Now

“We’re on in five!”

I search the darkened area behind the set cameras for the source of the voice, but it’s too well shaded past the edge of the set. Turning my attention back to the reporter, Misty Melange, and yes she pronounces her last name with a French style to it, is being seen to by no less than three attendants.

I shake my head slightly, but no one notices. We’re in a digital world where you can pull up a menu and tweak personal settings on a whim, but she has one girl touching up her makeup, one fixing her hair, and another doing…something to her nails. The phrase more fake than fake comes to mind, and I think I understand it more now.

Looking towards the bleachers, my mom and sister wave, and I smile in return. The rest of the seats are empty, as part of the agreement for this interview was to limit the number of people. For safety.

“Two minutes!” That same voice in the shadows calls out.

Two of Misty’s assistants step over to me, thinking to fuss over my appearance, but I wave them off, then give them a scowl when the wave doesn’t work. I certainly don’t claim to look like a playboy, but it would take little effort to argue my appearance is the nicest it’s ever been. Dark charcoal grey slacks and matching blazer, a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, black Oxford-style dress shoes with a wingtip. The confidence of wearing this alone probably makes me more appealing.

The last assistant starts to walk off as the voice says, “One minute!”

Misty asks, “Ready?”

I turn towards her, take a deep breath, hold it in, and then release it before I nod at her.

“Don’t worry, be honest and genuine. That’s how people think of you, reinforce it.”

“Ten seconds!”

“One last breath,” Misty says, matching me as we take a deep breath, hold it, then release.”

“Five, four, three,” The rest of the countdown is silent, but at zero a sign lights up with the word LIVE.

“Good evening my beautiful virtualites, this is Misty Melange. Welcome to a special episode of Multi, Verses. We have a very special guest tonight. We’ve hinted, we’ve teased, we all but promised an interview with one of the most famous players in Verses Online. He rose from nothing. You’ve called him Gunslinger, Swordswinger, Ladybringer, but he prefers one name. Ladies and gentlemen, RANGER!!!”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

As Misty waves her hand in my direction, the camera turns to me. I smile in its direction, let out the nervous laugh I’m feeling, and wave as I squeak out my greeting, “Hey everyone.”

“You’ve built up quite a mythos, Ranger. Is it all true.”

What a silly question, I think, of course it isn’t. “I can’t say that I’ve heard everything they say online, but I don’t think the history of my life has earned the label of mythos.” I chuckle, hoping it takes the bite out of any negative implication I may have intoned.

“You’re quite possibly the greatest rags to riches story in the history of our species though, you have to admit that’s incredible.”

“Well, uhh…” My response is distracted by a familiar glow off to my right. As I turn my head to look, my mom finishes casting a protection spell around her and my sister, the assassin falling from the rafters bouncing his blade off the shell.

Saved by the assassin, I’m on my feet and double-tapping the left side of my chest in seconds, activating my default combat kit for this server. It’s a mixed cyberpunk-western theme, including a shirt, vest, jeans, duster, and twin stylized revolvers. Yin, and Yang. It all forms on my body like digitized building blocks spanning out from where I tapped my chest.

Yang, glowing white with black accents, comes up to shoot at the assassins dropping from directly above. Yin, black with glowing white accents, I aim without looking to fire at the reporter and her crew. Misty first, she’s closest. That’s one. Cameraman, producer, that’s three. I can feel the bonuses kick in as each of them is engulfed in a protective shell.

Yang is the offensive weapon, but Yin as a defensive tool, protects those I fire it at. A sphere forms around them, and for every non-combatant I hit with a sphere, Yang’s stats are boosted by 100%. Though the maximum is 600%, it’s an absolutely incredible bonus, especially when trying to protect others.

I tag the three assistants standing in a row just past the studio carpet with Yin, making for six. Hopefully any others can run and hide. I spin Yang to complete an auto-reload while dropping Yin into a holster, and pulling a samin-geom sword from an upside-down sheath on my back. My sword, Seo-Yun, comes up in an underhanded grip, catching one of the assassins in their fall and splitting them in two from groin to top of skull. Yang continues to boom, one shot per assassin is all I need, and when they get in close I dodge and weave, while my sword carves a bloody swath through each and every body that dares to traverse my path.

With every brief lull I glance at my mom and sister. Mom still has her shield up while she casts spells, sis is on her feet now, staff in hand, a whirlwind of limb-breaking, ass kicking madness. She looks like a heroine from a Chinese martial art film, fluidly bending and twisting to avoid attacks while destroying assassins.

A section of mom’s shield turns concave, channeling a spell. When she releases it, the large beam splits three feet out, turning into dozens of beams zigging and zagging through the air. Each finds a target, and each target falls to the ground as dust.