The chant for "Mid Gar!" didn’t just echo throughout the stage; it also pulverised the very air, a mocking anthem sung by a legion of the digitally damned.
"BOUNTY! Take him down! Take him down! Take him down! The Mid Gar!"
They howled, the shouts twisting into a grotesque form of encouragent. Death threats rained down, sharper and more vicious with each syllable.
"He’s ours! Easy prey!"
"Just a glitch to stomp on!"
"Nothing more than a re insect!"
The air crackled with their bloodlust, their collective gaze, once a confused ss, now fixated on with an almost cannibalistic hunger. They cheered, not for my defeat, but for the promise of my capture, the way I represented by them as a twisted price..
My facade, already cracking, didn’t just threaten to crumble; it shattered. Each cheer was a hamr blow against my skull, each threat a shard of ice splintering against my skin.
I could barely feel my skin. Instead, it’s replaced by the cold sweat tracing frigid lines down my back, the barely contained tremor in my hands threatening to expose the raw panic simring beneath my composure.
My jaw ached from clenching, my vision blurring at the edges.
Just as the cacophony reached its fever pitch, a new sound cut through the din, impossibly soft, impossibly alluring.
"Now, now, boys. Calm down, my beloved players~"
Akuma cooed, her voice a silken ribbon weaving through the raw aggression. It was a purr, dripping with a seductive charm that seed to hypnotise the furious mob. They visibly softened, their cries dying down to confused murmurs, their gazes drawn to Akuma like iron filings to a magnet.
It was an uncanny, almost unnatural shift, a puppet master pulling invisible strings.
How the hell did she manage to pull that off?
I wondered, my mind montarily dislodged from my own humiliation, a flicker of professional curiosity overriding the terror. The charm, the sheer, manipulative power in her voice, was unnerving, almost a program in itself.
Akuma preened, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips before she gestured grandly towards Fulltal.
"Oh my~ now they are senile! Alright, my big strong Fulltal! Tell them all about it! Don’t be shy~"
Her tone was thick with saccharine sweetness, a familiar mix of adoration and crude suggestion that made my skin crawl.
Fulltal, stoic as ever, stepped forward.
His voice, modulated and unwavering, began to explain. His words appeared on the screen behind him, each statent delivered with clinical, detached precision.
Yes, the F-PP System.
[WELCO TO ROUND ONE, LADIES AND GENTLEN.]
[INTRODUCING THE "F-PP" SYSTEM: FREUDIAN PERFORMANCE POINTS.]
[F-PP IS CRUCIAL FOR SURVIVAL AND SUBSEQUENT ROUNDS.]
[POINTS DEPEND ON YOUR PERFORMANCE.]
[TODAY’S THE IS "STRENGTH," SO F-PP REFLECTS YOUR STRENGTH TRIC.]
[DAY ONE CHALLENGE IS... ONE-ON-ONE COMBAT IN AN UNKNOWN, UNDERGROUND ROOM.]
[YOUR OPPONENT? IT WILL BE A SECRET OBVIOUSLY. AND QUITE A SURPRISING ONE AT THAT]
[DAMAGE TAKEN GIVES YOU -5 F-PP. DAMAGE DEALT GIVES YOU 10 F-PP.]
[WINNING YOUR FIGHT GRANTS 1000 F-PP.]
[WINNERS WILL EARN THE OPPORTUNITY TO FACE THE BOUNTY.]
A collective gasp swept through the players, audible even over the receding hum of their anger. The dry, boring info-dump suddenly snapped into sharp, terrifying focus. My stomach plumted further, the dread in my gut a cold, hard stone.
A fight against the unknown? And if they won, they got to face ?
This wasn’t just a ga; rather. a twisted, well-elaborated hunt, ticulously designed to pit them against , to turn into their ultimate, most despised target.
[MIDNIGHT WILL BE FACING HIS ROOM MATE’S CLONE.]
Fulltal added, his voice flat, emotionless, as the final, damning line of text flickered onto the screen.
My eyes snapped to Velvet.
She was staring at the screen, a flicker of sothing unreadable in her eyes – surprise, perhaps, or a hint of grim understanding. My clone against hers.
Shortly after, she then looked at .
Her eyes were barely swollen, in disbelief as she seed shaken by the reveal.
The irony was not lost on . This wasn’t just humiliation; it was a gauntlet.
And I was the grand prize. The ultimate, humiliating quarry.
A ripple of low chatter, a mix of apprehension and eager anticipation, spread through the now-subdued players. So clenched their fists, a glint of determination in their eyes.
Others exchanged nervous glances, clearly weighing the odds of facing their own cloned reflection. The room, which had been a theatre of my public sha, was now transforming into a waiting room for gladiators.
"Alright, you lot! Chop, chop!"
Akuma clapped her hands, her voice bouncing with renewed, almost disturbing energy.
"No sloth behaviors! You’ve got battles to fight, F-PP to earn, and a lovely bounty to hunt~!"
She winked at , a sickening gesture that made my gorge rise.
Whimsical_Clown, who had been observing with an unnerving stillness, stepped forward, his head cocked.
"Oh, do try to make it interesting, everyone," he chirped, his voice a thinly veiled sneer.
"After all, our dear Midnight here has quite the legacy to uphold. Wouldn’t want him to feel... un-special."
He let out a soft, conspiratorial chuckle, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavent.
"And rember, boys and girls: the stronger you get, the closer you are to truly ’winning’ this ga."
His gaze lingered on , a promise of further tornt in his painted smile.
Suddenly, sections of the floor beneath us began to shift, revealing dimly lit shafts leading downwards.
"Ooh, look at those eager faces! Ready to get down and dirty, boys and girls? Round One... begins!" She giggled with a wicked wink, blowing a theatrical kiss.
Her voice purred with manic glee as she snapped her fingers at the sa ti.
A low hum filled the air, the sound of massive machinery engaging. Individual platforms, seemingly tailored for each player, rose from the floor, beckoning us. There was no polite invitation, no gentle suggestion.
It was an order, silently enforced by the unfolding architecture of this digital arena.
[EACH PLATFORM LEADS YOU TO THE DESIGNATED COMBAT ZONE.]
Fulltal’s voice cut through the hum, his projection appearing briefly on a smaller screen near each platform.
[THAT’S ALL. BEST OF LUCK. OR MAYBE NOT.]
the text accompanying his words read, a final, cruel flourish.
The other players, despite their earlier fury, began to hesitantly step onto their platforms. The allure of F-PP and the ultimate prize——was clearly a powerful motivator. I watched them, a grim sense of resignation settling over .
There was no room for escape at all.
This was my fight to begin with, whether I wanted it or not.
As the first few platforms began their descent, disappearing into the gloomy depths below, a cold dread coiled in my stomach. Facing a clone of Velvet... it felt like another layer of this ga’s psychological tornt.
This is not a fight, but a confrontation with an unsettling reflection, a twisted mockery of an already complex acquaintance.
And perhaps, this might be the last ti I could see the light.
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