Tutorial 7

With nothing equipped and an equally empty Inventory, the young man's female avatar wandered blindly through the dimly lit streets of the city—Brockton Bay, if he recalled correctly. The ambient sounds of the area filled his headset: distant car horns blaring, the hum of electricity from streetlights, the buzz of insects, and the steady rhythm of his own footfalls. The attention to detail was incredible. Even the way his character's white hair occasionally ruffled in the breeze was perfect.

Celestial Forge, the company behind this new cult-classic game, had created a world so lifelike, it felt like you were truly there. The heart and soul of the developers had gone into everything, and it showed. It was a work of art. The little things—aspects so subtle that most studios would choose to skip over them—were polished to a shine. Flickering street lights, the way the shadows of the buildings danced on the ground, the sound of a distant ambulance... just minor, inconsequential details in the grand scheme of things, but they served to make the environment feel more alive. More real.

Honestly, for a tech firm apparently making its initial strides in game development, they were doing a phenomenal job. Really hit the ground running. 

"Chat, are you sure, uhm, this is the right way? Why do I feel like you're all screwing with me?" the young man muttered, speaking through his mic. He tapped a button on his controller, bringing up the map for the nth time since getting lost. 

The map sprawled across his screen, a vast expanse mostly shrouded in darkness. Only the current city, Brockton Bay, was partially illuminated. But even then, many areas of the city were dark—places he had yet to explore. Every time he accidentally zoomed out too much, the sheer size of the game gave him chills. And apparently, this wasn't the only... world? 

Crazy. Just crazy.

"I'm pretty sure you're all messing with me. Aren't I supposed to be going the other way?" he grumbled, scanning the map for any familiar landmarks.

Turning his head, he stole a glance at his stream's chat.

...

Caribooboo: this is the right way, trust

Goose: take a right. therres a shortcut

...

Miss Sugar: lol lol

Hedgehoax: oh dear lol

Octopuppy: Lol

Tall-N-Buff: trust us

...

He clicked his tongue. Next time, he'd remember to put map markers down.

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< HELPFUL TIPS! >

Different character builds offer unique play styles and advantages. Experiment with various combinations of Skills, Attributes, and equipment to find a build that matches your preferences. Respeccing is easy, so don't be afraid to try new things.

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[CHAPTER EIGHT]

「Brad Meadows (Hookwolf)」

Reputation was everything. It was a currency that bought fear, respect, and unspoken obedience. Brad Meadows understood this better than anyone; he was one of the 'richest' motherfuckers in the city. As Hookwolf, his name carried more weight than gold. He'd earned that 'wealth' through violence, through bloodshed and brutality—a lifestyle that left a trail of broken bodies and shattered lives in his wake.

So when some jumped-up girls thought they could get away with disrespecting him, hitting his dog fighting business and fucking up his operations, he knew he had to put them in their place. It didn't matter how old they were, or what their powers were. They'd made the mistake of stepping on his toes, and he was going to show them what happened to people who did. 

No one got to shit on his territory and walk away unscathed.

Tracking down those fuckers was the first step. One of them, apparently, had been snagged by the PRT. But the other one? Hellhound. She was out there, somewhere, likely holed up in some hideout. He'd find her soon enough. And when he did... well, she wouldn't be walking away.

The din of the crowd was deafening. People shouted and jeered, egging on the fighters in the cage. Fists pumped in the air, beer bottles clinked together, and money exchanged hands. There was no shortage of spectators tonight, and they were loving every minute of it. The atmosphere was electric.

In his civilian guise, Brad stood just outside the rusty chain-link cage that dominated the centre of the warehouse. Its metal surface was tarnished with years of use, dark splotches of dried blood stark against the cold, grey steel. Harsh floodlights beamed down from overhead, casting long shadows and highlighting every muscle and scar on the fighters' bodies. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and alcohol—a pungent cocktail that clung to the back of his throat. Meanwhile, heavy thuds of music blasted through some speakers, the bass so loud it reverberated in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn't help but grin—a sharp, toothy smile that spread across his face. This was his element. His home. He watched as the two men in the cage went blow for blow, their fists and legs flying at each other with furious intensity. There were no holds barred here; no rules to restrict them. They fought until they couldn't fight any more, and the last one standing walked away with a hefty paycheck and a bit more respect from his peers. Brutal, barbaric, and completely honest. They were like animals, wild and untamed, driven by primal instinct and the raw desire to win. 

The larger fighter, a hulking brute with a bald head and a neck thick as a bull's, landed a solid punch square on his opponent's jaw, sending him reeling. The smaller man staggered back, blood streaming from his mouth, but he refused to go down. He spat out a glob of crimson spittle onto the grimy floor and threw himself back into the fray, tackling the brute with reckless abandon. It was a grudge match; these two had a history, and they were determined to settle it tonight.

"Come on! Hit 'em harder, motherfucker!" one of the spectators heckled.

"You got 'im, Baldie!" another shouted.

A loud cheer rose from the crowd as the bald fighter charged, driving the smaller fighter into the cage, metal clanging as the chain links rattled under the impact. The lean fighter gasped, twisting to slip out of the brute's grasp, and delivered a punishing knee to the gut. The crowd roared, chanting, "Hit 'im again! Hit 'im again!" as the two men traded blows, both refusing to back down.

Brad's smile widened. His own hunger for violence rose to meet the crowd's swelling bloodlust. This was what he lived for—the raw, brutal spectacle of combat, the adrenaline rush, the sweet taste of victory. It was beautiful; almost enough to make him forget about the little problem that had been plaguing him for the past few days. Almost.

He brought the half-empty beer bottle to his lips and took a long swig, the cheap, bitter liquid sloshing down his throat. The cold glass was a welcome distraction from the stuffy heat of the warehouse. 

Inside the cage, the fight was reaching its peak. Both fighters were exhausted, bloodied and bruised, but neither seemed ready to give up. Brad almost wished he was in there, feeling the thrill of combat, the heat of the moment, the rush of adrenaline. There was nothing better than unleashing all your pent-up anger and frustration on someone, watching them crumble beneath you. But having powers meant he could fight people who were more interesting. It wasn't as much fun beating up normal people—they were too easy.

"Brad," a voice, just barely audible above the music and uproar of the crowd, spoke from behind him. He briefly glanced over his shoulder and saw Oskar—Stormtiger—standing there. The tall, pale man wore an opened leather jacket, exposing his bare chest, and a pair of faded jeans. "Good news."

"Yeah?" Brad replied, taking another swig from his bottle before turning back to the fight. Last he saw, his fellow Empire Cape was in some corner with two girls—one on each side—so this was definitely unexpected. What the fuck did he want? "Spit it out, then."

"We found one of the girls messin' with us. The pretty one," the other man replied, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Brad stopped, his grip tightening around the bottle. He turned away from the cage, setting his eyes on Oskar. "Silver? Where?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious and demanding. "Wasn't she arrested?"

A slow, wolfish smile crept across Oskar's face, stretching almost unnaturally. His lips peeled back, baring his teeth in a way that reminded Brad of a feral animal. The aerokinetic had wanted to get his hands on those girls for a while now, ever since they'd started causing problems for the Empire. Almost as much as Brad did; fuck what Kaiser had to say about it.

"Well, by the looks of it, not anymore," Oskar said. A pause, followed by a dark chuckle. "Girl must've escaped or something. Doesn't matter. Crazy bitch was snooping 'round the area practically naked. Can you believe that shit? One of the guys spotted her and almost threw a fuckin' fit."

"And?" Brad raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The man wasn't in any hurry, so clearly, they weren't about to get attacked. "Where's she now?"

The crowd erupted again, and his gaze snapped back to the cage just in time to see the bald fighter putting his opponent in a chokehold on the floor: arms wrapped tightly around the smaller man's neck, squeezing, the veins in his forearms bulging with the strain. The leaner fighter struggled, clawing at his opponent's arms, but the larger man had him in a vice grip.

"That's the funny part. Apparently, she ended up tryna get inside. By the time I got there, fuckers at the door was about to let 'er in. What an idiot, right? Fuckin' crazy bitch tried to walk right in."

Brad had heard the girl was loony, but damn. Did she not know she was in the heart of Empire territory? Did getting her powers fuck up her brain that badly? Either that or she had some real brass balls, thinking she could just stroll up after what she'd done.

He finished off his beer, downing the last of it, before he finally gave his full attention to the other man. "Then what?" Brad prompted, trying to keep his growing excitement from showing. "Stop draggin' your ass and get to the point, Oskar. Don't got all night."

"Alright, alright." Oskar said, shrugging. "Well, the dumb fucks at the door blabbed 'bout the shit going in here." He jabbed a thumb at the cage. "And, long story short, apparently she wanted in. Wanted to join the fun. Hah! Imagine that, spent all that time runnin', and now she just walks right to us. I mean, shit, what the hell was she thinkin'?"

Brad grunted in agreement. 

"Anyway, figured if she wanted in so bad, why not give her what she wants? Better than fuckin' up what we got goin' on tonight," Oskar continued, waving a hand towards the surrounding crowd. His voice grew increasingly excited, almost manic, as he spoke, his words coming faster and faster, like a dam had burst. "Might as well get a chance to settle the score too, y'know? Show her what happens when you fuck with the Empire. Ain't got no place to run to now."

There was a sick glee in his tone. A sort of twisted, sadistic pleasure. Brad couldn't blame him—he felt the same. The Empire was strong. Respected. They owned this city, and they weren't afraid to let everyone know. It was important to send a message, to show what happened to anyone who crossed them.

And tonight, the Empire would send one hell of a message. 

If the girl was stupid enough to come crawling, then who were they to deny her what she wanted? He'd take great pleasure in giving her a taste of her own medicine. The girl's built a bit of a reputation for herself recently, and it was time for someone to put her back in her place.

"She inside now?"

Oskar nodded. "In one of the private rooms. Thought you mighta wanted to fight her first. So, you in?"

Brad's lip twitched upwards. "Of course I fuckin' am. She's my fight, not yours." Lots of people in the Empire had their eye on her—himself included—but none of them had gotten the chance to get their hands on her yet. Well, he wasn't about to miss his shot, and neither was anyone else.

The other man chuckled. "Figured that'd get your attention. Should I start organising it then?"

"Fuck yeah. Get it set up. Let's see if this crazy bitch is all that. Gonna have some fun with her."

Brad turned back to the cage. The crowd was still cheering, but the fight had flipped: the smaller fighter was now on top of his opponent, repeatedly slamming his fists into the larger man's face. Whack, whack, whack. Left, right, left. The fucker seemed to not even care that his larger opponent had gone limp, simply continuing to pummel him, the downed man's face a bloody mess. At this point, he was about to beat a corpse, but no one stopped him.

Huh. Maybe the little guy wasn't so bad.

The crowd was ecstatic, chanting and screaming, the noise nearly deafening. It was the sound of victory. Of triumph. Of success. The untamed, visceral sound of power.

"On it. I'll let you know when everything's set." Oskar said. "I'd love to fight her first, but I guess you got dibs. Try not to kill her though. Don't want her dyin' and disappearing from us with that trick of hers. She's got lots to answer for. The crowd's gonna love this." He laughed—a short, bark-like sound that turned into a vindictive growl. "Might even be able to convince the crazy bitch to join the Empire, be our little pet once we've knocked her down a few pegs and roughed her up a bit. Wouldn't mind havin' some fun with her later. I'm sure she'd look great on her knees."

Brad snorted. The throb of blood rushing through his body echoed in his ears, a dull, pounding rhythm that drowned out the din around him. Adrenaline. The urge to hurt, to break, to dominate. It was a desire, a hunger that only fighting could satisfy. The fight in the cage hadn't satisfied that hunger, but the girl would.

"Whatever. Just get it done."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It didn't take long for long for everything to be organised. Before he knew it, Brad was already inside the makeshift arena, waiting in the ring, shirtless and masked. His blond hair was slicked back, and his burly frame, dusted with coarse dark hairs, rippled underneath the harsh lights. The worn steel of the chain-link cage pressed into his bare back. He welcomed it. The slight pricks, the rough surface, the bite of metal against his skin: it grounded him, kept him focused. It helped take the edge off his simmering bloodlust.

Spectators surrounded him on all sides—Empire members; mid-level thugs, and a throng of rank-and-file grunts. There were also some hangers-on, non-members who were friends or family members of the gang. Sympathisers. People who believed in their cause. They were all gathered in the space outside the cage, some standing, others sitting on upturned crates or barrels. All talking, shouting, laughing. The noise of the crowd was deafening, a constant roar of voices that was impossible to pick out individual words or phrases from.

The thought of losing wasn't even something that crossed his mind. Why would it? Going all out might've been impossible with all the people around and the restrictions they'd put in place, but he was confident he would still come out on top. Years of experience had honed his violence into a skill. It was something he knew, something he understood. He had faced all kinds of opponents in his life—seasoned fighters, desperate survivors, and greenhorns looking to make a name. A newbie cape was nothing compared to that.

Nothing.

She'd barely made a name for herself, still learning to use her powers. Sure, she could take down 'normal' people—unpowered grunts—but he was no ordinary man. He was better. 

Superior.

The girl would learn that the hard way. 

Until now, Silver had only ever run away. Escaped. She'd never faced an actual opponent from the Empire—someone who knew how to fight and wouldn't hesitate to beat her senseless. He would teach her. Break her. Humiliate her. Show her the true difference between their abilities. 

After all, if the heroes , weak as they were, could take her down, what was there to worry about?

Maybe if he had no idea what her powers were, he'd have felt a bit more apprehensive, a bit less cocky. Blindly fighting someone whose powers you didn't know was a sure way to get your ass handed to you. But he had seen and heard what she could do. He knew exactly what he was up against. Props to her for agreeing to a slugfest—Brad could respect her a little for that—but the girl's tricks didn't matter. She might be dangerous to others, but not to him.

Not that they hadn't prepared in case anything went wrong, of course. They couldn't risk the people in the crowd getting caught in the crossfire.

Brad cracked his neck and flexed his shoulders. His joints popped, the sound muffled by the background noise. Beneath his metal wolf mask, a grin stretched across his face: feral, savage, bloodthirsty. His power thrummed deep within his body, restless... hungry. Beneath his skin, metal encased his muscles, blades and hooks shifted and moved, scraping and clicking together.

He would enjoy this.

The voice of the announcer blared through the warehouse. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight! We've got a special treat lined up—a showdown you won't want to miss! A chance for redemption, for the Empire, for our city!"

A frenzy of howls, cheers, and catcalls erupted from the crowd. Feet pounded the concrete floor, the rhythmic stomping like the pounding of drums. Hands slapped together and banged on whatever was within reach, creating a racket so loud it was impossible to hear anything else. Screeching whistles and drunken shouts only added to the pandemonium, whatever words that were said lost in the roar of pure, unbridled bloodlust and excitement that swept through the room.

Did they even know why they were cheering? Did they understand who he was going to fight?

"We've got an uninvited guest, one that's been wreaking havoc, causing chaos. One that's been hiding, running, avoiding. But no more. Tonight, we'll show her just what she's up against. Tonight, the Empire will deliver vengeance." The announcer continued on, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. Yet, it seemed some unease crept into the crowd, a sense of hesitation that had not been there before.

The cheering dropped slightly as the people shifted and murmured, confused at the sudden turn. Of course, it didn't help that the announcer, the same one who usually hyped up the crowd, had spoken with an air of apprehension: the slightest hint of uncertainty, of doubt.

It was more or less what Brad expected. Silver's massacre was still fresh in their minds, the wounds still raw and bleeding. The fear and anxiety lingered. The paranoia that maybe, just maybe, they'd be next.

But that's why he was here. To prove that their fears were unfounded, that their worries were for naught. He would show them that they were protected . He would show them the might and ferocity of the Empire.

He would show them justice .

The fact that he'd sate his bloodthirst at the same time was simply a bonus.

"And who better to handle this... pest, this vermin... than one of the Empire's finest?" The announcer spoke once more, his tone regaining its usual zeal. "Tonight, he will fight in the name of his comrades, for the honour and dignity of the Empire. Tonight, he'll give our guest the retribution she deserves!"

Brad's lips curled.

"Put your hands together for tonight's star of the show! HOOOOOOKWOOLF!"

The crowd's reception was immediate: a surge of applause and screams exploded throughout the room, almost as deafening as the ones before. It reached a fever pitch, their enthusiasm seemingly restored, when Brad raised his arm—the one branded with the 'E88' tattoo—with his fist clenched in a sign of victory. He stood tall, shoulders squared, chest puffed out proudly, and roared—a primal and animalistic sound. Tonight, he was the people's champion.

He would not disappoint them.

It took a while for the crowd to calm down and settle, but eventually the announcer managed to quiet them enough to continue. 

"Our other contender... the challenger! You know her, you hate her, and soon, you'll have the chance to see her bleed. She's a Cape that's been making waves, the one that's been running amok. She's a nuisance, a menace, and tonight, we're going to show her what happens when she crosses us." The announcer said, a hint of derision creeping into his voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we bring her to heel . Give it up for... SIIIIILLVEEERR!"

The reaction was a little less enthusiastic this time... more subdued. Nervous muttering and anxious whispers rippled through the crowd, soon drowned out by a mixture of boos and jeers. But unlike the previous response, the booing sounded more hollow. Forced. Lacking in any real heat or vitriol. It wasn't until someone—or several someones—started throwing insults, screaming out obscenities and slurs, that the booing started to become a little more genuine. A little more passionate.

It seemed they had not forgotten, or forgiven, the death of their friends and loved ones. Good. That's how it should be; not the shameful fear, the cowardice, or the lack of courage and conviction that had started to set in after the attacks. The Empire did not bend. The Empire did not bow.

And tonight, he would remind them of that.

Brad watched as Silver, unmasked like usual, was escorted into the cage by some burly goons; Stormtiger, shirtless and in his signature white and blue tiger mask, followed closely behind. His brow twitched. The white-haired girl was in her underwear, and the thin fabric did little to hide her lithe, nubile figure. Pale skin was on full display, her slim curves and soft lines visible to everyone in the room. Did they force her into it? By the way she seemed unbothered by the leers and stares, or the way she walked with her head held high, it didn't seem so. He scowled, eyes lingering on the slight swell of her small breasts, the toned expanse of her thighs, and the shapely roundness of her ass.

He didn't mind the sight, but it was distracting. Annoying. Did she fancy herself like The Siberian, untouchable and immovable, that she would flaunt herself like this? Or was she simply shameless?

Whatever the case, she would regret her choice.

The throng of people reacted predictably, hooting and hollering, wolf-whistling and shouting lewd things at her. Brad sneered. Even from where he stood, it wasn't hard to notice that the people she walked past—the ones closest to her—quieted down. Some even shuffled further back, giving her a wide berth. A noticeable gap. Then, as if realising their actions, they immediately resumed their boisterousness, though not quite as loud or as passionate as before. Cowards, the lot of them. All that talk, yet they wouldn't dare stand against her.

Pathetic.

Silver ignored the people around her. The look on her face was impossible to read. Deadpan. Blank. She didn't seem angry or scared, nor did she show any kind of discomfort or displeasure at the crowd's behaviour. If Brad had to guess, he'd say she was... disinterested. She didn't react. She didn't even look around. Her eyes were straight ahead, fixed on the centre of the arena. She was like a robot, or a zombie, just... empty. Uncaring.

Emotionless.

Her body language was equally difficult to decipher. No tension. No wariness. None of the nervousness you'd expect in someone surrounded by enemies. Her shoulders were relaxed, her arms loose, and her feet firmly planted—not in a guarded stance, but a casual one. Like she was on a stroll through the park. If her introduction bothered her, it didn't show. She appeared perfectly at ease, her focus entirely on her destination.

That, or she was an idiot who didn't realise the situation she was in.

All the noise faded into the background as the girl approached. The crowd, the announcer, the screaming and loud, drunken uproar—everything receded until it was little more than a distant buzzing, a soft murmuring that was indistinct and muted. The world narrowed until there was nothing but the two of them.

Step, by step, by step. The distance between them closed, the gap shrinking. He stood tall, proud and defiant. She was the same, neither her pace nor her posture betraying any hesitation. No, if anything, she seemed even more determined. More resolute. More... assured.

His blood boiled. Wiping that cocky attitude off her face would be sweet.

Then she was in the cage, the door closing behind her with a loud clang. His eyes never left her figure, watching… waiting. 

Observing. 

Brad walked to the centre of the ring, his movements deliberate and unhurried. When he came to a stop, the space between them barely a few metres, their eyes locked in an intense stare-down. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but she was unflinching, her blue eyes unwavering. It was almost as if she was looking down on him, a hint of arrogance in her eyes. Her posture was the same, her expression neutral and nonchalant. It was a challenge. A taunt. She was provoking him.

He would oblige.

"I've heard a lot about you." Brad glared down at the girl. His voice was low and rumbling, almost a growl. He spoke slowly, tone full of contempt and disdain. 

Silver didn't reply. Instead, the crazy bitch... curtsied .

The fuck?

There was no dress to sweep or skirt to hold; instead, her arms mimicked the action, fingers pinched as if grasping at imaginary fabric. The motion was smooth, the curve of her spine flowing into the dip of her waist as she bent down.

His jaw clenched.

The girl rose a moment later, her expression as deadpan as before.

She was mocking him.

"They call you a monster, you know. A deranged killer. But all I see is a runt. A little girl with a big ego." Brad spat the words out. "I'm gonna enjoy making you bleed, bitch. You'll pay for what you've done."

Again, Silver offered no reply. Just silence. Her expression was as inscrutable as ever. Somewhere in the background, the announcer was talking, hyping up the crowd. But he wasn't listening. All his attention was focused on the girl in front of him.

"Nothing to say? That's fine. I'll make you scream, one way or another." Grinning beneath his wolf mask, eyes narrowing, he continued, "let's see how long you can last. How many cuts before you scream for mercy?"

This time, there was a response. Silver pointed at him, then drew her thumb across her throat. 

Boos and hisses came from the crowd. 

He snorted.

Before Brad could say anything else, the tiny slip of a girl brought a foot forward and started pointing at the ground. Head slightly bowed, she jabbed her finger down. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Bark, bark. That's all I hear from you. Keep going. Maybe someone will throw you a bone," Silver finally spoke, her voice light, airy, and lilting. She paused briefly, only to start squatting a few moments later. 

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

The fuck was this crazy bitch doing?

Brad's nostrils flared. 

He didn't get a chance to think or react much beyond that; the fight was about to start. 

"—ET THE FIGHTING—"

Silver stood straight and he tensed. The rest of the announcer's words fell away, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He didn't need to hear them. He'd done this enough times to know what came next.

"—BEGIN!"

A bell rang, loud and clear.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Brad was moving before the sound faded, lunging towards Silver. The crowd rumbled, screaming and yelling. His blood raced.

He'd barely taken two steps when she was already upon him.

There was no wind-up, no lead-in. She simply moved, blurring in his vision.

Pain blossomed on his side, sharp and jarring. The girl had hit him, leg flicking up in a snap-kick. He stumbled, a grunt of surprise left his lips. Wait, what? How? He'd changed, shifted most of his flesh into solid, dense metal beneath his skin. Yet her blow had hurt. Not truly harmed, no, but hurt ; the lance of pain somehow lingered, throbbing.

A hook followed, a vicious swipe at his chin. Brad blocked, bringing his arm up just in time. The force slammed into his forearm, and another dull ache flared, spreading from the point of contact.

Was this why she was so confident even without a weapon?

No matter.

For a while, Brad didn't get much chance to retaliate for a counter-attack; the girl rained blow after blow, striking out with her fists and her feet. She was fast, faster than he honestly expected, and she was relentless, attacking in a frenzy. Her blows came from everywhere. Every angle. Each hit was a twinge of discomfort. The dull clangs of her fists and shins colliding with his hardened flesh were interspersed with his annoyed grunts. There was no break. No respite. No gap. It was an endless barrage of strikes. 

And, yet, she showed no signs of slowing. 

Her breath was steady and measured, her expression calm. She didn't tire, nor did she seem the least bit fazed. She wasn't even sweating.

Didn't she feel the pain of flesh striking metal?

Of course, after the initial surprise, he weathered the storm easily enough. The girl's attacks weren't exactly devastating, not really. Pinpricks of pain, perhaps, but nothing serious. Eventually, glancing blows were all she could achieve. The flow of her assault became simple enough to read, even in the flurry, that he chose not to hit her back. Just test her a little. See what she could do.

Block, block, dodge. 

The rhythm was easy to fall into.

Block, dodge, parry.

Still, while she kept to a somewhat mundane style of fighting, he'd give her a warrior's respect and not rely too much on his power. He doubted the fight would last long after he started truly using it. 

Block. 

Duck.

Dodge. 

Weave.

Parry. 

Parry. 

Dodge.

Brad's patience wore thin with each predictable strike though. The monotonous assault quickly grew tedious. 

Enough was enough. 

Was this all she had?

The next time she struck, instead of defending, he let her get a solid hit on him. At the same time, he whipped his leg to the side and caught her off guard, catching her midsection. A clean strike. The girl gasped as she crashed to the floor, the force knocking the breath from her lungs.

He grinned.

Got you.

"Was that the best you had?" Brad sneered, glaring at the fallen girl. He hoped that she had something more than what she'd just shown him. This was boring, far too easy. "You have guts. I'll give you that. But it ain't enough. Not by a long shot."

She didn't reply, not that he expected her to. Instead, the girl was scrambling back to her feet, rising in one fluid movement.

Good, he thought, his grin widening.

It looked like there was still a bit of fire left in her yet.

"Come on. Show me what you got," he taunted, his eyes glinting with excitement.

This was why he was here, wasn't it?

Face blank, she stared at him. Then, in a blink, she was gone. Not in a move-fast-and-vanish-from-sight sort of way, but a literal poof . One moment, she was there. The next, nothing.

Heh. Finally getting seriou—

Before he could complete the thought, his body erupted with a sudden burst of cold stings. It wasn't a single, localised area of pain. No, it was everywhere. His entire body felt like it had been cut by tiny, sharp blades. And those wounds were freezing, the frigid bite of ice and frost seeping deep into his body.

A beat later, his feet were swept out from under him.

He landed hard, and only his quick reactions to draw his fleshy human bits into his core stopped him from banging his head against the hard floor. Blades, hooks and other twisted metal shapes scraped against the ground as they absorbed his weight, cushioning the fall and leaving shallow gouges in their wake 

Fuck.

Brad rolled aside, twisting his body as he did. Then, his leg—free from the restraints of flesh and now a mass of steel blades—snapped up in a savage kick. It cut through empty air, the girl having moved too fast for him to catch.

Just as he rose to his feet, he was struck again, this time on his right flank. From what, he didn't know. There was just a flash of blue, followed by two successive, dull explosions. It was like getting hit with a sledgehammer, or maybe a car. The result was the same though: pain. Even partially transformed, the ache burrowed deep, spreading outward, sending tendrils of agony coursing through his body.

Shit. This fucking bitch.

The force of the blow sent him floundering backwards, bits and pieces of metal clattering onto the floor as they were torn from him. He growled, the sound tinny and distorted with his transformation. 

His temper flared. How was she hurting him so much?

Brad quickly recovered his bearings and pulled at his power, letting the change consume him completely until he stood in his favourite quadrupled form. A metallic wolf, made up entirely of blades, hooks and chains tipped with barbed spikes. He held back on the size though, not wanting to demolish the entire stage. Yet, the sheer bulk of his new body was still enough to easily dwarf the girl, looming over her menacingly. 

Silver didn't react. Not even a blink.

With a grating snarl, he launched himself at the girl. 

Claws, fangs, blades, chains—all rained down, intent on ending the fight then and there. But the girl blurred, dodging his attacks. 

Backsteps. 

Sidesteps. 

Leaping. 

Rolling. 

Not once did she let herself get caught. 

Even when he thought he had a clean hit, she always found a way to avoid him. The sharp edges of his weapons would seemingly be a hairsbreadth from her, yet they were never quite able to make contact.

It was maddening.

He was sure there were times his bladed claws passed through her in between the girl's attempts to dodge, but there was no purchase to be found. No flesh or bone to rend. Was he just missing her by some freakish coincidence? Or was she actually phasing out of his way?

Brad growled in annoyance, his anger only growing with each miss. The fact that she kept positioning herself just outside of his range was pissing him off too.

Just hold still!

The girl didn't oblige.

When Silver disappeared for the second time, Brad, again , staggered from the frigid shock that passed through him. He swept his hefty tail and his long, barbed chains out around him, whipping them through the space where he'd last seen her. Both passed harmlessly through thin air, meeting no resistance.

Where did she go this time?

The white-haired, scantily clad girl reappeared a short distance away, suddenly and without warning, in the same way she had left. Silver didn't give him a chance to attack. Before Brad could respond, she glowed a bright, vibrant white. 

A blink of his eyes was all he could manage before the girl gestured and two shimmering bolts of something rocketed towards him.

He tried to dodge: a leap to the side, a twist of his body, anything.

It didn't matter.

The twin blasts of crackling energy crashed into his metal form and the world became pain. His very being was consumed by it, his every nerve alight. A piercing, searing agony like nothing he'd ever felt before. He had no frame of reference. Nothing he could compare the sensation to. It was unlike anything he had experienced in his life.

Then darkness swallowed him…

…When Brad regained consciousness, he found himself sprawled on his side

What happened? 

It was something he would never admit out loud, but panic flared. The sudden confusion, the disorientation, had him lash out. Spears, spikes and chains flew, striking the surrounding area indiscriminately. Brad pushed and pushed at his power, the blades of his body elongating, spreading and twisting in a wild, chaotic mess.

Gasps from the crowd snapped him back to reality.

Brad paused, regaining control. His mind cleared. He realised where he was and what he was doing.

Taking a deep breath, he forced his body to settle, retracting the myriad of bladed edges and weapons that had sprung forth in his brief, irrational moment of panic.

Fuck. Get it together.

He stood up, the movement jerky and awkward. There were cracks and clatters, the sound of metal blades rubbing against one another. Looking around, he finally beheld the reason for the crowd's reaction.

Silver lay on the floor, sprawled out and unmoving. Dead. Crimson splotches of red stained the ground, pooling around her. The girl had numerous, bleeding cuts marring her body, the flesh a ruined mess of torn skin and exposed, dangling flesh. Oddly though, it was knitting back together.

Huh?

Her wounds closed slowly, skin reforming over the torn flesh. But before the 'healing' could progress, she dissolved into black ash.

Wait, what?

In an instant, Silver was gone.

The audience erupted, the cheering so loud that the area was filled with a near-deafening roar. For a brief moment, Brad cursed to himself. That wasn't good—she wasn't meant to disappear like that. He'd gotten carried away, lashing out when he should've kept his cool. It was a rookie mistake.

Fuck. He could already hear the earful from the other Empire Capes.

Whatever.

Brad slowly shifted back into his human form, the change less dramatic than his previous, frenzied transition. Then, with a raised fist, he took the opportunity to soak up the cheers. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Not even a full day later, Brad was attacked in his home. The culprit? Silver.

How she knew where he lived was beyond him. But the fact that she knew and could so easily ambush him was... troubling.

She appeared out of nowhere; one moment, he was happily lazing around his living room, and the next, the front door to his apartment was suddenly and violently exploded. Shards of wood flew, and there she stood, framed by the wreckage.

The girl waved. Then bowed.

For a moment, Brad stared, dumbstruck.

"Miss me?" she hissed.

In an instant, the room exploded into chaos.

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< HELPFUL TIPS! >

Advanced combat techniques such as parrying, counter-attacking, and chaining combos can give you a significant advantage. Practise these techniques in training grounds or against weaker enemies to hone your skills. Perfecting your combat style will make difficult battles more manageable.

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"Shit!"

He cursed as his character was violently shoved out of a building, hurtling downwards in a dizzying freefall. Wind roared in his ears, drowning out the sounds of destruction and panicked screaming that had been echoing through his headset just moments before. The ground rushed to meet him with alarming speed, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.

Impact.

The jolt through his controller mirrored the sickening crunch on screen as his character crashed against the pavement below. The world spun momentarily, a dizzying swirl of disorientation before the screen faded to a grayscale haze. Bold red letters flashed across his screen: "You Died."

A frustrated groan escaped him; a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. He knew he should've watched out for that!

Ugh. Stupid.

"I-I was so close, chat," he said, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

...

Sinner6969: [:OMEGALUL:]

Sinner6969: lol lol git gud

DancingStar: rekt [:clap:] 

...

Sassassin: [:FeelsRainMan:]

Sassassin: so much for the that lmfao 

Crimson_King: F

...

A blush coloured his cheeks as he saw the comments roll by. The fact that he had been so cocky, even going as far as to ask his viewers the whereabouts of the NPC who killed him in that cage fight so he could get his 'revenge', made him cringe.

...

FemBoisRTruLuv: F

DeezNuts69: F

Cinder-Ella: F

Miss Sugar: F [:sadKEK:]

...

"N-next time, for sure," he stuttered, his voice wavering slightly. "You all saw how close I was, right?" He scratched nervously at the back of his head. "I'll definitely get him next time, just watch me, guys."

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he continued. "No, seriously , I mean it. I just need something to handle that damage return when the NPC is shapeshifted. I'll figure something out."

Chat continued to scroll:

...

Miss Sugar: You can do it!

HorsePower: you should probably grind first tho get those levels back

Sassassin: ye, and mayb respec so u can min-max 

...

Masteroid: F

NyaBot: lol yes. go and kill some of that gang's goons. It'll be revenge AND you get to power level!

MaskedShade: F

...

"Oh, uh, good point," he said, clearing his throat. "D-do you guys know the location of the Empire… Empire members? Did I get that right? They'd be good XP, wouldn't they? I'll, uhm, farm them after I reset my Skills so I can respec to something that can beat this guy."

 ***

[CHARACTER UPGRADES LOG]

[LEVEL]: 6 → 5 → 6 → 5

ATTRIBUTE SCORES

[CON]: 10

[STR]: 10

[DEX]: 10

[INT]: 10

[WIS]: 10

[CHA]: 15 → 14 → 15 → 14

SKILLS UPGRADES !

MEDICA

RANK: 1 → 0 → 1 → 0 (Skill Lost!)