Okay now. Settle down. It's not that bad.
So what if there could be fighting? That wasn't scary at all. No fear here, no sire. He had already stared down death twice and he was still around to tell the tale. No way in hell whatever was ahead could possibly be worse than locking blades with Nomine or plummeting twenty-one floors.
So what if he walked alongside a murderer? Sure, their truce was precarious at best, but he was kinda sorta confident Nomine wouldn't try to kill him. Plus, the veteran had gotten quieter, trading the homicidal euphoria back into some semblance of calm. And hey, at least he was handsome!
So what if he had to cross over into a spooky bog? It wasn’t like he was particularly attached to the forest anyway. Heck, at least nothing here seemed capable of catching fire. Everything was far too wet for that.
Matter of fact, that was kind of the keyword here. Wet. First time in his life stepping into a marsh, and honestly? Not a fan.
The still waters seeped through his clothes unpleasantly, soaking his socks and clinging to his skin like cold, clammy leeches. Each step took genuine effort, hampered down by mud that seemed determined to root him in place, slimy in texture and so, so gross.
At least there wasn’t any animal life. No icky tadpoles squirming underfoot or mosquitoes buzzing around. A blessing Neon was eager to count, especially since his legs disappeared into mist far too thick to be natural —a pale, grasping blanket that swallowed everything from the knee down. The water itself sat around his lower calf, invisible beneath the fog.
Another mercy: the place wasn’t entirely dark, even though it was well past midnight. Moonlight filtered cleanly through the uninterrupted skyline, refracting off a mist that moved with its own sluggish intelligence.
Motes of a weird purplish dust that made his nose itch whenever he breathed, combining with the mist to cast the whole swamp in a pale-blue glow. Ethereal and beautiful like a haunted graveyard in a cheesy horror flick.
Still, the eerie lighting didn’t really help with visibility. Shapes emerged from the fog like bad omens, taking his heart to spike into overdrive before proximity unveiled them as bereaved, twisted tree trunks or dead patches of thorned vines. Definitely, positively, surely not ghosts.
By that point, the main concern occupying his mind was how much it would suck to fight in a terrain like this one. Or well… Maybe that was a lie.
"We're almost there already." Neon shared, his newest attempt to redirect his thoughts anywhere else. Not that his hyper-focused partner gave him anything to work with —Nomine just nodded quietly, followed by more nerve-wracking tension. Would’ve been great to get some blunt, bitter order he could take offense at…
But in its absence, Neon was left alone against the worst curse of them all.
Thinking.
Fuck, they were really on their way to kill someone, weren’t they? Yeah, he had antagonized the faceless hands behind this place over and over. In his head, that is. Far easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk. Neon wasn’t even sure how guilty this sponsor sap actually was.
And he had to fight them to the death now?
The questions poked at the edges of his resolve. He had to make up his mind. Now. What did he want? What could he live with? Postponing was only available for so long, and this cruel game certainly wasn’t about to give him a coffee break to talk things over with his conscience.
“Can you see it?” Here it came, in the shape of Nomine breaking the silence, lowering his posture as he gestured for Neon to scoot closer and circle something invisible alongside him.
“See what?” He squinted into the oppressive fog, but failed at finding anything more than just the same pale nothing.
“Tsk.”
Neon’s brow furrowed at the sound. Right, of course. How foolish of him to not have whatever freakish vision enhancement Nomine was running with. At least the veteran realized soon that the impatience was wasted, his voice dropping to a hushed murmur that barely disturbed the dense air.
“There’s a building. A large one. Could be a tower. Or a lighthouse.”
“You think it’s…”
“We’re moving closer. Stay near.”
They stalked further through the marsh with the measured motions of someone minimizing their presence in hostile territory. Reeds parted around them in reluctant whispers, tall enough to cover their entire bodies.
The waters were thicker here, sticking to Neon’s fingers as he put his hand down for support. His eyes were drawn to their murky surface, unable to track the strange eddies he felt rippling by.
For a moment, he was sure to have caught something wrong. Something that shouldn’t have been there. But the thought left his mind before it could calcify —overshadowed by Nomine’s raised hand instructing him to halt.
Following Nomine’s sightline, Neon watched a figure gradually coalesce through the fog’s layered veil.
[Contestant 12, Levia.] <>
[He/Him. Team DrachenTech. Rookie. Sponsor.]
And there he was.
Levia stood with his back partially turned against them, silhouetted by a stone wall exuding ancient castle vibes, incongruous to whatever hi-tech that probably spawned it. The structure disappeared into the mist above, its full scope hidden. Better that way, letting Neon focus on the sponsor instead.
He looked… Young.
Neon’s age, maybe, or close enough for the distinction to be irrelevant.
Slim to the point of delicacy, lacking the density of someone who’d ever been forced to fight for anything. A build that spoke of meals delivered on a tight schedule and personal trainers who never really pushed too hard. Ash-blonde hair fell in soft, meticulous waves down to smooth, sunken cheekbones —not a strand out of place, as if disorder itself was to be feared.
The same pitch-black undersuit as Nomine’s peeked from beneath his collar and gloved his fingers, but over it sat a midnight-blue combat fit so over the top that it was almost comical. Clearly not military issue, but tailor-made to cosplay the look as close as possible. Gold threading traced patterns along the chest, framing a series of… What were those? Boy scout insignias?
Beyond the tryhard get-up, Neon couldn’t help but fixate on the melancholia that bled through Levia’s picture-perfect exterior. His steel-blue eyes drifted lazily across his interface, carrying a weight entirely at odds with the rich-kid-playing-soldier facade. A weight that filled Neon’s nosy social radar with curiosity.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He looked… Angsty. Brooding like a teenager who had wandered too far on a field trip and only now realized no one was coming back for him.
This was supposed to be their ticket to victory? Neon had braced for some grand general commanding from behind an army of expendable bodies. Not a solitary, melancholic boy waiting for who-knew-what by some ruins.
It felt wrong. Too much like a trap.
But whether he shared his thoughts or not, Nomine didn’t care.
The veteran straightened his posture without fear of being seen, muscles coiling as his focus locked onto Levia. His breathing quickened, in turn tightening the grip on his blade just from the effort of holding himself back.
Sponsors had done something. Something deep enough to take away his hollow efficiency and replace it with this feral hunger.
“Stay there. Don’t you dare get in my way.” Nomine’s voice emerged low and savage, almost a growl, stepping forward without waiting for confirmation. “He’s mine.”
Just like that, the world once more relegated him to spectator.
Was this fair? To let his partner do his thing while keeping his own hands clean? Conveniently dodging that transgressor label through inaction?
The questions felt pointless. There was no stopping Nomine.
By the time Levia glanced up, it was already too late. His eyes widened as he turned, yet he made no move to defend himself. Maybe couldn’t. There was no weapon drawn, no skill activation. He didn’t even try to run. Just stood there, frozen like a deer caught in headlights as death descended upon him.
Black Metal pierced through fog and flesh without mercy.
The puncture was gut-wrenching, even from a distance. Nomine’s blade punched viscerally through Levia’s sternum and erupted from his back, lodging itself in the stone wall with enough force to lift the sponsor’s slight frame off the muddy ground —suspending him on the katana like a preserved insect.
Neon’s stomach twisted, feeling bile rising up again.
Could it possibly be this easy?
Of course it couldn’t.
Levia’s hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around Black Metal’s hilt where it emerged from his own chest. There was agitation in his face, yes, but not pain. Not even surprise anymore. His blue eyes met Nomine’s without flinching, carrying a serene certainty that made Neon’s instincts scream.
“You shouldn’t have come.” The sponsor’s voice emerged steady and dispassionate despite the blade bisecting his torso. “But I suppose you couldn’t help yourself.”
>> “It’ll be best for you two to let me end this swiftly.”
Hunter and prey inverted in a heartbeat, before the implications could settle.
Black tendrils darted from beneath the fog like oozing chains, surging upwards to coil around Nomine’s legs and arms in thick, constricting bands. Water. It was water, manipulated into something more sinister than just a stagnant marsh.
Shit… It was everywhere. Levia had known every second they had spent watching like idiots. Now the tendrils awakened from slumber, writhing, grasping and tightening as they sought to immobilize the veteran completely.
Neon couldn’t focus on Nomine’s predicament alone, not when the living currents targeted him too. Liquid shot from the surface like serpents, latching onto his wrists and ankles with the consistency of tar that had developed hunger. Viscous, adhesive, like industrial sludge mixed with glue.
He clawed desperately at the restraints binding his right hand, nails scraping against the slick substance. For one brief, victorious moment, Neon managed to pry it loose —only for two more tendrils to surge and claim both wrists with renewed fervor, as if they had learned from their mistake.
[Skill: Dark Waters Lvl 5] <>
Secret currents, unnoticed yet perfect.
Dread mounted. How long had they been walking directly through Levia’s augment? How far did it spread? Was the entire swamp a roach trap?
More frightening than any of those questions was how Nomine refused to be dragged down by anything. Lightning ignited across his frame in branches of blue, immediately annihilating every tendril it touched. Dark Waters dissolved into harmless splotches as they fell away, creating just the right opening for Deconsecrate to start migrating towards Black Metal’s edge.
Levia’s eyes widened in recognition. His boot landed firmly against Nomine’s chest and shoved with enough force to drive the veteran back, dislodging the katana impaling his torso.
The removal should’ve been accompanied by blood and death throes. Instead, his uniform showed only a clean slit where the blade had pierced, and the unblemished skin underneath.
Nomine’s footing stabilized within a breath, and met the next wave of tendrils without a sweat. Unlike Neon, who still fought a losing battle against Dark Waters, the veteran’s blade carved through them before they even finished lunging, breaking them down to lifeless liquid.
Perhaps it was that efficiency that brought forth the second phase.
Massive geysers of black water erupted from the surface in synchronized bursts, shooting upwards in towering columns that briefly blotted out the moonlight. And like maws regurgitating their contents, reinforcements flooded in from the suspended currents.
[Skill: Heed the Calling Lvl 5] <>
Found the edge, have you found the answer?
One, two, three, four.
Their figures lunged from the columns, converging on Nomine with coordinated aggression. All clad in tactical gear obscuring their features, two wielding heavy firearms while the other pair moved in with hunting knives.
Another obstacle deemed unworthy of retreat by Nomine.
He flowed between their attacks with the ease of someone who had been outnumbered a hundred times before. The bladework was almost contemptuous, parrying strikes while simultaneously sidestepping sprays of gunfire.
Had Nomine seen this coming? Prepared himself for the consequences of approaching a sponsor? Somehow, Neon felt he was still missing half the story. But it wasn’t like he had the luxury to ponder reasoning or marvel at combat proficiency.
More eruptions followed, this time from behind the rookie. Two more soldiers splashing through the marsh to cut off their sole escape route.
[Contestant 45, Pessimista.] <>
[They/Them. Team Ocaso. Rookie. Convict.]
[Contestant 146, Chameleon.] <>
[She/Her. Team Ninety. Rookie. Respawned.]
Wait. These people were not some private unit. They were contestants. But then why were they working for Levia? Had all these teams been the ones to respond the sponsor’s distress call? Neon’s mind worked into overdrive. That could be the gap in motivation he could negotiate his way out of.
And yet… The words died in his throat. Not just because of the gun barrel aimed squarely at his face. But mainly for, in this proximity, he could see behind their visors an emptiness that could never be reasoned with.
Something had happened to them.
No. Something had been done to them.
Pity or indignation, Neon didn’t get the chance to choose which one to feel. The debate was prematurely ended with a slash, Nomine’s blade separating a soldier’s head from their shoulders.
The body didn’t succumb at once. It swayed, as if the meat was compelled to remain standing by some sinister command. Blood fountained from the wound, but it wasn’t alone. By the time the already-dead combatant finished folding, a cloud of purple dust billowed outwards to consume Nomine’s silhouette.
All the remaining soldiers froze, their stiff frames fixed on the expanding miasma as if awaiting new instructions. Neon’s restraints tightened, making him realize in their inaction that his captors weren’t trying to kill him —or at least not yet.
“And with this…” A new voice threaded through the tension, aged and masculine, carrying the satisfied self-importance of someone narrating their own cleverness. “… I believe we have checkmate.”