The clash of steel echoed through the arena as Logan’s axes scraped against his opponent’s shield for the fifth time. He danced backward, frustration beginning to bubble beneath the calm expression he had on his face. His opponent was doing something most players hated in Dunes of Arabal—he was stalling.
The timer in the corner of Logan’s vision ticked down slowly: 1:37. If it hit zero, the match would end in a draw, something that had never happened in Logan’s year-long career. He clenched his teeth. He wasn’t about to let this be his first.
Across the battlefield, his opponent shifted nervously, keeping his large tower shield raised. He was a stocky man, but even from where he was standing, Logan could see the muscles bulging on his forearms. His build favored brute strength and endurance, and if he had been using a strength-focused weapon, he probably would have been doing very well. Instead of engaging, though, he was turtling behind his shield, retreating into a corner every time Logan closed the distance.
Logan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay composed as he circled his opponent, looking for any opening. The crowd surrounding the arena began to roar louder, some chanting for action, others jeering at the slow pace of the fight. Logan blocked out the noise, focusing instead on the man in front of him.
His opponent shifted again, retreating another step toward the corner of the arena. The man’s eyes flicked toward the timer for a split second, and Logan caught it. The slight hesitation. The tiny, subconscious signal.
1:15.
The swordsman jabbed forward suddenly, his short blade probing for a reaction. Logan twisted his body just enough to avoid the tip, letting it slice harmlessly past him. The swordsman immediately pulled back, resetting his stance, but Logan’s keen eyes caught the slight stagger in his step.
His left leg drags.
It was subtle, the kind of detail that most players wouldn’t notice, but for Logan, it was all he needed. A plan began to form in his mind, his frustration giving way to a sharp, predatory focus.
0:52.
The next time his opponent lunged, Logan didn’t evade as expected. Instead, he surged forward, closing the gap in a single heartbeat. His right axe clanged loudly against the tower shield, forcing the man to brace, but Logan’s left axe was already swinging low.
He aimed for the dragging leg.
The axe's edge caught just above the ankle, and the man let out a startled grunt as his stance faltered. In that split second of imbalance, Logan twisted his right axe, hooking the shield’s edge and yanking it downward.
The shield dropped just enough to expose his opponent’s upper chest. Logan didn’t hesitate.
In one fluid motion, he spun his body, using the momentum to drive his right axe into the unguarded space right between the man’s ribs.
A burst of crimson light erupted from the wound as the swordsman staggered backward, his health bar plummeting to zero. He fell to his knees before dissolving into pixels, his body disappearing from the arena.
“Victory! Duel Complete in 9:02.”
The crowd roared to life, their cheers and applause filling the air as Logan straightened. He twirled one of his axes before returning it to the holster on his back. Despite the noise around him, he allowed himself only a small smirk.
Ninety-nine down, he thought, turning to leave the battlefield. One to go.
***
Logan stepped through the towering iron gates at the edge of the arena, leaving behind the cheers of the crowd. The sudden quiet of the waiting area felt almost jarring, the muffled roar of the arena fading into a distant hum.
The waiting area was a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield. Rows of benches and tables lined the space, and the air buzzed faintly with the sound of notifications and game menus opening. Other players milled about, some inspecting their gear, others lounging as they waited for their matches.
“Nice work out there,” came Sam’s voice as Logan approached. His lanky friend sat at a bench near the corner, his boots propped up on the edge of the table. “For a second, I thought that guy might actually run out the clock on you.”
“Not a chance,” Logan said, sliding into the seat across from him. “He was predictable. Just needed to wait for him to trip over himself.”
Mia, sitting nearby, rolled her eyes. “You make it sound so easy.” She held up a sleek, silver dagger she’d been inspecting. “Not all of us are arena gods, you know. Some of us have to work for our wins.”
“I think she’s calling you out,” Noah said with a grin. The stocky player leaned back in his chair, spinning a massive war hammer lazily in one hand.
Logan smirked. “It’s not my fault I’m good.”
The group chuckled, and for a few moments, the tension of the fight faded as they fell into the familiar rhythm of banter. Sam pulled up his inventory screen, showing off a new piece of gear—a gleaming set of enchanted bracers—while Mia complained about a quest she’d been stuck on.
Logan leaned back, his mind drifting despite the chatter. His thoughts lingered on the number 99 glowing faintly in the corner of his HUD. He’d come so far, but the question gnawed at him: Who’s going to be my final opponent?
The answer came faster than he expected.
A sharp chime interrupted their conversation, and a glowing notification appeared in front of Logan’s vision:
“Your next challenger is ready. Prepare for Duel #100.”
Logan froze. For a moment, all he could hear was the faint hum of the waiting area. Slowly, he reached out and tapped the notification, pulling up the name of his opponent.
When the name appeared on the screen, his stomach dropped.
‘Bane.’
“Oh no,” Logan muttered under his breath.
“What is it?” Mia asked, leaning forward.
Logan turned the screen toward them. The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly.
“Are you kidding me?” Sam said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Bane? Seriously?”
Noah let out a low whistle. “Man, the system really knows how to make things dramatic. He’s been blowing through the leaderboards, hasnt he?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yeah, seriously,” Mia replied, her eyes narrowing as she tapped her own screen to pull up Bane’s profile. A list of recent achievements filled her HUD, each more absurd than the last. “Look at this—he cleared the Infernal Citadel raid in under thirty minutes. Solo.”
Noah leaned over to glance at her screen, letting out a low whistle. “That raid’s built for eight players minimum. How does someone even do that?”
“Grinding,” Logan said, his jaw tightening. He stared at the name glowing in front of him, the bold letters seeming to mock him. Bane. It was a name he hadn’t seen in a while, but one he hadn’t forgotten.
Sam shook his head, laughing nervously. “You’ve gotta hand it to him—he’s persistent. What’s it been, like… a year since you beat him?”
“Something like that,” Logan replied, his voice quieter than usual. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling of the waiting area as memories of that fight flooded his mind. It had been a brutal match, one of the toughest of his career. Logan had barely managed to win, beating him with only 7 seconds left on the timer. Like many things however, the aftermath had been worse than the fight itself.
Mia folded her arms, her expression darkening. “Didn’t he message you like… a hundred times asking for a rematch?”
“More like four hundred,” Logan said flatly. “I had to block him and report multiple times since he kept making new accounts.”
“Yikes.” Noah shook his head. “And now the system’s giving him exactly what he wants. Perfect timing, huh?”
“Yeah, perfect,” Logan muttered, running a hand through his hair. His axes rested at his sides, the familiar weight a small comfort, but his unease didn’t fade. Out of everyone he has faced thus far, Bane was perhaps the one he wanted to meet the least, if at all.
Logan sighed, standing from the bench. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough how good he is.”
The notification in his HUD pulsed again, urging him forward. As Logan made his way toward the gate leading to the battlefield, his friends watched him go, their earlier banter replaced by a tense silence.
“Hey,” Mia called after him. Logan glanced back, her expression serious. “Remember—you’ve beaten him before. Just stick to your strategy.”
Logan nodded, offering her and his friends a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll see you after.”
With that, he made his way down the tunnel, not knowing wether he would enjoy a perfect win, or a devastating loss.
***
The roar of the crowd hit Logan like a wall as the arena gates slid open. Bright sunlight spilled across the sand, and the familiar hum of the arena’s energy field thrummed beneath his feet.
Standing at the center of the field, waiting with an eerie stillness, was Bane.
Even without armor, he looked like a living fortress. His chest was bare, thick and muscular, with veins like rivers running across his shoulders and arms. Scars crisscrossed his torso, each one telling the story of a brutal battle fought and survived. The fur leggings he wore were the only nod to the game’s aesthetic, though they barely softened his imposing image.
In his hand rested a massive greatsword. The blade was multiple inches wide, the edges gleaming as though they had been freshly sharpened. It was a weapon meant for pure abd total destruction, for cleaving through anything—or anyone—that stood in its way.
Bane tilted his head slightly, his glowing red eyes locked onto Logan’s. Even though Logan knew it was just an effect of the game, the intensity of the man’s stare sent a shiver down his spine.
Bane tilted his head slightly as Logan approached, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “RedFangs,” he said, his voice booming across the arena, amplified for all to hear. “It’s been a while.”
Logan stopped a few paces away, his axes spinning lightly in his hands. “Not long enough,” he replied evenly.
Bane chuckled, the sound low and menacing. “Still sharp with your words. I like that. It’ll make breaking you all the more satisfying.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and chants, their excitement palpable as the arena master began hyping up the duel. But Logan barely heard any of it. All his focus was on the giant standing before him.
As long as I keep my distance, I can wear him down, Logan thought, his mind already mapping out potential strategies. I just need to play smart. No mistakes.
The announcer’s voice thundered over the crowd, building anticipation. “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for an epic clash! On one side, our reigning champion, the swift and deadly RedFangs, undefeated in ninety-nine battles!”
A wave of cheers erupted, Logan catching glimpses of his name flashing in the spectator screens scattered throughout the arena.
“And on the other side, the former champion with ninety-nine wins and one loss, the relentless juggernaut known as Bane!”
The crowd roared louder, the sound almost deafening as Bane raised his greatsword high, basking in the attention.
Logan exhaled slowly, steadying his breathing as the announcer’s voice rang out again. “Fighters, take your positions. The duel begins in ten seconds!”
Logan shifted into his stance, his body low and poised to strike. His twin axes gleamed under the sunlight, their curved blades designed for speed and precision. Across the battlefield, Bane stood tall, his greatsword resting casually on his shoulder, the picture of confidence.
The timer counted down in Logan’s HUD. 5… 4… 3…2…1…
The gong sounded, and Bane exploded into motion.
For a man of his size, Bane was alarmingly fast. He closed the distance between them in an instant, his greatsword coming down in a crushing arc. Logan dove to the side, the blade slamming into the sand where he’d just stood, sending a spray of dust and debris into the air.
Logan didn’t wait. He darted in low, his axes flashing as he aimed for Bane’s ribs. The curved blades struck true, carving twin lines across his opponent’s side. Red pixels sprayed from the wounds, but Bane barely flinched.
“That all you’ve got?” Bane growled, twisting with surprising agility. His elbow came up, catching Logan square in the chest and sending him skidding backward.
Logan gritted his teeth as his health bar dipped slightly into the yellow. Stay sharp. Don’t get greedy.
Bane came at him again, his greatsword carving through the air in wide, relentless arcs. He was like a wolf hunting as he kept himself low to the ground, using the momentum of the sword to fling himself forward. Logan ducked, dodged, and sidestepped, his movements precise but exhausting. Each time he tried to counter, Bane was ready, his raw strength forcing Logan to retreat.
The crowd’s chants grew louder, urging the fighters on as the clash of weapons echoed across the arena.
“You’re slowing down, RedFangs,” Bane taunted, swinging his greatsword in a brutal horizontal slash. Logan leaped backward, the blade missing his chest by inches. “What’s wrong? The great champion running out of steam?”
Logan didn’t respond. Instead, he surged forward, feinting with his left axe before driving the right one toward Bane’s neck.
But Bane was faster.
The greatsword came up in a sweeping parry, deflecting the blow and throwing Logan off balance. Before he could recover, Bane’s massive hand grabbed him by the wrist, his grip like iron.
“Gotcha,” Bane snarled, and with a powerful swing, he hurled Logan across the battlefield.
Logan hit the sand hard, his health bar dipping dangerously into the red. Gasping for air, he pushed himself to his knees, his axes feeling heavier than ever.
Bane stalked toward him, his greatsword dragging behind him, carving a deep groove in the sand. “This is it, little champion,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “Your reign ends here.”
Logan gritted his teeth, his mind racing for a way out. But his body was sluggish, his stamina almost completely drained.
Bane grabbed him by the waistband of his fur leggings, lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll. Logan struggled weakly as Bane raised his greatsword high, the crowd’s roar reaching a fever pitch.
“This is how it ends!” Bane roared, raising his greatsword high, the blade glinting in the sunlight.
Logan hung limply in Bane’s grasp, his vision blurred and his breathing ragged. His health bar was a sliver of red, one hit away from defeat. But then, something small caught his eye.
A glint of metal.
Falling from the folds of his fur leggings was a shard, no larger than a fingertip. It had chipped off Bane’s greatsword earlier in the fight, a sliver of jagged steel tumbling in slow motion toward the sand.
The world seemed to freeze.
Both of them stared at the shard, its descent feeling like an eternity. Logan’s mind raced, adrenaline surging as he realized this was his only chance.
Bane’s grip loosened as he lunged for the shard, desperation flashing in his eyes. But for once, Logan moved faster.
With every ounce of strength he had left, Logan swung his leg, his foot connecting with the shard just before Bane’s hand could reach it. The tiny piece of metal shot forward, a blur of silver slicing through the air as It struck Bane’s neck.
A spray of red pixels erupted as the shard embedded itself deep, cutting through flesh and sinew. Bane staggered, his free hand clawing at the sliver of metal, but it was already too late. His health bar began to plummet, chunks of red disappearing faster than he could react.
“No,” Bane choked, his voice gurgling as he stumbled backward. “No!”
His grip on Logan faltered, and Logan hit the sand with a grunt. Bane fell to one knee, his massive frame swaying as his health bar dwindled to nothing more than a sliver.
Logan struggled to his feet, his body screaming in protest. His axes lay discarded in the sand, but his gaze locked onto Bane’s greatsword, still half-buried in the ground where it had fallen.
Bane’s bloodshot eyes darted to Logan as he reached for the weapon. “This… isn’t over,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “I’ll be back. I’ll—”
Logan didn’t let him finish.
He hefted the greatsword with both hands, the blade impossibly heavy but steady in his grasp. With one final burst of strength, he drove the weapon down, impaling Bane through the chest.
The arena fell deathly silent.
Bane’s health bar hit zero, and his body began to dissolve into light particles. His face twisted in rage and disbelief as he vanished, his final scream fading into nothingness.
For a moment, the silence stretched on, the weight of the battle hanging heavy in the air. Logan leaned against the greatsword, his chest heaving as he fought to stay upright.
Then, slowly, the crowd began to clap.
It started as a single pair of hands, then another, then a few more. Before long, the entire arena erupted into thunderous applause, the stands shaking as the spectators rose to their feet.
“RedFangs! RedFangs!” they chanted, their voices echoing through the stadium.
Logan closed his eyes, the sound washing over him like a tide. He had done it. One hundred wins.