Mason rose up into what looked like a covered sports arena filled with…the contents of a dump.
"No," he warned as he felt Streak's urge to go rummaging through the closest pile of garbage. The wolf whined, but returned his attention to the fight ahead. He snorted and kept on whining, and it was clear he couldn't make out a damn thing in the nearly endless bouquet of disgusting scents.
"I bet you a fat piece of steak it's a rogue," Mason said, doing his best to see or smell anything except piles of filth. "Just you fucking wait. It'll be a rogue."
At least all the garbage made for difficult walking. If there was some asshole stealthing around in here, he'd have to pick his way through broken glass and bits of plastic pretty carefully, or make enough noise for Mason to hear.
Mason touched the concrete ground with his hand, activating the camouflage on his Sleeves, then crouched and kept low as he advanced.
For now, he decided, it was better to keep Streak close so neither of them got jumped alone.
On a few of the better, clearer foot paths, he dropped a tier 2 combo snare/deadly trap that looked like a bear trap, then grinned at the thought of some sneaky prick coming in for an ambush and getting clamped.
Once he’d placed four he picked his way through the filth, avoiding discarded furniture, empty cans, rotting food and endless bits of metal, glass and plastic. It all felt like a fairly accurate condemnation of human waste by roboGod. The judgy prick.
Every few steps, Mason stopped to watch and listen, Streak still making his futile attempts to smell anything but trash. As far as they could both tell, though, they were alone. Or their opponent was doing a damn fine job of staying away, and keeping hidden.
Streak finally growled softly, and Mason knew it was the latter. He was about to chastise himself, thinking 'obviously it wouldn't put me alone in a giant arena and forget the opponent, or something'. But then he took back the 'obviously', because who the fuck knew with this thing.
He went ahead and assumed there was some Carl-like bastard out there, though, and reminded himself he wasn't just here to win. He was here to crush his enemies, to teach them this wasn't a competition between equals.
To teach them there was him, and then there was everyone else.
"I know you're here," he said as if bored. "We can creep around all day, if you want, until you hit one of my traps. Or maybe you get lucky and hit me first. But I tell you what, I'll just give you the first strike."
With that he held out his arms and waited, eventually sighing and putting down his arms when nothing happened.
"Yeah. I wouldn't trust me either," he muttered, then took a seat on the concrete. "Alright." He waved at Streak. "Go root through the filth. We wait until our friend feels confident enough to try and kill me. I think we're going to be here awhile."
* * *
Becky had opened her eyes after the system's droning invitation, then clutched her mace and readied for violence in the strange little cell. The timer counted down, and she activated her personal shield, and rose up onto...the top of a building?
She saw vast cityscape in every direction, seemingly going on forever with blurry buildings like an endless big city downtown. She carefully peeked over the edge, pulling back with rush of fear that shot her stomach to her throat. It was a long, long way down.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," she whispered, taking several steps away.
The building seemed huge, but as far as arenas went, still relatively small. It was a flat roof but had all kinds of smaller buildings on it that were maybe storage or utility. She slowly moved between the mini buildings, not actually seeing anyone or hearing anything except the howling of the wind.
Then about halfway she found a slightly older, armored Indian woman with her long hair tied into a bun, a white staff in her hands. Both women stopped and stared.
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The woman raised her staff, and shot a laser-like bolt of white light, directly into Becky’s chest.
Her shield flared, and the bolt made a flash of white light that made Becky squint. And that was about it. Her energy ticked down to approximately 99%. Then it ticked up again.
"Uh." Becky shifted her feet. "You got somethin' besides that?"
The woman glared and clutched her staff with both hands, firing another beam of energy straight into Becky's shield.
It had the same result. OK, maybe one and a half per cent. But it ticked back up so fast it was hard to tell, and Becky blew a breath through her lips. She shrugged and smacked the head of her mace in her hand as she started forward.
"Sorry, darlin'. I'll make it quick."
The woman fell back and kept shooting her beams, each instantly crossing like a flashlight and with basically the same threat to Becky. She moved up to a jog, closing the distance and getting ready for a first, good smash.
The 'caster' ran, but she wasn't particularly athletic looking, and she also didn't have much space. Pretty soon Becky was on her, swinging her mace in a hefty arc to hopefully knock the poor woman right out.
More white light flashed, and for a moment consumed the world. Becky felt her feet life off the ground, launching her a good ten feet before she bounced flat on her ass.
Her shield remained pretty much undamaged, but as she got up and dusted herself off, she and her opponent pretty much looked back at the edge of the building at the same time.
"Right," Becky said, her sense of invulnerability vanishing. I better not lose round one, she thought, Mason'll never let me hear the end of it.
She moved closer to the middle of the building, her opponent again backing away, clearly trying to decide where to stand.
And how best to knock me flying to my God damn death.
Apparently she was going to have to be a touch more careful...
* * *
By the time Mason had resorted to lying on his back, putting his hands behind his head, and closing his eyes, he heard an arrow whistle.
He caught the shaft a few inches from his throat, then sat up. Streak was already moving.
The wolf raced across the room with an excited snarl before Mason even saw the little dark figure crouching on a pile of garbage maybe fifty feet away. He stood and walked forward as more arrows loosed.
He dodged the first with the barest flinch, deflected the second with his hand, and let the third just graze his calf.
[Poison Schmoison activated. Resisted Crafted Lesser Arachnid poison.]
"That won't cut it," Mason said as he walked.
The archer had to move now as Streak came barreling into his perch. But instead of running or warping like Carl, the archer leapt a good twenty feet into the air, seeming to float down towards the other end of the arena as Streak spun in a confused circle.
Mason grinned, and activated Aspect of the Cheetah.
He turned and ran at full speed, just managing to reach the end of the archer's jump before he arrived.
The archer's eyes widened beneath his hood, white teeth showing as his mouth opened in a panicked expression. He drew a blade and stabbed high as he came down. Mason caught his wrist, than the other, and squeezed.
The man groaned and fought desperately, giving up on his arms and kicking hard at Mason's legs before he was forced to his knees. He finally slumped, looking up at Mason in resignation.
"You're him," he said, with a quiet voice. "Your face. In the sky. I have no luck at all."
"It had to be someone," Mason said.
The archer was about to say something else, and Mason decided his distraction was a good moment to end things. He let go of the man’s wrists, summoned his shorter Claw, and rammed it through his opponent's chest.
It wasn't like the training hall. It felt real. The hooded man gasped in pain and surprise, his dark eyes fluttering as blood leaked from the wound. Then he slumped, and stilled. Some kind of trumpet blared.
[Duel complete. Congratulations to the victor!] the system's voice boomed. [This will count on your official tournament record. After adjusting for power differential, you have earned: 1 point!]
Mason heard a ding like an oven timer, and a new window opened in his vision showing his ‘tournament record’.
Then the arena vanished as quick as it had appeared, and when Mason blinked he found himself in a pleasantly cool, open space that smelled like cleaning solution and flowers.
He turned to see what could only be described as a hotel lobby, with young, modelesque, androgenous looking receptionists behind huge, plastic desks.
"Welcome, Founder, to the Neutral Zone." The closest smiled at him pleasantly, far more 'human' than the envoy. "The penthouse has been prepared for you and your guests. This brochure has a list of all the amenities. For you and your special guests there are no rules or costs. So please feel free to enjoy them at any time."
Mason eventually took the brochure and sighed. He could still feel the flesh of his enemy parting, his blade cutting through rib and piercing heart. He could still see the life drain from the man's eyes. He flexed his fingers and hoped Streak was somewhere comfortable.
"Thanks," he said, not bothering to ask any questions. He walked towards the actual damn elevator, soon seeing it had close to a hundred floors. When he reached to touch the top button labeled 'penthouse', the button automatically lit and the elevator dinged without having actually moved.
Mason stepped out, wondering where the other players were and how their duels were going. And how he'd even contact them to find out.
Then he smelled vanilla and stopped, feeling a sense of calm immediately. He stepped into some kind of hall and found Haley running to him from a nearby room. He closed his eyes and just held her as she ran into his chest.