Adolere
Welcome to the Altar. It is time to be Reborn.
Username: D3S_In4nis
Password: *********
Server: OMEGA
Domain: Verdant
...Welcome. Logging you in...
This was a long-awaited day for the gaming community. No other MMO’s official opening events had been this anticipated. Even though the company announced there would only be three servers, they had adamantly stated that would be enough to support every player, even if the whole world populace somehow managed to get a copy. For the ten thousand beta testers a server, it had been more than true. Each “Domain,” or world, within the servers was as large as a real planet, with as much life and foliage. You could build a fortress out there, and many people had during the beta testing period. However, everything they’d done was razed for the opening day. Only their gear and characters would be surviving that reset. Some didn’t even survive that, as people wanted to use a fresh character going into the full release.
As the servers were opened to the public, every beta tester was certain there would be a crash. They were dead wrong. Regardless, each Domain was swarmed, as people headed for their arena of choice. The past week had seen every Domain as a battleground to complete each dungeon, Sunday holding a tournament, where the last man standing at the end of the day as the Tyrant of that Domain. They would not only gain Administrative rights for the area, they’d get to redesign it as they saw fit, within reason. However, from the dungeons and war zones and portals full of traps and monsters the testers had faced, “within reason” was quite reasonable.
By now, most of the Domains and their dungeons had been cleared, and the “challengers” for the tournaments that followed had been chosen.
“Round 1 for Tyranny of the Verdant Domain of the Omega Server shall begin with one of our favorite beta testers, Des Infernis!” The Behemoth that walked out into the arena caused some of the crowd to fall into stunned silence; the newcomers. Great horns curled back over his golden mane of hair. He was rather short for a Behemoth, maybe a human’s average of 5’8”. Still, his body was built like a tank, his fists easily as big as the average frying pan, the knightly armor he wore with it gleaming a silvery black, a shocking contrast to the brilliant white and blue blade he was wielding. Those who were familiar with his exploits cheered him on, his slow walk punctuated by the sound of his bastard sword’s tip dragging in the dirt, no line being left behind. “Opposing him, another beta tester of considerable fame: Sorrel Seawolf!” The applause for this hero was somewhat less, but it was still enough to fill the arena. He was a Draconian of “human” origin, looking more human than dragon. His body was slight, but fit. Black hair was tied behind his head, the “tail” only about a hand’s width.
Des smirked a bit as he brandished his bastard sword one-handed, tossing it up and down like a casual rogue would a knife, flipping it end over end. Still he caught it by the handle every time, the rotations identical and precise. With the ImmerTech connection to the game, it was purely his own movements, his mind feeling like this body was his own, down to imagining he could feel pain. Some turned this feature off, but Des’ player, DJ, had desired this kind of immersion in games since he’d first played one as a kid. Pictures of Des and Sorrel appeared up on the big scoreboard, along with their HP and MP stats. Des entered a ready stance at that moment, catching the blade a final time and flourishing it into his ready posture. Across from him, Sorrel and his twin blades were also in a ready position. “Should’ve chosen elsewhere, Sorrel,” Des called. The Draconian flushed slightly, brandishing his blades and almost rushing the Behemoth. He saw the look in Des’ eye and immediately knew better, however.
“Sixteen Domains per server, Des. Even if I fail against you, by the end of the day, there will be plenty of Tyrants to topple.” Des laughed, taking a step forward, making Sorrel flinch.
“Y’know, I’d believe you could be a Tyrant...if you weren’t a total coward.” He took another step, and swung his blade. A wave of pure energy flew forth, only to be cleaved in twain by Sorrel’s twin sabers. “Fine, just remember that you were warned. Twice.”
Sorrel’s next words were cut off as a flat, broad surface met his chest and plowed him flat into the wall of the arena. Des’ sword had disappeared, to be replaced with a massive sledge axe. His armor was slowly changing, his choice of armor with the weapon going for a more gladiatorial armor. It allowed more range of movement, which he demonstrated by twirling his weapon like a baton, the saber on the end flashing in the forest light.
“...I hate you,” Sorrel growled, leaping forward and sliding under Des’ swipe, slashing at the Behemoth’s side. It seemed to slip right off the armor, so Sorrel sprung upwards as Des swung again, using the man’s shoulder as a springboard and going straight into the air. “You’re so broken! Who uses so many weapons, anyway?!” Des smirked, his weapon shifting again. This time, two katana seemed to have a black void for blades, the edges glowing a red like burning blood. He curled his legs in, and shot straight up, slashing with both as Sorrel mimicked the gesture, the four edges meeting and sparking with raw energy. The blowback sent Sorrel tumbling, while Des landed steadfast and charging. Sorrel rolled onto his feet and barely dodged. “And what’s more, you’re so unrefined. You just rush into everything.”
“That’s because I can take whatever you can throw at me, and then some. You’re definitely not strong enough to be a threat,” Des countered, rushing in as Sorrel went on the defensive again, dodging and ducking the massive slashes that would put his already-halved life further into the red.
He locked blades with the man, leaning in close. “That might be true...but I know you a bit better than you think...DJ.”
Des-and DJ outside the game-adopted a look akin to baffled outrage. His body went rigid, his blades fell from his hands, and Sorrel took this opportunity to start striking.
With the first blow, Des was thinking, ‘How?’ He was in the air for a moment before Sorrel continued his combo. The next blow extended that thought to ‘How does he know?’ as he spun and the ground met his face for a moment. The third blow saw the armor, which he’d forgotten to swap in the heat of the moment, seemingly destroyed; Sorrel took no notice of this strange happening, and continued to follow through, while Des wondered, ‘How does this little fuck know who I am?’ He hit the ground again, and his hands were already coated in the silvery links of metal that made up his Special Weapon. Sorrel didn’t see it, too focused on dealing damage with his now electrified blades. Behemoths didn’t have an advantage against lightning element, but they weren’t weak to it, either. Des, in particular, had put up his resistances in every element by training his defenses. Sorrel knew none of this, and Des was now thinking, ‘I’m going to kill him. He must die. I will not stand for being threatened.’ The chains had wrapped around his arms up to the shoulders, as well as over his knees on the ones that had formed on his legs. Sorrel’s twin blades slashed in a cross over Des’ chest...only for the weapons to clang harmlessly off of the chains that had been rapidly spreading since his anger began.
“What?!” Sorrel demanded, stabbing forward with the blades...only for Des to catch both, snapping them calmly.
“...Your brother is going to have words for you when he visits tomorrow,” Des said simply, locking his stance and punching clean through Sorrel’s head; before the damage could actually register, his Special’s ability triggered, and a micro-singularity was created at the point of Des’ fist. The matter that had been all across the massive fist was slurped away, as well as the remains of the head on the stump of dragon neck; as he pulled his fist back, the singularity increased for an instant, ripping more of the falling corpse into itself; though the body exploded into data before it could hit the ground, the scene had gone in slow-motion on the big screen. The developers had gone for every bit of reality they could, from the damage dealt to the effects of things; the singularity had temporarily damaged the screen to make it replay the same scene with alternating speeds, the fist going through the head like a lightning bolt, the spray following behind and being consumed by the instant singularity at snail speeds.
Des swore he could hear people hurling as he leapt up into one of the trees, sitting and entering a meditative stance. “I will not leave this arena until I am defeated!” He shouted, and everyone went rather still. “You may have whatever fights you like, but if you hit me, it’ll be a three for all. And that’ll save me the trouble of beating you later.”
His eyes went up to the stands for a moment, to where there was a blue-cloaked young man laughing in his seat, clutching his stomach. Clearly, Evan found his best friend’s antics as amusing as ever. Near him, one of their newer friends, Azmyth, was watching intently. Des went into pause mode for a moment, as if to reorganize his inventory-which he actually did first, requipping his knight armor and bastard sword-before sending a short mail off.
“You two are way too close. We’re pretending to hate each other in-game, you know?”
One reply was immediate, as Evan’s specter got up and walked closer, disrupting a humanoid cat that had been sitting on the railing in front of him. The three had exchanged “Ghosts,” basically walking remote controlled cameras that looked like their personal avatar, so they were kept up on one another when not in their own matches. “Little late for that, isn’t it? I saw that conversation. Little brother Sorrel knows you’re Des.”
“He’s not a problem if handled quickly and properly. You’re going to handle that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll handle him. Maybe I’ll convince him to go to Alpha, for his own good.”
Des wasn’t worried about Sorrel; Evan’s little brother was too morally good to be a threat, but with the right motivators, he’d be an excellent candidate for the Path of Might. Each of Evan, Des, and Azmyth had created their little story Paths based on their ideologies, but they planned on expanding them. Followers always had ideas. Good ones were kept, bad ones tossed. They believed in this method quite wholeheartedly.
Des snapped back to attention as he heard the next pair getting called out to fight. He yawned and leaned against the tree he was perched in, ready to watch this entertainment. He wanted to fight everyone in this tournament at once, but that might actually be too much for him. He knew most of the names on the tournament bracket, some more than others; he also knew that several of those names were signed up specifically to fight him. He liked that in potential candidates, a drive to beat him and get stronger.
Two with just such a drive were up next. They hadn’t predicted Des would just willingly sit down and tell people to come at him; as a Draconian in the beta, he did all the coming at, using all of his race skills to demoralize and decimate the opposition. As a Behemoth, he’d been fairly relaxed, not going for anyone but the opponents put in front of him. Still, as the fight he’d just given them attested, he was merciless as ever.
They met in the middle, looking between one another and the tree where Des was taking up residence. He had his eyes half-lidded, looking bored already, which fit his character perfectly; despite a bold statement that he’d wait patiently, he was already feeling impatient towards getting into some blood. He could easily see the looks they were giving him, even as they started talking in low voices.
They were discussing an alliance to try and end the Behemoth threat before he could get any further in the tournament. Judging by the way they started smirking, they thought it could work, even as they plotted to kill one another afterwards. Moving as one, they acted.
Des cut the glaive thrown at him from the air before it even got into the shade of the tree, jumping down. “Okay, just don’t say you were not warned later.” The glaive reappeared in the human’s hand, as the Djinn beside him drew a pair of hand-cannons. “You’ve amused me,” he cooed at the two, the shots ringing out. Each bullet was cleaved clean in twain by the bastard sword, and then he was moving forward again. The glaive-user threw it again, but it seemed to just hit air, Des disappearing. “Too bad amusement only goes so far.”
The glaive never reappeared in the human’s hands; Des’ blade appeared from behind, ripping through the armor he wore like it was paper. He twisted the blade and slashed sideways at the other combatant, his first execution victim falling over and shattering to data.
It was at this moment that the Djinn thought he could get away with a victory, and started firing away at Des. The bullets didn’t even break through his armor, but they did draw his attention back to the other victim, his eyes glowing a brilliant red. “I’m sorry, this was supposed to be your fight, wasn’t it? Here, let me make it fair again.” He threw his bastard sword, sinking it through to the hilt in the man’s sternum before he could even as flinch. “There, now you’re both dead.” He walked over as the man started falling, catching his blade by the hilt. It slid out of him slowly, the blood dripping down its tip the whole time that the Djinn took to shatter.
“...I’m disturbingly reminded of your first girlfriend,” Evan commented.
“I swear,” Des replied as he whipped his blade clean of blood and climbed back up to his little spot, the crowd jeering at the two bloody stains on the ground. “Though she, at least, survived getting stabbed.”
“Repeatedly,” Evan joked.
Oh yeah, Des knew today was going to be an awesome day now. He was one round closer to winning, after all.