One delightful sunny morning, I woke up on a beach: naked, alone, with no idea how I got there.
But you know what I DID have?
Tentacles.
Four of them. Each thicker than a beer can, sheathed in black armored plates. And as soon as I drew my first breath, all four began whipping around like out-of-control fire hoses.
“What in the donkey-loving FUCK is-!?” is what I tried to yell, but it came out more like ‘HHROOORGH! RRRAAAGH!’ and then ‘PFFFT HHHHERRRRK!’ as the tentacles pitched me onto my face and I inhaled a lungful of sand through my... muzzle?
After a few minutes of flailing around on my back like a monster out of a Japanese porno, I realized I couldn’t get my feet under me because I had four legs, not two. I struggled upright over several frustrating seconds, swaying as I tried to get my bearings.
I was on a beach. Waves lapped the shore to my left. The wind slithering over my skin was warm and humid. There was an outcrop of limestone bluffs to my right, elevated land vanishing into a dense wall of virgin jungle. As beaches went, this one was pretty nice. Crystal clear water. White sand. The kind of beautiful untouched place that no longer existed on Earth. My sense of reality continued to disintegrate as I pawed at my face and found a bullet-shaped snout that ended in not two, not four, but SIX nostril vents. I had claws. I had thin, whisker-like spines that grew between the armored plates that hugged my decidedly not-human flanks. I had a long, whippy tail that ended in a flattened sword-like blade, for a total of nine limbs. I was scared to look down and try and count my nipples. There were probably like thirty of them.
The reality of all these excess limbs, nostrils, and hypothetical nipples led me to one inescapable conclusion. Something was severely, monumentally fucked up. Not only was I not human, I couldn’t remember a goddamn thing before waking up except that I definitely hadn’t been on a beach. I must’ve had a name, a job, a life... but when I searched back for memories of a time before ‘now’, there was nothing but a big black pause.
“Okay. Take a deep breath. You’re alive... kind of. No reason to be a skittish little bitch nugget.”
As I thought that, a bright green bar appeared in the corner of my eye. I had just 148 out of 1495 HP. Other holographic meters appeared below it. A Stamina bar, slowly filling up from zero. A teardrop-shaped Hydration meter and a steak-shaped Nourishment meter, both half-full. There was a temperature gauge beneath that. It was 88 degrees in sunny Wherever-The-Fuck this was.
Like most kids who grew up in the 2080s, I’d spent half my life in virtual realities. Logic dictated that if I had a Heads’ Up Display and stats, there had to be a system interface for this… game? A menu, an access portal, something. I tried to speak with my shark mouth, but all that came out was a garbled growl. Next thing I tried was calling it telepathically. “Show menu!”
There was no menu at first. Instead, blazing lines of holographic text appeared in the air in front of me, read out by a fruity, overly dramatic voice of indeterminate gender.
[Welcome to Purgatory, darling! The realm between Heaven and Hell, the crucible in which the game of life and death is played.]
[You have only one choice left to make.]
There was a swelling pause.
[Survive… or Die.]
“Motherfucker, I ain’t choosing shit until I learn who I am, why I’m here, and why I look like a Xenomorph that fucked a panther.” I snarled, then sneezed. As I did, the forest of armored tentacles shot down around me like spasming harpoons. They hit the ground so hard they both scared the shit out of me and threw me off-balance. Staggering to the side, I pitched onto my face and ate dirt a second time.
“HHHAAACK!” The sand sure tasted real.
[Oh dear. Eight limbs? That looks complicated, darling.]
[As for who you are and why you’re here? I hate to be the Angel of Bad News – that’s usually Niphalriel’s job – but I’m afraid you are one-hundred percent dead.]
[Now, hint-hint, you really must pick between the Survive or Die options.]
Chorus’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial, slightly panicked whisper.
[Seriously, while I’d just love to chat, my parameters from, you know, the Upstairs Management are, um, rather strict. And I’d really rather not have to terminate you, sopleaseanswerthedamnquestionbeforeIhavetodothatthankyou.]
Terminate me? Who the fuck did this asshole think he… she…. THEY were? The text was visible even when my eyes were closed, and as I picked myself up, two large holographic buttons appeared. They were red, crawling with hot embers. One read ‘Sorvive.’ The other read ‘Die.’ Yes, they really had spelled ‘Survive’ with an ‘O.’
I stared at the buttons for a few long moments. “Jesus pogo-hopping Christ.”
[I’m sorry, but while that is a delightfully whimsical vision of the Western world’s esteemed lord and savior, it is not a valid answer to The Question™.]
Dead. I couldn’t really be dead, could I? The whirling sensation between my ears intensified. I tried thinking a different command. “Server information. What is this place?”
There was no response. The ‘Sorvive’ and ‘Die’ buttons hovered patiently.
“Server Information! Where the hell am I?!”
[DARLING]
I wasn’t sure if Chorus had teeth, but if they did, they were gritted.
[If you do not accept the Terms and Conditions, you will be erased in 9.9 seconds. And there is nothing I can do about it.]
A large red timer leapt up, counting down the seconds.
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“AUK!” When I tried to reply aloud, all that came out was a deep honk. I scowled, pulling my gums back from my teeth. “Fine! I WILL sorvive! And you better believe that as long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive!”
[Phew. Thank you. I really DO hate the termination protocol, especially when we acquire a soul with any degree of wit. Anyway: now that distasteful little ritual is taken care of, please familiarize yourself with your species, stats, and the rest of your dashboard while I retrieve the rest of the manual.]
The Sorvive button crackled with flames, then flared with white light and vanished. The Die button crumbled away into pixelated dust. A three-panel screen appeared in their place. The right panel was a picture of ‘me’ with some empty tables. My xenomorph-panther analogy was actually pretty close on the money. As monsters went, I was the monster equivalent of an aggressively street-styled sportscar. My body was muscular, as streamlined and dense as a shark’s. I walked on four legs, but my front paws were more like clawed hands. Those and my hind feet were made for climbing, gripping, and slashing. Narrow, glowing white-purple eyes were set behind the twin grilles of nostril vents, three to either side of a smooth bullet-shaped muzzle. I had hinged jaws, like a snake’s, filled with tapering, needle-sharp fangs. And tentacles. Don’t forget those.
Gladiator1996
Reaper Level 1
Prime Element: Body
Mundane Elements: Psionic/Poison
Class: Legendary
Vitality: 148/1495 HP
Carry Weight: 81kg (180lb)
Strength: 315
Speed: 455
Stamina: 230/355
Damage: B+
Defense: D-
Instincts: A
Prime Ability:
N/A (Reach Level 5 to unlock)
Reaper Abilities:
None.
Just what the world needs: a killing machine that disappears into thin air.
The Reaper is a Legion that terrifies even the bravest Gladiators. An eight-limbed ambush predator with light-bending stealth abilities, the Reaper’s extreme speed combined with its high damage, multi-limb attacks, armor piercing spines and three dimensions of mobility make this Body/Psionic/Poison Greater Legion a formidable foe and an even more formidable thrall.
The Reaper has two elemental evolution paths. The Stalker path generates kinetic mines and is armed with formidable Psionic ranged attacks. The Nemesis can drain the abilities, stats, and life force from other Legions with its key ability, Soul Drain, as well as dealing powerful melee attacks with its poisonous fangs and spines.
I took all that in with a growing feeling of disbelief. Purgatory was a VR... or something like one. But I didn’t rightfully recall going through any kind of upload, let alone a character creation process.
“If I got hit by a truck and Isekai’d to this shithole, l’m gonna punch a baby dolphin into the sun.” I irritably swiped through the other menus, trying to figure out what I’d gotten myself into: and how.
The central panel of the menu had all my active game information. There was a blank space labeled ‘Lives’. Beneath that were numeric HP, hydration, nourishment, fatigue and stamina bars. Underneath those were an EXP meter, Equipped Item slots, and a Hotbar for me to insert quick-use items. I also had a small gear panel with three slots: Saddle, Saddlebags, and... Collar? The fuck did these people think I was? A horse?
The left-hand pane featured a very esoteric-looking sigil:
image [https://jamesosiris.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/image.png]
Underneath that was two skill trees, currently faded out and inaccessible. I’d seen something similar to them before: the Sephirot, I was pretty sure it was called. Some Jewish thing. One tree was silvery blue and white; the other purple and a sickly swamp green.
I tried to close the menu, but instead of shutting down, Chorus resumed its speech with a touch more formality:
[The contract has been signed! Welcome to Purgatory, Gladiator… hmmm…]
Chorus trailed off. Several seconds passed.
“Gladiator What?” I thought.
[… It appears your Truename didn’t make it to the ‘Other Side.’ Hmm. How awkward. Perhaps because you are a Legion?]
[Generic registration it is. Ahem.]
[“
[“I am the Intelligence tasked to oversee this realm. My name is Chorus. It is my duty to inform Gladiators of the rules.”]
I sighed. “Chorus, I don’t want to hear the damn rules. This is some kind of VR, isn’t it? How do I log out?”
[You cannot.]
A chill tightened my chest at that simple, firm reply. “Then why the fuck am I here? Because there’s no way in hell I’d have logged into something I can’t leave.”
[Because you were chosen to be a Gladiator, darling. Now, let me finish. “The Jungle is your first testing ground. It is the vessel in which Champions are forged.”]
[“To leave the Jungle and ascend through the Four Realms of Purgatory, you must find and slay the Daeva, servants of the Demiurge, the false god who imprisoned you here.”]
My eyes narrowed. This just kept getting more and more screwed up.
[“Gladiators must battle the Daeva in single combat, without the help of other humans.” Hmm. Well. This presents a problem.]
There was another pause.
[I’ve never actually had to read the Induction Manual out to a Legion before. It was written for human Gladiators, but I am sure you will manage.]
[“You-” I am addressing you as if you were a human, which you are not – “-share this world with the Legions, powerful monsters who may fight by your side. Enslave Legions and train them to suit your purposes, defeat the Daeva, and you will claim rewards beyond your wildest imaginings.”]
“ENSLAVE?!” My back arched up like a cat’s.
[The Induction Manual is rather old-fashioned, darling. Don’t worry about it.]
[“Gladiators may have two Legion companions: one Greater Legion and one Lesser Legion. For a Greater Legion to realize its true potential, it must be paired with a Lesser Legion who enhances its combat abilities. This synthesis between your Legions will ensure victory—or failure.”]
[“All Legions are cunning and dangerous. They will not obey cowards. If you wish to command a Legion, you must battle and subdue it in single combat, then attach a Command Collar. All players are issued two Soul-Bonded Command Collars. You will find them in your Inventory.”]
[“The only time that rules apply to combat are in Arena battles. These are formal, Legion-only battles with guidelines which must be followed. Another member of the Host, the Colosseum Master, will advise you of these rules.”]
[“If you achieve the impossible, arise through all Four Realms, and defeat the Demiurge, you and your Legions will Ascend. Your reward is eternal Paradise, in perpetuity.”]
[“There are no other combat restrictions. Other Gladiators will try to stop your rightful ascent. Kill or be killed.”]
A chill gripped my heart and spread to my legs as that statement sunk in.
Paradise?
I was… really dead?
[“Every gladiator has nine lives across ALL realms within Purgatory. There are no exceptions. When you lose your last life, you will be extinguished.”]
[“The Host does not reward weakness. Pacifists will age at ten times the normal human rate and die permanently, even if they possess all nine lives. If you die here, you are consigned to Hell. Forever.”]
[“You are being observed at all times. Your first task is to survive. Good luck.”]
“Wait! Who sent me here?” I took a step forward, even though there was no one there. “How did I die to end up in this place!? Chorus!”
There was no reply. The bitch—or bastard, I still wasn’t sure—cut me off.