John Macdonald opened his eyes to a domed arena, the air practically sizzling with some kind of energy. He attempted to charge his Lightning Fist, grinning as he filled it practically to bursting in seconds.

The space was also open, mostly clear save for a few concrete pillars. This was good for John because it meant his opponent couldn't hide or easily get away. As long as it wasn't a ranged enemy who could out-last him, victory was likely.

In other words, it was much better luck than last time. His last match had terrain very much to his disadvantage. So maybe the system was trying to balance things out a little, and would give them a mix of terrain throughout the tournament to favor different players. That made sense, anyway.

This arena was a lot cleaner and smaller. John listened to his own footsteps as he walked across the concrete floor, the soles of his system-generated shoe-slippers tapping like drops of water. He didn't see anyone yet.

As he angled his path, though, he soon saw his opponent standing near a pillar, looking up at the ceiling as if inspecting the building. The red robe of an 'eastern' player was discarded nearby.

His opponent stood maybe two hundred feet away. Smallish, Asian, male. He wore a simple kind of martial arts uniform now that he'd discarded the robe, and didn't look like he was carrying any kind of weapon or armor. He glanced in John's direction, clearly seeing him without looking particularly interested.

It took John about fifty more steps and maybe thirty seconds to decide his opponent wasn't just some eastern opponent. He recognized him from the communication beacon.

It was the non-descript leader of the eastern city, the man who’d been negotiating with Mason a few days before. John’s opponent was the emperor.

"You are from the west, I presume?" said the emperor, apparently finished with his inspection. He turned to John and put his hands behind his back.

John nodded, activating his Energy Shield, wary of any tricks. He considered charging right there, but his arcane-inspection saw no activated powers or channeling from his enemy, no sign of any delay tactic that mattered. It didn't hurt to wait. Maybe he'd even learn something. The emperor nodded.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be made an example of. Know that it isn't personal."

John felt his heart beat faster. He was a tier 2 player and had no delusions of grandeur. Maybe this emperor wouldn't be as strong as Mason, but he seemed likely to be as powerful as Carl or Phuong.

If so, John's chances were...not good. He had to be clever. And probably lucky. Maybe really lucky. But no matter what happened, he was determined not to embarrass himself.

"Let's see it, then," he said, raising his fists as he drew more power from the air. A test was wise, he decided. To give a few light shots to maybe knock away any temporary defences before he threw a massive blow. A nice, quick Crackling Stun to start seemed appropriate.

John crossed the last several steps in a rush, letting a small piece of his energy lance out with the fast, effective little power.

The emperor didn't move.

John's lightning met some kind of golden barrier coating the man's skin and fizzled. But he kept closing, moving right to striking range as he lanced out a Projected Jab.

It struck the man's weak looking jaw. And did nothing.

John pulled back, wary of a quick counter.

"Please," the emperor said, almost politely. "There is no trick. Do whatever you can to harm me. I won't try to stop you."

John growled and tried to control his temper. He knew he was being baited. The man seemed like a 'divine' affinity, probably something like Alex. He may very well have some kind of reflective power that activated after enough punishment. John decided to assume yes. But what the hell was he going to do about it?

Alex had suggested two possibilities of dealing with someone like him when asked earlier in the evening.

One: brute force. Cause as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible, overcoming his ability to prevent or heal it, bringing him down before he could reflect properly.

Option two: be tougher. Hurt in ways you yourself could take, running him out of resources slowly but inevitably. With almost no offense, there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do.

John opted for option two. He kept his cool and his guard, moving around his opponent with small, easily recoverable light jabs and hooks, projecting the practically limitless energy in the air. If this 'emperor' decided to reflect the lightning back, he'd soon discover just how utterly useless that was.

After a good dozen hits the smaller man took a deep breath, still no sign of actually being harmed or reduced in any way. He didn't even blink as the lightning struck him.

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"It seems you need motivation."

John stepped back and readied his guard as the emperor came forward. The man balled his fists almost awkwardly, like someone not used to physical combat. But he struck fast and right enough.

One moment he was coming in like the world's worst boxer. The next his fists struck John's raised arms like a freight train.

The force smashed John’s arms against his chest and knocked him back. He stumbled but kept his feet, too surprised to consider any kind of retaliation. The emperor came forward like a blur and struck him again.

This time John lost his balance, falling straight back and twisting before he hit the concrete, probably breaking his damn elbow if it wasn't for post-apocalyptic toughness. He tried to get up, but the emperor's foot hit him in the chest.

The power was incredible. Inhuman. It slid a six foot five, two-hundred and sixty pound John across the floor like the emperor had kicked a puppy.

His Energy Shield flared, drawing at all the power in the air. Even so his wind was knocked out, and he gasped and forced himself to his knees before the small man was on him again striking his arms, shoulders, chest.

It was like fighting three men. John struggled to his feet and activated Lightning Shield, swirling a layer of electrical current around him. The emperor didn't run. Didn't move. Didn't care.

He came right through it and smashed John in the chest again, blasting him back but miraculously still on his feet. He spit blood as pain lanced down his chest, and he knew this time Energy Shield had failed and he'd cracked and maybe broken some ribs. He'd never seen anyone so strong. Not even Mason.

"I don't think I'll bother letting you try again," said the emperor, as if disappointed. "I had expected you western players to be stronger than this. Perhaps this baron is merely a small fish in a tiny pond. Perhaps he's been very lucky so far."

John clenched his jaw as he stood tall, despite the pain. He'd given up any chance of winning now. But he wouldn't shame himself. He'd get a decent hit on this little son of a bitch if it was the last thing he did.

"Come on, then," he said, filling his bars with renewed power. "Finish me, if ya can.

His opponent moved in without hesitation, and John was ready. He activated his Projection and Lightning Fist with a wild haymaker, hoping the man's arrogance would cause him to take it almost intentionally. He was right.

John's fist connected with a literal explosion. Arcane force clashed with golden light, spraying in rippling waves of energy that crackled and crashed like the bolt of lightning it contained.

And did nothing at all.

John found himself on his back a moment later, the emperor standing over him. The little man stomped his legs. Bones broke as John tried to move, to wiggle away, to grab the bastard and start shocking him.

Impossible strength wrenched his arm from its socket. Broke his jaw. Collapsed a lung.

John took a dozen more blows, knowing his broken body was a bloody ruin in less than a minute. The pain got bad enough he almost called out. Almost surrendered.

Instead, when his enemy leaned down, he spat on his chest and met his eyes.

"In the real world," the little man whispered, John's spit and blood dripping off his golden shield without touching him. "I will break your mind long before I break your body. You will call me lord. Or you will die."

The bastard stood, and raised a fist. His last hit was just as hard as his first.

* * *

The system held Mason in a kind of prison cell surrounded by screens for several minutes before his fight. They let him watch dozens of fights, including all his players.

‘A special, ongoing reward,’ his profile read with blinking pride. ‘As honored guest and Nexus Founder.’

He saw Becky just barely beat some skirmisher with flying discs, her shield finally transforming into a mace and catching the man by surprise. She came out blood-spattered and tired. But she came out with a victory.

Seamus flambee'd some poor bastard who didn’t get a chance to do much of anything. Carl murdered an archer than vomited on himself. Phuong beat a fellow swordsman in a fairly evenly matched duel—at least until the older man decided to start using stuns.

It was all horrifyingly gruesome and difficult to watch. Mason knew he had to get used to it, and he was when it was just him. But watching people who knew and loved was something else.

Then he finally saw John and the emperor. Bile rose in his throat in the final beating, his hands clenching with impotent rage. Before the son of a bitch delivered the final blow, he looked up at the ceiling, straight into some kind of camera, and smiled. Then he crushed John's skull.

Mason's mind was blank as he entered his own match. He could smell the booze, the femininity. When he approached the spear-armed stranger, he had no interest left at all in making any kind of 'demonstration'. Of 'intimidating' the rest of the world into peace.

He wasn't a monster. He was a killer of monsters. And he was watching one reveal itself in little pieces to him.

He went in fast with his Claws raised and saw the older woman's fear, moving straight for the kill. She held him off a moment or two, the weapon spinning like a fan with some defensive power, striking out so quickly it seemed like she had three of four of the weapons. Then she was dead.

Mason grabbed the shaft of the weapon, drove his shorter Claw into her heart, and eased her to the ground. He held her arms as she died.

"You're alright," he said. "You'll wake soon."

After a trumpet blared she was gone, and so was he, earning another single point before blinking awake in the increasingly obscene ‘comforting’ lights and sounds of the 'Neutral Zone'. He went to his players, congratulating the winners, finding John in the corner with a few others close by with the same thought.

"You alright?" he asked, instantly seeing the haunted look in the man's eyes.

John nodded, trying to shrug it off, adding a very brave, and very fake wink.

"Aye, boss. Only cost me a point. But I'll be glad when you brain that bastard."

Mason nodded and clapped his shoulder. There was a lot of things he wanted to say, but decided the best thing was just to let the man be. He told the rest to be ready for their match in an hour.

"Watch the fights. Get used to it. And don't be afraid to surrender if it’s clear you can't win. I don't give a shit about any kind of reputation or dishonor. Alright? This isn’t life or death. Not yet."

They all nodded, but he could tell they still felt otherwise. He couldn't blame them.

All he could do was sit there thanking God it hadn't been Rebecca or Blake he'd watched dismembered, hoping both would have the good sense to surrender out before something like that.

Well. Maybe not all he could do.

He also imagined what he was going to do to that man when he got the chance. Because maybe Mason wasn't the same as 'the emperor'—he wasn't a monster who destroyed the weak to turn them into slaves. But he had always enjoyed hurting bullies.

Even in some ridiculous world made by some alien god, that was a thing he enjoyed very much.