Down we go, ready to receive the ground's sweet embrace. Just as we were about to meet our maker. I actually knew my maker's name. The bastard went stone solid and left me squishy and about to feel sand.

  "You mother—!" I screamed but didn't get to finish.

  Falling like a star ready to re-enter orbit and make a deep impact. My cargo was a smiling, stone hedge of a man. I considered bashing him to bits and dying happy with a broken neck. Actually, I should survive; it's just sand? I say that while being very high up and descending at speed.

  With no more time to think, I readied every method at my disposal. Fluttering my cape, I tried to even out the descent, but the bastard had a vice grip on me. Frozen, stone-cold hands gripped my torso with no intention of letting go. Angered beyond belief, I reached forward and aimed a finger at his forehead.

  "I will punch a hole in your head! Let go!" I threatened, and he didn't let go.

  Screw you then buddy, I activated my skill and began drilling stone like I wanted to hang a picture. He didn't remain stone for long and quickly became flesh. Head-butted me and flew away like the wind itself. Cursing my nemesis, for that is what he was. I could now slow down my descent, but it was a bit too late.

  I crashed into the sand at half speed and now knew what blood-soaked sand tasted like. Thankfully, my neck remained intact; the pain was there only for a short time. Thank you force barrier and resilience attributes. I know I thank it a lot, but if it keeps saving my life. I will pray to it if need be.

  With a jerk, I withdrew my head from the sand, spitting the coarse stuff out with every effort I could muster. Gods was that stuff foul. Do arena cleaners exist? Can you clean sand? I mean, human children eat sand all the time, so I should be good.

  Getting back up after a few more attempts to spit it out. I surveyed the arena, trying to locate my enemy. I found him sprawled on the sand, not too far from me. Eyes closed, wings twitching and blood smeared across his face. Unlike me, who had a cool cape to slow my descent, he didn't have that luck.

  Deciding not to let this chance slip away, I picked up my sword, activated the blade and charged over to kill this prick. Weapon in hand, I leaned over, ready to slice the blade across his throat. Or maybe just stab him a bunch of times. Whatever confirmed the kill.

  I mean, I recall bad guys slicing people's throats while they slept. That seemed like the best method, right? Confirms the kill, and they bleed out. Pushing the blade to his neck, I readied to end his life. It seemed like a bad-guy move, but every story hero I knew had the same problem.

  Kill the bad guy, kill them! Don't leave them alive to come after you and your loved ones. That was something I said every time I watched a movie, TV show or anime. Whenever the good guy let the bad guy get away or put them in prison. I would just scream at the screen. Kill the prick. The loony bin can't rehabilitee this level of crazy.

  And despite all that, the core concept of it was completely clear in my head. Knowing the consequences of inaction, knowing everything I know. I couldn't bring myself to just slit this dude's throat. Did that make me a pussy? Probably, but screw that, turns out I had a line.

  Looking down at Sleeping Beauty, I really didn't want to shank him. Tentatively, I removed my blade from his neck and wondered what to do next. Thankfully, a distraction was forthcoming as the Berserker was still alive and kicking. His telltale roaring to the heavens suggested he was still kicking.

  Leaving Gargoyleman to snooze away the rest of the rumble in the jungle. I booked towards the Berserker and my sister in arms as she tangled with a crazy dude. Having sufficient stamina to make the distance, I arrived with time to spare. The situation was both expected and a little weird.

  Whoever this chick was, she had some moves. I mean, some cool powers, she could become intangible. The Berserker was trying to tear her apart with a flurry of savage strikes. They were catching nothing but air as they phased through her body. Once she had her fun, she immediately went full transparent, phased through him and solidified behind him.

  Brandishing her plundered sword, she went to town, slicing his arms, legs and shoulders. Something told me she wanted him to die a death of a thousand cuts. With savage glee etched across her grinning face, she plunged her weapon into everything but vital organs.

  Didn't seem to slow down the crazy blood rage guy; he tanked all the hits like they were bug bites. Turned around and tried to pummel her again with the same look in his eyes. That's a Berserker for you, persistent little bastards.

  "Do you need help?!" I called out to her.

  She glanced at me before dismissing me. Having far more important stuff to do, I suppose. Then, just as she slashed across his face, just above the forehead, leaving a wicked gash, she called out to me.

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  "I'm all good!"

  Considering she was as fresh as a daisy and he looked like he'd picked a fight with a lawnmower and lost. It was pretty clear who was the victor in this battle. Yet why was he still going? Also, he was steaming, like literally steam was flowing off him. He also didn't seem bothered by his mounting wounds.

  Suddenly the man burst into flames, launching a flurry of punches. Instead of harmlessly phasing through her, every strike elicited a yelp of pain. A fire made manifest, that seemed to gorge on his rage, was burning an incorporeal being. Spurred by the vicious strikes, she jumped back, trying to escape his reach.

  "He looks like he is about to pop."

  "Oh yeah, he is going to do a suicidal charge." She suggested and was probably right on the money.

  The man was radiating energy like the sun; no doubt his skin would be hot to the touch. Rage was all he was, pure wrath in every sense of the word. I know I was being metaphorical and philosophical. But that just seemed appropriate. A bomb shaped like a gargoyle man was about to pop and take us all with him.

  "Yeah, not keen on dying."

  Before I enacted my plan, I sent a quick message to Marius. It was nothing special, just a suggestion that if I die, avenge me. Time was up, and the lumbering slab of meat barreled towards us, the ground seeming to sizzle with every step.

  Checking my stamina, I found it was at a good level. Time to crush this maniac with sheer power and teamwork. Not wanting to announce my plan, I quickly sent her a message and got a bit of data from the Inspect skill.

  Her name was Xynthia, and that was all I could get. She must have superb firewall-based skills. I could try to have Jenny brute force it, but who knows how many red flags that will raise. Spells and skills that hid your character sheet were among the few that were purely system-derived.

  Still, she could receive notifications, and from the look in her eyes, she got my message. Most likely, she was pondering how in the hell I did that. But with a crazy murderer over yonder, that seemed less important. After getting a nod, the plan was on, oh yeah.

  As the Berserker approached, I felt like a bullfighter surrounded by adoring fans. Crimson muleta in hand and ready to draw the beast in. Instead of the typical method, I had another idea. As he approached, almost upon us, I activated my force blast skill. Only I wasn't aiming at the incoming foe, but at the ground beneath me.

  Blasting off again like a certain trio with a feline companion and a penchant for chasing electric mice. I launched into the air, made several metres before doing a front flip and softly landing directly behind him.

  The mad dog launched himself into unoccupied space and slammed into the sand. He didn't stay down long, but it was enough for me to traverse the distance halfway. Close enough to grab his leg with a force attract. No longer with footing, he tumbled over and met the sands once more.

  Realising I could now trip people with my mind, the possibilities for pranks were staggering. Such thoughts raced through my mind as I brandished my sword. Ready to slice him up, but the moment I entered attack range, a roar that would put lions to shame bellowed from his throat.

  Hoarse and angry, the Berserker shouted to the heavens and brought their wrath down upon everything in reach. This included me as a wave of white fiery energy erupted from his prone body. I had a few seconds to observe the skill before it launched me into the air.

  Even with my cape minimising the fall damage and gracefully plopping me down. Whatever that energy was, it was freaking hot. I could hear my flesh sizzling; it was like a million sunburns hitting me all at once. Luckily, I had regen; otherwise, I would no longer be handsome.

  Getting back on my feet as quickly as I could. I ascended just as a giant fist parted the air and slammed into my chest. Something broke; I can count on that. Whatever packed that punch was formidable as it blasted the air from my lungs and sent the world spiraling.

  "Die!" he screamed, lost to rationality.

  The guy had descended to generic angry villain dialogue. Expected since I doubted being a Berserker required a lot of thinking. Actually, that's not fair. I have read a bunch of Berserker novels with pretty intelligent main characters. I thought while dodging his furious charge.

  "This guy is no sagely savage; he is just a savage." I commented; he didn't seem to notice.

  Unlike a certain Berserker I read about a while ago, this guy seemed to be all muscle and no brains. Again, he charged at me like a guy who just discovered the wonders of PCP. As he approached, I noticed something odd about his aura. Every time he charged and raged, his aura increased in brightness.

  I am not sure what that means, but I can hazard a guess. Higher-level individuals had brighter auras or was it higher attributes? I would have to experiment, find some test subjects. However, what was happening was clear. The crazy bastard was buffing himself with some sort of magic.

  Dodging his wild dash, this time I barely avoided his savage strike. Then, he turned mid-attack and slammed his fist into the sand below. What followed was not pleasant. We didn't have solid ground to crack. Instead, he created a massive shockwave, followed by a sandstorm, which blanketed the area.

  Covering my face with my cape, I now realised how utterly useful this thing was. I just needed a cowl and some bat ears to complete the set. Maybe Marius could be my butler; he would probably like a suit.

  Once the savage winds died down and I realised I had used the term savage quite a lot. In my defence, this guy was kind of savage. And I said it again, come on, Joey, get your head in the game.

  "Is that all you got?!" I tried a little taunting and received a massive fist in response.

  Breaching the sandstorm, slicing through like it was nothing. That might have looked epic, and someone should definitely describe it in brutal detail. Specifically his form, the raw emotions and the fighting style. Someone could have described all of that if I had not dropped like a rock and seen a pleasant view of the stars.

  Before I could even get up, I found myself sprawled across the sands. Face pounding like a jackhammer, probably a broken nose and blood seeping out. No doubt that prick made me uglier. If I had a mother, she might still love her baby boy. Sadly, not in the cards for me.

  My mug was important, and this bastard would pay for making me less pretty. Rising unsteadily to my feet, reconsidering my brilliant strategy. I reaffirmed my resolve and shot back. Verbally, not physically, since I was still seeing stars.

  "You hit like a goblin!" I barely slurred out.

  With the look he gave me in response, steam billowing out his nostrils, his shoulders rising and falling. That face was an "I am going to bash your skull in" kind of face. And I don't think I can talk him out of it. Diplomacy has failed, not that I was even trying.

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