the tenth, the page where the sketch of his arm blade could be found. Above the sketch of the arm blade three question marks were still written--no changes. Not sure he wanted to see it change. He hadn''t forgotten the story of Shin, about his arm blade''s true nature.


    The eleventh page had three big question marks in the middle. Shin said it was most likely the page for his mark''s evolution, whatever it''ll be. Next page was the monster list. The book seemed to exclude local animals from the list, so other than the goblin hound, no more entries were written. The forest was harmless, with the exception of a few stray wolves and snakes. He figured he was just too lucky, to encounter a goblin hound and get nearly killed--on the first day, no less. It was like picking the one bad apple out of a million fruits.


    Speaking of the goblin hound... Frey fished for the two hound fangs in one of the many pockets his black coat had. He held it up to scrutiny: two fangs thicker than his thumb, longer than his handspan. They were curved almost to the same degree as his katana, tapering to a pointed tip. The goblin hound almost chewed his arm off with these, he remembered. He rolled up his coat''s sleeve.


    Miraculously, his left arm didn''t have so much as a scar from such grievous wounds. Shin told him it was the corberries he''d been eating every morning. Stuff''s regenerative, and this forest had plenty of it on low bushes you can find in almost every inch of the forest.


    These goblin hound fangs were the main reason he''s going to Redel, to bring them to this "Barton" guy. They didn''t seem impressive, although knowing Shin, he had a reason for making him go through all this trouble of bringing it to the city. These fangs might be something. Frey gripped them tight in his hand.


    Verdant green light winked at him from the woods on the other side of the dirt road. Instinct kicked in and Frey dumped a fistful of soil from the ground onto the campfire, snuffing out its flames. He got up from his seiza and drew his katana. Its black blade was almost lost in the dark cover of the night.


    An enemy Player. He finally got to meet one.


    ---


    The tattoo on the back of her hand burned a blinding green. Liezel Magtala, with heart pounding against her chest and panic in her limbs, ran. She didn''t bother choosing a direction and just sprinted where the wind would take her, with the green light of her Player tattoo as a guide to help her not crash onto trees.


    Liezel grimaced. Just how unlucky was she, to meet someone she should at all costs avoid? Worse, her spear, the only thing that she''d been counting on to survive, had been taken by those brutish guards back in Redel. Forget about fighting other Players, Liezel was never a fighter. She was scrawny and short, and the only fight she''d ever fought was against a classmate that had been bullying her back in her high-school in Tondo. That was when she was what, fourteen? She''s nineteen now, and thought she''ll never have to pull on someone''s hair ever again, or fight for her life, for that matter.


    She looked around without stopping. She couldn''t see a trace of her pursuant, couldn''t hear anything other than the crunch of dead leaves getting crushed under her every stride. Her tattoo still glowed, but why couldn''t she see her enemy''s light? Unless...


    Unless her enemy''s hand was covered.


    Intense sharp pain pierced her right ankle. She let out a shrill groan as her momentum sent her crashing face-down to the ground. She tried to get up, but the fall numbed her arms. Sticking out her bleeding right ankle was the half of a steel dagger, its edge flashing as it reflected the green light of her right hand. There was a rustle. Forcing adrenaline into her arms Liezel turned around and lifted her upper body, so that she was facing her enemy.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    She crept backward until her back hit a tree. She shone light toward the shadow closing in on her. It was a young man, tall and lanky, wearing black coat and black clothes. In his right hand he held a curved blade, like the one she''d seen in her History teacher''s visuals: the sword used by old Japanese warriors. It was thin and black all over, almost blending with the shadows.


    Liezel felt as if she would pass out from the burning pain in her ankle. "Please." she cried out between labored breaths. She looked up at the young man with pleading eyes, sweat and tears falling down her cheeks.


    The Player stood at her feet and raised his sword. It was the end of the line for her. Game over. As if she didn''t know that from the start. Liezel didn''t have what it takes to kill. Why did she have to, anyway? Why did God let her get dragged into this crazy game? Was there anything she did so wrong? Unbelievable. Unforgivable. Tears fell in streams down her face. She didn''t do anything wrong. She didn''t deserve any of this. If father and mother were still alive they''d tell her she''d been a good girl, that she''d been a good older sister to her dearest siblings. She''d been a good girl and yet,


    Why?


    She didn''t want to die. Not again. At the very least, she wanted to say goodbye to her siblings--something she couldn''t do before she left Earth.


    She looked up at the young man before her. Her enemy. A Player like herself. He had his sword raised overhead, poised to cut her in half in a heartbeat. But his hands were shaking, his blade, unsteady.


    His lips were contorted in anguish and in his green, emerald eyes, there was doubt.


    ---


    All he had to do was swing the blade, like he had done a million times in his training. The enemy laid there on the ground, a thin girl with copper skin and messed-up black hair, dressed in a worn-out white one-piece. Her right hand glowed a venomous green color he was all too familiar of.


    All he had to do was swing down, and there''d be one less Player to fight with. And yet, his hands won''t move. Why? What''s the matter? Do it. His conscious shouted at him. Frey gritted his teeth.


    The girl broke into tears. "Please... I didn''t do anything wrong." she pleaded, her voice small and cracked.


    "Shut it." he snapped.


    Frey didn''t do anything wrong, either. He doubted any of the other Players did, yet they''re still here, forced to kill each other in this game orchestrated by a mad goddess.


    Its exactly because they''re in a game that he had to kill her. She''s a Player. He must, or the game won''t end. His hands gripping the blade handle were stark white. It will be quick, she''d feel no pain. He told himself.


    Do it.


    Do it.


    Do it.


    His eyes met the girl''s. In their black depths, past the tears and the pain, he saw it. The reason she was crying.


    He closed his eyes and breathed in.


    "I''m sorry, Elise." he whispered.


    Frey threw his blade away.


    He slumped to the ground, fell on his knees at the girl''s feet.


    "Dammit. Just, damn."


    The girl had stopped her ugly bawl, but he could still hear her sob like a child. Irritating. Very irritating. He crouched up from his slump and glared at the girl--the enemy he failed to kill. He delivered a quick hand chop to the side of her neck. With an exasperated breath, her consciousness wandered off. She was still, and Frey was left alone with his mind.


    He cupped his hands on his forehead and cursed the ground.


    He was weak. Beyond weak. All that talk about winning the game, when he couldn''t even kill an unarmed girl. He hated himself.


    He looked up at the girl knocked out before him, at her innocent face wet with sweat and eyes swollen from crying. Somehow, he was even glad that she was alive, that he wasn''t yet a murderer. And that made him feel worse.


    Frey hated being human.


    ---


    Five minutes later and the girl was still out cold, her back resting against an ancient tree. Frey, in his fit, might have hit her harder than he should have.


    He patched her wound. Frey didn''t know why he bothered. He carefully removed his dagger from her flesh and rinsed the cut, with water he scooped from the stream running parallel to the road. He cut a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress and wrapped her ankle once the wound had been cleaned.


    Frey took the glove off his left hand and slipped it onto the girl''s right to mute the light of her mark. Pulled some vines off the old tree above her and tied her hands behind the tree with it, just in case she decided to run off. He also took off the glove on his right hand and, with his mark''s glow as a torch, rummaged the nearby Corberry bushes for fruit.


    Accidentally while foraging around the shrubs his mark casted light upon a very familiar item, caught between the branches of a Corberry bush. It was a booklet only a bit smaller than a pocket book, bounded by a green leather cover. The girl must''ve dropped it while running. Frey pocketed it and went back to picking up Corberries. He put them in a small sack he had stored in one of his coat''s pouches during travel.


    His little captive was still sound asleep when he returned. He dropped the sack off by the tree the girl was tied to. He roamed the vicinity, picking up twigs on the ground. When he had enough he set up a campfire by rubbing two of the twigs until they start to spark from the heat produced by friction. He put his right glove back on, no longer having need for his mark''s light.


    He snuck a glance at the girl to make sure she was still out, before he pulled out the booklet he had found.


    Player 7


    Liezel Magtala


    Was that her name? It sounded weird. It was hard to tell what country she was from, with just her name alone. He looked over the girl once more.


    Copper-skinned and slim built, height barely over five feet. Her black hair was a mess of tangled waves, falling until her shoulders. She was beautiful but wouldn''t beat Victorina in a pageant. She had a small nose proportionate to her sunken bridge. Her cheeks had a rose blush to them. Unlike Victorina, whose beauty was unreal, the girl''s charm leaned more into simplistic, natural beauty. She ought to fix her hair, though.


    The second page of her book contained the number of the four Players that had so far been eliminated. The next pages were empty, just like his booklet. The tenth page had a sketch of a spear with a diamond-shaped spearhead. Below the spearhead were angelic wings, and the middle of the two wings was outfitted with a rhombus gem reminiscent of the gem on his arm blade.


    Above the spear drawing "Saphiel" was written in large print. So her weapon had a name. Unlike his. That said, the girl didn''t have this weapon with her. Interesting, he thought, as he flipped to the next page.


    Saphiel


    Soul Inactive


    Manifestation Not Yet Possible


    He had absolutely no idea what those entailed. No such thing was written in his book. He couldn''t shake the feeling that he was missing on something vital. Was it because he hadn''t been using his arm blade, that his booklet was missing info of this sort? Not that he''d start using his Player Weapon even if that was the case. It was too great a risk, taking Shin''s word for it.


    The next page was empty... or it had been. He almost dropped the book when the parchment caught on fire. Live flames burned through the paper, drawing with their trails an intricate conch shell, carried on the back of two seahorses facing opposite from each other.


    On top of the page "God Crest" was written, and below the sketch was a name and a description.


    Laerina


    The prideful Sea Empress'' crest that ebbs and flows.


    The girl jolted awake.