The Third Round began.

  We were in a large rectangular stone chamber. Torches lined the walls. Four paths—one on each side—led away from the arena. Floating in front of each exit was a ball with wings, flapping like nervous birds. Everyone—myself included—was trapped in tall, cylindrical barriers.

  Holding zones.

  In the center of the chamber was a large translucent, square pillar. We were arranged along its perimeter.

  I spotted Pretty Boy immediately. He was stationed across from me by another face.

  “Hey, Naked Man.”

  I turned. Scary Lady stood a few feet away, arms crossed.

  “We’re trying to catch those things, alright?” she said, jerking her head toward the winged balls.

  The barriers dropped. The flying things scattered into the passages—and everyone exploded into motion.

  I went the other way.

  “What are you doing?!” the Scary Lady yelled. “Go after the target closest to you!”

  I flickered on every step. “I’m not playing the game anymore.”

  Pretty Boy—maybe his perception went off—he saw me coming and sprinted harder. Muscles, too, was on this side and sprinting ahead.

  I trained my sights on Pretty Boy, summoned my God Arm, and fired.

  The electric bolt struck him in the back and made him tumble. I was on him within seconds.

  And then Muscles suddenly appeared in front of me. New Arm out, I blocked his fist—

  [Fated Guard!] boomed the announcer.

  “You can do those too?!” he yelled as the Guard’s effect launched him off his feet. He hit the ground hard and didn’t bounce.

  A vortex of flame then consumed me.

  I gritted my teeth, equipped my vestments, and withstood it. As soon as the flames waned and I saw Pretty Boy standing there with an extinguished torch, I fired another bolt at him.

  The lightning strike struck him square in the chest and winded him. In that moment, I got in his face.

  Ice arrows tore in from somewhere far behind—two clipped my ribs—but I didn’t care.

  The God Arm was spent for the day. I raised it anyway and smashed the butt of the rifle into Pretty Boy’s skull three times.

  Muscles got up and looked like he was going to get involved. I raised a hand and fired a water glaive at him, piercing him through the chest.

  Turning my gaze back to Pretty Boy, I sank my elbow into his face, hard enough to feel it crumble, and then I raced to Muscles.

  I can take both of you on!

  I got to him in time. I tore the water glaive out and slashed twice with its edge.

  The air around Muscles changed. I pounced, slamming my fist into his face, stepping into it with gusto.

  Mother fucker, I’m the king now!

  [Divine Smite!]

  Golden winds blew, and he flew into the wall behind him.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  No time to waste, I pivoted and tanked a blast of gale-force winds from some random participant.

  Pretty Boy and I locked eyes again.

  “You better brace, man!” I roared.

  “Just leave me alone?! What’s wrong with you?!”

  I flicker stepped toward him. He threw a punch. I blocked. His head slammed into mine, rattling me.

  He gripped the back of my skull, locking our foreheads together, breath hot against my cheek.

  I barely registered him pulling a torch from behind his back and pressing it into me.

  He unleashed the power into my stomach—the powerful blast of ice.

  I had turned my Levels on, but the blow was still unreasonable.

  I was propelled away from him, his fingers tearing out a chunk of scalp and hair in the process. Frost pierced my body, and spread across my torso. I crashed onto the floor—the impact was so powerful.

  And it wasn’t done. Ice kept spreading from my wounds, latching to the floor.

  “You’re done!” he yelled.

  No!

  I lay there, freezing, with ice gripping the floor and my SP running out. That point-blank attack, even with the vestment, did significant damage. I had to keep that in mind, because this wasn’t over just yet.

  I locked eyes with Pretty Boy as he panted.

  “I ain’t done,” I said, reaching for the dried strobe berry in my pouch.

  Pretty Boy looked like he was in disbelief. His voice trembled. “Why are you still in the round?! You have ice in your stomach!”

  I chomped on the berry. “I just don’t know when to die.”

  …

  ..

  .

  I had noticed something over all my struggles. When the source of damage prevents healing from occurring, like say there was ice in the way, there would be a delay in the HP being reduced. It made sense, because HP was only reduced when the injury was healed… If one could heal up during that window…

  ***

  Eat a Strobe Berry

  +1 Level

  ***

  I reached Level 10.

  I had observed enough to know that this was the single most catastrophic advantage I held over all of these people—my Checklist and Interface. I knew why things happened. I knew how to trigger Level Ups. I had a degree of control that these people could not fathom.

  My torso went blurry for a second, and then came back to reality, with no ice piercing it. It was like the ice through the gut never happened.

  Guess that a Level Up overrides everything else to an absurd degree!

  I rose with a roar, Levels On, and shattered the frost gripping me, shards blasting out in every direction. The onlookers—all the ones too terrified to come closer—recoiled, gasping, several stumbling back like I’d just risen from the grave.

  Level Ups are all powerful!

  Pretty Boy’s eyes widened. His legs shifted—fight or flight—they couldn’t decide. But it was already too late.

  I stepped forward—

  But the whole chamber shuddered.

  A low, echoing boom followed. It was followed by something like a groan. The floor buckled. Torches jittered on the walls. A tremor ran through the central pillar.

  I blinked. Caught something—a flicker of white in my peripheral. It looked like a spot of white.

  Ignored it. Pretty Boy’s face getting caved-in mattered more.

  He charged, screaming, desperation in his face.

  I grinned. “You picked ‘fight!’”

  I met him in the middle. Our blows collided—his extinguished torch against my new arm, my fist into his ribs, his knee catching mine. Pain surged and was healed.

  He tried to pivot to duck away. I spun and caught him with a backfist to the temple. He reeled.

  “Don’t close your eyes!” I yelled.

  This was it.

  Everything in my body felt primed. The final strike was coming.

  And then the roof above our heads was lifted.

  Just like that. Tilted upward like someone removing a dollhouse lid. Stone, debris, and torches spiraled out into the void, weightless.

  A blast of hauntingly cold air flooded the arena. Everyone froze.

  A being of light—blinding, massive, nondescript—was on the outside, like a child looking at their dolls. Its hand descended through the opening.

  Its fingers were long, seamless, glowing brighter than the chamber torches ever dared. It reached in with gentle ease.

  I tried to flicker, to move, to breathe—

  The light gripped me.

  My feet left the ground. The world shrank. Pretty Boy, the arena, the torches, all of it—shrinking, warping, peeling away.

  I didn’t even scream. Just blinked, stunned, as the chamber vanished beneath me.

  And the being’s hand pulled me out into a world of white.

  But I wasn’t there for long. In the very moment that white swallowed me up, I found myself with my feet on the ground and a terminal in front of me.