Standing above the dying man, Sorp’s eyes finally rise. This marks the man’s silent passing. His gaze moves onto the eight men left.

These men are no saints, yet they can’t be called evil. They are perhaps some ways depraved. But in no way can they wrap their head around this savage slaughter.

It isn’t just the deaths. Some of these men have witnessed executions or ordered them. But the violence and swiftness of these deaths.

Added to this was the sight of Sorp digging the man’s eye out. Aside from the blood, it appears to be in pristine shape. This is because Sorp has done this multiple times.

The guys on the other hand were only surprised by how effective Sorp’s attacks were. The brutality wasn’t unfamiliar to them.

The fight itself, so far, hasn’t been very flashy. Instead it was straight forward. The attacks looked like there wasn’t much behind them, whether in power or speed.

This is because the techniques taught in the camps are something Sorp took seriously. He only used what had learned. His form, the distribution of his strength all aligned.

Of course this alone doesn’t mean he had mastered anything, only that he knew how to strike without wasting majority of his strength.

He did this by not wasting too many movements. If anything, the fight was dull. The stark contrast was the brutality. Something like splattering red paint on a white canvass.

“He’s insane.”

It was a soft voice, but with the silence, everyone heard it. It woke them up from their reverie. They were shocked and perhaps afraid.

This did not mean they were weak. And they were smart enough to understand that there was still eight of them. They should be able to overpower him.

It wasn’t wrong to think in this way. As Sorp did intend to fight them alone. The issue was that Sorp wasn’t alone, there were five capable fighter behind him.

“Attack him together!”

“Kill this fucker!”

“Get him!”

“God damnit! We have to kill him!”

If there is anything that gives men courage, it is a group mentality, meaning overwhelming numbers. As soon as they began shouting, they got louder and louder.

It is important to note that this place isn’t hidden away in some shady corner. It is only a crafting facility at the edge of the camp. The noise is sure to attract some attention.

As they got rowdier the more they felt they had the upper hand. It was as if they forgot that helpless moment where they watched Sorp dig the man’s eye out.

Sorp had never fought in this way before. Eight versus one. It wasn’t the numbers that were unfamiliar to him, but that they all had lethal weapons.

“Should we help him now?”

“I don’t think he needs help.”

“He hasn’t even used any of his moves.”

Sorp’s friends were casually watching the fight, prepared to enter it if they need to.

The men were slowly making their way towards Sorp. Each step gave them more courage. Their shouting didn't end. But the wording became increasingly insulting.

“Oh shit. Look.”

The Kom and the guys were leisurely chatting while the other group hollered at the top of their voices. In this hustle, Sorp dematerialized his B.F.M. sword and the reached behind his back.

In his hand, hidden from sight appeared another spear, this is a short spear. One meant for throwing. Sorp’s tall stature allowed him to hide it for a moment.

When the spear came into sight, Sorp was readying to throw it. Seeing this, the guys couldn’t help but smirk.

Although Sorp didn’t spend a lot of time throwing spears, they didn’t think he’d miss. They were practically in close quarters and there was little to no space to dodge.

“Wanna bet which one of them dies next?”

As if to prove how much they believed in Sorp, the guys began joking around.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Moving as a unit, the eight survivors didn’t actually attack. To attack meant to take the lead, and none of them wanted to strike out first.

The longer they waited. The closer they got. The easier they would be to hit. And that’s exactly what happened. Sorp brought up his spear and threw it. It felt like he was throwing them a ball.

But the moment it pierce the man’s upper abdominal muscles, it was too late to worry about who was going to strike first. Sorp’s aim wasn’t too confident and that’s why he threw it at center mass.

“Fuck! Shit. He hit me! Fuck.”

The spear didn’t have too much power behind it, it was lodged inside him, just barely piercing through to the other side.

Provoked, the seven still standing charged together and struck out. It was sloppy, uncoordinated and was fated to fail. All Sorp had to do was take two steps back.

The weapons came down together or in succession. In the time it takes to take two breaths. They had all struck out and missed.

Sorp had not expected such a poor performance but he seized the moment nonetheless. His B.F.M. spear still in his hand, he thrust it out and pierce another man’s heart.

When Sorp pulled back, six of them were still able to fight, and all of them had readied their weapons again.

The chaos of the fight, their riled up mood and the seemingly nonchalant strikes from Sorp left them unable to comprehend they were two men down already.

The six left behind felt that Sorp pulling back his weapon was the best time for them to strike, and they would probably strike no matter the situation.

Two spears, three swords and staff came forward. These strikes were better, but none of them caught up to Sorp. There was little to no suspense in this for Sorp.

From an outsider's perspective it appeared to be a close fight, Sorp just barely able to attack back. But Sorp understood how easy this was for him.

Had this been Sorp before he fought in the arena, he’d probably not survive this onslaught. But Sorp had been training with all kinds of weapons for nearly three months now.

Having dematerialized and rematerialized his B.F.M. weapon alongside of him striking with them, he was feeling the consequences.

The environment seemed a little less bright. Some details he was used to noticing were blurry. But this didn´t mean he was exhausted, only somewhat fatigued.

Their weapons missed and in a practiecd manner, Sorp reaped another life, piercing his third heart in this fight. They were now reduced to five men.

The only sound that could be heard now was the pained moans of the man with wound through his upper abdominal muscles.

“Five left.”

This was Sorp mocking them. He wanted to see them lose hope.

“Can you fight me with only five?”

Sorp’s breathing was heavy, but it was cheerful. It was cheerful because Sorp felt genuinely happy right now.

It had been to long since he fought. The refreshing smell of blood. The screaming. The panic and the fear. All these things had to be savored.

“Do you want to run?”

Sorp was now laughing a genuine laugh. The guys joined in to laugh but they didn’t ruin the atmosphere Sorp was trying to cultivate.

This wasn’t the first time they saw Sorp do something like this. It was a rare sight but not unusual for Sorp to play around like this.

“Have you ever seen a man get his tongue cut out?”

It was almost like a friendly conversation at this point. Sorp really couldn’t help but ooze this charming side of him. He was asking very ominous questions yet it sounded friendly.

“You’ve already seen an eye plucked out. Would you like to experience it?”

Sorp pulled out the eye he had dug out earlier. It dangled in his left hand.

This was the first time during the fight that the men took a step back in fear. They had eased back and retreated, but not in fear, now they had.

It was this that Sorp wanted. There was something about seeing people learn to fear. A very raw fear, not a fear of death or pain, but fearing him.

Because Sorp was like this, he had never been swindled in the underground fighting cellars. Because his ‘employers’ really did not want to end on Sorp’s bad side.

Sorp took a fast step forward and went through the motion of attacking. He was too far away to actually reach them, but he got the effect he wanted.

The men staggered several steps back, two went so far as to lose balance and fall backwards into the street.

Just as Sorp was about to pursue them further, a large group of people began popping into view. They had been attracted by the previous screaming.

Sorp gave them a cursory glance before ignoring their questions and gaze. The five men were also distracted by this influx of people.

Sorp took a measured step forward and leapt forward. His spear thrust out in a practice manner. There were now four abled men left.

There was overwhelming response from the crowd. Exclamations went all around. Then shock, shock from the numerous corpses littering the street. And the blood that continued to pool.

“Bad people.”

In response to the crowd, Sorp laughed and pointed. Without waiting for them to response he continued on to stab at the ninth victim.

This person tried to scramble backward, he didn’t try to defend himself, his weapon was already discarded on the ground. His hands were used to further his backward crawling.

The only end was death. Due to the range, Sorp could only manage to pierce his intestines. But this was already enough, the screaming echoed out.

The crowd turned silent. The man was screaming and rolling on the ground after the spear was pulled back, his hands holding onto the wound.

“Bad man.”

Again Sorp pointed and addressed the crowd. He did with a smile and confidence. It was hard for anyone not to believe him.

“Don’t listen to him! He ambushed us and killed all of them!”

As before, it is overwhelming numbers that gives men courage where otherwise there would be none.

“That’s right! He’s a monster! Look at his left hand! He ripped out Gram’s eye!”

“And he was still alive!”

It was the screaming of that particular man that attracted the crowd. The one who got his eye ripped out. There had been something primal about that scream.

The kind of scream where you wonder if some kind of animal was having a life and death battle. They couldn’t associate it with a human.

It was this kind of screaming that Sorp could use to differentiate virtual humans from real humans. Whether he would is a different question.

In response to their frantic accusations, Sorp continued to attack them. His smile as brilliant as ever. No one came to their assistance.

Suddenly there was only one left. It was this person that wanted to actually run away. He had started running when Sorp went for the eleventh man.

Instead of chasing after him, Sorp set his sights on the two still breathing members of this unfortunate group. One was already half dead. The other, screaming in agony.

Sorp made quick work of the man lingering between life and death. However, when he moved to the man holding his stomach, he went for a different approach.

The spear in his hand, Sorp slammed into the street next to the man. It didn’t actually pierce through the street and only left a small scratch.

The noise of the spear colliding with the ground caught the man’s attention. What he saw made him lose control, he went so far as to soil himself.

Sorp laughed louder than ever. It had been a while since he fought, but even longer since he enjoyed this kind of sadistic play.

Kicking the man's hands off the wound, Sorp proceeded to break his fingers. The screaming continued, but in reality the man didn’t feel much pain anymore.

The stomach wound already overwhelmed every sense. It was now pure terror that induced the screaming. The tears, snot, piss and shit. The man was like an infant, inconsolable and incoherent.

Being in such a vulnerable state alongside him completely acknowledging defeat in his mind, Sorp did not have further chances to torture the man.

What was now left, was eleven corpses, a rich scent of blood and a stunned crowd. The guys carefully made their way passed all the blood and walked up to Sorp.

Their words of congratulation and laughter shocked the crowd further. They were going so far as to mock the man’s last humiliating moments.

The crowd did not try to stop them from leaving. They did not ask what or why this happened. These were all just players and virtual humans going along with Perpetuity.

What Sorp did not think about, was this entire fight was going to be broadcasted. The men, in their attempts to record Sorp, had sent him requests to uncensor his figure, face and voice.

When Sorp activate his recording, the option to automatically send such request was sent as well. This is a two way street, meaning they were all uncensored as they were slaughtered.