The moment Rakin vanished, Isaac let himself sink back into the seat. This was it. The final wait before the finale of the last few days. If he won, humanity’s victory in the Fusion War would probably be pretty much all but guaranteed. But if he lost… he might very well doom himself and Earth along with him.

  No… He shook his head. Even if I fail here, we can still easily win this round. Our plan will work.

  In the end, this duel was an opportunity, not a last stand. Sure, having Rakin’s support in the coming rounds would help, but losing it also wouldn’t be the end of the world. Isaac had clawed his way through the Breakout stage without any patron. He could do it again.

  “Whatever,” he muttered, pushing himself up. After one last glance at the table full of drinks, he turned and headed toward the bathroom Rakin had summoned for him. A quick shower sounded perfect to clear his mind.

  I’m the master of my own fate…

  Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, Isaac returned to his seat by the table. The portal still hadn’t appeared, so he took his time inspecting all the drinks. Some he recognized, others were a mystery. They all smelled pretty damn nice, though, and seemed as hot as they were the moment he had arrived here.

  Okay… let’s try this.

  He grabbed a cup full of steaming, pale green liquid. Giving it a whiff, he smiled. It reminded him a bit of a kind of tea he had once had, mixed with something unfamiliar. Tentatively, he took a sip.

  His eyes widened.

  Holy shit, that’s good, he thought, drinking more.

  It wasn’t the best thing he had ever tasted, but it definitely beat the majority of stuff offered in all those restaurants that popped up on the Battleworld. Hell, it even topped most pre-apocalypse drinks.

  He made a mental note to ask Rakin what it was if he won—

  His thoughts halted, his eyes narrowing.

  Not if. When I win.

  He had to stay confident. Confident in his abilities. Just like always. This duel wouldn’t make him start questioning himself. As Harry had said, so long as he trusted his own strength, he wouldn’t fail.

  A sharp ping suddenly echoed through the room. Isaac looked up from his drink, right at the swirling mass of colorful energies that formed on the far side wall.

  The portal.

  “Finally,” he muttered, standing once more. A few quick strides brought him a step away from the portal. He drew a steady breath and nodded to himself. “Now or never.”

  Before he could hesitate, Isaac pushed through, letting the swirling energy consume him. The transition process was instantaneous, as was the change in scenery.

  Oh…

  The roar of the crowd hit him first, a blend of cheers and jeers that echoed all around him. He forced himself to tune it out and focused on his surroundings.

  To put it simply, he stood atop a massive circular plateau made of rock, uneven terrain, and jagged protrusions. Beyond its edge stretched open space painted with stars and distant planets. And, to top it all, surrounding most of the arena were floating stands filled with spectators, a crowd so enormous that Isaac doubted any Earth stadium could compare.

  It was quite an eye-opening sight. The thousands upon thousands of different creatures. Sure, most looked humanoid enough, but there were also plenty that didn’t. He could have spent hours studying them.

  Alas, that wasn’t why he was here. No, his target awaited on the opposite side of the arena.

  Now, Isaac wasn’t one to judge the book by its cover, but looking at the creature that seemed to be more bones than flesh gave him pause. Really, for all means and purposes, his opponent was just a humanoid skeleton draped in paper-thin, purplish skin. The lack of clothes or armor only made the view worse.

  Are you even alive? Isaac wondered, his gaze glued to the creature’s empty sockets. And as if hearing him, a sickly green glow flared within them. All right then…

  His observations, however, had to end there. A booming, far-too-familiar voice filled the arena.

  “Welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, warriors and artisans, the good and the bad! I’m Fisk, your lovely Overlord Broadcast, and at the request of my good friend, I will be your host today.”

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  At once, the crowd quietened, its overwhelming roars turning into hushed whispers. A welcome change.

  “As some of you already know, today we gather to witness a duel between the champion of the Gerdux family and the chosen of your favorite Overlord—Rakin!” Fisk’s invisible voice continued. “Now, for the introductions! Give our warriors a warm welcome!”

  Cheers once more erupted in the crowd. At the same time, twin beams of light descended from above, highlighting Isaac’s and his opponent’s positions in the arena.

  “First, we have Nak’Lin, the Gerdux representative. An old warrior who turned tragedy into strength! Today, he stands before us to prove that even a shattered Core is not the end of our fight against the Broken Realm!”

  The skeletal alien bowed low at that, all his motions smooth and precise—nothing like what Isaac had expected from a creature that looked half-dead. Definitely not one to underestimate.

  “And on the other side, we have a guest from afar!” Fisk's voice boomed again. “Isaac Walker, a human whose world still fights for survival in the Virus Wars! Young, yes, and new to our ways, but his power…” The Overlord paused. “Ah, yes! The power of Blood! May it give us a show worth remembering!”

  Just like that, the lights vanished even as the cheers only grew louder. Fisk let it go on for a moment before speaking again, his voice cutting clean through the noise.

  “Now, my dear champions, the rules are simple. Victory can be achieved by fulfilling one of three fair conditions. First, incapacitate your opponent to the point they can no longer continue. Don’t worry, we will stop the fight before you kill each other. So no need to hold back!”

  The stands erupted again, earning a chuckle from Fisk.

  “Second, we will monitor your Viron reserves throughout the match. The instant one of you runs dry, the duel ends.”

  Above the arena, two holographic displays flickered into existence. One showing Isaac’s face, the other, his opponent’s. Beneath each image were only four simple symbols.

  100%

  I see, Isaac thought, returning his gaze to Nak’Lin.

  “And finally, third,” Fisk said, his voice dropping. “You can surrender whenever you want. Not the most glorious option, but sometimes it’s a necessity. Just remember, the stigma will follow you everywhere forever. This world has no room for cowards.”

  The crowd roared in agreement. Not that it mattered. Isaac could see the resolve in Nak’Lin’s glowing eyes. Neither of them was planning to quit. They would fight until they could fight no more.

  He smiled.

  “And there you have it!” Fisk exclaimed. “Champions! Prepare yourself. In three! Two! One! May the better Host win!”

  Silence settled over the arena as for a few seconds Isaac and Nak’Lin stared at each other, neither moving, neither blinking. Then, the alien spoke, his voice as old and dry as his skin.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, human-child.” He bowed again. “I’m sorry you got tangled in this mess so early. I will be sure to end this farce quickly.”

  Isaac’s eyebrows shot up. Farce? Did this guy really think he would just roll over and surrender? That had to be the second funniest thing he had heard in a while.

  “Whatever,” he muttered, summoning the Root to his hand. The low hum of the Symphony also awoke, stirring his blood.

  Nak’Lin nodded, and in a flash of light, blades materialized in his hands. Shortswords—curved and silver like the moonlight itself.

  His Origin, maybe? Isaac wondered. Either way, gotta be careful. Plan A for now.

  With no other skills but the Symphony at his back, he rushed forward. Viron thrummed in his Virus Core, though, ready to come out and defend him if necessary.

  It wasn’t.

  Also, with just his swords, Nak’Lin met him head-on. His blades moved with precision and skill that Isaac couldn’t hope to match with his meager experience. He did his best, though, parrying and blocking the endless onslaught. There was no room to dodge, to counterattack. Not even with his slightly superior speed and strength.

  The alien was just that good, flowing from one strike to the next one like water.

  Isaac’s smile widened as the tip of Nak’Lin’s blade grazed his leg, drawing a shallow cut.

  Begin, he ordered, reaching for the few droplets slipping from the wound. Burnout.

  As weak as the skill was with this little bit of fuel provided, it still sharpened the world all around him. His muscles thrummed, and when the next swing came his way, he met it with a blood dagger in his off-hand, catching the second sword with the Root and shoving hard.

  Nak’Lin took a step back for the first time.

  But the offensive didn’t end there.

  Drawing on just a little more blood, Isaac struck again and again, pressing his advantage. Still, he used no other ability. Not yet. Not until he understood exactly what this old monster could do. The last thing he wanted was another of his skills thrown back at him.

  After a couple more quick exchanges, Nak’Lin’s dry lips curved into a small smile.

  “Very well,” he muttered.

  Then, just before Isaac could react, an unknown force pushed him backward. That was followed by six handle-less floating blades coming at him from all sides. One cut into his left thigh, while another tore open his shoulder.

  Grimacing, he escaped with a Burst.

  The hell? he wondered, his gaze back on his opponent.

  Nak’Lin hadn’t followed, standing exactly where they had last clashed. Now, though, he had the six brand-new blades orbiting around him in a slow pattern. They reminded Isaac a bit of his own Blood Daggers—only faster, sharper, and far more precise. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the alien still held both of his swords.

  Damn. Old man is getting serious. And your Origin…

  Isaac’s eyes narrowed, Rakin’s earlier words echoing in his mind.

  Can it be just… Blades? Honed to perfection. Able to cut even those beyond their power. It makes sense.

  A bloodthirsty grin spread across his face. The Symphony began to play louder. The Root thrummed in his hand.

  Shall we show him what we have really learned these past few days?

  A pulse of warmth was the only answer he needed.

  — Ehem... Virus: Origin of Blood!

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