• Second Bout with the Keeper

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Jarren felt the soft tapping of rain against his skin, it was the first thing he felt. Then he felt the water trickling down his face, mixing with the dirt and sweat. The sound of a silent rain sang in his ears, the smell of mud and grass mingled in his nose.

He remembered where he was.

Slowly, Jarren opened his eyes, squinting up at the darkened sky. Above, he saw storm clouds roll and twist, thunder grumbled quietly in the distance and rain dropping down to the ground like a thousand silver darts.

He was alive.

Jarren didn't move at first. He lay there, soaked by the rain, sinking slightly into the mud beneath him. It took a moment to process. 'It worked,' he thought to himself. 'It actually worked.' The Inquisitor had believed every word.

The author smirked bitterly. It was terrifying to think of what his fate would have been if his lies hadn't worked: Forever locked in the Gate Crypt and turned to a mindless beast only to die once again in the hands of another desperate participant. Truly terrifying.

But thankfully, the lies had worked. It shouldn't particularly come as a surprise to some as Jarren truly was the creator of this world, but he didn't have any such power to influence timelines or create events like he had claimed.

That was all smoke and mirrors, crafted from fragments of knowledge and bold confidence. Jarren had written about gods before, he knew how they acted, pretending to be one was not a difficult task. He just didn't expect that he would be so good at it.

No mortal from the Ander Salmarian slums, no boy like him, should have known such things. But that's exactly why the Inquisitor had believed him. Even though lying about his powers was what had helped him bargain, his knowledge of the world was what backed those lies.

Feeling a flush of relief and the blessing of a second — well, third — life, Jarren sat up slowly, feeling the mud and grass squelch beneath him.

His first instinct was to check his feet. They were both whole, both healed, he wriggled his toes, and when he was satisfied, his fingers moved to other wounds left by the Gatekeeper. The deep gash below his left shoulder was gone, and all the torn skin on his back and hands were healed.

He was completely healed, he even felt more replenished, like a newborn but fully grown man. Jarren couldn't help but let out a silent, small, laugh of disbelief. Either he was an incredible liar, or he had been incredibly lucky.

The far away sound of metal clanking drew his attention. Jarren turned his head slowly and amongst the grass a distance away, he saw the Gatekeeper rising, his silver armor gleaming dark and ominous under the stormy sky.

Fortunately, his back was facing Jarren as he stood tall, unmoved by the rain. His sword hit the ground as he held on to the hilt, then, almost in a melancholic manner, he began to walk away, his task seemingly finished.

Jarren narrowed his eyes.

A mudstone smacked against the Gatekeeper's helm with a dull thud, causing the massive warrior to pause mid-step. Slowly, he turned around and saw the participant that he had just killed, standing there with a resolute expression on his face.

"Round two, you son of a bitch!" Jarren growled.

The Gatekeeper tilted his head in silent surprise, but then his eyes shone and he tightened his grasp on his blade and instantly sped into furious action.

Jarren's breath quickened as he watched the knight advance. 'I just need to get that helmet off. Everything hinges on that.'

The Gatekeeper leaped to the sky and swung down the sword in a vertical arc. Jarren dashed sideways, barely dodging the first strike as the sword slammed into the earth, mud and grass exploding into the wet air.

Once again, he was escaping the knight as though he had no game plan at all. Even though he did this time, he could still feel the cold edge of death with every swing of that blade. Each time the Gatekeeper swung, Jarren moved. His body twisted, ducked, rolled — all driven by desperation. One wrong step, one moment too slow, and that mighty sword would carve him apart.

'Come on, come on. Give me some kind of opening!'

It was easier for him to dodge the attacks now the body was healthier and he was getting a bit more accustomed to it. He narrowly avoided another strike that was going for a clean swipe of his neck. Jarren ducked low, the blade slicing just past his head as he skidded through the mud and grass.

That was when Jarren decided to stop waiting for an opening and make one for himself. That damned Gatekeeper was never going to relent.

Each time he made a move for the knight's helm, he would collide with a steeled shoulder or fist. The force behind each blow made Jarren's bones rattle and his muscles scream in protest. But he knew he couldn't stop. His mind raced as he recalled every detail from the Inquisitor's warning.

The Inquisitor had told Jarren that the way to kill a Gatekeeper without overpowering it was to try and remove the helm. Once the helm was removed, something reflective should reveal their face to them — water, silver, a mirror and then they would remember who they once were.

Knights pride themselves in their honor and patriotism. Once they saw what they have become, they would feel ashamed and disgraced, knowing how far they've fallen, the countless souls they have slain, souls they were meant to protect. The Code of Chivalry as they called it.

And as penitence, they will take their own lives with their swords.

Let them see their reflection. Let them remember. Shame would be their undoing.

Jarren had a new target now — the crest dangling behind the Gatekeeper's helm. When the knight slashed his sword one more time, Jarren ducked and moved to his back, grabbing the horsehair just as the knight moved forward.

It yanked him, but he held strong, trying to use the crest to pull the helmet off his head but only ended up pulling himself closer to the knight. This was certainly a risky move as closing the distance between them was not at all advisable.

The Gatekeeper pivoted, causing the crest to twist. However, he was now facing Jarren and Jarren was facing him, wide-eyed. If the Gatekeeper extended his sword forward, he would gash right through Jarren, killing him the same way he had earlier.

And that was exactly what he did.

The Gatekeeper's wielding hand dragged backwards, then pushed forward with the sharp blade spearing towards Jarren's exposed midsection.

It was a burst of adrenaline and fear, but Jarren exploded forward, jumping high and lunging himself to the armored giant. His legs wrapped around the knight's neck and his hands clawed at the helmet's edges.

Fingers scrambled, slipping against the wet metal as the Gatekeeper swung and missed. Feeling the weight of the mad participant, he tried to shake him off, but Jarren held on to the helmet, gritting his teeth with determination.

When he saw that the Gatekeeper was lifting his sword to swing upwards at him, he scrambled like a spider and moved to the back of his head, still holding tight, still gnashing and groaning.

"Come on!" he roared, his hands finally finding purchase beneath the edge of the helm. He pulled and pulled but it remained tight.

Thunder roared, lightning struck, the Gatekeeper continued to swing about, trying to get him off him as the rain poured on.

"Come the fuck onnnnn!" Defiance and deterrence fueled the desperate participant and with all the strength his body could muster, he wrenched the helm upward.