I had spent the last three days, grinding dungeons in Windersmyr with the musketeers, and hanging out with them at the evenings. A new placed had open in Area 10, Rockside, and it was challenging Anchors as the one and only place for R&R. It was the sign of the times, I guess. More and more players poured into Area 10 and the buildings lit up with people moving in and getting a feel for their new lives. For me and the musketeers, it was still Anchors or nothing.

My three days of grinding hadn’t given me much XP or loot to write home about. I hardly saw the progress on my level bar. I was doing level 7 dungeons and was basically carrying the musketeers that were between level 4 and 5. Mort and Michael had laid off their armors for black mages robes and had actually started doing some serious damage with their basic fire and lighting spells. It was nice doing dungeons that didn’t push me to the brink of disaster every time. And it was nice to have some friendly banter between kills. Recharging my batteries had been good, because Becher Ash had been crowned champion of the Battle Clash and tomorrow, I was heading out to join the new rotation of it. The formal name of my bracket was Battle Clash 10/15, but it was commonly known as the Junior Clash, or just the Jelly Clash.

But before that, I sat down on the couch in my apartment on East Side and pulled down the menu, and hit EXIT.

With a slow exhale I removed the mask from my face. It felt clammy and warm. I looked at the crème colored rya rug and my state-of-the-art Sony TV. It showed Alara with her visor down. The cup of coffee was still on the table. I put my hand to the white porcelain and gave my head an incredulous shake when feeling it was still warm.

I got into the Bronco, feeling like if it had been in another life that I’d been driving it. I drove down to the ocean at Santa Monica Pier, sat down on a bench by the promenade looking out over the beach and the ocean. Three girls skated by, blonde hair and sunglasses, one of them with a canary yellow Sony Walkman attached to her shorts. I just looked at it all, took in it, breathing the warm air, listening to the chatter of people and gulls screeching in the air, smelling the scent from the taco truck up on the road. I don’t know why I went down here, maybe to anchor me or something, giving my brain a moments respite from the weirdness of the last week. While I was sitting there, my chin on my clasped hands, the thought worked itself in from the periphery of my mind to its center. I needn’t go back in there. I needn’t sign up for the Battle Clash. I could just stay here, looking at the ocean, maybe having one of them tacos from the truck, and carry on as usual.

That was a possibility, but once again, not for me.

There was another world behind this one, one that was just as real, populated by people from the future. I couldn’t turn my back on that. I needed to know why it was there. The age-old curse of humanity, curiosity. It would be an itch I could never keep from scratching. I couldn’t carry on like if nothing had changed, that I didn’t knew what I know. Everything had changed and they would never be the same again. That was the truth of it. Maybe I could step back from it when I knew; when I knew who or what built the game and for what reasons. I could never get my piece of mind until I had an answer to those questions.

So, I went back up to the road, bought one of those tacos and ate it on the sidewalk before climbing back into my truck, heading home, logging back into the game.

Early morning, Breaker City. I unloaded all my excess loot in the storage crate in my apartment. If I got killed, the bastard who got me would at least not get the pleasure off looting my corpse for all my stuff. I kept all my healing potions in the inventory, and an epic sword of chills, that had a frost enchantment, slowing the enemy while dealing damager over time. It was a good weapon, but not as good as Laridian’s Edge. The thing with the Battle Clash was that everyone could bring whatever weapon they wanted, but every weapon in the pile was then up for grabs for anyone else. My legendary sword would be snatched away at an instant and if that fool that grabbed it got killed, my sword would end up in the victors’ hands. I’d thought long and hard about this. If I emerged as the final victor, I would end up with all the loot my opponents brought in, including Laridian’s Edge, but unless I was given first pick of weapon, I would need to reclaim my sword battling with inferior gear. Better not bring it at all. If someone picked up my sword of chills, it wasn’t a big deal, there would be gear left of similar quality, I was sure.

I set of, walking northwest to Bingham Square, the pick-up area for the Battle Clash. When I got closer, I saw others in the glum morning, heading the same way as me, giving me cursory glances before looking away.

There were already about 30 guys waiting at the square when I got there. I had anticipated stares and gritted teeth, wild dogs ready to chew each other up, but there was a nervous tension in the air, everyone in their own bubble, looking down at the cobble stones. Most of them were young, between seventeen and twenty, but there were some guys in my age as well – and some who’s chins even showed some grey stubble.

Them I feared the most.

They looked calm and confident. When I glanced at them, one of them caught my gaze. He gave a confident little smile. That guy meant trouble. Would’ve loved to see his name and level, but we had all switched of our public displays. All in all, I felt I had a shot at this.

Then, disaster struck.

A pair of other contestants came walking into the square and my gut filled up with ice. One of them was Vinger Tooth. He was holding a younger guy by the shoulder talking intensely, close to his face, giving the other a shake now and then. The younger guy had the same blonde, shoulder length hair as Vinger.

Oh, crap. Please, don’t let him see me.

Vinger wasn’t in my bracket. He couldn’t enter the Clash at this stage. Looked like he was coaching the other guy, that continually nodded, his thins lips pressed together. That guy didn’t look scared, he looked ultra focused. Vinger chopped with his hand in the air, and the younger guy nodded with added intensity, looking at Vinger from the corner of his eye. Vinger seemed to lose his train of thought and drifted his gaze down the line of contestant, coming closer and closer to me. Before he got to me, he got back to lecturing mode and gave the guys shoulder another shake.

Then he looked up again, and he looked straight at me.

At first his face went slack, then recognition hit him and his face lit up with a nasty little smile.

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He walked over the square, his stride slow and confident.

“Well, if it isn’t my lucky day. Told you later, didn’t I you pile of intestine?”

I didn’t answer. There was literally nothing I could say that would improve the situation.

“Would’ve loved to snuff you out by myself but I’ll tell my brother to give you some extra attention.”

I looked over Vinger’s shoulder. I could see the similarities now. The same nasty little smile on that fucker over there. How many of these Toth brothers were there? Had he brought the whole clan?

“He’s been trained since before he could walk for this moment. He’ll breeze through it but I’ll tell him to take his time with you. He’ll crack you so bad you’ll never walk again.”

“Talking dirty to me now, are you?”

Why can’t I keep my goddamn mouth shut?

Vinger’s smile collapsed. He gave me a dead stare.

“You don’t seem to understand who you’re talking to.” He said through clenched teeth. “But I’ll teach you. I will make you understand and after you’ve been ridiculed and killed in here, I’ll make sure you will never set your foot in Breaker City again. There will be nothing there for you anymore, except pain and degradation. Return to your mundane job as manager at the super market or your office cubicle or whatever fuck you do on the outside. This isn’t for you. Not anymore.”

Well, that went from bad to worse quick enough.

He gave me one last smirk brushing my shoulder from imaginary dust, before heading back to his kid brother, shooting a venomous glare over his shoulder. He gave his brother one last hug before stepping of the square. At the same time, Sergeant Watts NPC, stepped into it.

“Gentlemen!” he barked, his hands on his back. “This is your first Battle Clash, so let me explain to you the basics of this friendly competition. You’ll be dropped in the north of Windersmyr, west of the city of Brina. You will not enter populated areas. You will not use NPCs for any cunning devices of war or in any other matter. You will fight alone. Teams and alliances are not allowed in this Clash. At certain intervals the battle area will shrink. Fail to get into the new battle zone and you are eliminated. Are we clear!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” I shouted, together with the two grey bearded guys.

Army men, then? I had anticipated that. Something in the way they carried themselves, their reserved calmness. I didn’t know who would prove to be the biggest threat, the two veterans or the youngest spawn of clan Toth, glaring at me, showing teeth at the other side of the square. Wouldn’t matter in the end. I needed to kill them all to win this tournament.

The carrier came floating down towards the square, lighting up the cobble stones with its blue light, casting electric shadow across the open area.

“Get moving!” Sergeant Watts barked as the aircraft touched ground and lowered its loading ramp.

I let young Toth embark before me. I didn’t want to have him at my back if I could avoid it. The men trudged sideways between the row of seats. I counted somewhere around 40 people. 40 opponents that stood between me and victory. When everyone was seated and strapped in, Sergeant Watts walked in on the metal floor, hands on back, the corners of his mouth in sharp declining curves.

“Gentlemen! The Battle Clash is different from what you are used to. Your opponents are no longer mindless mobs. This time you will hunt the most cunning and deceptive prey known to man – man! That will reflect in the XP you’ll gain for each kill. And, I’m sure you all know what you’re competing for! The Master Huntsman Award.

The award popped up in my visuals, spinning slowly. It looked like a sports trophy but this trophy wasn’t just for show. When clicking the information tab I read:

The Master Huntsman Award is given to the victor of the Battle Clash 10/15. It grants passive income by the amount of 2000 credits a week and speeds up skill levelling by 10 %.

Christ, that really was something worth fighting for. It would solve my immediate money problems, but the main thing was the improved levelling speed.

“Okay, gentlemen! Weapons!”

A long sliding scale popped up in my vision, each square containing one weapon. The number 17 was above it in yellow.

“A’rigth! You have 35 seconds to make your pick of weapon! Fail to do so and you will be assigned a random weapon from the pile!”

I had less than 10 minutes to make a priority list. I wanted a one-handed sword. If that wasn’t up for grabs, I would go for a good strong bow. I scanned the list of weapons looking for that golden swirl of legendary and was appalled to see that two of the contestants actually had brought legendary enchanted weapons. A two-handed sword of chills and a chunky looking bow of slow speed.

Morons.

The two legendary weapons were snatched away immediately. There were five one-handed swords in the list, all with basic enchantments, mine being one of them, and twelve bows. There were five two-handed swords, and the rest of the equipment was magical stuff, like staffs and robes, except one weird dude who had brought a shield.

Three of the one-handed swords went in the next five picks, then some mage stuff before two of the bows were picked. Four more picks until I was up. My sword was picked next and what remained was an Epic Silver Sword of Anguish. I had no idea what that enchantment did, and a Rare Sword of Burning. Christ I wasn’t too keen on either. There were two bows that I started zooning in on, one Epic Bow of Slow Speed and an Epic Bow of Burning.

I needed an epic weapon. It would have a lot more punching power than the rare ones.

A longsword went next and then, one after the other, the two remaining one-handed swords went.

It all happened fast now, the Bow of Slow Speed vanished from the list and my number 17 switched to red and a countdown for 35 seconds started.

I grabbed the Epic Bow of Burning.

The list of items drained fast. The shield was the last item to go.

Poor bastard.

“Aaaa’right, gentlemen! That was that! Get ready for take-off!”

We took off, hurtled to the sky. I pressed the back of my head against the seat and clenched my teeth. There was like a collective groan when the G-forces peaked, just before we plopped out of the stratosphere, becoming weightless. Then we descended again. The lush green hills of Windersmyr didn’t look as I was used to. They were darker, pines and spruce trees carpeted the lands, and where the trees didn’t cover the ground, it was rocky and dark, flecked with patches of snow.

“You will disembark in the same order as you choose your weapon. We will stop for no one, so time your step-off carefully!”

The aircraft swooped in over ground, slowing to what felt like a crawl, but when the tail ramp lowered the ground rushed past and the air was whipping my hair forward.

We got up from the seats, scrambled to find our place in the line. Tristan Toth was five places ahead of me in the line, I tried to think of the order the weapons had gone, but couldn’t remember. I was pretty sure he got one of the one-handed swords, or maybe a bow. One of the army vets was one place behind Toth, and with some luck he would clip Toth before he turned his attention to me. I had the other army vet two places in front of me. I had no clue who was behind me but he was tall and gangly, having dark hair and large intelligent eyes. Didn’t look like a killer but one was a fool to trust first impressions.

The aircraft slowed even more, the engine dropping to a soft mumble. The tail ramp was in the snow, cascading clumps of ice and snow as we went.

“Go!” Watts barked and slapped the first one in the line on the shoulder.

He went, without hesitating, jumping of the ramp. He hit the ground and tumbled, but even before he was out of sight he was on his feet, running for cover.

“Go!” the next guy ran of the ramp.

Tristan Toth jumped off in a magnificent leap, hit the snow with both feet planted together, did a parachute landing roll and come up almost without having his thick blonde hair ruffled. I was reluctantly impressed.

It didn’t take long before I was the first one in the line. No one had goofed up yet. Everyone had proven to be of the “right stuff”, unfortunately, and I was determined to not be the first one to break my neck when jumping of the ramp.

“Go!” I got the slap on the shoulder and took off.