Mistrunner 2 - Chapter 34 - Gladiator (Patreon)

When I saw the video, I felt only a brief sense of elation, the result of knowing that I had won. I’d beaten the unbeatable. I had toppled a giant. And the prize was mine for the taking. However, as I watched them rip him apart, piece by piece, the guilt set in. I can still hear his screams. I can still see his decapitated head staring at me with those accusing eyes. I know that image will stick with me for the rest of my life.

Nora Lancaster

“You know the deal, right?” asked the man behind the counter, his double chin wobbling with each word. He was short, fat, and mostly bald, save for a few wisps of hair he’d tried to arrange in such a way as to cover the shiny crown of his head. He wiped his bulbous, red nose on his sleeve, adding, “Ain’t no real protection in there. You go in, and there ain’t nothin’ to stop them from tearin’ you a new one.”

I leaned forward, my hands on the edge of the counter and drew to within a few inches of the plastisteel cage that was supposed to keep him safe. “I’m aware,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. It was a tricky thing, trying to pretend to act a certain way. My character was new, so she was supposed to be nervous and afraid, but she also knew that she wasn’t supposed to show that. Layers of deception, all to conceal my identity and put me into a position to accomplish the next part of my plan.

He snorted a laugh, spraying the cage with spittle and little pieces of the pitiful sandwich I saw on the other side of the counter. Fortunately for me, the food particles didn’t make it through the second barrier, which was a comparatively weak Mist shield. It wouldn’t stop a determined attacker, but it would slow them down. Of course, that was assuming said attacker didn’t have access to Misthack and the ability to shut it off without lifting a finger. Still, I chose not to do so because it wouldn’t suit my agenda. Even so, it would have felt nice to put the disgusting man in his place. The moment I’d stepped into the Emporium, I’d felt him undressing me with his eyes.

I was used to being ogled. That was just part of being in Nova City, where the very air seemed to have been suffused with sex, violence, and corruption. But in this case, it made me feel more unclean than usual – perhaps because I knew the manager of the fighting arena was a truly detestable human being. He wasn’t satisfied with merely profiting off of the often desperate people who’d been driven to fight death matches for the amusement of the more fortunate, but he was also reputed to possess a harem of slaves that he kept hidden in his compound. Men, women, and everything in between – he didn’t care. His perversions were reputed to have no bounds. And as such, he was right at the top of my list of loathsome people.

But he was also a means to an end, so I had pushed my personal feelings aside for the moment. He would get his, and soon. For now, though, he was safe from my wrath.

The blubbery man raked a hand through what was left of his greasy hair, then said, “Suit yourself, hot stuff. Weapon of choice?”

“Sword,” I said.

“You know how to use it?”

“I do,” was my simple response.

He clearly didn’t believe that, based on the roll of his watery, red-rimmed eyes. He punched a few buttons on an analog terminal – those weren’t that common, but they were also far more secure than the newer versions. I couldn’t Misthack into that system; instead, I’d have to jack in manually via Mistwalk.

“Alright, then,” he said. “I got you for a bout in about an hour.” He pointed to a door on one side of the cage. “Go through there. You can get changed. The more skin, the better, especially for somebody like you. The crowd goes nuts if they see a nice pair of –”

“I’m wearing what I intend to wear,” I said. “Do I need to do anything else?”

He shook his head, saying, “Shame. Pretty, little thing like you could really get the crowd riled up. More excitement, more credits flyin’ around. But suit yourself. So long as the blood’s flowin’, I don’t care. You get ten percent of the take. Non-negotiable. If you win. If you lose…well, you won’t be needin’ credits, then.”

“I understand the rules.”

With that, he typed something else into his terminal, then told me to head back. I didn’t hesitate before leaving him behind; one more second in his presence, and I might have forgotten my mission altogether, torn through that flimsy Mist shield, and put him down like the rabid animal he was. But I restrained my murderous instincts and headed through the door.

As I did, I studied my surroundings. The exterior of the Emporium was meant to mimic some ancient arena, complete with a multitude of carved columns and decorative arches with a distinctly unique design I couldn’t place. Topped by a massive dome that flashed with different colors based on the whims of the owners, it cut an impressive figure amongst the austere architecture so common in the Garden.

In a way, it reminded me of Bourbon Street. Not because it bore any similar characteristics – they were completely different in nearly every facet of their appearance. Rather, because of their purpose. Where the clubs and brothels of Bourbon Street were dedicated to sex, lust, and carnal intentions, the Emporium was a giant altar to violence. Both were effective distractions, and I considered them two sides of the same coin.

The interior of the massive building had no decorative touches, and as I traversed the hall leading to the locker room, I was reminded of the same featureless architecture I’d seen in every megabuilding I’d ever entered. Eventually, I found my destination and passed through another door, where I was greeted with the sight of a host of fighters in various states of undress.  Judging by the coating of blood, some had just finished battles in the arena, while others were focused on upcoming fights.

I went to a corner and sat on one of the benches, where I leaned forward, my hands on my knees as I mentally prepared myself for the upcoming fight. In many ways, I hated what I was about to do. I didn’t want to contribute to the culture of distraction that kept the citizens of Nova City in line. I also had nothing to prove – to myself or to anyone else – so I considered the upcoming contest beneath me. However, that disdain was also tinged with a degree of excitement. I liked fighting, and the Emporium gave me a perfect arena to do just that.

A shadow enveloped me, followed by a smooth voice saying, “Hey there, gorgeous. I haven’t seen you here before.”

I looked up to see the reason I’d decided to subject myself to the Nova City’s most brutal sport. Asheligh, Nora’s chief thug, stood over me, naked as the day she was born. In fact, her groin was only a foot away, looming large in my field of vision. I ignored it, pushing my gaze upward across her muscular torso, impressive chest, and to her square-ish face.

The rest of her was decidedly less fleshy, with both arms and both legs having been replaced by brutish cybernetics that had obviously been built for strength. Her neck was encased in red enameled metal, the material covering her jaw and ending just below her ears. But her features were otherwise completely human, without even the addition of cybernetic eyes. Red hair stood up in a stiff mohawk that cut a line down the center of her otherwise smooth head.

“Can I help you?” I asked, keeping my voice emotionless. I knew that, if I wanted to, I could summon my nano-bladed sword and, in only an instant, carve out her heart. Even with most of her body having been replaced with cybernetics, I was certain that would do her in. If not, I could keep on carving until I got to something vital.

Of course, doing so would have caused a ruckus. More, Asheligh wasn’t a pushover, and she would surely resist. I felt confident I could win the fight, but I didn’t know how quickly I could put her down.

Besides, that wasn’t the plan. I’d get to her soon enough.

She gave her hips a slight buck, trying to draw my eyes. “You can help me with all sorts of things,” she said with a lascivious grin. “That mouth of yours looks like it could –”

“No, thank you,” I said before looking back down at the dirty, tile floor.

It took Asheligh a moment to register what I’d said, and clearly it wasn’t what she had expected. “You little…do you know who I am?” she demanded.

I didn’t answer. Inwardly, though, I regretted wearing the face I’d chosen. Using Mimic, I’d adopted the identity of a very pretty young woman with stark white hair and plump lips. My choice was rooted in a simple fact: the grotesque manager of the Emporium was right. The crowd loved seeing beautiful people fight, which was why I’d also decided to wear a skintight crop top and a pair of shorts that put my legs on full display. I felt a little ridiculous – after all, my normal attire was decidedly more conservative – but it was all just part of the role.

And obviously, it had worked. Otherwise, Asheligh wouldn’t have taken notice of me. I wasn’t sure if she was really as lustful as her reputation suggested or, like me, she was playing a role that put her more in line with her boss’s inclinations. But whether she was merely mimicking Nora or not was irrelevant. She still had to play the part in public, which was why she’d planted herself in front of me.

Even if I hadn’t hated the woman for the part she’d played in Nora’s betrayal, I wouldn’t have been interested. For one, I really wasn’t attracted to women. I knew that put me in a bit of a minority among the residents of Nova City, who mostly had a much more flu id view of sexual attraction, but it was just how I felt. For another, even if I did prefer women, the copious use of cybernetics would have been a complete turnoff. The idea of being fondled by those metallic hands was enough to send a shiver up my spine.

There were plenty of people in Nova who felt the opposite way. They loved visible cybernetics. And even among them, there were different subsets. Some liked parts like Asheligh’s that looked almost like heavy machinery. Others wanted sleek and svelte. I’d even heard about some people who’d had their skin replaced with shiny chrome. But I didn’t belong to those groups. Instead, I preferred flesh and blood.

I looked back up at Asheligh, saying, “No. Should I?”

“I’m –”

“Saint!” came a call from the other corner of the locker room. “You’re up!”

“That’s my cue,” I said, standing and pushing past Asheligh. She tried to grab my arm, but I easily dodged her grasping metallic hand. The mostly cybernetic woman called out again, but I ignored her. Even she wouldn’t presume to interrupt the Emporium’s schedule, lest she get blacklisted. And she couldn’t let that happen. After all, much of her authority was rooted in her combat prowess, and if she couldn’t show that off in the arena, she’d end up having to defend her reputation out on the streets, where anything was fair game. At least in the Emporium’s fights, she knew things were mostly fair.

When I reached the other side of the room, I stopped in front of a slim man who looked like a former fighter. He had a crooked nose, cauliflower ears, and a cybernetic that wasn’t as cleanly attached as if the decision to replace his arm had been a choice rather than a necessity. He wore a white tee-shirt and a pair of baggy pants. A dozen gold chains hung from his neck, partially covering the intricate spider web tattoo that ran along the contours of his stringy muscles to cover his neck and most of his left shoulder.

“You Saint?” he asked.

I nodded. I’d chosen the name on a whim, but it felt appropriate.

“Good. C’mon,” he said. “Your fight’s in five minutes.”

Had I really been sitting there so long? It hadn’t felt like it, but the clock on my HUD told me that he wasn’t mistaken. So, after that, I followed him through a maze of tunnels. As I did, I felt more than heard the roar of the crowd, which I knew was directly above me. Something interesting must have happened in the arena, which meant that someone had probably just been killed.

After a couple of minutes, we stopped before a pair of wide double doors, through which a pair of workers were dragging a beheaded corpse. Its blood was still wet, leaving a trail along the floor. But the entirety of my focus was on the arena on the other side of that exit.

The floor was mottled concrete, and it was an entirely open space. The crowd wanted to see the action, after all, and no one wanted their view obstructed. Besides, it was a test of personal combat ability, and adding environmental factors was counter to that mission. It took me a couple of seconds to recognize that the concrete wasn’t blotchy by design; rather, portions were darker due to the prevalence of dried blood that seeped into the surface, staining it in the process.

It was a grim reminder of what I faced.

“You said you’re a sword user, right? Well, did you forget your blade? If so, we got plenty of –”

I cut him off by summoning my nano-bladed sword from my Arsenal Implant. Its edge crackled with blue energy, a promise of pain and barely contained violence.

“Right. Sure. Just make a sword appear outta nowhere,” he muttered. “In my day…”

He trailed off, but I ignored him. He wasn’t important. Only the person on the other side of that arena was worthy of my attention. I could just see my enemy – a tall, whipcord thin man armed with a wicked battleaxe – standing in the other entrance across the arena. He raised his axe in salute.

I ignored his gesture.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” crowed a deep voice across the arena’s public address system. The crowd quieted at the sound. “We have a treat for you tonight. The Raven needs no introduction, but his opponent is a newcomer who goes by the Sword Saint!”

I ground my teeth together as the crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers. I knew that a hologram of my image was floating above the arena floor. Doubtless, my looks were the reason for the crowd’s dubious support.

“That’s your cue, your worshipfulness,” said the former fighter that was my guide. “Head in. Don’t start until you hear the bell, or you’ll be gunned down. And no hot weapons, either. You pull a gun outta your ass, the arena’s security force will put you down. Understand?”

I nodded.

“Good. Go on in. And good luck.”

I took a deep breath, then squared my shoulders before taking a step into the arena. Then, another. And another. As I strode forward, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of awe at my surroundings. The crowd was massive, at least thirty thousand strong, and every single one of them was on their feet and screaming. A huge hologram floated about fifty feet above the arena floor, depicting the so-called Raven, who was walking forward, just like me. But where I was stoic, he was waving at the crowd, blowing kisses to his admirers, and having an altogether fantastic time.

Was it an act? Or did he truly enjoy the adoration of the sorts of people who got off watching people try to kill one another?

On the other side of the hologram was the depiction of me. Or rather, the version of me that I’d decided to show the crowd. My body was real enough, even if the skin color was far paler than my real complexion. But the face and hair were completely different. Would they have cheered so loudly for the real me? Or was their reaction based on the beautiful visage I had adopted?

I’d had similar questions about my brief relationship with Calvin. He had obviously been attracted to the woman whose identity I’d adopted for my trip to Biloxi, but there was something else there, too. A level of attraction that had nothing to do with my physical appearance. Would he have reacted similarly if he could see the real me? Maybe. I had no way of knowing.

Those distracting thoughts took me to the center of the arena, where I stopped only a dozen feet from the Raven. Up close, I saw the source of his namesake. He wore a loose coat, but no shirt beneath it, revealing a huge tattoo of a black bird that stretched across his bare chest.

“I hate to kill such a beautiful creature,” he sneered, a wide grin decorating his thin face. “Surrender and kneel before me, and I’ll have you fitted with a slave implant before the night’s over. I’ll treat you good, too. Real good. Like a real person, even.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I stared straight at him, waiting on the bell. Inwardly, though, I seethed. If I’d had any issues with killing him before, they disappeared the moment he opened his mouth. A good thing, really. Now, there was no chance I’d feel even remotely guilty.

“Not gonna take my generous offer? Well, suit yourself,” he spat. “Such a waste.”

He didn’t say anything else, but the announcer did, reciting the Raven’s record – he’d won fifteen fights already, which made him a dangerous opponent. Of course, I’d done my own research, and I’d discovered that most of those so-called battles had been against slaves who’d been pushed into the arena against their will. Colloquially, those were known as slaughter matches, and the real warriors were never in any real danger, unless they found themselves facing off against someone who’d hidden their true power. But that almost never happened because few truly powerful people would allow themselves to be taken into slavery. It happened, but so infrequently that slaughter matches were as safe a fight as one could get in the arena.

Finally, the bell rang.

I used Engage, springing forward with my sword held at the ready. The Raven reared back, intending to cut me in two, but I was far too fast for him. In fact, he’d barely raised the great axe when my nano-sword sheered through his neck and out the other side. I skidded to a stop and turned, ready for any retaliation he might offer.

But it was unnecessary. The fight was already over, the end announced when his head toppled from his shoulders and hit the ground with a dull thud. His body followed soon after, crumbling into a heap of dead flesh.

The crowd went silent.

I started walking back to the door, not even stopping as I spit on the Raven’s corpse as I passed.

One down. A few more fights to go.