Azrael saw a flash of silver fly towards him and threw himself forward.

The sharp blade of a knife flew by, embedding itself in the wall where his head had been a moment before. It sat there quivering, buried halfway down the blade and he swore he could see his own hairs drifting downwards where the blade had passed. He gulped. A second later and that would have been his head.

Behind him his pursuers filtered out of the alley and spread around him in a threatening half circle. He realised that he had ended up on the main street once more. Behind him were three armed men. Two spears and a swordsman. On the other side the commander and the knife thrower. Both had a sword on their hip. He licked his lips nervously and glanced at his MP.

MP: 35/140

It was a foreboding situation. This was not how he envisaged it happening. His plan had a lot less fire and fighting. He’d miscalculated the nature of players.

With enemies on two sides, he saw only three options before him:

1: Run for the exit. He had a chance of escape, but it would also expose his back to the knife thrower, leaving him defenceless.

2: Go for the knife thrower. The problem here was that he would simply be giving the man a chance to aim for him. Furthermore, the knife thrower was protected by the captain himself and it stood to reason that that the captain had more skill than his men.

3: Go for the men. While higher in number they were still hampered by the alley and were likely to get in each other’s way. Additionally, he could use them as meat shields, protecting him from the knife thrower’s line of sight.

So, Azrael did the only logical thing he could do. He ran towards the three men behind him.

The knife thrower, reacted first, getting ready to spring into action, but Azrael had already planned ahead, firing a [Fire bullet] in his direction. It was off target, but that didn’t matter.

In the dark village the flames were blinding, stopping the man from throwing, or else risk friendly fire.

The three pursuers that he turned on were less prepared. Seeing him charge they panicked, fumbling into action. The two spears caught each other, preventing the sword user from attacking.

Azrael made use of the momentary chaos and managed to disarm one of the men, taking control of his spear. With a well-placed kick the disarmed man flew backwards, landing in the alley. His head hit the ground with an ominous snapping sound.

This unfortunately gave the remaining two space to organise themselves and a moment later Azrael was forced to block a sword blade with the spear haft. Intending to press to his advantage he was instead forced to jump to the side to avoid an incoming spear thrust.

Even now time was running out as the two players he’d left in the street were running towards the fight.

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Sidestepping an overhead strike from the sword he parried the incoming spear and stepped in, pushing the fight into the alley. In the narrow alley the man had nowhere to go and Azrael thrust the spear tip up through the man’s throat. He left it lodged in there and instead opted to wrench the man’s own spear out his grasp.

As the man sunk down Azrael spun in place and jammed the spear butt into the swordman’s chest, before reversing his grip and slashing it across the man’s body. The swordsman collapsed with a cry of surprise, joining the others on the ground. Their deaths were brutal and efficient, reminiscent of his earlier years of gaming.

Back then he’d needed cash quickly. The fastest way to earn that in most VR games was PvP. His combat style was an embodiment of those times. Back then he’d even come to enjoy it. It had become an art.

Azrael blocked off those thoughts. He’d left that behind. Wiping sweat off his forehead he looked at the carnage, his breathing laboured and his blood buzzing with adrenaline.

Blood pooled in the alley and he found it becoming harder and harder to concentrate and keep a [Calm Mind]. Blue screens flashed before the red blood and he waved them away, instead trying to take a deep breath and calm his racing heart.

Just from the sight of blood he felt that old savage madness, that thrill of the fight, bubbling up from the depths of his soul, threatening to take control. It prowled at the edge of his consciousness like a wild beast, searching for a way to escape, but he supressed the urge. It wasn’t who he was anymore.

Humanity, rationality, logical… The captain rounded the corner, distracting him from his calming thoughts. Azrael acted on old instincts and the beast leapt free.

The spear was moving towards the captain before either he or Azrael consciously realised what had happened. Trying to deflect it with his blade the captain managed to move it away from his heart, and it instead lodged itself in his left shoulder.

Azrael tried to rein in the beast, forcing it back down into the depths of his soul. The captain in the meantime took advantage of this momentary lapse of movement and with a stroke of his blade he cut through the spear stuck in his shoulder, pulling away. This left Azrael with a length of wood and the captain with the spear head in his shoulder.

With a grimace the captain wretched it out and threw it to the ground. Droplet of blood spattered through the air and slowly began dying the man’s shirt red. The captain attacked.

Fending off an onslaught of moves Azrael felt the man’s overwhelming force bearing down on him. He’d been right. This man was a level above his men. For every stroke that landed on the spear haft another drew blood. The man was meticulous. Thrust, cut, swipe, cut, block, cut. Every move he made forced Azrael into a fighting retreat.

Suddenly, with his back to the wall Azrael found that he’d been played by the man. The wall prevented him from retreating further. Narrowly avoiding a sword thrust he jumped the side, only realising too late that he’d fallen into the man’s true trap.

A knife flew through the air, taking him in the left shoulder, almost identical to the captain’s own wound.

Azrael dropped the spear shaft and wrenched the blade out with his right hand, before being forced to deflect another one flying towards him. He’d been played. Well and truly.

Standing on the main street, twenty paces from him was the knife thrower.

The captain stood in the alleyway, his sword raised. After seeing what had happened to his men, he’d realised the downside to fighting Azrael in a confined space. Instead, he’d manoeuvred Azrael back into the main street, allowing the knife thrower clear sight.

It was a seemingly inescapable situation. If he went for the captain the knife thrower would go for him, but if he tried to close the distance to the knife thrower, he would expose his back to the captain’s sword. Each resulted in his death.

A feeling of foreboding welled up for the first time that evening. He didn’t want to die. He hadn’t wanted to kill either. This was simply meant to be a warning. From inside the beast, the old him, laughed at his naivety. He ignored it, instead trying to think through his options.

Every way that he could think of would lead to his eventual demise. Each one different and just as painful.

Every way that was, except one. This one was a different sort of death. The kind that even the game couldn’t bring him back from.

Closing his eyes he breathed in deeply, before letting out a shuddering breath. From deep within the beast let out a howl, primal and triumphant.

He let himself sink into the darkness that was once him, shutting off all conscious thought and let it take control.