Bob did not crash-enter the arena - he skidded into its reality and across slick stone, before landing in a crouch with one palm smacking down for balance. The floor was coated in a thin, unnervingly perfect sheet of moisture.

  “Should’ve bought snorkels at Iron?Jaw’s.”

  [Echuu] Rude! I had a line queued: ‘Equipping sanctified water wings and a?+2 pool noodle.’ Yours plays better..

  Bob chuckled; the slime’s banter was starting to grow on him. “Can I arrive once without gagging on sentient jello-shots?”

  [Echuu] Oof. Two?nil. I’ll get back to you shortly. *Grabs notebook, scribbles aggressively* Comeback Recipes: A Blob by Blob Guide to Delicious Dungeon-Roasts. Volume I.

  A perfect circle of tall obsidian walls surrounded him - no doors or gaps - just pitch black stone rising into tiered stands jammed with silent spectators. Each figure wore a smooth mask, Debt?Keeper?style but minus the inky dread. An army of faceless witnesses.

  “You guys are cult-vibes on steroids!” Bob called to the gallery. ‘No reaction.’ “Saving your applause for the big baddie?”

  As if that was the trigger, every mask turned at once, now facing a pulvinar. There, on a grand, golden throne, lounged an imposing figure - muscles bulging beneath layers of royal regalia. His mask was a shrine of precious metal and ivory.

  Over-the-top! Too shiny for a Void Emperor. Needs more abyss, less bling.

  Beside the Emperor sat a smaller replica of his throne. Someone petite occupied it, drowned in fabric. Her dainty mask hinted at authority not yet grown into.

  The Emperor raised one hand and reality muted: the crowd, drops of water, even Bob’s breathing - gone. He snapped his fingers with a thunderous roar. ‘Flash’

  Realities merged and one combatant became eight. Bob knew at first glance: These new additions, they were other player's.

  Did boss-man not get the memo? I don't jive with forced co-op or PvP. Throw me a late-night, sleep-deprived ARAM-sesh for shits’n’giggles and I’ll bite hard. This ain't that.

  “You will make haste in choosing allies.” the Emperor proclaimed, his voice a balanced boom between velvet glove and hardened gavel. “Four shall battle against four. The victors reaping an abundance of rewards from my personal vault.” He stood, stature immense, the air visibly bending around him as if the system itself was pushed back by his presence. “My expectations on this day cannot easily be contained. Champions, I am not born to plead.” He looked at the girl beside him. “Yet I find myself compelled to ask for your aid; seal my matrimony in your blood."

  'Silence.'

  A single half-swallowed cough from a player - not enough to break tension.

  ’More silence’

  ”Ah. I Seem to forget how mortal souls beg for ample justification.” The Emperor threw both arms into the air in a wide arch: "So be it. Bear witness to my 2456th decree; It is an inexcusable affront to falter in sacrifice, as my patience has no place for taint on joyous occasions.”

  An unseen gong rang, shaking the entire arena in a single blast of concussive force. It struck the structure from the outside and sent several witnesses stumbling of their seats. A handful fell of the ledge and into the battle-pit below. Before they could stand, black, pulsing tendrils shut from the waters, coiled around their bodies and siphoned them into nothingness.

  [Echuu] That is certainly one way to stop mid-game streakers. Emperor should slap a patent on that tech!

  [System] Team?based PvP mode initiated. Tier spread detected: 3xT1, 2xT2, 2xT3, 1xT5. Scaling in progress.. buffs incoming..

  Bob could clearly spot the three tier ones. Shit gear, spirit already low. The others though, some were interesting characters, at least at first glance.

  Suddenly everyone but Bob started to shimmer in a slight blue outline. Buffs. Is it pulling them up to par, instead of forcing me down? Good system, learning.

  [System] Pooling player curses.. Selecting three global curses at random..

  By now the tension was palpable. Everyone present acknowledged the danger surrounding curses: one bad roll could poke holes in a foolproof build.

  .. Roll 1: Drained Vessel (Tier 1) - Stamina regen randomized (0.0x to 2.0x per tick).

  Relieved breaths, as everyone was quick to realize: That was a freebie, the randomization would even out over time.

  .. Roll 2: Brittle-lish (Tier 2) - Armor breaks like it’s made of pretzels. Destroyed on loss. (Slots affected: torso, legs)

  Again, not bad, if you bet on yourself to win.

  .. Roll 3: Hardcore (Tier 5) - You have but one life. Best of luck!

  The implications of the last curse-pull had sunk in fast. For a few seconds the colosseum was overcome with collective dread. What followed was a chorus of confused outrage:

  “Who the fuck brought that shit with them?” .. “I’m not perma-deathing up in this joint.” .. “Sis, is this real? I’m scared.” .. “Speed-running into trauma over here.”

  One guy who looked like a refrigerator with anger issues called everyone out first. “Fucking noobs.” He was bald, black-bearded, and built like a retired MMA fighter: the type who had accidentally wandered into an MMORPG and decided to stay. His armor was dented, patched and entirely practical. No style, all survivability. He cradled a chipped greataxe like it owed him money. “I’m here to farm mats, not babysit toddlers.”

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  [Echuu] Poor Axe-Dad. Maybe friend-list the fella? I bet he does a mean BBQ!

  Fashionista spoke next: raven feathers, rune?lit staff, heels built for catwalks. “Everyone halt. You included, big guy.” Her aura practically smelled like sarcasm and a larger-than-life, unspent mana-pool. “If anyone thinks about touching my outfit, I will atomise you into obscurity.”

  [Echuu] A walking tale of couture and combat. May her eyeliner remain unsmudged.

  “I’ll take the front, you blast them from behind. Good?” Axe-Dad addressed her and the sly smile she returned sealed their alliance.

  A long-coat, shirtless man joined them without a word. His katana glowed like a low-budget lightsaber; eyes narrowed as he flexed his jawline. You could feel him trying to trigger a slow-motion cutscene.

  “Guess you're on our team too.” Axe-Dad sighed. “We need one more.”

  Bob watched the three tier ones scuttling forth, elbowing each other to get picked for that last spot on the All Star-team. The first one to reach Axe-Dad, a boy, no more than 16, caught a Sparta-kick to the chest. It sent him reeling back several feet, spitting blood, gasping for air. At that, everyone halted.

  “Did I say who could join us?” the fridge grunted. His eyes caught Bob’s “You there. One-Arm. You don’t shimmer like the rest of us. Why go tier five in that state? Are you retarded or is there something I’m not seeing?”

  Bob responded calmly, leaning against the colosseum wall: “I know right? You guys fight if you must. My target is up there.” He nodded to the emperor with a grin, casually gripping his substitute crowbar.

  A wiry woman with a broad grin and explosive vials dangling dangerously off her belt walked towards Axe-Dad. “BLESSED BE THE SYSTEM. Let’s see how many limbs these guys can lose before they rage-quit existence.” She twitched, facial expression completely changed; all apologetic with a slight hint of shock. “I am so sorry. Sis means well. She’s just stressed from this whole ordeal.” ‘Twitch.’ “Shut up bitch! Go sit your ass down in a corner.” She stared at Axe-Dad. “I’m with your team. If that’s a problem, I’ll blow us all up in one go. Capisce?”

  Axe-Dad shook his beard at Twitchy. “Got it.” Then addressed the Emperor. “These are the teams. The four of us against that sorry lot. You said it yourself: you want blood and sacrifice.”

  Bob sighed before objecting. “I’m not fighting any of you. Also, full disclosure: I kinda brought Hardcore along. Signed the wrong contract believing it was a graphics setting.”

  Six players collectively stared at him like he had replaced their health-pools with Tabasco sauce. The seventh, Twitchy, grinned in mad relish.

  "You think you will just sit this one out?" Axe-Dad was already bristling with pre-fight adrenaline. "No fucking way. You threw that curse on us. That's top-tier bullshit. I’ll chop your head first."

  Bob shrugged and looked at the three players gathering behind him. They weren’t there because he exuded leadership. Nah, the reason was much simpler, more practical: his body would shield them for a second or two.

  “For what it’s worth, I did not mean to bring this curse upon anyone." Bob said, voice low and stripped of sarcasm.

  [System] Team A has been locked in. Team B will default to any remaining players. Fight commencing shortly. Players: ready up.

  Bob had holstered the substitute crowbar in his torn knife’s sheath, eyes quick-studying the three tier-one souls the system had stapled to him. They looked like someone had scraped the bottom of the matchmaking barrel, whispering, “Do your best,” and walked away.

  The girl - early twenties, wavy burgundy hair knotted into a lopsided half-bun - clutched a buckler so hard her knuckles had gone bloodless. She was trembling, though she tried to hide it behind the dented rim. The lanky boy beside her wore frayed leather stitched together with hopes and shoelace. A fresh smear of blood ran from the corner of his mouth; he kept wiping it as if embarrassment hurt worse than the fresh, internal wound. Finally, a broad-shouldered man, maybe Bob’s age, rested a shiny longsword across one shoulder and tried to look up for a challenge. The single piece of armor, a battered greave covering his left shin, ruined any such illusion.

  Across the water-slick stone, Team A had formed a wedge: Axe-Dad, Fashionista, Katana-Boy and Twitchy. Real killers, huh?

  Bob broke the silence. “Timer’s ticking. Names and Paths?”

  Just Paths idiot! No names.. You'll get attached.

  The girl’s reply came first, but almost inaudible. “A-Alys. Healer path. I have what’s left of my starting kit. It’s not much I’m afraid.”

  The boy gave a nervous chuckle. “Jem. Rogue. Going for an archer build.. I'm out of arrows..” His chest-cavity clearly hurt from uttering words. “That is the résumé..”

  The swordsman's gaze was iron. “Caleb. Warrior. And you, One-Arm, what path puts you in charge?”

  Fair question, Bob thought, expecting time to run out any second. Part of him wanted to climb the arena wall and fight the real boss. But that would leave these three at the mercy of four murderhobos.

  “I’m Bob,” he said aloud. “Living the tier five dream. I’ve cleared uglier things than those." He gesture at the other team. "But I’m all good with you taking point here.”

  Caleb’s brow rose. “You're saying you clear tier fives with tattered clothes, one arm and a crowbar?”

  “Something like that.” Bob admitted.

  Alys’s buckler shivered. “This curse. Hardcore. Is it for real?”

  “It is.” The admission tasted like rust. “A bad one, I know.”

  Her eyes started to wet. “If I.. any one of us die, will we be gone forever?”

  Alys inhaled shakily, fogging the buckler’s rim, and Bob made a realization that knifed through his logic. If he was real, and everyone here were players too.. That meant; she’s was someone’s daughter. Jem, just a kid. Even Caleb deserved better than to end his run of life. Heavy-set guilt dropped on his shoulders. Okay, you got me in a pinch here, system. I'll play along and fight.

  “Fuck it. Just stick behind me and forever won't come knocking today.” Bob said.

  Jem tapped his weapon. “I can flank.. draw some heat.”

  Bob shot him down with a stern look. “You’ll draw stitches, or worse. Shadow me, only hit what I stagger.”

  Caleb barked a laugh and stomped the shallow water. “And when you swing your rod and knock yourself into a face-plant in this puddle, what then?” The swordsman’s jaw tightened, as he clearly still doubted Bob's power-tale.

  “Then you ignore me and fight on with all you've got.” Bob replied. “Alys, Jem, get behind me. Keep that buckler high and be ready. Don’t rush for glory. Caleb, lets give these kid’s a fighting chance, sounds good?”

  Caleb opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding once. Respect or resignation, either worked.

  Alys whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me.” Bob muttered. “Rule one: if you see an opening and think ‘that looks easy,’ it’s bait. Rule two: behind me is safer than anywhere else. There might be AoE, so keep back a few paces.”

  Jem lifted his weapon in salute. “Then here’s to.. being cowards..”

  “Smart cowards.” Bob corrected. “Big difference.”

  A moment later, an invisible horn sounded and the water rose a few inches, signaling the fight had begun.. with a time-limit.