Chapter Text
Well into her third year of university, Emilie was no stranger to waking up on unfamiliar floors or couches or, in one particular instance, roofs. That was a consequence of partying hard she had come to expect, alongside the dry mouth and the pounding headache. Any promises she made to drink more responsibly were about as empty as the bottles she left in her wake. Still, something about the scene she found herself in felt off.
Once she gathered enough of her faculties, she realized that there was an alarm piercing her eardrums and aggravating her migraine. Setting an alarm the night before a rager was a serious party foul, she thought, especially since there were no classes in the morning. At least, she was fairly sure there were no classes. Emilie made some poor decisions, but she knew better than to drink on a school night. The alarm was therefore to be considered a personal offense, unless the building was on fire or something.
Emilie stretched. The cold floor beneath her was soothing, if a bit hard for her liking. She blearily blinked, hissing as the light assaulted her poor, defenseless retinas. Sadly, slamming her eyes closed and falling back asleep was not an option until she disabled that alarm and maybe drank a glass of water. Once more, she struggled to keep her eyes open for long enough to acclimate.
Nothing but white tile greeted her vision. Unless she had somehow wandered into a museum or a hospital, she must have ended up on the fancier side of town. When the room stopped spinning, she took in the featureless metal panels that made up the walls, interspersed with cold lamps that hurt to look at for too long. Beside herself, there were no signs of life to be found–that is, unless she counted the alarm that was still blaring in her ear.
“Urgh,” She groaned. “I hope someone got the number of that truck.” Evidently, her voice carried farther into the industrial space than she expected, as the klaxon cut off almost immediately. She hardly had an opportunity to appreciate the blessed silence before a holographic projection intruded upon her personal space.
“You’ll be pleased to know that they did,” a deep, weary voice replied. The speaker was hardly as grating as the alarm–ringtone, perhaps–had been, but was no less welcome.
Emilie squawked as the elbows she had been propping herself up on gave out from under her. She quickly rolled into a half-crouch in a desperate attempt to preserve whatever modesty she still had. To her utter confusion, she glanced down to find that she was both clothed and decent. Where she had expected undergarments stained with booze and sweat, she saw a sporty, surprisingly comfortable ensemble.
The tank top and compression shorts she was familiar with, even if the heavy trim around her neckline was unusual. The detached sleeves and the stockings weren’t exactly her style, but she liked the colors and could see herself getting used to them. The vambraces, however, stopped her short. Never in her most drunken escapades had she ever felt the need to armor up. A brief swipe to establish the state or her hair met with a metallic headpiece she could hardly guess the purpose of. Unless she had developed a taste for live action roleplaying overnight, she could only assume that they were on loan from someone who had. Internally, she shrugged; the outfit really was comfortable, to the point that she was considering asking her host where she could buy her own.
All of that was a tangent, though. Her host, assuming that was the man who had video called her, glared impassively down at her. He was, as far as she could tell from the angle, decently tall, although his gaunt, sunken features pushed him just past the point of lankiness. The way his turtleneck sweater hung from his frame suggested that he hadn’t always been that way. His thick glasses did much to shield his eyes, but flashes of dull green irises made it through. Blonde hair, slightly overgrown, was swept to the side; effort was clearly put into his appearance, if only the bare minimum.
“I’m sure you have questions,” the stranger said, “but please hold them until I have finished my script.” He spoke with an edge, but not unkindly. More than anything else, he sounded exhausted. “My name is Sergey Asimov, representing Instatainment Ltd.”
“The game company?” Emilie blurted out, too disoriented to hold her tongue.
An awkward few seconds passed. “The very same,” Sergey sighed. Only a few seconds in and she had already derailed him. Corporate would chafe at that, but they had never been the most flexible. He tried not to take too much grim satisfaction, seeing as he was the one who would bear the consequences. As long as he stayed roughly within their guidelines, he would be fine. He had to believe that. “We wish to thank you for support and to offer our deepest sympathies in these trying times,” he continued.
The young woman only stared blankly up at him. She was clearly confused, but made every effort to follow directions and remain silent.
The sight was so familiar, it brought a sneer to Sergey’s face. “They didn’t tell you,” he intoned. It was not a question. “Of course not. What’s the last thing you can recall?”
It took Emilie a moment to realize he was expecting a response. Bitterness practically radiated off of the man, though she got the feeling it wasn’t all directed toward her. Regardless, it hardly matched her conception of a guy who made games for a living. “I, uh…” She trailed off. The memories simply weren’t coming, and the migraine wasn’t helping.
“Some temporary memory loss is to be expected. In time, you should remember,” Sergey bluntly assured her. “Approximately three weeks ago, you were involved in a traffic accident. Since then, you have been in a coma.”
“What? But that’s… I’m not…” Emilie protested. “I feel fine, though.” Other than the headache and sense of impending doom, she really did. “Where am I, anyway? If this is your idea of a prank…”
The threat fell flat. “Physically, you are in the coma ward of the finest medical facility in the sector,” Sergey explained. “Mentally, you’ve been hooked up to a prototype CrossGear modified for precisely this purpose. Instatainment does more than just make games, you know.”
Emilie frowned, inspecting an armored fist. Everything felt so real. “I don’t get it. Why would such a big company bother with some random student?” Besides her obvious concerns, she still wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t being pranked. It wouldn’t be too difficult to slip a headset on her while she was passed out.
“It’s all there in the end user license agreement,” Sergey reminded her. “If you bothered to read all two hundred and fifty-five pages, you would have known that Instatainment reserves the right to collect neurological feedback data from any active user for the purpose of medical research.”
At that, the redhead jumped to her feet, ignoring the resulting vertigo. “Attends!” She demanded. “You’re studying me?” She pointed an accusing finger his way for good measure.
Sergey rolled his eyes. “In collaboration with our medical correspondent, we are studying the effects that neurological stimulation might have on outcomes in comatose patients. While the body may atrophy, the hope is that engaging the mind can mitigate or prevent any mental degeneration. This clinical trial also has the potential to reduce the length of your coma and the associated recovery period. Of course, everything is entirely voluntary, so please feel free to let me know if you don’t wish to participate,” he concluded, condescendingly.
“Bon sang,” Emilie swore. Second by second, the reality of the situation began to sink in, leaving her more than a little shaken. No friendly practical joke would be so morbid. Her parents had their concerns when she accepted a scholarship for a college outside of the solar system, but she wanted to prove her independence. For all of her efforts, the only thing she earned herself was an extended stay in the hospital.
Fire ignited in her veins, burning away the last traces of nausea. Emilie-Sophie de Belmond did not take any challenge lying down, ignoring the detail that her body was lying down in reality. In her mind, she felt healthier than she ever had, determined to fight her way back to consciousness by any means necessary. She preferred to look on the brighter side of things, and she had been looking forward to playing CrossWorlds. The new MMORPG combined virtual reality with physical environments to create what was supposedly the most realistic experience in all of gaming history.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Allons-y!” Emilie urged. The only minor obstacle was the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. “Uh, what now?”
Sergey raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in attitude, but refrained from commenting. “I’ve taken the liberty of generating a new character for you. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, but I would like to get at least some of my actual work done. Try not to bother me unless you actually need something. Other than that, just do as you please,” Sergey dismissed her.
Not even her minder’s callousness could dull Emilie’s shine. It was hardly as if she was likely to miss his company. She took off into the futuristic compound, eager to dive into the game. Her stride was almost immediately broken by a string of tutorials and expositions. Some things were unavoidable, she supposed.
Apparently, she was in a place called the Rhombus Dungeon, which taught new players what was what in the world. After skipping through a bunch of boring lore dumps, she learned that her class was Pentafist, which meant that she got to punch things, so that was cool. Despite her lackluster stamina in reality, she found herself performing feats of acrobatics with practiced ease. A short obstacle course later, Newcomer’s Bridge greeted her with all of the splendor CrossWorlds could spare.
It went as far as a first impression could go. Once she regained her bearings, she dashed over to the guard rail, nearly toppling over it in her enthusiasm. Beyond, the glittering blue sea stretched on to the horizon. The sun’s rays banished a chill she hadn’t even realized she was feeling until that moment. As she turned to gawk at the distant landscape, a sense of anticipation washed over her. Incapacitated as she was, she could still feel the sun on her skin and the call to adventure in her heart.
She exchanged cheerful greetings with both new players and NPCs alike as she traversed the narrow stretch between the first and second dungeon. The next tutorial gave her a basic sense of what she was capable of in combat. True to her every expectation, punching things was, in fact, cool. Moving targets sufficed for the moment, but her fists hungered for some real action.
On the other side, Newcomer’s Bridge was no less charming. Players took the offered opportunity to rest in between dungeons. Emilie, whose blood was still high, ran ahead to face the next challenge. Unfortunately, the only thing she ran into was another player.
The girl Emilie bounced off of wore a tunic accented with the distinctive red of another class Emilie hadn’t bothered to remember the name of. Though she stood an inch shorter, even including the blunted horns that parted blue hair, she made up for it in the intensity of her gaze. Eyes like ruby glass above a scarred nose pinned the redhead to where she stood, even as she stammered out an apology. Evidently finding what she was looking for, the girl saw fit to break the tension by sticking out her tongue.
Emilie giggled. “You know, I haven’t seen you on any previous sections of the bridge. You must be very fast,” she observed. Either that, or the girl was loitering about for some reason. Judging by the way she puffed up proudly, it was probably the former. “How about we make this more interesting? First one to the end of the dungeon wins.” The Pentafist capped her challenge off with a cocksure grin.
The blue-haired girl raised a hand to her chin in mock contemplation. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she pointed over Emilie’s shoulder in a panic. By the time her new rival turned back around, features painted in confusion, she was already standing at the teleporter, blowing one last raspberry for good measure as she stepped backwards onto the device.
Reality soon set in for Emilie. “Tricheuse!” She cried, heedless of the stares she received from the other players. Unsportsmanlike conduct or not, her competitive spirit was inflamed. She chased the trickster through the portal into the space beyond.
The third and final dungeon failed to surpass expectations. In this section, players were encouraged to synthesize the lessons they had learned up to that point to overcome basic puzzles and combat scenarios. While she understood that it was still just an introduction, Emilie still itched for a real confrontation. Were it not for the pressure of the race at her back, she might have fallen asleep before the end of the trial.
Her limited patience was rewarded when the chamber opened up into a cavernous space dominated by a large chasm. Anticipation swelled in her gut as a massive turret materialized in the center of the room, dwarfing any that she had so far encountered. The machine leveled its baleful eye at her and unleashed an opening salvo. With so little time to react, Emilie squared her stance and raised her shield to absorb the bulk of the onslaught. Impacts, dulled as they were, rattled her bones as she weathered the storm.
While the turret cooled down, Emilie seized her chance to retaliate with a barrage of her own. Rocket-propelled fists slammed repeatedly into the weapon’s metal hide. Something within her relished in the rush of adrenaline, and she rewarded it by redoubling her efforts. Soon, the cannon’s barrel swung back around, forcing her to abandon her position.
Evidently, the first wave of attacks was only a warmup. The turret keened ominously as it charged up for what promised to be a devastating attack. Emilie was confident in her speed, but didn’t think she could outpace what was coming. Her eyes caught upon the switches set around the room, tracing their cables along the floor until she found what she was looking for. The dungeon taught her well; smacking the apparatus raised a segment of the ground just high enough to provide her with cover. A fierce wind whipped past her as the turret’s payload exploded across the wall. She wasn’t entirely sure what that would have done to her body, but she was hardly eager to find out.
Unfortunately, the platform on which the enemy rested had decided to drift further into the void. The Pentafist glanced woefully down at her vambraces. When it came to ranged combat, she was hopelessly outclassed. Her energy projectiles were better suited to solving puzzles than they were to dealing heavy damage. Attrition was an option, but she had no chance of winning a race like that. She scanned the environment again for anything that might give her an edge. Nothing new stood out to her.
However, that didn’t mean she was out of ideas. Although the distance between her and the floating platform was insurmountable by even a running jump, she had more to work with. The wall which had shielded her from attacks had once more retracted into the floor. She stared the turret down as a plan formed in her head.
The cannon responded with another spray of bullets, but this time she was prepared. Emilie danced between the tight weave of projectiles, relying more on instinct than on calculation. When the whirring of machinery began to die down and smoke billowed from the weapon’s barrel, she sprang into action. She knew that timing would be everything if her idea was even possible. In one fluid motion, she swiped at the switch, planted her feet upon the swiftly rising barrier, then pushed as hard as she could to borrow the most momentum at the apex of its ascent. The maneuver launched her higher than she had expected, which worked to her advantage.
Emilie slammed both fists down upon the top of the turret, rolling off the round surface while it struggled to orient itself. Apparently, it was not designed to rotate fully around, leaving her completely free to savage it from behind–considering there was hardly room to dodge on the razor-thin edge of the platform, that was for the best. She didn’t care if it was a cheap tactic; she only used the resources at her disposal in a creative way. Besides, it didn’t seem like her new friend had any reservations about cheating.
Before too long, the boss capitulated to her assault, exploding into a shower of sparks that, thankfully, did not knock her into the abyss. The floating platform then gently deposited her on the other side of the divide. She had very little time to revel in her victory, however. One more room stood between her and the exit, containing a useful upgrade that she would have to read up on later. At that moment, she was far too busy sprinting at full tilt down the final corridor.
Emilie burst onto the bridge with an ecstatic laugh, ignoring the bemused looks from passersby. She whipped her head around, only to lower it in shame when she saw her rival leaning against a topiary, casually inspecting her nails. The girl waved when she noticed her staring. Emilie closed the distance at a more sedate pace; she didn’t feel nearly as exhausted as she would have expected, given her exertion, but she still wanted to cool down.
“You got me this time,” Emilie conceded, “but only because you cheated! Anyway, I guess we never properly introduced ourselves. Je m’appelle Emilie, or… Emilienator?” She scrunched her nose at the embarrassing screen name, wondering who could have possibly come up with that one. For the time being, she had no choice but to own it. “Enchanté,” she greeted.
The girl returned only a smug smirk. Whatever response she might have made was lost in the ensuing commotion.
“Redheaded Pentafist!” A boisterously loud voice boomed. The crowd parted around a masked figure in a billowing crimson cape. Green accents flowed throughout his black ensemble, perfectly complementing the mass of sharp, verdant hair on his head. Though he seemed like the last sort of person Emilie wanted to deal with, there was no denying that he was pointing incriminatingly at her. “What’s this I hear about cheating?” He demanded.
Even as Emilie prepared to tear into the grass-headed clown for interrupting what was shaping up to be a perfectly pleasant conversation, he steamrolled over any possible response.
“Then again, what else can we expect from the likes of a brutish pugilist? You really should have followed your friend’s example and chosen the far more righteous way of the Spheromancer!” He condescended. Despite the unfortunate source, Emilie did file away the class name for future reference. “Cheater, you stand before Apollo, disciple of righteousness! Prepare to face justice!”
As he delivered his lecture, a lumbering behemoth of a man strolled up to his side to lay a large hand upon his shoulder. This newcomer wore heavy plate armor and a helmet that failed to cover his short, dark hair or its green highlights. For all of his bulk and his squared jaw, he exuded no aura of intimidation. Apollo stiffened momentarily in his grasp. “What is it this time, Polly?” He sighed, clearly used to his friend’s antics.
“Ah, well, I was just restoring balance to CrossWorlds by informing this cheater of the error of her ways!” Apollo asserted.
“Uh huh,” the taller man replied, unimpressed. “And what, exactly, did she do?”
“Er,” Apollo stalled. “Well, I didn’t exactly catch the whole conversation; eavesdropping isn’t a very heroic thing to do. But I know she did something! Let’s see…” He squinted at Emilie, muttering to himself as he did. “Aha! Despite having over a hundred hours played on her account, she’s somehow here on the Newcomer’s Bridge! An area, I will remind you, that can only be accessed by new players!” He capped his accusation off with a triumphant pose.
If his friend was at all fazed by the assertion, he hid it well. “So? Everyone takes things at their own pace,” he reasoned.
“Wha–but–a hundred hours for the tutorial!?” The caped nuisance sputtered. Just when Emilie was beginning to feel like a third party in the conversation, he suddenly wheeled around to face her. “That’s it, then. Redheaded Pentafist! You are clearly… someone in great need of help! As a humble servant of justice, the duty falls upon me to take you under my wing. There’s no need to thank me,” he insisted, not going quite so far as to literally pat himself on the back.
Suffering from conversational whiplash as she was, Emilie was grateful when the more reserved sidekick took the reins back. “Hi, Joern,” he introduced himself. “Sorry about him. I know he can be annoying, but he means well. We’ll just be getting out of your hair now.”
Against protest, Joern dragged Apollo away from the scene. Curious onlookers turned their attention elsewhere when the entertainment was concluded. Emilie blinked as she tried to process whatever just happened.
“That was quite the spectacle,” a familiar voice droned, making Emilie jump. In the intensity of the race, she had almost forgotten that Sergey was practically hovering over her.
“Zut alors, you scared me! How long have you been watching?” Emilie gasped.
“Long enough,” Sergey evaded. “I suppose I should have reset your play timer. That was an oversight on my part.”
It wasn’t quite an apology, but an admission of fault was better than nothing. Hopefully, this marked a turning point for them; a better relationship with her minder could only benefit her in the long run. “That’s okay,” she assured, “no harm done.”
“Maybe not this time,” Sergey scoffed, proving himself as prickly as ever. “Perhaps I should have reminded you sooner that you are under a non-disclosure agreement. In these early stages of testing, Instatainment wants to keep a lid on any and all findings.”
Emilie felt herself bristling at the veiled accusations over an issue that Asimov himself admitted was his own fault. She was known for her short fuse on a good day, and she was not having one of those. Before she could repay his vitriol in kind, he abruptly changed the subject.
“Speaking of time, there’s no need to rush. Even if you’re feeling impatient, progressing through the game won’t restore your memories any faster,” Sergey informed her. Somewhere beneath the boredom and the mild irritation, his voice carried curiosity. From his perspective, she had just decided to speedrun the Rhombus Dungeon during his absence.
“I know that!” Emilie defended, even though she really didn’t. Something about his tone just made her want to disagree with him. “If you had been watching, you would know that I was racing someone. I totally would have won if she hadn’t cheated, by the way.” She chuckled to herself, recalling how her new rival had stuck her tongue out at her. Somehow, she didn’t think Sergey would appreciate the childish gesture as much.
“Fascinating,” Sergey lied. “Evidence would have suggested that you had won the race, considering the absence of any competitors,” he noted drily. “If you are experiencing any hallucinations, please do inform me so that I may note them on your file.”
Looking around, Emilie realized that he was right. The crowd had thinned considerably since she landed on the bridge, and yet the blue-haired girl was nowhere to be seen. Regardless, she wasn’t about to entertain the notion that she was going off the deep end. Apollo, for all of his many faults, still directly referenced the other Spheromancer in conversation. “Don’t even joke about that,” she pouted. “She’s real, I just never got her name… or heard her speak.” Only after saying so did she realize how ridiculous she sounded.
Thankfully, Sergey did not take the easy opportunity to further embarrass her. “I can’t speak to that, but I can say that you have a new message,” he informed her.
Emilie furrowed her brow until the realization struck her. “Oh, I did give her my username,” she recalled. “Which reminds me, who came up with that dumb thing?” The moment Sergey’s eyebrow began to slowly inch upward, she knew that she had made a mistake.
“Miss de Belmond,” Sergey huffed. “I understand that you are suffering from memory loss at the moment, so I will remind you that not one hour ago I informed you of the terms of our agreement. You would never have qualified for this study had you not already been an active user of CrossWorlds; we are not in the business of chasing ambulances. You have no one to blame but yourself for any decisions that you may have forgotten you made.”
Thoroughly recriminated, the beet-faced Pentafist set about checking her messages. Any distraction was good enough for her. Browsing through the pages of unread messages was an oddly hollow experience. To her, it was as if she was peeking at someone’s private correspondence. Of course, that someone happened to be herself, but it felt voyeuristic all the same. She decided to set them aside; whatever clues they might have held weren’t worth the discomfort.
Beyond invading her own privacy, she realized with a start that there were people on the other ends of those conversations. Friends, family, and whoever else were waiting for responses that might never have come without the intervention of Instatainment. She felt like the responsible course would be to inform those closest to her of her circumstances, if she could even tell who those people were. Then again, the hospital probably already did that. Relief accompanied the thought, as she would be spared awkward chats with others who were, at the moment, strangers to her.
Through these mental gymnastics, Emilie convinced herself that she was being very judicious and not at all cowardly. She scrolled to the very top of her inbox, where one new item stood out, as promised.
Before Emilie could get her hopes up, Sergey intercepted the message, dragging it off of her interface. “Never mind, it’s only spam. That’s…” the developer trailed off. “Another problem for me to deal with,” he concluded. A project as massive as CrossWorlds suffered from more than a few vulnerabilities that the boorish and unemployed liked to exploit. He sent the message into quarantine to be dealt with later, when he wasn’t babysitting.
Disappointed, Emilie continued on with her adventure. The bridge ultimately led to Cross Central, the main transportation hub of the game. It was strangely melancholic to abandon the safety of the starting area, but the promise that she would one day return satisfied her. Only one way forward was available to her: the aptly named Rookie Harbor.
If the returning new player had been impressed by Newcomer’s Bridge, Rookie Harbor blew her away. It was as if the world had opened up on her like a summer bloom. The bustle of the dockhands at work, the salt on the breeze, even the feedback of cobbled stone beneath her feet stirred something within her. She rushed ahead, ignoring the NPCs and their generous amounts of items and advice.
“Hoping to catch up with your friend?” Sergey postulated mildly.
She hadn’t, really, but Emilie flushed all the same. “She’s not imaginary!” She insisted. Sergey had never said as much; she just assumed he was thinking it because he was that type of person. Whether or not she ran into the enigmatic stranger again was irrelevant when the world was so vast and there was so much to explore.
Of course, the area was still designed for new players, so it was fairly linear. Heading north took her up to the Info Hub, which was probably as boring as it sounded; Emilie didn’t stick around long enough to find out. Finally, she found herself faced with a choice of direction. The marketplace was vast, full of vendors hawking their wares and players milling about. The central fountain served as a perfect landmark for friends to meet up, as she was about to discover.
“Holerö!”
While agonizing over what to do first, it was easy to tune out the din of the market as background noise. Compared to the modern design of the introductory area, the harbor was downright rustic, and twice as rowdy. Over time, though, one voice clawed its way above the rest.
“Emilie!”
That was harder to ignore. A tall figure carved its way through the crowd, directly toward her. Emilie instinctively backed away, but couldn’t make it far enough through the sea of bodies.
“It’s looks like we have company,” Sergey observed. “Just my luck that we would run into someone you know so quickly. Remember your obligations, Miss de Belmond, and I’m sure we can come up with a passable set of excuses.”
A flash of indignation set the Pentafist ablaze. All day, Sergey had been treating her and her life like they were inconveniences to his busy schedule. She wanted to pay him back in kind, but she only had so much time. “Let me be very clear, Monsieur Turtleneck,” Emilie hissed. “I am not going to lie to my friends, not for your company, and certainly not for you. Friends are honest with each other, but I doubt you know very much about that, do you?”
Sergey was briefly taken aback, but returned to his typical frown. “Very well, then,” he acknowledged. “So long as you leave Instatainment out of the discussion, that’s that.” The video feed cut out suddenly, leaving Emilie on her own once again.
Not long after, the friendly face caught up with her. From up close, she could see the mess of shaggy, blonde hair held back by an angular diadem. Given the triangular motif of his ebony armor, it wasn’t hard to piece together the theme of the classes in the game. Relief warred with exasperation on his face.
“Just where have you been, mädchen?” He demanded. “I thought you were looking forward to the raid!”
The earnest disappointment from the stranger was almost surreal. This was more than words on a screen; willful ignorance could no longer shield Emilie. Face-to-face with an element of her past, she had no choice but to confront it.
“Er, désolée,” Emilie apologized. She didn’t think she was a particularly flakey person, so that felt appropriate to say.
“It’s not just me you need to apologize to, it’s…” The man’s eyes widened as he took in some unseen details. “Is that a new character? Oh, junge, you didn’t get hacked, did you?”
“I… listen, can we take this somewhere more private?” Emilie stalled. While they did have the option to duck out of the general chat room and into a Direct Link, true privacy was never an option with Sergey peering over her shoulder. Still, she would rather not have such a personal and potentially illegal conversation in such a public venue. The realism of CrossWorlds was already getting to her; even the tears obscuring her vision were a detail she had to admire.
“Ach, I know a place,” the man obliged, gently leading them down a quieter side street. He invited her to sit down on a stack of crates. “What’s wrong?”
Emilie didn’t know if it was the genuine concern he expressed or if she would have spilled her guts to anyone that claimed to know her. All she knew was that she told him everything she could in a scattered, breathless rant. She couldn’t explain how she was playing during a coma without Instatainment’s intervention, so she was forced to claim that she had already recovered physically, absent her memories. Even omitting Sergey’s involvement, she didn’t have to lie about her feelings of isolation and despair.
The man took a minute to absorb the information. “Mein Gott,” he breathed. “You aren’t kidding.” He and Emilie weren’t exactly joined at the hip, but he knew her well enough to say that she would never joke about something so serious. “Oh!” He suddenly realized. “Ich heiße Schneider, on account of the… well, you probably don’t remember. Anyway, you can just call me Lukas.” A handshake felt oddly formal for someone he already considered a friend, so he just waved awkwardly.
Relief eventually gave way to mortification. “I’m sorry for unloading that all onto you,” Emilie murmured. If her past self had any cachet whatsoever, she was surely squandering it.
“Hey, now, none of that,” Lukas admonished. “Us First Scholars have to stick together. Here, I sent you a friend request.”
Unlike the last message she received, she was able to accept this one easily. It felt like a step in the right direction. On that topic…
“What now?” Emilie asked. In and out of the game, she was feeling a little lost.
Lukas jumped to his feet. “Now, you should head north to the Seeker Hub, where you can start the main quest line,” he explained. “Feel free to explore the area. I’ll be waiting for you outside of the building.”
As appealing as that sounded, having a specific goal did a lot to settle Emilie’s mind. Together, they ventured through the main thoroughfare, past the brightly colored vendor stalls. However curious she was, she also realized that she had no items to barter. Lukas only nodded as he settled against the outer wall of their destination.
Inside, Emilie found a reception area in a timeless, vintage style. It was far from contemporary, but didn’t clash so hideously with the ancient façade. An NPC directed her further into the compound, where modern design sensibilities grew increasingly more common. Case in point, the large holographic projector in the center of the lower chamber could have been dragged straight from any lecture hall at her university.
The world around her, including the excited chatter of the other new players, fell away. Reality peeled apart, leaving her alone within a diorama of stars. It was a pretty neat visual effect, presumably designed to show off the latest virtual reality technology early on in the game. A projection of an officious looking man in a clean-pressed uniform monologued to her about what she was supposed to be doing.
Apparently, she was an operative meant to follow in the path of some ancient, advanced civilization. In some ways, she figured it paralleled her own situation, except she was retracing her own footsteps and her mission was to regain consciousness instead of… whatever the plot of the game was. She had gotten too lost in her own musings to pay much attention to the lore. Thankfully, another NPC was there to remind her that she could accept quests from the central hub, which would point her in the right direction.
When she reunited with her friend, the Pentafist was feeling better. She hoped the two of them could forget that she had, just minutes ago, been sobbing on him. “Allons-y!” She declared. “Where’s that first… thing?”
Lukas laughed, pleased to see some of the old fire returning already. “Element,” he reminded her. “West of here is a shop where you can pick up some slightly better equipment, then the entrance to Autumn’s Rise. Here, I’ll show you how to form a party.”
“You’re coming with me?” Emilie blinked. She hadn’t expected him to waste his time watching her replay the beginning of what she assumed was a very long game. Slightly less concerning, she wasn’t sure how Sergey would react to that. The developer could be surly, but staying on his good side was still important.
Ignorant to the full extent of her worries, Lukas laughed. “Natürlich,” he laughed. “I can’t just let you run off on your own. Besides, I think the game is best experienced with a friend.”
Emilie couldn’t argue with that. So long as Lukas never complained that he was bored, she would be glad for his company. After picking up a flimsy set of gear from the armorer, she took the first step into the unknown–or, perhaps, the formerly known. If she got bogged down in semantics, she would drown before accomplishing anything.
Stone bricks gradually ceded to yellowing grass. The gentle breeze carried no trace of the sea as it rustled through the autumnal foliage. Leaves spanning the season’s full spectrum fell from the trees lining the path, carried in eddying swirls down to the ground. It was a panoply of colors like Emilie had never known, and she couldn’t help but to gape at its majesty. She hadn’t even realized she had stopped until Lukas stepped up beside her.
“Ha, you should see your face right now,” the man laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, though, it happens to everyone during their first play through. It’s part of why the First Scholars built their headquarters here. Well, that, and it was all we could afford,” he sheepishly admitted.
“You keep mentioning them,” Emilie observed. “That’s your guild?”
“Our guild,” he chided, “though neither of us are in charge.” He grimaced in realization. “Actually, you’ve probably timed out by now for inactivity. That wouldn’t normally be a problem, but you can’t join a guild until you obtain the Temple Mine Pass from Bergen Village. We’ll make that our goal for now, ja?”
In truth, the redhead was too busy admiring the scenery to properly absorb the onslaught of proper nouns. Where the path forward had widened, the crowds had thinned. The sight of such a wide, open area made her want to run, so she did. Trusting that Lukas would keep up, she sprinted into the forest, reveling in the crunch of the leaves beneath her boots.
Before too long, she came upon her first cluster of enemies on the mainland. A group of three Hedgehags, rotund little creatures armored in dark quills, bristled at her approach. Emilie kept her momentum up, slamming her fist into the leader of the bunch. The creature let out a squeak as it flew back.
“Haha, you like that!?” Emilie taunted.
“Don’t get too cocky, now,” Lukas warned, though he smiled as he did so. “Hedgehags might be weak, but I’ve seen more than one new player get overwhelmed because they underestimated the guys.”
Already, the injured Hedgehag struggled to its stubby feet. Together, the group shuffled toward the overconfident Pentafist.
“These guys?” Emilie laughed. “Jeu d’enfant!”
Emilie pelted the beasts with a rapid barrage of strikes, easily dodging out of the way of their impotent claws. What she failed to account for, however, was that there were three Hedgehags to her two fists. The leader, bruised in body and in pride, curled itself into a thorny sphere and launched itself at her. She barely had the time to raise her shield before the projectile slammed into her, sending her skidding backward.
Evidently, the experienced player knew what he was talking about. Emilie shook the embarrassment out of her system. From a safer distance, she reevaluated her strategy. The Hedgehags were slow, lumbering beasts, but they had the advantage of numbers. As a Pentafist, she would have to either strike them all at once or take advantage of her superior speed to pick them off one by one. She decided to save her Special Points for a more serious threat, even though she was itching to try out her new Combat Art.
As expected, the Hedgehags couldn’t keep up with her movements. The Pentafist strafed around the group, keeping them from spreading out as she pelted them with blows. From then on, she was more careful not to overcommit to her attacks, pulling back before she put herself at risk. Her agility came at the cost of her constitution. That was fine by her; it’s not like she was planning on getting hit, anyway.
Once Emilie dispatched the enemies, Lukas stepped in from where he observed on the sidelines. “The first of many, freundin,” Lukas praised. “If you rack up enough kills before the timer runs out, you get bonus loot.”
Having at least whetted her appetite for violence, Emilie wiped the sweat from her brow and slowed her pace. A pristine blue river carved through the valley, free from the pollution the big city had accustomed her to. The width was too much to ford, so she angled toward the conveniently-placed bridge. Once she ascended the first stair, she froze. Where an ordinary arch of stone or metal would have sufficed, a translucent beam of light shined between the two shores. She hesitantly lowered a foot onto the structure, lest she plunge into the depths below. Fortunately, the bridge held.
“Sacrebleu!” The redhead gasped. “What do you call this?”
Lukas stood in the middle of the causeway, as if he hadn’t just witnessed a miracle. “Er… a laser bridge?” He shrugged, nonplussed.
“Laser bridge…” Emilie marveled. She ignored the strange look she was receiving. Up until that point, she could have pretended she was on a camping retreat, assaulting the local wildlife. The bridge was more than just a way across the river to her; it was a symbol. It was a reminder that her consciousness really was stranded on a distant rock, on a fantastical simulated adventure. Of course, she could hardly admit any of that aloud, so Lukas would just have to think she was crazy.
They spent another minute on the bridge before Emilie’s impatience got the better of her. The other side presented her with more Hedgehags to conquer, where she put her new skills to the test.
Beyond the vale, she found a series of rocky outcroppings. It was more difficult to recognize the naturalistic structures for what they were, but they reminded her of the platforming challenges she had encountered back in Rhombus Dungeon. The CrossWorlds was littered with all sorts of improbable formations to challenge the daring and observant player, usually with the promise of some premium loot. So long as she didn’t look down, she quickly picked up on the rhythm of hopping from one pillar to the next. The punishment for falling wasn’t so severe as a broken leg, which helped her confidence.
Lurking around the area was a new type of enemy, one more solitary than the roving herds of Hedgehags. The fuzzy rodent was almost cute as it bobbed its head to whatever was playing through its pair of headphones. When it noticed the players approaching, it quickly burrowed beneath the soil. Emilie stood her ground, eyeing her surroundings warily for any sign of movement. She jumped when a rock impacted her between the shoulder blades. Spinning around, she could swear the little menace was laughing at her.
Enraged, she dived at the Hillkat, only for it to once more dive into the earth. She took a deep breath. Just like before, she needed to strategize. If she couldn’t approach the enemy, and her ranged options were pitiful, then she had to outsmart it. Observation would be instrumental if she wanted to get a read on her foe.
When the Hillkat popped out of the ground, Emilie was more prepared. She caught it winding up before pitching another stone. It was a small window to counterattack, but it was a window nonetheless. The projectile was easy to sidestep once she saw it coming. Emilie focused her senses on anything that could give her a clue as to where the enemy would surface next–disturbed earth, subterranean vibrations, even the tinny playback of recorded music. Suddenly, she felt it: a rumbling in the ground directly beneath her.
Emilie jumped back as dirt sprayed into the air around her. The Hillkat surprised her by funneling all of its strength into an impressively forceful uppercut, directly where she was just standing. Unfortunately for it, that put it directly into the range of her fists. Exposed and vulnerable in the open air, the Hillkat had no recourse as the Pentafist pummeled it into a cloud of experience points and credits.
Each new obstacle presented her with an opportunity to learn and to grow. Emilie was practically high off the exhilaration of exploring and fighting her way through the game, and she was only just beginning. Just when she felt that nothing could dampen her spirits, a gratingly familiar voice cut through her reverie.
“Redheaded Pentafist!” Apollo bellowed. From his perch on the above cliffs, he pointed down at the approaching duo. In a way that he probably thought made him look cool, he leapt down to intercept them.
“Not this again,” Emilie groaned. At the same time, Lukas wondered aloud how long the man had been standing up there.
As was his wont, Apollo ignored them both. “We meet again! I can see already that you’ve improved. To think, all it took was some encouragement to set you on the right path!” He nodded his approval. “However! Your real test has only just begun.”
“Entschuldigung, but who are you, again?” Lukas interrupted.
Rather than answer, the caped Spheromancer only smiled. “Ah, I see you have made another friend. The path of justice is not one to be walked alone!” He espoused, despite the fact that his own friend from earlier was nowhere to be seen. “As your wise mentor, I shall personally evaluate your growth in a duel! Of course, you shall have all the time you need to prepare. Meet me at the entrance to Bergen Trail! There’s no backing out of this!” With his piece said, he turned to run off.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. Emilie was too mortified, struck by a bone-deep weariness, and Lukas too confused.
“My name is Emilie!” She shouted after the retreating character, to little effect.
“Do I even want to know what that was about?” Lukas asked.
Emilie decided to save the long story for later. If she really did have an unavoidable confrontation before her, she wanted to be as ready as she could be. Lukas shrugged, and they continued to grind their way through Autumn’s Rise.
The more enemies she cut through, the more natural it felt. Emilie didn’t know how much she could attribute to her character growing in strength, or to herself becoming more comfortable with the game. For all she knew, some latent muscle memory from her previous character was leaking through her mental barriers. Whatever it was, her movements were more fluid, her senses sharper, and her blows heavier. She was ready for the next challenge to present itself.
The next challenge came in the shape of, of all things, a cow. However many animals she had obliterated so far, something felt wrong about punching a cow.
“I think I grew up with cows,” Emilie suddenly recalled. “Either that, or near them.” It was little more than an indistinct fragment of a memory, but she was certain of it. Even if she had to piece together her past like the shards of a broken mirror, she would do whatever it took.
“Ja, that explains a lot,” Lukas joked. He didn’t shy away from her withering glare. “I mean, hey, it’s great that you’re remembering things.”
Memory or not, the Mad Bovine was an enemy. Emilie’s newfound confidence assured her that she could land a hit on the lumbering beast without any fear of retaliation. Though she was correct, she failed to account for the fact that the bull’s iron mask absorbed the brunt of the damage. As it reared up on its hind hooves, she realized her mistake. The brute dropped its full weight on her, sending her bouncing across the grass like a ragdoll.
The Pentafist clutched her side, more out of shock than any real sense of pain. She could tell that her body couldn’t take another hit like that. Another sensation she couldn’t quite feel was taste. As she downed a regenerative sandwich, she could feel it yield beneath her teeth, where it dissolved into insubstantiality. There was a vague impression of flavor, but not one she could identify. Virtual reality was no hack for a guilt-free snack, then.
The health boost helped Emilie back to her feet. Attacking the Bovine from the front was clearly not an option, so she would have to strike from another angle. Fortunately, the beast was large enough that it couldn’t turn very quickly. She was able to exact her revenge in the form of her ultimate technique.
Since she had unlocked the Circuit, CrossWorld’s skill tree, and had leveled up a handful of times, she had access to more powerful abilities. Emilie was excited to finally try out her first Combat Art in natura, and she couldn’t think of a more deserving target (except, perhaps, for Grasshead, but he would get his due later). She willed the power into her fist, and it heeded her summons. Beatdown was only a basic Melee Art, but in that moment, she felt invincible. Time slowed around her as she levied strike after strike after strike on her foe. When the moment felt right, she poured everything she had into one fist, then unleashed it all in a finishing blow.
Her fist tore through the Bovine, earning her some steak in the process. “Hah,” she panted. “Not bad, huh?”
“Eh,” Lukas shrugged. “Let me remind you what a real Triblader can do.”
With that, the showoff sauntered over to another Mad Bovine. As the creature reared up on him, Lukas casually flicked his wrist, severing the animal into dozens of barbequed chunks. Emilie could practically feel the heat wave impact her from where she stood. The Triblader looked unbothered, as if it had hardly been a trifle; in truth, it hadn’t been.
The display was a sobering reminder of where Emilie herself must have been, and of how far she had to go to get back there. Worrying about her level in a video game with such intensity was then so funny to her, she had to laugh.
“Was? I thought I was being cool,” Lukas pouted.
“Non, non, you were trés cool,” Emilie giggled. “I was just thinking. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Later ended up being soon. They came upon Obelisk Lake, the halfway point of Autumn’s Rise and a popular spot to rest. Accurate to its name, there was an obelisk in the lake. Truly, wonders never ceased. Emilie took advantage of the vendors in the area to restock on supplies. Then, she found a nice and shaded bench to sit down and regale Lukas with her story thus far.
“…And then I met this girl,” Emilie continued.
“Emilie, du Hund!” Lukas cackled. “Hit by a truck and already chasing tail! Hey, if that's what it took to get you over that last fling, then I'm all for it.”
As much as she liked to rave about the realism of CrossWorlds, she could have done without the implementation of the searing heat creeping up her cheeks. “It’s not like that!” She insisted. If it ever somehow became like that, she supposed it was good to know she was single. Lukas was practically wheezing, drawing attention from nearby players. “I just bumped into her, and then challenged her to a race through the dungeon. She totally cheated, by the way.”
“I don’t know,” Lukas smirked. “It is technically your second time through the tutorial. If anyone cheated, it was probably you.”
In a display of incredible maturity, Emilie stuck her tongue out at him, effectively winning the argument. She went on to discuss her introduction to Apollo and her deliverance from the awkward encounter. Omitting the conversation with Sergey about the unusual message, she described her trip to the continent, where she soon met up with Lukas.
“Hah. I kind of envy you, you know,” Lukas sighed. At Emilie’s incredulous expression, he backpedaled. “N-not for getting hit by a truck, I mean. Anyone I know would kill to experience this game again for the first time. It’s terrible, but you really are living the dream, in a way.”
If only he understood the full extent of her situation. Emilie bit her lip. She had only just met the guy, but she genuinely believed that Lukas could be trusted to keep a secret. The lie of omission was slowly consuming her from within, and every minute she stole from him under false pretenses cut at her. Sergey had warned her that the truth had consequences, though, even when he wasn’t around.
“Merci,” Emilie said instead. Forcing a laugh, she apologized for making him follow her around through such a low-level area.
Lukas waved her off. “I’ve been having fun. And besides,” he continued, more seriously, “your life is more important than any video game. The guild can deal without me until you can rejoin.”
Emilie smiled in earnest. Fully refreshed, she plowed through the back half of the area. Lukas offered her friendly advice and encouragement to offset the rust she had accumulated, and she was soon shining like new. Autumn’s Rise did its best to fight back with new combinations of enemies and terrain. In conquering each challenge, the Pentafist ended up with a wealth of levels, plus a fancy new piece of equipment.
Just as autumn gave way to winter, Autumn’s Rise slowly transitioned into Bergen Trail. All but the hardiest plants shied away from the growing chill, leaving the path sparse, yet green. The snowcapped peaks stood dauntingly in the distance, their shadow only further dropping the temperature. Emilie’s thin tank-top would not protect her on the road ahead, if realism was any consideration.
Here, as well, merchants and players congregated in preparation for the long hike up the trail. Here, as well, Apollo was waiting in ambush. He leaped down from above, kicking up dust where he landed. “I must say I am impressed,” he acknowledged. “For you to have come farther in just an afternoon than you have in the past few months, I must be a natural teacher.” Of course, even his compliments were quickly turned back onto himself.
“Right, time to mow this Grasshead,” Emilie mumbled. Despite her protests, she was looking forward to the fight. An opportunity to test her skills was made all the sweeter by the promise of wiping that self-righteous smirk off of Apollo’s face. She denied his offer to make any last-minute preparations.
The crowd parted to give the two adversaries space. Lukas flashed one final thumbs-up before the boundaries of the arena flickered into existence. Translucent walls allowed viewers to enjoy the spectacle while preventing the combatants from seeing out. The barriers did make Emilie slightly nervous, but she was grateful for the removal of potential distractions. She had a feeling that she would need to be on top of her game to emerge victorious.
The rules were simple: no items, first to five wins.
Surprisingly, Apollo wasn’t all talk. He sprinted from the starting bell, launching spheres of energy at Emilie with unerring accuracy. Individually, they did very little damage, but they added up. When those projectiles were charged up, they ricocheted around the makeshift stadium, cutting off her avenues of escape. The Spheromancer slowly boxed her in until she had no choice but to rush at him. This proved to be a fatal mistake, as he rebuffed her charge with a spinning slash attack that knocked her off her feet.
“Round one goes to me!” Apollo announced. “Don’t tell me that’s all you can do!”
Emilie grit her teeth. Spheromancers were superior when it came to ranged combat. Like the Hillkat, she knew that she could only snatch victory through strategizing. Now that she had a feel for his style, she used the second between bouts to think. She could weave around his shots until the sun set, but that wouldn’t see her win. Apollo wasn’t such a slouch when it came to a melee, either. The enemies she had encountered all had some kind of debilitating weakness, where he had none.
The next fight wasn’t a significant improvement over the first one. Emilie did a better job at dodging, once she knew what to expect, but that didn’t open up a window to strike back. She ducked away from his chakrams, only getting grazed in the process. Though the two migrated back to their corners, Emilie couldn’t help but to notice Apollo flagging after his Combat Art. It seemed that the technique took enough out of him that she could hope to exploit it in the future. Until then, she only lasted slightly longer before the ceaseless barrage of spheres wore her down.
“Round two goes to me!” Apollo announced. “Are you even trying?”
Emilie had no intention of giving away another win. She willed her feet to move faster and her fists to punch harder. Attempting to be the aggressor was futile. Apollo had demonstrated that he was more than willing to approach, so long as she was patient. Once again, he lunged at her, weapons bared. Each swing of the chakram glanced off Emilie’s shield, and she backed off entirely as he telegraphed his Spin Dance technique.
Just as she had suspected, Apollo needed a second to recover from the exertion. The Pentafist didn’t let him, placing her faith in the hands of her new Combat Art. Azure Strike was a Dash Art, one that enabled her to cross the distance between them as if it didn’t exist. For all Emilie knew, she had literally teleported; the game wasn’t beholden to the laws of physics. The supersonic punch rocked the lethargic Spheromancer, but it didn’t knock him out. Nevertheless, he shocked her by conceding the point.
“That’s more like it!” Apollo shouted. “Round three goes to you. Keep up that momentum!”
Apollo’s strategy remained bizarrely consistent. Emilie could understand why he would be reluctant to abandon a winning strategy, but not one she had worked her way around. Her answer came in the form of a chakram to the jaw. Where she had anticipated another Melee Art, he had caught her off guard with an Azure Strike of his own. The mockery of her strategy infuriated her, mostly because it was effective. In attacking her, he had also put enough distance between them that not even an answering dash attack could punish him. They were once more at parity.
It suddenly occurred to Emilie that she was letting Apollo decide the terms of engagement. She was so focused on deciphering his patterns, she forgot that he wasn’t just lines of code. He was a human being, one who could act and react. If she set the pace of combat, then he would be on the back foot instead. Emilie charged ahead, twirling between the projectiles her foe conjured. Instead of the helplessness she expected, she planted her fist directly into a shield. The impact rattled her bones, leaving her as the defenseless one. Apollo cut her down quickly.
“You’re still not getting it, are you?” Apollo taunted. “Round four goes to me!”
She wasn’t getting it. She wasn’t even getting what she wasn’t getting. Apollo had no weaknesses. Just like the circles he embodied, he was perfectly well-rounded. He could do everything decently… but nothing well. That was what she was missing. The fight wouldn’t come down to exploiting Apollo’s weaknesses, but to playing to her strengths. Pentafists were faster, so she would have to be faster.
Once more, she rushed Apollo. This time, she only feinted an attack before ducking to the side. The Spheromancer only raised his shield for a second, but it was a second too long. Emilie landed a critical hit on his back, as if the game was rewarding her for her revelation. Perhaps Sergey was intervening behind the scenes, though that was significantly less likely. Apollo shook off the attack, turning around to face her.
The same trick wouldn’t work twice, but it didn’t necessarily need to. Now, it was Emilie’s turn to whittle down her opponent’s options, one by one. So long as Apollo was aware of the possibility of a fake-out, he would always hesitate for a split-second before guarding. Dodging wasn’t on the table; she was too agile. Harrying from a distance was likewise a pointless exercise. A head-on clash was all but inevitable.
That wasn’t to say Emilie had the advantage. Apollo could hold his own at close range, so it was more of a level playing field than either of them would have preferred. They danced around each other, fists and blades flying back and forth. In the end, the Pentafist managed to dodge more hits than the Spheromancer could, and he went down.
“Round five is yours,” Apollo ceded. “Let’s see how you deal with this!”
Apollo redoubled his efforts. His speed still paled in comparison to Emilie’s, but there was a marked difference compared to the past rounds. Through the haze of combat, Emilie frowned. Apollo’s repetitive tactics, his telegraphed attacks, his words of encouragement… it was like he was toying with her. No, that clashed with his whole heroic shtick. He was teaching her, then, just like he had promised he would. Begrudgingly, she was forced to admit that he was doing a good job of it. In one duel alone, she had learned more than all of Autumn’s Rise had taught her. More importantly, that meant he was going easy on her, and he wouldn’t let her win until she absorbed his lessons.
For this round, Apollo had abandoned reservation entirely. Emilie was too focused on dodging to get more than a glancing blow in. Passivity wasn’t getting her any closer to her goal. Just like she had witnessed Apollo do to her, she braced herself for his overhead strike. The instant before the blade connected, she raised her shield to divert the blade to the side. The Spheromancer was thrown off-balance, presenting Emilie with the perfect opportunity to unleash a Beatdown that left him staggering.
“Good, good!” Apollo encouraged. “Round six is yours!”
Slowly, the curtain fell to reveal the powerhouse behind the dorky exterior. Apollo’s onslaught only grew faster and fiercer as the rounds progressed. He even managed to steal from Emilie the one advantage she possessed in speed. She managed as well as she had the last round, until he blindsided her by chaining Azure Strikes together. Not even a Pentafist could hope to dodge that, much less block it. Emilie was so disoriented by each impact, she failed to see the next one coming. It was an inauspicious ending to round seven.
“One more round and you’re done,” Apollo warned.
Emilie knew that. In that moment, she shed all of her fears and anxieties like a second skin, imparting a new lightness to her body. She would win because losing was no longer an option.
The instant Apollo’s stance changed, Emilie performed a Dash Art of her own. A collision would be suicidal, so she anticipated his movements, then mirrored them. That way, she was one step ahead of him at all times. When he stopped to recover, she was there to pummel him into surrender.
“This will be the final round,” Apollo declared, “one way or the other.”
Round nine was the final exam. Fortunately, Emilie was a quick study. She could never have partied as hard as she did and passed her classes, otherwise. Spheres ricocheted around her, which she dodged with an instinctive, almost preternatural grace. An Azure Strike past Apollo positioned her back-to-back with him, a position he was hardly prepared to find himself in. Emilie ducked as she swiveled, narrowly escaping his blade and returning a nasty uppercut. The last of her Special Points enabled her to twirl out of the range of a Spin Dance.
Both thoroughly exhausted, the pair clashed once more. Though cuts marred the Pentafist’s skin, she never relented. Emilie batted aside a thirsty blade with one vambrace, slamming her palm into Apollo’s exposed chest with the other. She entered a flow state, dodging, blocking, and striking in perfect harmony with her opponent.
One careless error determined the duel. Emilie grew restless in her haste to break the stalemate. Spheromancers were far more equipped to handle long, protracted battles. To that end, she overextended a punch in the hope of catching Apollo by surprise. His shield shattered, but she was in no position to follow up. She was certain that he regained his bearings before she did, yet he did not call the match.
As much as it hurt her to do, she raised a hand. “Stop. I yield,” she conceded.
Apollo’s eyes widened. “Are you certain? You look like you can keep going,” he noted.
“Don’t insult me,” Emilie scowled. “You could have finished me right there, but you chose not to.”
Stepping closer, Apollo extended a hand. “There is wisdom to be found in defeat, yes, but also in victory,” he lectured.
Only an hour ago, Emilie would have dismissed those words as the ramblings of a delusional egotist. Honestly, she still thought he was a nut, but he was at least smarter than he let on. She found herself surprisingly eager to test herself against him again, after she grew a little more. Emilie took Apollo’s hand into a firm shake.
“Good games,” Emilie declared.
“So, you’ve mastered the lesson of humility.” Apollo scratched his chin, contemplating. “I wasn’t even trying to teach you that one, but I guess I’m a better teacher than even I thought. It helps to have such a receptive pupil, I guess.”
Emilie rolled her eyes. It was the closest she would get to a genuine compliment, so she took it.
The walls came down, exposing the knackered duo to the sights and the sounds of the outside world. Compared to the casual interest their fight had initially garnered from the scattered crowd, they found themselves absolutely mobbed. Rows of players whistled and cheered their approval at the spectacle and its dramatic conclusion.
As Lukas pushed his way to the center of the clearing, Apollo took that as his cue to leave. Being the drama queen that he was, he affected a limp despite having had his Health Points entirely restored. Emilie knocked back a glass of water, more to give her shaking hands something to do than anything else. No matter how much she sweat, she would never dehydrate. Still, the cold drink refreshed her, sending her thoughts drifting back to the icy climb ahead.
“That was fantastich!” Lukas praised, clapping a hand on Emilie’s shoulder. By that point, the crowd had already begun to disperse. “That was one of the most intense fights I’ve ever seen, and to think it was only at level ten! That Apollo guy has definitely played the game before–maybe more than once.”
Spheromancer was a famously difficult class to master. Their lack of strength points made them unappealing to new players. The same versatility that made them so formidable in combat also made it difficult to grasp their intended play style. Those few that did take on the challenge were legends, immortalized on the arena leaderboards.
Though she lost, Emilie attributed that to her own shortcomings than to being outclassed. Instead of beating herself up, she decided to learn from her mistakes, and then beat Apollo up. Even as tired as she was, the drive to improve propelled her forward.
“I’ll get him next time,” Emilie promised. “For now, it’s up the mountain, oui?”
“Ah, Scheiß,” Lukas swore, “I didn’t realize how late it is. Sorry, but I really have to get some sleep if I want to function at work tomorrow. I’m sure you can make it to Bergen Village on your own.” With that hasty farewell, his character dematerialized into the aether.
“Having fun?” Sergey Asimov’s dry voice cut in.
As always, Emilie couldn’t help but to jump at the sudden incursion. The Direct Link was like a phone call, but inside of her head. Every time she let herself forget it was there, it startled her out of her skin.
“Monsieur Asimov,” she greeted, in lieu of a response. He probably didn’t care to hear about the specifics of her day. In fact, he was probably already aware by whatever means he used to spy on her.
“Your friend has the right idea. It’s time to log out for the night,” Sergey decided.
The artificial sunlight must have messed with her perception of time, because Emilie didn’t even realize how long she had been playing. “I can keep going,” she argued. “I’m already asleep, aren’t I?” It was a token protest. With the adrenaline draining from her system, she was starting to feel the weight of her busy day bearing down.
“Your mind needs just as much rest as your body,” Sergey corrected, stifling a yawn of his own. “Furthermore, a representative of Instatainment needs to be supervising you at all times, and I’ve already let you stay up later than I should have.”
The confession jarred Emilie. She couldn’t tell if Sergey had also lost track of time or if he had genuinely put himself out for her sake. His timing, as always, was too convenient. He could have interrupted her at any time, even in the middle of her duel with Apollo, yet he didn’t.
At the end of an exciting day, her fears began to resurface. Everything she was rested in the hands of an indifferent man and the interest he represented. Whatever agency she stole back from the virtual world, it meant nothing in the bigger picture. Now, she was being lowered once more into the inky maw of slumber, with no guarantee that she would ever again see the surface.
“I’ll… I’ll get to play some more tomorrow, right?” Emilie cursed the way her voice wavered toward the end.
At that, Sergey’s stony visage softened a fraction. “Tomorrow,” he promised. After a moment’s hesitation, “good night, Miss de Belmond.”
As the world dissolved around her, Emilie could have sworn she caught the afterimage of a blue ponytail disappearing into the tree line.