Rick just stared at me.

“You want me to what?”

Michael and Mort sat silent on the edge of the couch, looking between us.

“You heard me. That’s the way it’s going to be.”

“You’re actually planning to do this? Do you understand how dumb that is?”

“I’ve been told. So, are you okay with this arrangement?”

“Sure. Yes, of course, but I really would like you to rethink this. You don’t have to decide today.”

“It’s already been decided.”

Rick nodded, looking at the floor.

“I kind of guessed it was.”

I pulled out Orak’s Wrath from my inventory. Its magic red glow lit up the walls of the Musketeers dreary apartment.

“I know he expects me to bring this to the challenge,” I said in a low monotone. “That it would be some kind of justice done if he got to pry it from my dead hands, as I took it from his brother… But that’s not going to happen.”

The musketeers looked at the sword in silent awe. I angled the hilt towards Rick.

“Take it.”

He looked at the sword with a gaze that looked almost frightened.

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“I rather that one of you have it than Vinger.”

“I can sell it and give you the credits.”

“It’s priceless, Rick. We’re not selling this sword. Take it.”

Finally, he did, with a tremble in his hand. He raised in front of his face, staring at the shimmering blade. Then he tucked it away in his inventory. I felt a sudden sting of regret seeing go into my friend’s inventory, but this was the best solution.

“Michael. I want you to have this bow,” I said and pulled out the legendary bow of slow. “You’re a good archer and could make good use of it. The enchantment on it is really good one.”

“Oh, wow! Thanks Brad. That’s really swell.”

He looked the bow over with mouth wide open, stroking the compound curve as if he was stroking a woman.

I looked over at Mort, who tried to look casual but had never looked more like an eager kid on Christmas.

“I have one legendary blade left, Mort. But I need that in the challenge.”

“Of course. I understand, Brad.”

“But.”

Mort perked up.

“I’ll give you what probably is even more sought after than a legendary blade. You’re starting to become a prolific mage and I think you can make good use of this.”

I pulled out the Demonization potion from my inventory. Mort stared at it.

“Is that…?”

“It is. The most potent potion in the game. You’ve seen what it can do. You can hold on to it or sell it. It’s yours to do with what you will. If you rather want a legendary blade, you can afford it after selling that potion.”

“Problem would be to find a trader with enough coin to buy it,” Rick said.

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. I’ll be saving this, for sure,” Mort said, which was what I hoped he would say. “Thanks, Brad! This is awesome.”

I gave all my credits to Rick to hold on to. I was under the Mark of Death and even if all my gear was marked, my credits weren’t. I also gave him the rest of my loot, to distribute between the three of them as he saw fit.

“And now, I think I need to call in a mutual friend of ours.”

“Are we talking about the one I think we’re talking about?” Michael said, a smile spreading on his lips.

“Yep, if none of you gents disapprove?”

“Oh, quite the contrary,” Rick said, grinning, making Mort snigger.

I pressed the summon button and there was a knock on the door.

“Please come in, the door is open.”

Alara opened the door and walked in, as always in her futuristic body suit.

“Alara.”

“Brad”, she said with a nod, and then, in turn recognizing the rest of the Musketeers. “Mort, Rick, Michael. It’s been a while.”

“Sure has,” Mort said, giving a dreamy smile.

“How can I help you, Brad?”

“I’ve been challenged, by Vinger Toth. I need all information on the challenge you can share.”

“I can share that you’re in way over your head. He’s twice your level. Even if you chose to accept the challenge and get to open the XP box, you will gain levels and Base XP, but you will still be severely lacking in Skill XP. In that regard, you’re pretty much at the same place as when you entered the Battle Clash. You’ve speed levelled. Vinger has not. He’s ground out his levels and has the Skill XP to match them.”

“Ah, thanks for the pep talk. Can you tell me how he has allocated his skill points?”

“I cannot. But I can tell you that you have a weird mix of your own. To pour all your Base Skill Points into strength is an… unorthodox decision, especially since your main skills lay in ranged weaponry.”

“Yeah, you might be right about that, but it served me well against Tristan. I’m hoping it will do the same for me against his brother.”

“As I said, I can’t give you any information concerning that.”

“Get it. So, how is this challenge going to go down then?”

“It’s quite simple. You bring your weapon of choice into the circle, and your opponent brings his. An officiant spins a shield to decide who gets to choose weapon first.”

“How refined. Wonder who came up with it.”

“Some Average Joe I would guess. You need to be skilled in a range of different weapons when stepping into the circle, because you never know what you will end up fighting with. As the fight starts, the same rules apply as for hand-to-hand-combat. You won’t be able to use any boosts or potions, and you will not be able to use magic either. It’s a test of skill, grit and courage.”

“What happens if I lose?”

“I think you already know.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“You will be bumped back down to level 30 and all your skills – except the natural ones – like your skills with bow and sniper rifle, will be reset to zero. All your completed achievements will remain completed which mean you can’t receive XP or lot from them. All your items are Marked as well as your person, meaning that you will never be able to own or handle a piece of equipment that was in your inventory at the moment the debuff Marked for Death was placed on you.”

“I’ve given my stuff to my friends. Is that allowed?”

“It is. But they can never give them back to you, either directly or using a middle man. To touch a marked weapon will scorch your hand and drain both your stamina and HP at an alarming rate.”

I nodded, looking out through the window.

“I’m kinda starting from the muddy outside track here. Has anyone in my position ever won a challenge?”

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“No. No one has ever gone into a challenge as disadvantaged as you and won.”

There is another thing to take into account, I heard Alara’s voice in my head. Your standing will plummet if you decline the challenge. The conflict between you and Vinger has gotten quite a bit of traction and people doesn’t respond well being cheated on a show.

I gave her a look. She curled the corner of her mouth into half a smile.

So, I don’t have much of a choice, then?

Depends what your ambition are. If you just want to have a nice life in Breaker City, start a shop and drink coffee or what was it you said? Then you can decline. You will drop out of the public gaze and merge with the crowd. But if your striving upwards, you need to stay in people’s sphere of awareness. It’s all up to you.

I nodded, sighing loudly.

“What? What’s happening?” Mort said, looking between me and Alara.

I brought down the Missions Tab and pulled up the Gauntlet is Thrown objective and hit Accept.

They flew me out the next day, in the late afternoon. It was only me on the transport. When I disembarked, Sergeant Watts gave me a slap on the shoulder.

“What you lack in brains, you clearly make up with balls. Good luck, soldier. Bring that bastard down and make us all a happier family.”

“Will do, Sergeant,” I said and walked of the ramp.

It was almost dark, just a strand of pink and gold at the wooded horizon in the west. I was at the foot of a hill. On the top of it, lights were burning. I guess that was where I was going. While I trudged up the hill, the carrier took flight and zoomed past above me, mumbling away. I had a heavy lump of nervousness in the pit of my stomach. My palms were slick and cold. Maybe this was a mistake? But at the same time, it felt like I’d been corralled to this point. I suddenly understood what Sarah had meant by saying the show runners meddled with things, funnelled events in certain ways to get something exciting to show on the screens. Who were they who watched me walking up this hill now? People didn’t respond well to be created on a show, Alara had said. People equated to humans to me, but did it to Alara? She wasn’t even human herself; I had no idea how her frame of references looked. But nothing of that mattered at the moment, because I was trudging up a hill of icy snow to what would most probably be my own death.

Oh, come on. Don’t be overdramatic. It’s just a stupid game. You’re risking nothing.

I tried to tell myself that, but it was my internal voice trying to rally against everything else; the crunching snow beneath my boots, the strain in my thigs and the sheen of sweet that was growing cold on my forehead; the yellow flames flickering and thrashing in the wind, contained by wrought iron cages. I could tell myself this was just a game, but I knew it was wrong. It was more, and this was only the first of many ordeals I needed to go through to understand what. The world around me, it was real, it felt more real than the other world and I feared how my mind would react to instant death. Would it fry, to use Rick’s words? As it felt now, I thought I ran the risk of that. Right here, right now, I had a hard time even picturing my living room in the other world. It was a distant memory.

This was my reality now.

A figure became visible over the top of the hill, a man in a padded robe, holding a scroll in his clutched hands. He wore a six cornered hat, marking him as the officiant.

I continued upwards, and there was Vinger. His bare torso was rubbed with oil, glistening in the light of the fires. His blonde hair was wrapped up in a tight bun.

He hadn’t seen me yet. He was in a battle stance, teeth clenched, swinging his sword ferociously in a fast pattern. It left golden streaks in the air.

A legendary weapon, then.

The officiant gave me a short bow.

Vinger turned his head, looked at me and managed to smile as he bared his teeth, looking completely deranged. A chill went through me.

The top of the hill was flat, maybe as big as half a basketball court. This would be some kind of lethal king of the hill then, to be pushed of the sides would be a very bad thing.

Vinger whipped his sword and walked up to me, slow and deliberate, still smiling that eerie smile. He stopped just short of me. I had almost forgotten how big he was. Half a head taller than me and his glistening, bulging mass of muscles took up more space than I was comfortable with. Didn’t matter how many skills points I’d put into strength. I would never be able to physically outmatch this monster.

This was a mistake. A big fucking mistake.

“I will rip you apart, limb from limb, Vinger said in a low monotone that scared me more than his usual screaming and hollering. “There’s nowhere to run here, little rabbit.”

“Please stand back,” the officiant said putting the back of his hand on Vinger’s heavy chest, urging him backwards. “You’ll get your chance at murder and blood soon enough, but this will be done by the book. We’re not savages, after all.”

Vinger stepped back, with a predatory smile.

“In the power vested in me by King Reymer Greywolf, fifth of his house, Lord of the Four Dominions, Conqueror of the Ulans and the Baerdi, I sanction this Challenge by the grace of his will. Two will step into the ring, only one will step out.”

There was a whoosh when fire shot from the wrought iron cages, connecting them in a ring of fire. The flames danced shoulder high. I’d been wrong. There would be no king of the hill. If I was pushed into the fire, I would be burnt to death instead.

“Put forth your weapons.”

I pulled out my legendary sword and threw it in the snow. I saw the tug of disappointment in the corner of Vinger’s mouth. He had expected Orak’s Wrath. He threw his own sword, legendary as expected but I couldn’t tell anything more from it from this distance.

If I got first pick. I would go for it, not only to piss Vinger off, but because I expected his sword to be better than mine. He had no reason to fear me. The idea that he could lose what he brought into the circle had probably not even crossed his mind.

The officiant pulled out an oblong shield with a bottom tip of silver steel. He spun it. It wobbled in the snow, hit the icy crust and travelled sideways for a bit, but when it stopped, it – without doubt – pointed straight at Vinger.

Fuck.

Vinger, wordlessly, picked his own sword up and when he looked at me, there were no more creepy smiles and attempts to intimidation. His face was a complete blank.

I needed to change that.

My plan, because I had one – even if it was far from refined – was to piss him off, make him so angry that he lost his composure. The way I was to do it was a no-brainer. It would do nothing to improve on my approval rate, but I planned to do whatever it took to win.

I went down on one knee to pick up my sword, and said off-handedly.

“Did I tell you that your brother pissed himself when I killed him?”

“Shut your mouth,” Vinger said, still in that eerie monotone.

“Oh yeah, pissed his pants and sobbed in my ear. Proved to be a true Toth after all.”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Yeah? That’s the gran plan, eyh? Like I hadn’t understood that already. If you haven’t anything of worth to say, just keep your mouth shut, ‘kay?”

“Fucking start this already!” Vinger roared to the officiant, who blinked and took a step back.

“Such language,” the officiant said in a dwindling voice. “But, very well, in the power vested in me, I declare this challenge started.”

Vinger roared and came at me with his sword raised. My chest gave a single thump of fear. I twisted out of the way, making Vinger slash air. I got no chance to counterattack. Vinger lashed out in a vicious side swing. His blade hit mine with a shrill ringing tone, sending numbing vibrations up my arms. His sword was already coming down on me again. I twisted out of the way again, having his blade scrape by my shoulder. I was prepared for the side swing this time, meeting his blade with more determination.

The blades crashed together.

I tried to un-foot him by shoulder push him, but it was me that was un-footed, stumbling back from the oak-like resistance of his stance.

The blade came whizzing again.

I ducked and thrusted forward. He deflected my thrust to the side.

Christ he was fast!

I was out of balance, having put everything in that forward thrust. Instead of trying to regain my footing I dove into a forward roll, spinning around, coming up on one knee, immediately having to parry a vicious overhead chop from Vinger. I took the full brunt of his force and I felt the tip of his sword nip my forehead. I came to my feet, a trickle of blood dripping of my right eyebrow.

“Shat himself as well,” I continued, grinning while panting. “Crying for his big brother to come save him.”

Vinger came roaring back at me, fully consumed by rage now. Chopping down on me like a farm boy chopping wood, bashing away.

I stumbled backwards, absorbing the hits as I went. I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. My wrists felt like shattered glass. How long could I keep this up?

I caught my balance for just a fraction of a second but that was enough to stomp over his knee from the side.

I saw it buckle, but it didn’t give way.

He grunted. I slashed. He was no longer there. I parried his strike. My sword flung to the side, but I managed to keep hold of it.

The next blow was already coming from above. I stepped to the side, raising my sword. His sword struck the front end of mine, which dipped, making the force of Vinger’s slash continued downward.

He stumbled forward.

I acted on instinct and unloaded everything I had in a vicious low kick to the back of his thighs.

He went down on his knees, arms flailing. The next kick came from the other side, my shin striking him right in the face.

He gurgled and toppled backwards.

I was on him in an instant, getting a massive flash of déjà vu. If this strategy could kill one Toth, it could just as well kill another.

I tried to secure the armlock. He still held his sword. I blocked his movement by angling my elbow out. He dropped his sword. My heart jumped with triumph.

Then I realized he had dropped the sword to grab my elbow.

His fingers were like cold bars of iron.

He started pressing upward. The sense of triumph drained out of me. He was stronger, by a lot. His other hand locked over my neck in a big bearhug.

“This will hurt a little,” he murmured in my ear.

He was strong but had no technique, at all. I got out of his neck lock by burrowing my forehead down at his neck, smearing my blood, and then I flipped forward.

I still had a hold of his wrist and when I landed on my back, I dug my thumb into his wrist and quickly turned around, twisting his arm to breaking point.

He screamed and arched his back, letting me slip my leg in and clamp down on his neck with a leg-scissor.

“Mmpfh!” he said, his iron fingers digging into my thigs.

I had this. I had that motherfucker in a –

He dug his thumb in above my kneecap. I felt the skin break, and then is thumb slid into my knee joint.

I howled with the exploding pain, but I didn’t let go.

Vinger grunted and wriggled while pushing his thumb even further in.

I pinched my eyes closes and tried to block out the pain, but there was no way containing these levels of pain.

“Mmmmpfh!” Vinger grunted.

He was still breathing. He still got air. I tried to flex my thighs harder but the pain from the hole in the side of my knee was too intense.

I felt blood slosh out of the wound.

I glanced over my shoulder.

My sword was lying there, close than Vinger’s sword was lying to him. I would only get one shot at this. I gasped a breath and released my leg scissor, stomped down on top of Vinger’s head as hard as I could with my uninjured leg, pushing me closer to my sword.

I crawled toward it.

Behind me I heard Vinger scrambling in the snow.

I closed my hand on the hilt of the sword and turned around, trying to get to my feet. My ruined knee, betrayed me, wobbled to the right and I had to correct myself with the tip of the sword.

Vinger was already on his feet. Sword in hand, stroking blood from his face and eyes. He blinked at me, two perfect circles in a mask of red. Then he came at me.

One last chance.

One last forward thrust.

I leaned back, pulling back the sword – and then I thrust forward.

Vinger just angled his hips, and I tumbled past him.

Something hit me in the back of the neck.

The world exploded in purple and red.