Tim appeared back in the sitting room of his quarters, feeling oddly relaxed and refreshed. That was just what I needed. Damn, I know the situation there is weird, but Cin was just so easy to get along with.
He made his way over to the clock as he pored over the memories of his time with the purple-eyed dragon-woman, his mind lingering on the moments they'd spent casually chatting about unimportant things in a too-normal manner. After another five seconds, which was what he'd grudgingly limited himself to in his latest schedule that he was devising, he brought his attention around to the face of the clock. Alright, so I've got a little under two hours. Not as long this time. I'll do some weapons practice with this halberd, eat a little, relax with a shower, then a quick nap to get back into peak condition.
Thus resolved, he turned and headed for the door. Halfway expecting someone to knock and kick off another weird episode at this point. Everything in this place is so bizarre. He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway without interruption, however, seeing no trace of anyone else save for the pitcher of red wine he'd left near the end of the hallway hours earlier. Nice and peaceful. Like a weirdly-oiled machine.
He left the pitcher in its place as he walked into the stairwell and started down, continuing to see no signs of anyone as he emerged onto the starlit training platform. "Scipio?" he called as he walked forward. "Ir'alith? You here?"
He received no reply, even as he repeated the process several times while walking farther, and eventually he came to a stop. Everyone must be out fighting. Or maybe eating. Should've checked the cafeteria first maybe. Well, whatever. Inventory. He retrieved his halberd and dismissed the window, then opened it again and equipped his armor. Better practice like it's the real thing. There's no way the next guy dies from fucking old age. Need to make sure I remember how to use this thing.
While Tim hadn't done any real life training with weapons, he'd spent thousands of hours in New Era fighting with armaments of all types over the years, and the game's system had varying levels of assistance that could be configured in its settings. As someone who always craved the satisfaction of being the best in games even at the highest difficulties, he'd set it to the lowest possible amount of assistance, having to reconfigure it every time he logged in since the company he contracted to continue leveling his character preferred the opposite for expedience. To that end, he'd had to quickly learn, at a minimum, what sorts of maneuvers and techniques were viable with each weapon and which were likely to get him killed, supplementing his hands-on experience with his own research regarding different forms and fighting styles to help him visualize such things and make him more versatile in ways that his hands-on training with Brad couldn't.
Was he the greatest fighter who ever lived? No, certainly not. Not even close. While PvPing, his stubborn persistence in not relying on the game's system caused him to lose a considerable number of fights, but he reveled in the far greater number that he won using the skills he'd earned over time. He was confident enough in those skills to occasionally fill in for some guild members during raids when they had to log out for several minutes to avoid the despised four hour mark when they would be forcibly logged out.
In New Era, he was one of the best.
He conjured a mental image of one of his PvP rivals he'd fought against too many times to count, who favored a long spear, and set to sparring as best he could, just as Brad had him do on occasion during his MMA training sessions. It wasn't something he'd done before given the ease with which he could find a fight in New Era if he was looking for one, but he adapted like he always did.
He had to if he wanted to be the best here too.
Tim battled as best he could against his invisible opponent for a time, adding in periodic uses of his various ensnaring spells as he usually would while he battled back and forth, learning the feel of his familiar weapon and its slightly altered weight. The time he had wasn't nearly enough for him to achieve the level of mastery he wanted, but it was enough to let him better anticipate how quickly and forcefully he could execute the movements he'd be using.
Now that he'd gotten an idea of his endurance, he pushed himself to his limits for the full hour, breaking the time up into twenty minute intervals against different opponents he was familiar with. When he finished battling Sayyid's spear, he changed to Declan's double swords, ending with Valkyrie's impenetrable sword and board defense, the last of which had tended to confound him more often than not.
At last, leaning heavily on his now-preferred weapon and panting, he came to a stop. Damn, now that's a fucking workout. He took in a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling. Should've asked Cin if she wanted to spar instead of coming back. That would've been smart. She's definitely stronger than me—probably all of them are. Maybe next time.
His path back to the stairs was uninterrupted, and he removed his armor and tossed his spear back into his inventory as he walked, reaching a more reasonable rate of breathing by the time he took the first step upwards. His head was still bathed in sweat, a real ten-out-of-ten product of his exertion, and his clothes felt like he'd been standing under a warm sprinkler. Maybe I'll just grab some stuff and eat in my room so I can shower sooner. This feels like one of those times I'm not going to want to get up once I sit down.
It was with this thought in mind that he reached the cafeteria. I've been going too hard on those steaks. They're amazing, but I should try more things while I'm here. Who knows if I'll ever get to… He stopped abruptly after a few more steps.
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Emma, holding a plate split between a verdant salad on one side and some sort of small, succulent-looking cooked bird on the other, was walking towards him out of one aisle. She froze for a moment as she spotted him, her face shifting through a number of expressions before settling into a glare. "Step aside, Drake," she called as she approached, the frills of her nine-out-of-ten, ankle-length, light blue, cocktail-style dress fluttering slightly with each click of her heeled feet.
Tim frowned back at her. "Hey, what the fuck was that before?" he called, crossing his arms over his chest and remaining in the doorway. "Were you trying to kill me?"
She gave him a patronizing look, coming to a stop a few steps in front of him. "Please. What manner of absolute idiot would I be to attempt such a thing here with a deity watching over my every action?" Her eyes flowed over him while her lips quirked into a sneer. "I've no reason to be surprised you've the mind of a simpleton based upon how long you've spent training your muscles to such an extent."
"Alright, so what the fuck then?" he repeated. "That was all fake?"
She began to snicker, the sound changing to a laugh so sarcastic that he couldn't accurately rate it. "Oh, Drake, you're so big!" she said in a breathy half-moan with an exaggerated expression of delight on her face. "So handsome! I've the wits of a naive little girl, and I've never been with a man previously!" She sneered at him once more. "Truly only a fool could believe such a thing."
He stared at this new creature before him, trying to reconcile her with the smiling, flirty, shy Emma he'd seen previously.
"I can see you've the right of it now," she said with a smirk.
"Then…why?" was all he could think to ask.
"I've my reasons," Emma said in a dismissive tone. Her smirk returned back to a glare, intensifying to a scowl. "You'll step aside, or I'll show less restraint. If we encounter each other once more, you'll keep your disgusting eyes away from me."
He continued to remain in place, not out of any particular desire to block her anymore but because he was having trouble accepting that someone like this really existed. "You won't kill me," he said at last. "You—"
"Ah, but are you quite certain of that, oh leader?" she asked with glittering eyes as she took one hand out from under her plate and raised it towards him with two fingers outstretched. "I've no notion of how you've spent your time with our divine patron, but my time was certainly not wasted. No, if I've the desire and the strength to kill you, then I believe, as I'm sure you're aware, I'll face no consequences whatsoever." She gestured for him to move. "Step. Aside."
A slight gust blew across his face, and Emma grinned wickedly at him. Is it really worth trying to figure this out? Maybe I should… The look of total despair on her gorgeous face from just before she'd nearly killed him flitted through his mind, and he grimaced. Shit. If she wasn't so fucking beautiful… Maybe I just wish some part of that could've been real. "You have a problem, don't you? Something's wrong." he said. "Maybe I can—"
Her eyes widened, and her jaw set firmly as her lips pressed together. "I've no such thing!" she shouted abruptly, her eyes glaring at him in fury. "How dare—"
"No, there's something," he cut in, feeling the wind against his face pick up. "Tell me, and—" He was lifted off the ground and slammed powerfully up and back against the wall over the door, and he grunted from the impact.
"You'd think to pity me?" she demanded, gritting her teeth when she'd finished speaking.
He smacked his head into the ceiling and then crashed face-down into the floor, though he'd learned after the last time and cushioned the blows with his arms. A heavy weight pressed down on him suddenly, preventing him from regaining his feet.
She stepped on the back of his head as he tried to look up at her, forcing his face back down. "You've seen my body, Drake," she said, drawing out his name in a mocking way. "I've no flaws of which to speak. You've seen my wit too, and, well, it's quite obvious to both of us that you've not even begun to approach my brilliance. But you?"
Her heel ground sharply into the top of his head, and he grunted from the discomfort, though it wasn't quite at the level of pain yet.
"You've too many flaws to list, I'd wager," she said in a derisive tone. "Naturally I'll help to enumerate a small number of them, since you're likely enjoying the sense of being stepped upon too much to reflect properly. Where to even begin, though, Drake? You're conceited, you're arrogant, you're naive, and above all, lecherous. And yet… And yet!"
The plate she'd been holding crashed down on his head, and she stomped on it. "You truly believed someone of my ability would desire you?" she screamed. "I've never desired anyone! Not once!" Her foot stomped down on the plate covering his head repeatedly. "Men like you should all die!"
Restoration. The spots that had been appearing in Tim's eyes vanished along with the pain that had been building up, though he was still unable to rise. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he called. What the actual fuck is going on. I thought maybe she'd say something useful, but—
"NOTHING IS WRONG!" she screeched.
"Bright Field." He squeezed his eyes shut, and a stunning brilliance erupted around him. The pressure holding him down vanished, and he pushed himself to his feet, giving his head a little shake to dislodge several pieces of salad that had gotten stuck to his face.
Emma staggered backwards with one hand clasped over her eyes and the other pointed forward.
Tim moved to the side just in time to avoid a quick-forming ball of fire that shot into the space he'd been standing. "Emma, tell me what's wrong, or I'll tell Scipio you tried to kill me," he said as he recalled the only detail he'd heard that he knew to be true.
Her eyes opened fractionally as she squinted between her fingers, and she whirled towards him, another ball of fire gathering in front of her. "You'll be long dead before you've the chance!" she called.
"You guys're so interesting!" called a familiar voice from above.