I'm 90% sure she didn't hear my final comment as she disappeared after my first few words. Regardless, Amanda's first match was pretty lucky; her opponent had just narrowly won the previous fight and was not in the best shape. All it took was a few well-aimed shots, and Amanda had won her first match.
Her next opponent was geared very similarly to her. Although it was clear to me that they originated from different worlds due to the drastically different aesthetic choices otherwise their overall gear layout was remarkably similar. The previous fight had not tired Amanda out at all and only revealed that she had proficient marksmanship abilities, so the mirror match went exactly as I thought it would—slowly. Fortunately, the might of modern weapons lent to faster combat; if they had been decked out in swords and shields instead, it could have lasted over ten minutes. Amanda's efficiency was notable. She moved with calculated precision, conserving energy while maintaining a steady barrage of suppressive fire. Her opponent, though similarly equipped, lacked the discipline and tactical acumen that Amanda exhibited. In the end, her superior training and composure under pressure won her the second match.
Her potentially last opponent was a handsome white-haired young man who looked anywhere between 17 and 30, with the kind of face that made it hard to determine his exact age. But what rang danger bells in my mind was his attire—he was dressed only in a loose black Eastern-style robe reminiscent of monk attire. Given how casually he was taking the entire situation, the confidence of his posture, and his lack of any weapons or armor, the chances that he was a supernatural were quite high.
As the match started, my suspicions were validated instantly by the thunderous buzzing that reverberated throughout the arena. It could only be described as a tsunami as a swarm of various venomous insects and arthropods flooded out of his robes. From spiders to centipedes, wasps, beetles, maggots, and so many more unidentifiable chitinous monsters who ranged in size from a grain of rice to that of a fully grown workhorse.
Flash. Amanda's position was obscured by the flood of insects, so I only noticed that she resigned when she reappeared next to me.
"No shame in resigning against that power. It's so gross, and there was no chance you could win against that, so just save yourself the pain, right? Think about it this way—he's almost certainly going to get three wins in a row, so the chances you'll have to fight against him again are real low."
At that moment, my ticket started to glow.
"..."
"..."
"Fuc—"
***
"—k."
I found myself back in the armory but before picking out my weapons, I needed to make an important decision. [Should I just resign? If I can get him in my range, I can kill him, but can I get him into my range... Maybe? From how 'the Arena' asked me my preferred starting range in my first fight and some inferences based on other matches, I can make the assumption the starting range is based on an average of both of the opponents' preferred ranges with a preference for the challenging fighter over that of a defending champion. In his fight with Amanda, it was clear that they had both picked the maximum range, but if my assumption is correct, then I can likely shorten it to about 30 meters. So the real question is, can I cover 20 meters before I die to the insect swarm?]
After a few moments of contemplation, I thought my chances weren't that bad. I decided on a different weapon layout this time—two light short swords primarily designed for slashing.
"Preferred starting distance?"
" Zero meters."
***
As the familiar surroundings of the arena materialized, I saw him—that same white-haired young man with his eerie calm demeanor. He stood about 25 meters away, closer than I had guessed. His robes billowed slightly in the arena's still air, and I knew what was coming.
The moment the whistle blew the swarm of venomous fangs and stingers erupted from his robes like an avalanche. Without hesitation, I sprinted forward, my eyes focused on the young man. The flood of insects was fast, much faster than me. By the time I had covered about 5 meters, they had already entered my range.
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Now's the time I should probably explain a little bit more about my ability. I can attack anywhere in my range; that doesn't mean I have to swing my weapons to attack. As long as I have a weapon in my hand, I can replicate the effect as if I had swung it. The speed and damage of each attack would be the same as if I had swung it myself. Also, holding two weapons allows me to attack at twice the normal rate. This effect caused it to appear like the swarm of insects had hit an invisible barrier, turning the vast majority into minced meat. Although this effect looked impressive, I knew it wouldn't last for long as the speed I could swing these short swords was not nearly fast enough to provide a proper defense. I already felt some of the smaller insects slip through and crunch underneath my feet.
15 meters. Almost there.
I could see the young man's eyes widen slightly as I closed the distance. He raised his arms, directing the swarm toward me with greater intensity. Invariably, some of the flying vermin were able to slip through my barrier, delivering excruciating stings and bites that I was confident would be fatally venomous if this fight went on longer than a couple more seconds.
12 meters. I could feel the bites and stings intensifying, my skin burning from the venom. The pain was almost unbearable, but I pushed through, knowing that stopping now meant certain death.
11 meters. One final push.
With every ounce of strength left in my body, I lunged forward. The swarm was thicker than ever, and I felt a searing pain as a large centipede latched onto my leg, its mandibles piercing deep into my flesh. I gritted my teeth and kept moving. Then, as if somebody flipped a light switch, the plague storm disappeared without a sound. Dropping to my knees to catch my breath, I heard a dull thud and something roll in my direction. The head's eyes were open so wide as if the young man it used to belong to could have never imagined that he could lose. As it slowly turned to ash, my vision began to fade. [Let's see what this place has in store for me next.]
***
The sight that greeted my eyes was the last thing I expected: a waiting room. With warm '70s aesthetic sensibilities accompanied by fake plants and plush lounge chairs, I couldn't help but feel it was incongruous. Especially due to the occupants of the room—half of the lounge chairs were filled with characters that looked straight out of action movies, epic tales, and comic books, each holding a ticket of various colors. Checking my own hands, I found a red numbered ticket, that displayed the number 63.
Looking around, I scanned the room for anyone who looked friendly and willing to engage in a conversation. From left to right there was a heavily armored knight with a sword resting on his knee, a futuristic soldier with sleek, high-tech armor, a woman whose body was half made of crystal, and a few people who looked like they had just stepped out of a fantasy novel, complete with robes and magical staffs. Noticing a free seat open as well as the friendly demeanor of the 'wizards', I decided to take a seat next to the spectacled older gentlemen. They paused their quiet conversation and silently evaluated me.
Reaching a hand out to the closest one, I greeted, "How are you all doing? Name's Vaughn, nice to meet you."
The one I reached my hand out to let out a hearty chuckle and reciprocated my handshake. "Greetings, young fellow, I'm Headmaster Aemilius Mikuláš." He gestured over toward a middle-aged woman whose dark hair was in a tight bun. "This is my disciple, Professor Ingrid Szabó, and that young man next to her is her pupil, Otto Varga."
"What brings you here?" I asked.
"Haha, nothing much, just a short field trip," Aemilius replied.
"Would you happen to know what happens after we leave this waiting room?"
Quickly glancing at the color of my ticket, his expression changed slightly. "You should still be in the lowest tier, so either you'll be sent on a filter mission or thrown into the next Crucible."
"...Is 'Crucible' the word used to refer to the arenas?" After a quick nod from Aemilius, I asked my next question. "So what are these filter missions?"
"Well," Aemilius began, "the Crucible has a problem, at least in the early stages. It tends to select people who lack adaptability. People like that tend to do poorly later on, so as not to allow these fighters to eliminate potentially very talented late bloomers, filter missions are utilized. These missions typically require unique skills, adaptability, or enough raw power to make everything else meaningless."
"I guess, that makes sense. "
As my ticket began to glow I thanked them for the information gave a quick wave goodbye and disappeared.
***
It was raining, the ground beneath my feet felt soft and wet, the air filled with the fresh scent of petrichor. I stood in the narrow space between two buildings, taking a moment to familiarize myself with my immediate surroundings.
I heard that familiar voice in my head "Eliminate the leader of this country. You have three months."
[Well, fuck, that does not sound easy.]