Fell Champions

Il-Su didn't know he was huddled in a vast, unknowable void until he was no longer in it. He was rudely yanked from its embrace, the comfort of the unending, and deposited on sandy ground. Light hit his eyes harshly, and he shied away from its glare.

How long had it been since he’d seen light? It felt like no time at all. But something deep inside said it was a long time. An unfathomable amount. 

The sun was too bright, too warm. It felt like getting pulled from a cold room that had been artificially heated and deposited into a hot room that was air conditioned. Both rooms were the same temperature, but one was vastly more comfortable than the other. 

The breeze felt like razors on his skin, the light like a furnace. Even through his boots, the sand beneath felt grating, unpleasant.

Where was he? He’d been…

He’d been fighting Sami. Again. And he’d lost. Again.

Something dark and angry and hideous bubbled like bile in his chest.

Even here, she couldn’t leave him alone. Couldn’t let him be free. But that was the pattern. Everywhere he turned there were chains. His father’s. Sami’s. Holt’s. Kirhaela’s. Sureya’s. Every time he thought he found freedom, he was bound yet again.

Why couldn’t he be like Mayumi? Nothing could contain her. She was the bird on the horizon, the albatross the ship chased, the sailor on deck, the wide open road with an endless series of crossroads.

He wanted that so badly. Wanted her so badly.

Her rejection still hurt. He clenched his fists. Grit his teeth. 

She just didn’t know what she wanted. All he had to do was talk to her. Convince her. Not through a screen. Face to face. If only he could just find the right words.

There was motion around him, and Il-Su realized others had joined him. Many others. He winced against the glare of the sun, and realized where he was. 

The arena. Holt’s arena. And he was in the middle of it. 

He pulled up his Online list. His name was there, right at the top where it belonged. But it was greyed out.

So, he’d died.

Memories of a woman smiling at him cruelly hit him. Bragging. Happy that she’d speared him through the chest. From behind, like a coward, after he’d faced his own fears and confronted Sami head on. 

The woman, the NPC, had said something. Something familiar, something he’d heard before. But he couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t remember. 

All he could remember was the spear jutting out of his chest. His body fighting to survive, not knowing it was a losing battle.

He tried to push it back. Tried to retreat from the trauma. Tried to deny it. But something felt missing from him. Like a piece of his soul was missing. 

He’d died. Died for real. And then was forced to come back. This didn’t feel like a video game at all. It had felt so real.

He shuddered at that. 

No. He was in a game. He was in a game, and the alternative was impossible. He refused to accept it. There was no way it was possible. If it were, then that would mean…

His mind shied away from the implications. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, enbies, and everyone,” came Holt’s taunting voice. 

Il-Su looked upwards, grateful for the distraction. Above them floated an island of chiseled stone, covered in vines and moss and television screens and unnecessary signal transmitters, accompanied by the runes he saw throughout Fell Champions etched into the walls. It was a mishmash of tech and nature and the esoteric, the impossible and the mundane fused into one. 

Holt stared out at the crowd, his smile tempered by a pair of narrowed, furious eyes. 

“I’m sure you’re all familiar with how this whole ‘arena death match’ goes by now,” Holt said. “But it’s giving last fall’s outfit now, isn’t it? So, we’re switching things up this time.”

Holt let his words linger, so Il-Su took a moment to survey his surroundings. He’d noticed that others had been in the arena with him before, but now he did a headcount. Twenty-five in total. A full quarter of the original playerbase.

Three had died so far. And then Mayumi had somehow pulled two NPCs into the game. So while they’d lost three, they were still at ninety-nine. 

Surveying the faces around him, from various fashion vloggers to IRL streamers to a couple of useless thots and even an actual young teenage boy famous for that stupid battle royale shooter with all the building, Il-Su was certain that number to be much lower shortly.

“We’re going to have a little free-for-all,” Holt said with aplomb. “Everyone fights, all at the same time. Each kill nets you a point. You need three points to qualify for survival. You inherit any and all points from someone you kill. So, if someone scores enough to qualify, that doesn’t mean they’re suddenly safe. You can still kill someone with three points and claim theirs as your own.”

“What if I want to kill more than three?” Il-Su shouted. 

“You don’t need to yell. I’m right behind you.”

Il-Su scrambled around, his hand going to one of his knives. Sure enough, standing directly behind him was Holt. The gamemaster was a tall man, one who normally would’ve towered over Il-Su if this were the real world. But Il-Su’s avatar was built tall and lanky, made for running and jumping long distances. They were of similar height here, and just like the last time they’d faced one another, Il-Su refused to let himself be intimidated.

“Well?” Il-Su asked. “What if I just kill everyone here in this arena, claim all their points for myself? Does that get me extra lives?”

“So bloodthirsty,” Holt said. “You’d think you’d have learned your lesson by now.”

“What do you mean?”

Holt was suddenly in his space, moving too fast for Il-Su’s eyes to properly track him. Suddenly there was a hand around his throat, squeezing the air from him, threatening to crush his windpipe. In a second, his Tenacity shattered under that grip. He drew a knife and stabbed at Holt, but it uselessly bounced off. 

“You don’t even know what you’ve done,” Holt said, anger seething from him. “You would think you’d learn to think before you act, or maybe have realized you’re not nearly as intelligent as you think you are. I could end you with a flick of my wrist. I could…”

The rest of Holt’s words were unintelligible as the world slowly turned black for Il-Su, struggling for air as he was. Holt must’ve realized, because suddenly Il-Su was on the ground, gasping for breath, discarded like trash.

“I have to give you this chance,” Holt said, crouching down beside him. “Though I am loath to do it. However, I can… tweak things to ensure an outcome I desire more. And you’ve given me an idea.”

Il-Su made a racking cough, still struggling to compose himself after nearly being strangled to death.

“Whatever I did… it’s your fault.”

Holt’s gaze narrowed on Il-Su. “I gave you a name. One shot at freedom. I gave you knowledge of what you were in the middle of. That this world is not what you think it is. And then you threw yourself into an unfavourable deal with no thought to how to properly use it to your advantage. You were so desperate to escape one captor, you threw yourself into the arms of another. And more, you did not respect what I told you. That this world is real.”

In their private meeting in Holt’s private room, after the playerbase’s failed attempt at a pathetic revolt against him. Holt had told Il-Su things. Insane things. 

That this world was real. That they were not in a video game. But it was madness, the kind of madness a man who forced people into a death game would say. Things to sow doubt and division.

But Il-Su had listened to one thing he’d said. Sureya. A chance for freedom, a chance to escape Kirhaela’s grasp. 

How Il-Su wished he’d discarded that advice, just as he’d discarded the rest of what Holt had said.

“You’re insane,” Il-Su growled. “This is a game. It’s impossible for this… this to be real. I remember! I remember…”

He struggled to remember. He’d signed in at a desk, so long ago. Had a short, clipped conversation with a secretary that looked down at him, just like most women in the real world did. He’d been escorted to a room, met Holt in person. 

His mind shuddered. He’d met Holt in person, hadn’t he? And there’d been… 

Why couldn’t he remember?

Holt held his arms up, that disgusting smile of his now on his face. “I am a kind man, let it be known. I am offering a once ever opportunity to those currently in the arena. Il-Su is worth nine points. If anyone kills him, they will be allowed to continue to live. And get two extra respawns besides. And… oh, look. Someone just broke his Tenacity for you.”

Il-Su staggered to his feet. Twenty-four other people exchanged looks amongst themselves, and then all focused on him. And began to draw weapons.

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