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Have a good time.

The familiar log-in message greeted him, and, ironically, he never thought that one day he would look forward to it or be glad that he did not have time restrictions on his access. He never thought that he would like Singularity. He wasn’t entirely sure if he even liked it for what it was, or if he liked it simply because what he felt were the most important things to him could only be found here. Escapism aside, for a long time now, Aren felt that his road, however long or short it may be, begins and ends in this virtual world. Yet, as much as he could, he tried not to think about the beginning nor the end; only the now.

The now, this time, was very confusing and very unexpected.

Firstly, the sunset sky was further tinged with the color of flames in the distance — Rakab was burning. Not all of it, of course; ruined stone doesn’t burn well either. Only his immediate surroundings, which were unfamiliar at first, were being consumed by flames. They were wood and mortar structures from the old housing district. Aren remembered that this is where he logged out.

Secondly, he was surrounded, but not by comrades. These creatures — four in total — had red skin and tusks protruding between their lips. Their battle-scarred forms were similar in appearance to those of the orcs, but there were considerable, yet minute differences. Black, charcoal cracks in the skin surged with purple, arcane energies, like tiny fault lines that revealed a glimpse of their origin.

These were Orkin, the arcanely engineered race of warriors that invaded the main continent of Singularity. They were relentless, difficult to kill, exceptionally strong, and hard to forget. However, Aren forgot that in his premonition, he went with Exalt to the Catacombs to attempt to eradicate these creatures and seal the breach — if there was one.

The ground shook, and shimmering red mist appeared around Aren. He saw the shockwave ripple through the red mist, and the sparks of purple energy shorting, like electricity, across the red barrier.

“Now’s not the time,” Camille’s voice came from right next to him, and from the corner of his eye, Aren saw Camille’s hand extended out, and the double-bladed axe that bounced off the barrier. Had it not been for Camille, Aren would’ve died right there.

Strangely enough, and this is why Aren was caught so flat-footed, he couldn’t remember anything about the Orkin. Their fighting style, abilities, and such, were as if Aren had never seen them before. Yet, he was sure he fought them in the premonition.

But Camille was right; now was not the time to think about such things or the glaring hole in his memory.

His buffer cracked open and with it came the sensation of peace and stillness. It was the familiar eye of the storm — the strange mechanism unique to Singularity which Aren used for other purposes quite often. Before he learned to face his demons, Aren would wait his demons out from within this eye of the storm.

His perception sharpened. He could hear the nearby flames crackling. He could hear the wooden beams cracking as their weakened, flame-licked structure buckled under the weight of the building they were supporting. He could feel the heat from the flames caress his skin, and the slightly hot breeze blowing through the area.

He was at a state of peacefulness best described as the brilliant moment between the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder.

Lightning surged through his body and the morale effects were immediately felt.

And when the crack of thunder did come, another shockwave rippled through Camille’s red mist barrier, and this thunder was Aren’s enhanced motion and the [Flash] that he utilized to close the distance to his first adversary.

He had complete confidence and trust in Camille, so much so that he swung at the Orkin empty-handed, and yet the sword materialized, from a blood-red mist, in his hand just in time. And then the sword struck the Orkin’s halberd, its baleful song changing from the sweet hum of carved air to the roar of electrical discharge and the counter-force of the Orkin’s own type of arcane energy. Blue lightning sparks mixed with purple sparks, and for the brief moment that the two weapons were connected and opposed — through physical and arcane force — time seemed to stand still.

Then the cracks appeared on the stone pavement beneath their feet, and the sparse hints of hazy smoke filling the area began to disperse away from the point the two weapons impacted each other. Only then did Aren feel the shock of impact trembling through his bones, at first gently rocking him, but then rattling him to the core.

Then, with a tremendous boom, the two weapons separated, and the contained energies discharged. Aren’s sword arced over, and beams of lightning struck the ground, charring it, while the Orkin’s halberd became shrouded in purple flames.

With that simple exchange, Aren knew that his opponent was strong — stronger than anyone or anything Aren had ever fought before. Even that monster Aren fought in the Catacombs — which the spirit Eto had possessed — was not the Orkin’s equal. It was not that the monster was weaker, but it lacked the battle formations, tactics, and strategy. It was unlikely, but possible, that the monster could not even compare to the Orkin’s combined battle sense.

All these things, Aren could tell from one simple exchange of blows.

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Even with his morale so high that he felt invincible, Aren thought that he could defeat only one or maybe two. Four was asking for too much. Without the buff from Estella’s Blessing, they would slaughter him.

Faced with the choice of either using the lightning blade and likely ruining Rakab, or testing the revive mechanic, Aren was more in favor of the latter. He would eventually have to test it, but he would rather be sure that a temple to Luna exists somewhere, rather than potentially find out what happens if one doesn’t exist at all anywhere.

There was always the option to run. There was no shame in defeat. If he died here, it could potentially even have far-reaching consequences, even if he resurrected in a temple. Any confidence the Builders and Merchants had in him could evaporate in an instant.

Running away was the smartest choice, or so he told himself. Why should he fight when outnumbered and outmatched? He was not a fool. Without Estella’s buffs, this was just asking for death.

It was really unlucky that he would log in surrounded.

He turned on his heel and used another [Flash] to escape.

His mistake was the fact that he rushed. He did not stop to look what or who was behind him. Even though he knew that the Orkin were extremely intelligent and very accustomed to battle, he still underestimated them.

He already showed them [Flash] and they understood how it worked. They also either predicted or gambled that he would attempt to escape. So, they were ready for him to use [Flash] to escape.

He was a fool, after all.

Two of the Orkin had moved into his blind spot and barred his only escape route. Within a moment, he crossed the distance, and unable to stop himself clipped one of the Orkin. He barely came into contact, but it was enough to deflect him off his intended route and straight towards the burning buildings.

As he approached the wall, he remembered what happened to Rider, the Orc Aren killed in a similar way not far from the place where he was about to die himself.

___

Aren opened his eyes. He stood in the middle of the paved road, and his body was tensed up. His buffer was open with a [Flash] already assembled and sequenced.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the two Orkin, barring his path.

A premonition.

The Orkin in front of him laughed. “Run or fight?” he roared, speaking perfect Common. “Death either way!”

“Death! Death! Death!” the other Orkin chanted.

Aren chuckled and nodded. He was laughing at himself. Every time he paid dearly to learn a lesson, he would forget it. He already knew that there was no point running away — from anything. And death? Perhaps this was a bit fatalistic of him, or even nihilistic, but death was unavoidable — either of old age or unnatural causes.

But death could be delayed. Running away was not the wrong choice. But running away from a fight and running away from a problem were not the same things. In the first place, Aren felt that way — that running was pointless — because he could only move forward now. Dying in this place was not the way forward; it served no purpose and even if he won and survived it would bring him nothing but a lengthy healing session. There was nothing to gain here.

The [Lightning Driver] sequence was completed in his buffer, and he looked towards the burning building across the street. He really didn’t like the idea that he would show these Orkin another one of his abilities, but he had no choice. If his escape route was cut off, he had to make a new one.

“Next time,” Aren said, looking at the Orkin in front of him. “I will give you the same choices, and the same outcomes.”

The Orkin laughed even louder. “Very well!” he roared. “I accept. You can go!”

Aren was about to throw the bloodforged sword through the building and then stopped. “Huh?”

“I accept!” the Orkin roared again. “You are free to leave.”

It was true. The two Orkin barring his path stepped aside, and even lowered their weapons — one had a double-bladed axe, and the other one had a large, serrated sword.

Even Camille, who until then only observed the exchange of blows, seemed convinced enough to withdraw into his shadow.

“You are letting me go?” Aren asked, bewildered.

“Yes,” the Orkin said. “You can go. You fight well, but can do better. We fight later, when ready. High hopes. Tyrannos would approve.”

Tyrannos?

One of the Orkin nodded at him. “Human strong. Look forward to duel. We honor the way.”

Maybe it wasn’t perfect Common. Still, it was more than serviceable. More importantly, it seemed he had gotten himself a duel. That was entirely unexpected. In fact, if he could’ve fought all of them one by one, he would’ve likely taken those odds. They’d probably still have ground him into the dirt, but still, it was better than the odds he assumed he had.

“You go or come? Decide?” the Orkin leader asked.

Aren tilted his head. “Come with you? I’d rather not.”

The Orkin nodded. “Live well, and die better than you lived.”

“Death! Death! Death!” the Orkin chanted, as they followed their leader down the road and were, soon enough, gone from Aren’s sight.

They really just left him there. They let him live. A very small part of Aren wanted to catch up with them and clear up the misunderstanding — Aren never suggested he wanted to duel. He wasn’t even sure why he spoke those words — it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. But a much greater part of him also wanted to not die.

It was lucky that he logged in surrounded by Orkin. If it was Stygian, they would’ve slaughtered him on the spot. Were Orkin really the demons they were made out to be? For whatever reason, honor or creed, they let him go. Why? Presumably, to have a good fight. At least, that is what Aren assumed the Orkin leader meant.

The thought did occur to him that this may also have been the work of Aurora’s blessing, but Aren felt silly for even entertaining the idea. Aurora’s blessing — or favor, rather — only worked on those who followed the Pantheon of Light.

Priscilla’s blessing then? It promised that intelligent monsters would not stand in his way, in his pursuit to complete her quest, and may even go out of their way to help him. If they did not obey her will, then he would instead receive great bonuses in combat against them.

Priscilla’s blessing also increased his rapport to them to the beloved level, and even though they tried to kill him, they did seem quite friendly about it — like they were doing him a favor.

Aren watched the street for a while longer and pondered this rather strange incident. Slowly, he began to realize, that a race that only thrived through battle, must also live by honor and strict rules to survive. This hated "enemy" was more honorable and more righteous than he himself was, and that alone was a greater defeat than what the outcome of the physical battle could've been.

Still, the Orkin's words gouged him deeply. You fought well, but can do better. This was something that Aren entirely owed to his clanmates and the absurd buffs and blessings that they provided. Without them, Aren was extremely vulnerable, and he was grateful that he learned this lesson here, and not against Stygian.