The arena was alive. Not just with sound or light, but with an electric energy that pulsed through every pixel, every digital stone and blade of grass. It was as if the world of Another Life VR itself held its breath, waiting for the clash of titans that was about to unfold.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat): "ALRIGHT, AVATARS! WELCOME BACK! I HOPE YOU ALL TOOK THE BREAK TO STRETCH, HYDRATE, AND REFUEL BECAUSE WE ARE BACK IN ACTION! THE BATTLE PLATFORMS ARE SET, THE CONTESTANTS ARE READY—AND THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!"
The crowd erupted, their cheers filling the digital sky. The massive holographic displays above each platform lit up, showcasing the fighters.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat): "ON PLATFORM ONE—THE MYSTERIOUS STRATEGIST HIMSELF—MACHIAVELI! FACING OFF AGAINST THE BLOODTHIRSTY COMMANDER KYLE!"
Platform One shimmered, revealing Mackiaveli’s silhouette, his wide-brim hat casting a long shadow over his masked face. His twin short swords gleamed at his sides, and his trench coat billowed as if caught in a storm. Across from him stood Commander Kyle, the King of Vampires, crimson energy pulsing around his saber, blood swirling around his hands like living snakes.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat): "ON PLATFORM TWO—THE VOID-WIELDER DIRK Welsby III! AND THE SHADOW MASTER, SHIRO BITTERS!"
Dirk Welsby III stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a veil of darkness seeping from his form. His eyes glowed with an unsettling void light, his presence like a black hole in the fabric of reality. Shiro Bitters, nimble and sharp, bounced on his heels, his twin short blades spinning idly in his hands, shadow tendrils curling around his feet.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat): "ON PLATFORM THREE—IT'S THE EARTH-SHAKING BYTE KNIGHT VERSUS THE GUNSLINGER DEXDA GUNN!"
Byte, solid as stone, rolled his shoulders, chunks of earth and metal orbiting him. His fists were wrapped in plated metal, and every step he took left cracks in the stone beneath him. Dexda Gunn stood with a smirk, his entire body lined with holstered weapons. He drew two pistols, spinning them effortlessly, and tipped his hat.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat): "AND ON PLATFORM FOUR—THE WINDSWEPT HEXA DEAN AGAINST THE WATER-PITCHER, SIDEWINDER BUCK! WHO MAY NEED TO RETHINK HIS TITLE…
The announcer begins to chuckle.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat): “WATER-PITCHER… ANYWAY LET’S GET THIS SHOW STARTED!"
Hexa's eyes narrowed, the air around her shimmering with gaseous energy. She moved like a breeze, almost intangible. Sidewinder Buck, a burly figure with molten veins glowing beneath his skin, wound up his arm like a baseball pitcher, flames swirling into a twisting sphere of fire.
Dani (Private Chat): "Well… this is going to be intense."
Byte (Private Chat): "Yeah, no kidding. I’m already sweating, and I haven’t even thrown a punch."
Shiro (Private Chat): "Keep your head in the game, Byte. Dexda’s not the kind to play fair."
Hexa (Private Chat): "Neither is Sidewinder. He’s got enough fire to roast a dragon."
Vessa (Private Chat): "Remember, guys, focus on your elements. It’s not just about brute force—it’s how you weave your abilities into your combat."
Dani (Private Chat): "Good luck, everyone. I’ll be watching."
The bell rang.
DING!
On Platform One, Mackiaveli didn't move. His silhouette remained a statue, swords untouched, mask expressionless. Commander Kyle sneered, a fang peeking out from his lip.
Commander Kyle (World Chat): "You look lost, spirit boy. Need a map to find your way to the afterlife?"
Mackiaveli typed a single line.
Mackiaveli (World Chat): "The dead need no maps."
Blood daggers formed in Kyle’s hands, and he hurled them forward. They streaked through the air, hissing with crimson energy. Mackiaveli sidestepped, his coat fluttering as the blades sliced through empty air. He spun, one of his short swords flashing forward. Kyle met the strike with his saber, a clang of metal against metal.
Their weapons danced, Mackiaveli’s strikes fluid and precise, Kyle’s brutal and forceful. Blood slashes cut through the air, crimson trails lingering in their wake. Mackiaveli weaved through them, his coat absorbing any stray hits he missed dodging while shimmering with golden light.
Vessa (Private Chat): "Mac's coat… it's not just for show. It’s spirit-woven. It nullifies elemental hits."
Dani (Private Chat): "Wow! But how many hits can it take? Blood King over there is throwing blades like a blender on overdrive."
Shiro vanished into the shadows, his form blending into the dim cracks of the arena floor. Dirk Welsby III extended his hand, the void stretching out, swallowing the light.
Dirk Welsby III (World Chat): "Run all you want, shadow child. The void is always hungry."
Shiro’s blades flashed, slashing through the dark tendrils. His body moved like smoke, slipping through the gaps, avoiding the crushing grip of Dirk’s darkness. He struck, a quick jab to Dirk’s side—nothing. His blades passed through as if Dirk was a mirage.
Shiro (World Chat): "Solidify, coward."
Dirk’s lips curled into a cold smile. His form hardened, shadows crystallizing into onyx armor. Shiro lunged again, and this time, his blades clanged against solid mass. Dirk’s response was immediate—a wave of void energy burst from him, sending Shiro skidding across the platform.
Dani (Private Chat): "Shiro’s gonna need a shadow ambulance if he keeps this up!"
Vessa (Private Chat): "He might surprise you. I’ve seen him fight before. Shiro’s a survivor. Let’s see if he finds an opening."
The earth rumbled under Byte’s feet as he formed a barrier of stone. Dexda Gunn laughed, his guns spinning, barrels glowing with elemental rounds.
Dexda Gunn (World Chat): "Come on, rock boy. Let’s see if I can crack you open."
Bullets rained down, each shot sparking against Byte’s barrier. He crouched low, metal plates rising from the ground, fusing into a shield. Byte advanced, each step forward a small victory against the storm of lead. He raised his fist, slamming it into the ground—spikes of metal and stone shot forward, forcing Dexda to backflip, barely avoiding impalement.
Byte (World Chat): "You talk too much, Dex."
Dexda Gunn (World Chat): "I’ll talk when you’re dust, Knight!"
Sidewinder Buck wound up, his arm spinning like a windmill. A twisting water sphere, fluid and serpentine, formed in his palm. The liquid whirled with unnatural speed, droplets splintering off in fine mist as he built momentum.
Sidewinder Buck (World Chat): "Fastball, comin' right up!"
He hurled the water sphere. It spiraled through the air, its trajectory serpentine and unpredictable. Hexa's form shimmered, and suddenly she wasn’t there. The water ball smashed into the platform, flooding a portion of the stone floor with a slick sheen.
Hexa (World Chat): "Too slow."
The air around Buck tightened. He grunted, his muscles straining as the very oxygen twisted into ropes of wind, binding him in place. He flexed, and a sudden burst of water erupted from his body, vaporizing into mist and weakening the air chains with moisture.
Sidewinder Buck (World Chat): "Nice trick. My turn!"
He threw another Sidewinder pitch, this time a spinning vortex of water. Hexa danced through the gusts, her form like a leaf caught in a whirlwind, droplets of water spraying past her as she twisted through the air. The two elements clashed—wind and water—creating swirling mists and sharp gusts that electrified the platform.
The camera feeds cut to the newscasters hovering above the arena. The transition was seamless, and they appeared on screen, bright smiles and perfectly styled avatars.
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NEWSCASTER 1 (Voice Chat): "Welcome back, everyone! What an incredible start to this round of fights!"
NEWSCASTER 2 (Voice Chat): "Absolutely! All four platforms are in full swing, and I don’t know about you, but I can hardly keep up!"
The screen split into four, each fight raging on, each platform a battlefield of elemental chaos and skillful strategy.
The arena held its breath. The crowd leaned forward.
And the battles had only just begun.
The arena was a storm of energy. Four platforms glowed under the neon lights, each surrounded by swirling barriers that crackled with raw code and elemental force. The crowd was on its feet, digital avatars leaning into the action, their HUDs pulsing with real-time stats and combat feeds.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"WHAT AN INCREDIBLE DISPLAY OF SKILL! ON ALL FOUR PLATFORMS, WE HAVE BATTLES THAT ARE PUSHING THE LIMITS OF WHAT COMBAT CODING CAN ACHIEVE! IF YOU'RE NOT ON THE EDGE OF YOUR SEAT—CHECK YOUR PULSE!"
Mackiaveli was a blur of motion. His black trench coat flowed behind him, its fabric shimmering with a golden aura as it deflected Commander Kyle's blood blades. The Commander moved like a shadow, his vampire-enhanced speed turning him into a red-tinged blur. His every step left a crimson mist, the blood magic lingering in the air like a predator's breath.
Commander Kyle (World Chat):
"I'll drink every pixel of your code, Mackiaveli!"
The crowd gasped as Kyle launched forward, his blood scythe materializing in his hands with a sickening squelch. The blade dripped with digital gore, the very essence of his vampiric codeweaving. He swung, a wide arc that left a trail of red lightning in its wake.
Mackiaveli said nothing. His short swords flashed—one, two, three strikes. Commander Kyle's blood shield shattered under the precise blows, red shards dissolving into mist. Mackiaveli moved like water, his feet barely touching the ground as he weaved through the onslaught of blood projectiles. Each of his swords danced in harmony, cutting through the red constructs like a surgeon's scalpel through silk.
Kyle snarled, reforming his weapons mid-strike, but Mackiaveli twisted, narrowly evading a sweeping blood arc meant to decapitate him. His coat billowed as he landed, spinning low before delivering a precise upward slash that sent another crimson construct shattering into pixels.
Kyle’s fingers flickered over his HUD. In an instant, dozens of blood-coded spikes materialized above Mackiaveli, raining down like crimson javelins.
Mackiaveli glanced up. With a flick of his wrist, he typed a line of code mid-motion, his spirit energy reacting in real-time. A golden barrier erupted above him, deflecting the spikes before they could reach him.
Commander Kyle (World Chat): "Damn you—"
The Blood King’s hands moved rapidly, summoning a series of floating blood orbs that pulsed with dark energy. With a snap of his fingers, the orbs expanded, forming glowing crimson runes that altered the battlefield. The gravity shifted, pulling Mackiaveli off balance. Kyle grinned.
Commander Kyle (World Chat): Code Inject Blood Shackles.
Red chains materialized from the runes, snapping toward Mackiaveli like vipers. Mackiaveli’s eyes barely flicked to the lines of code appearing in his vision. In a single movement, his fingers brushed his HUD, and golden text scrolled over his interface.
Makiaveli: Code Inject Dispel Nullification.
The moment the chains reached him, they disintegrated. The Spirit Wielder flipped over a wave of blood spikes, his coat wrapping around him in mid-air, creating a spinning barrier that deflected the attack. His trench coat wasn't just for show—the fabric shimmered with protective runes, deflecting each sanguine attack with a soft hum. He landed softly, swords crossed in front of him, his breathing steady, his eyes unreadable behind the battle mask.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"MACKIAVELI IS UNTOUCHED! HE'S MAKING THIS LOOK LIKE A TUTORIAL LEVEL!"
The crowd roared, their avatars throwing digital confetti and emotes across the stadium. But Mackiaveli remained unfazed. His expression was hidden behind the mask, his body language calm and measured. His silence was its own kind of taunt, a refusal to dignify his opponent with anything more than perfect technique.
Kyle’s health bar dipped, but the Blood King wasn’t finished yet. Commander Kyle’s form darkened, shadows pooling at his feet. His body seemed to bleed into the void as he conjured a massive blood scythe, its blade dripping with crimson energy. The weapon pulsed with every beat of his code, a living extension of his blood control.
Commander Kyle (World Chat):
"You're not leaving this platform!"
He drove the scythe into the ground. A shockwave of blood spikes erupted in every direction, the floor of the platform cracking as red tendrils shot up like deadly vines. The sheer force of the attack sent smaller debris flying, and the air reeked of simulated iron. The audience leaned forward, waiting for the moment of impact.
Mackiaveli’s form became a phantom—slipping past the scythe, his swords flashing in tight arcs. The duel became a dance—each step calculated, each strike intentional. His movements were effortless, his body twisting like a ribbon as he dodged Kyle’s frenzied swings. It was infuriating to watch for the Blood King. His scythe carved through the space where Mackiaveli had just been, missing him by milliseconds.
Kyle roared, his code reacting with a wild, almost feral intensity. He formed blood blades along his arms and slashed out, sending red crescents through the air. As he did, a set of hidden blood glyphs activated behind Mackiaveli, pre-programmed with a lock-on code designed to delay his reaction.
Mackiaveli twisted, his coat flaring around him as he dodged left, right, then forward. His swords struck out—once, twice—cutting through the blood constructs and sending droplets of red code into the air. The hidden glyphs activated—binding chains launched toward him from behind. Without even turning, Mackiaveli flicked a single command onto his HUD.
Mackiaveli: Code Inject Predictive Slash
A golden blade of energy spun from his side, cutting through the glyphs before they could activate fully. The chains shattered before they could ever reach him.
Kyle staggered back, health bar plummeting. His once-pristine red cloak now bore golden slashes where Mackiaveli's spirit-imbued blades had struck. His breathing grew ragged, his avatar flickering with the strain of maintaining his blood constructs.
Commander Kyle (World Chat):
"I am the King of Vampires! I will not be brought low by some masked fool!"
His desperation took form. He raised his hands, and the air thickened. Blood mist enveloped the platform, a crimson fog that clung to Mackiaveli's form, slowing him, leeching health with every breath. Red tendrils wrapped around his limbs, binding him in place. Kyle's grin widened beneath his helmet, fangs glinting.
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"IS THIS IT FOR MACKIAVELI? HAS THE BLOOD KING TURNED THE TIDE?"
The crowd held its breath. Mackiaveli’s fingers twitched. Slowly, deliberately, his hands moved through the air, golden threads of spirit energy trailing from his fingertips. The mist hissed against the light, the darkness burning away as the tendrils unraveled. His swords glowed with the same energy, their edges sharp enough to cut through the blood magic binding him. Kyle’s grin faltered. Then Mackiaveli struck.
One final spin—his swords swept low. Commander Kyle's legs buckled. His scythe clattered to the platform, dissolving into a puddle of red code. Mackiaveli did not hesitate. He pressed forward, his blades a whirlwind. Each strike cut through the Blood King's defenses, golden sparks flying as spirit met blood.
The Blood King backpedaled, his stance faltering, his movements growing sluggish. Mackiaveli advanced, unwavering. His attacks were unrelenting, methodical. It was as if he had been in control the entire time, simply waiting for the moment his opponent ran out of options.
Kyle tried to counter—one last desperate swipe with his blood dagger—but Mackiaveli knocked it aside with a flick of his wrist, his own blade cutting deep into Kyle’s chest.
For Jennifer.
Mackiaveli thought. Then Kyle crumbled, his avatar glitching, red and black code bleeding from his wounds. His form collapsed into a mist of red and black, his final expression one of disbelief and fury.
SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT: "WINNER—MACKIAVELI!"
The crowd erupted in cheers like a tidal wave of sound, but Mackiaveli did not react. His blades slid back into their sheaths with a metallic whisper, and he turned his back on the dissolving remnants of his opponent. He took a step forward, then lowered himself onto the platform. His legs crossed, his hands rested on his knees, and he remained still, an island of calm.
His form became a statue—still and silent—as he watched the remaining fights. His posture was meditative, his focus unbroken. He acknowledged nothing—not the crowd, not the announcer, not even the swirling confetti of victory. In his mind the sound of Stroma Ai’s voice rang.
“Architect’s Throne.”
ANNOUNCER (Voice Chat):
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MACKIAVELI HAS SET THE BAR! AND NOW—BACK TO THE OTHER PLATFORMS!"
Mackiaveli's golden aura dimmed to a soft glow, his breathing the only motion. While the arena shifted to the chaos of other battles, he sat as if he were part of the platform itself—a sentinel waiting, watching, already strategizing for the next round.
The camera feed above the arena flickered to life, displaying the gleaming broadcast studio where the commentators sat, their avatars crisply detailed against the holographic backdrop of the tournament brackets. The primary analyst, a sharp-dressed avatar with slicked-back platinum hair, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with excitement.
ANALYST 1 (Voice Chat):
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re just tuning in—first of all, shame on you. Second, you just missed an absolute clinic in combat efficiency. Mackiaveli just dismantled Commander Kyle like he was debugging a broken line of code. That was… perfection."
The co-anchor, a fiery redheaded woman with an avatar designed to resemble a high-tech rogue, smirked as she swiped across her HUD, replaying key moments from the fight.
ANALYST 2 (Voice Chat):
"Look at this sequence again. Not a single wasted movement. The way he countered those blood-coded attacks—it’s almost like he was waiting for them just to show off how easily he could erase them. His reaction time is instant, and his code execution? Seamless."
The screen displayed slow-motion highlights, Mackiaveli slipping past the blood scythe, countering every coded attack as if he had rehearsed the fight a hundred times before stepping onto the platform.
ANALYST 1 (Voice Chat):
"Commander Kyle threw everything at him—spikes, mist, blood shackles, even some hidden lock-on glyphs—and Mackiaveli broke it all apart with the precision of a master hacker. He never let the fight feel like a brawl. He controlled the tempo, dictated every exchange, and when it was time to finish? He didn’t hesitate."
The feed cut to Mackiaveli now, still sitting cross-legged on the platform, his trench coat flowing slightly in the artificial breeze, watching the remaining fights with the same level of focus he had during his own.
ANALYST 2 (Voice Chat):
"And look at this. No celebrating. No grandstanding. He’s already in the next match in his head. This wasn’t a victory dance—this was a warm-up. If I were any of the remaining contestants, I’d be reworking my entire strategy right now."
The broadcast shifted to the next platform, but the words lingered.
This is part of a series of stories that have lived solely in my head for many years, and I’ve finally started writing them as serialized fiction books. If you think the story sucks, feel free to tell me—it’s all part of the process. That said, I’m also looking for constructive criticism, so any suggestions are welcome and will be considered as I work to improve the series.
