Alonso pushed hard off the ground, propelling himself forward in a sprint toward the female warrior. His steps were calculated, each one bringing him closer to his target. He noted Oleg’s attempt to intercept, but he couldn’t afford even a moment’s hesitation. If the woman had time to load her sling, it would be over.
Oleg relied heavily on his EM sense, his eyes already compromised by the acting poison. His vision was blurred, eyelids growing numb. Without the ability to break through Alonso’s Fake Reality, Oleg was fighting blind.
As expected, Oleg’s sword thrust came right on time, aimed with precision toward Alonso’s waist. A perfectly timed stab, its tip poised to penetrate, but Alonso didn’t flinch. He moved confidently, the blade stopping inches from him. It wasn’t aimed at him after all—but at the decoy. Oleg’s reliance on EM had failed him.
In a smooth continuation of his motion, Alonso reached the woman, who had seen Oleg’s failed strike. Her shock was fleeting, quickly replaced by the composure of a seasoned fighter. She raised her shield, prepared to block and ready her sword for a counterattack. But Alonso had no intention of delivering a simple strike.
With his left hand, he flicked a shard of the panther’s fang toward her face—a small, fast projectile designed to distract. The woman reacted with swift efficiency, her shield coming up to block the object aimed at her eye. But in doing so, she had fallen into Alonso’s range—his maai, the perfect striking distance.
His blade flashed in an upward arc, aiming for her exposed core, a cut designed to cleave through her midsection and pierce vital organs. She instinctively moved her sword to parry the strike, but her timing was wrong. She had misjudged—she had been aiming at the fake EM sword, not the real one.
Alonso’s blade slipped past her guard, cutting deep into her side. The sword pierced through her abdomen, a fatal blow. Blood spilled as she staggered, her defenses crumbling. He stepped back swiftly, knowing that the next attack was imminent.
The second male warrior closed in, his thrust wild, driven by desperation rather than skill. His EM senses, like Oleg’s, were fooled by the decoy. Alonso sidestepped effortlessly, allowing the man’s strike to pass harmlessly by, completely unaware that his blade had never come close.
In one fluid motion, Alonso grabbed his sling and loaded it, continuing to backstep as Oleg recovered and charged again. Oleg’s sword sliced through the air, a diagonal cut aimed at Alonso’s thigh. Alonso turned his body just enough to evade the blow, and with a snap of his wrist, launched the projectile from his sling.
The rock, cloaked from EM senses at the moment of launch, sailed through the air, invisible to his opponent. It hit the male warrior in the forehead with brutal force. The impact shattered bone and caved in his skull. He crumpled instantly, dead before he hit the ground.
Alonso’s eyes locked on Oleg. The man’s frustration had boiled over into blind rage, his once-controlled technique devolving into sloppy, desperate slashes. Each swing was wider, more reckless than the last, his form betraying the skill he had displayed earlier. Alonso didn’t need to dodge; Oleg’s strikes weren’t even close to hitting their mark.
“I’m sorry,” Alonso whispered under his breath, effortlessly sidestepping another erratic slash. He could see the poison taking its toll—Oleg’s movements were slower, more labored.
“Fight me like a man!” Oleg bellowed, swinging his sword in blind fury, fully aware of his impending defeat.
Alonso stepped in, closing the distance with fluid precision. Oleg was just within range, his defenses faltering. Alonso could have ended it in countless ways, but he chose the simplest, most direct path. There was no hatred, just the brutal necessity of survival. Perhaps Oleg was protecting people in this community as he had said, maybe he had a family waiting for him back on Earth. But Alonso, too, had people—people who depended on him. He could not afford to show weakness.
With a controlled, linear thrust, Alonso’s blade shot forward, targeting Oleg’s neck. The tip of his sword pierced the vulnerable flesh with deadly accuracy. Oleg had no time to parry, his body too slow to react.
Blood bubbled up from the wound, spilling down Oleg’s chest as his grip loosened on his sword. His eyes widened in shock, hands instinctively reaching for his neck, trying in vain to stem the flow. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
Oleg's breaths came out in wet, ragged gasps as life drained from him. His gaze grew distant, his strength fading. Within moments, his body went limp, his sword slipping from his hand. As he fell completely, his body and weapon slowly disintegrated into shimmering particles, vanishing from existence. Only his armor remained, along with the orb, resting untouched on the ground.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Alonso crouched and absorbed the orb.
> Stage 1 - 2.205%
He then reached for the other two orbs, but paused, eyes scanning the horizon. In the distance, less than a kilometer away, figures began to emerge. Had they witnessed part of the fight? He’d deal with that when the time came.
> Stage 1 - 2.275%
>
> Stage 1 - 2.335%
More figures appeared—four, five, six, seven... nine. Nine people, divided into three groups of three, were now watching him from a distance.
Alonso’s heart tightened. He stood still, the weight of his choices sinking in. Had he done the right thing? Truthfully, it didn’t sit well with him. Killing humans never felt right, no matter how many times he’d done it. Jonah had been a murderer, so Alonso hadn’t lost sleep over it. But Oleg... Oleg wasn’t necessarily a bad man, not really. He was just another victim of the same brutal trials, doing what he had to in order to survive.
This wasn’t a world governed by fairness or humanity. It was survival, pure and simple. A trial, with its own unforgiving rules. Alonso lived by one code: each to their own. Leave him alone, and he’d leave you alone. He wasn’t interested in building a community or becoming part of a hierarchy. He didn’t want to depend on anyone, nor did he want anyone depending on him, especially not after what happened to Abhijit.
Asking for his weapons? Asking him to surrender his advantage and trust strangers? No. That wasn’t going to happen.
His thoughts flashed back to meeting Chiara. Even then, despite the friendly conversation, none of them had let go of their swords. They all knew the unspoken truth—each followed their own path, and at any moment, those paths could clash. Alonso simply made sure his stayed clear of others... until it couldn’t.
He glanced again at the figures in the distance. They weren’t approaching, not yet. But they were watching, calculating. Just like he was.
image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]
> August 29, 2024 - Yarra Ranges, Australia
YOU DIED
“The fuck was that creep in the purple ring?” Pablo blurted out.
“It was the last challenge in the set of rings on the fourth floor, commonly referred to—”
“Yes, I know, MAI. Thank you. Log off.”
Pablo gasped, his breath ragged as he pulled off the VR helmet.
He glanced at his bed, now drenched in sweat. “These things are too damn realistic,” he muttered, wiping his forehead. Feeling restless, he decided to step out of his tent for some fresh air. It had been over two weeks in the camp already, but surprisingly, things weren’t going badly—quite the opposite, actually.
Sure, the fact that he was waiting for his missing friend, who was probably facing God-knew-what horrors in The Tower, was not exactly comforting. Add in the military base, with soldiers preparing for whatever grim arrival was expected—it wasn’t the ideal setup for a peaceful retreat. But honestly? The camp was pretty great! Plus, he was now getting paid for every hour he spent there.
And then, two days ago, the VR helmets arrived. Naturally, the military got first dibs, but somehow, he and Jack had been included in that batch. Pablo had been itching to try it out, even though he never expected the tech to be this advanced.
The level of immersion was beyond anything he’d imagined—almost disturbing in its intensity. He felt like he was literally inside The Tower. His heart raced, muscles tensed, and sweat poured down his back as though his body had accepted it was all real. And to top it off, he was terrified of horror movies. Seeing that white, eyeless abomination with sharp teeth wasn’t exactly the best introduction to virtual immersion.
“It doesn't make sense," he whispered to himself, his scientific mind grappling with the experience. Pablo had spent years studying biotech—he knew the limitations of modern VR and brain-machine interfaces. Sure, they’d made progress in virtual immersion, but for this? To feel pain, touch, and heat? Sure, there were some things that weren’t perfect—like the absence of smell, the taste being off, and even the sensation of touch not quite there yet—but even this level of immersion should still be decades away, right?
For this to work, they'd need breakthroughs in neural mapping, real-time data processing, and full-body haptics. The last time he’d checked, none of that was even close to feasible. The brain could be tricked to some extent, but this level of sensory manipulation was next-level.
“How are they even doing it?” Pablo murmured, pacing around his tent. “There must be some kind of high-level Brain-Computer Interface (BCI) integration. Maybe they're using electromagnetic fields to disrupt and manipulate neurons directly?” He shook his head, frustrated. That still didn’t explain the full-body feedback—the pain, the weight of objects, even the chill of the Tower’s rooms.
Every part of him knew that some major breakthroughs in neuroscience and quantum data processing had to have happened. But when? He had been deep in the academic world, and no one had even hinted at something this groundbreaking.
Where were the peer-reviewed papers!?