Starhold was a small city with a big appetite for space. Spatial expansion cost a lot of money, a price that rose dramatically with every bit of extra space. But when space became worth its volume in gold, people became willing to push it quite far.
The Starhold Arena was a titanic maze of corridors and offices. Just like the university, if one wanted to make it anywhere on time, moving walkways and elevators were the only way to do so other than sprinting at dangerously high speeds.
Freddy followed Madame out into the labyrinth of paths, and before long, they were zooming along a walkway taking them to their mystery destination.
He had tried to hold his burning curiosity back, but ultimately, he failed. “So… Where are we going?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
And there was that.
Mustering what little patience he could collect in his jittery state, he remained quiet. Thankfully, the trip was short, and soon, they were at their location.
Madame jumped off the walkway, with Freddy following a confused step later, which, given the speed of the walkway, left him stranded around fifty meters away.
The previous series of hallways had been the general pod area, where right about everyone went to join the arena. This section had that extra sheen of polish—the spacing between the pod rooms was greater, the walkway was smoother, and the guards standing around emanated a stronger aura.
Always a taller tower, huh?
Putting his idle musing aside, he jogged over to Madame.
They moved past a guard and entered one of the pod chambers.
Freddy hadn’t seen what a normal pod chamber looked like, but he was sure it wasn’t this big. There were around fifteen people scurrying about, setting things into place and getting ready to work. Five of them appeared to be varying kinds of stylists, with the other ten acting as their assistants.
There was a series of mirrors alongside every wall in the room, with massive shelves full of all sorts of makeup, hair products, clothing, and stuff Freddy couldn’t even identify.
However, all of that was secondary to him. There was a… thing on the other end of the room that had his undivided attention—a pulsating, human-sized sack of flesh, with veins running across its surface and stray, very pubic-looking hairs sticking out here and there. On its top was something that Freddy could only describe as a… zipper of meat. The whole thing drooped, resting on the floor with all the glamor of a sagging testicle.
“What the fuck is that thing?” he muttered
“That’s the pod, Freddy,” Madame clarified.
He blinked, turning to face her. “That’s the pod!? The thing people use to enter the arena!?” He squinted at her. “This has to be a prank.”
Chuckling, Madame shook her head. “Oh, how I wish it was.” Clapping her hands, Madame attracted the attention of the workers there, who whirled to face them, quickly getting into a line. “Allow me to introduce you to the staff.”
Freddy shook hands with all the people there, who gave him a quick introduction of who they were and what they were in charge of. Four of them were stylists, and the fifth member was a persona advisor. Freddy had zero clue what that was, but he supposed he was going to find out soon enough.
“Follow me, please.” Madame gestured to Freddy and the persona advisor. “Oh, and Freddy, darling, would you please hand the armor you were planning to use to the staff? But I must warn you, if the set costs anything less than a hundred million, it won’t do you much good.”
“No, it should be fine.” Freddy extracted the armor set. It was a silver color, with black lining along the edges that gave it a regal, luxurious look. The runework was all hidden on the inside, leaving the outside free for plenty of styling, including a prominent logo of a bird Freddy couldn’t name in flight with “Milliure” written underneath.
He also handed them the massive heavy sword he was planning to use. Perhaps it was a bit excessive, but he hadn’t held back with the budget. At all. Why would he? He was only going to use the set in the arena, which meant it wasn’t ever going to suffer any damage. Reselling it would be a piece of cake.
Everyone among the staff gasped at the sight of the armor Freddy was pulling out, and even Madame raised an eyebrow. “You bought a Steppon Milliure set?
“Hm? A what now?” Freddy asked. “Uh… Yeah, I guess I did. Is there a problem?”
Facepalming, Madame released a laugh. “Oh, darling…”
“What? It's good armor, I can promise you that much.” It was one of the most expensive non-cursed sets he could find on short notice. It came with some pretty heavy-duty enchantments, and every single piece had a three-star tzenekite imbuement. It wasn’t the kind of gear he was a massive fan of in a real fight, since it would stop him from fully utilizing Leviathan’s Fury, but in the arena, he didn’t really have to care, did he?
“I am very well aware that a thirty-billion dollar set is good, dear. That is the kind of gear poorer Lords use. But if you are planning to use it, you are going to piss a lot of people off.”
Freddy scowled. “What? Why?”
“Henry, would you please?” Madame gestured to the persona advisor.
“Well, sir,” Henry started, coughing awkwardly, “performance matches are a delicate dance between flash and might. Nobody wants to lose, since the pain and the experience of death are very real. But everyone has to sacrifice a certain degree of power for the sake of entertainment. Showing up in such high-end armor is going to be… mildly problematic.”
“Oh.” Freddy realized what the problem was. “The other competitors are going to hate my guts aren’t they? Fuck! Freddy, you idiot!” He punched himself in the side of the head, causing every staff member to look at him askance. “Sorry, I’m just in a mood today.” He took a breath to calm himself down. “Is there a problem with that, though? So what if they hate me?”
“Well…” The man hummed. “The issue is with the way matches are hosted. You either have to host a match yourself or bid on one. Whether hosting or bidding, the other party gets to choose whether they want to match with you. And given that you will have a public ID… let’s just say that a good reputation in the community is imperative if you want to continue working.”
“So nobody will want to play with me, huh…?” Freddy scowled, pursing his lips as he suddenly recalled something. “Wait, isn’t there an anonymous category?”
“There is,” Madame confirmed. “But it’s full of reprobates.”
“Just as Madame said,” Henry confirmed with a nod. “Not to mention that the quality of those matches can be abysmal. Personas are matched randomly on mystery maps, which can make it difficult to improvise. That’s if you’re lucky enough to match someone who even cares about the act. You’re far more likely to land a troll who is just there to torment an opponent and make a mess of the whole setting.”
“Oh…” Freddy finally understood why some of the performance matches were so chaotic. This explained a whole lot he had been confused about. But there was an important detail not to be forgotten—”These matches, though… Some of them are still pretty popular, right?”
“Well…” Henry looked hesitant. “There is an audience for everything. But personally, I wouldn’t recommend partaking in the anonymous category.”
“I would,” Madame said, causing the many staffers to look at her in shock. Cupping her chin with a playful smile, she nodded to herself. “I think this is perfect for you, actually. Come,” she said to Freddy and the advisor. “Get the armor ready for action,” Madame said. “And someone, please contact Milliure. Tell them that the person wearing the armor is under my supervision so they wouldn’t kick up a fuss about their brand image.”
Freddy cocked an eyebrow. “I bought the armor. With my money. What right do they have to say how I’m allowed to use it?”
In response to that, Madame simply burst into laughter. “You still have so much to learn… Never mind that. We have other things to discuss.”
“Uh, Madame?” One of the stylists suddenly called, appearing quite disturbed. She raised the horrific mask with spikes on the inside with a worried look. “I believe Mr. Stern dropped a spare item.”
“No… No, he did not.” She smiled. “He will be wearing that, too.”
The horror on the woman’s face was palpable. “But… If we’re doing his costume, he will have to… put this on… before…”
“Yes, darling.”
“Oh. Should we uhm…”—she glanced at the mess of jagged spikes on the inside, flinching— “call an anesthesiologist over, if that is the case?”
Madame glanced at Freddy.
He laughed and waved them off. “Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
“You heard the madman,” Madame said with a wry grin. “Now please, get on with it.”
“Yes, Madame.” The woman appeared slightly pale at the thought, and the other stylists were clearly trying their best not to glance in Freddy’s direction.
The three of them moved to an empty corner.
“Now…” Madame put her hands together, fingers splayed out, an excited grin settling upon her face.
“Before you say anything,” Freddy interrupted. “I’d like to clarify a few things.”
“Go on.”
“Thank you, Madame. All right, so… I’m going to be honest, I came here because I thought it would be fun. But from what I see, you plan on helping me turn it into an extra layer of drama, right? Like, when we do the interview, we’ll go ‘ah, would you look at that, people, he is also that one guy from the arena’ on top of all the other stuff?”
“Indeed.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Yeah, I’m down for that. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page here.”
“Not a problem. Although I do want to add that this also makes for good insurance. There is a high chance that your identity as Freddy Cliff will be revealed the moment the right—or wrong—person takes a look into it. I’m trying my best to keep the progress of these rumors in check, but it’s not something I can control. This way, we’ll have a backup.”
“Right.” Unable to keep the smirk off his face, Freddy said, “Should I—”
“No, you should not go and start making a dozen secret identities.”
A visible look of disappointment on his face, he coughed. “Okay. You were saying?”
Turning on her heel, she began pacing back and forth. “Performance matches are fascinating in many ways. Their premise is simple, and their rules are few. The goal is to be as interesting as possible. The arena is heavily subsidized by the empire, but it is still a business. There are fees, sponsors, tickets, patronages—every pair of eyes has a price, and a portion of that goes to the performers.
“Your greatest advantage, to put it bluntly, is that you are way too rich to care about any of this. This is important to keep in mind, since you are here for a reason, even if that reason isn’t money.” She stopped and looked him directly in the eye. “Why are you here?”
Caught off-guard by the question, he paused. “I… I mean… For fun? But other than that, I do owe you that interview, and if this spices it up, I… I guess I’ll get that extra bit of fame from it.”
“And what use is that fame to you?”
“I… I’m honestly not sure how to answer that. I guess it’s kind of inevitable for me to get famous eventually, and I suppose the lesser evil here would be for that to happen on my own terms.”
Smiling, she nodded. “That’s not a bad answer, but you have a bit of a misconception about fame in the empire. From what I can tell, you seem to think it an objective negative, but a heart’s craving, no? A vice you desire but one that is ultimately not to your advantage.”
Giving a half-hearted shrug, he frowned. “I mean yeah. I do want to be famous, but let’s be real, attention like that isn’t exactly great for your health.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
He grunted. “How so?”
“Because you misunderstand a fundamental rule of American politics. While there is a lot of competition, and there are indeed many who would gladly extinguish rising stars, there is no denying that talented archhumans are an invaluable resource to the empire’s future. The more public your identity is, the more people will ask questions if something happens to you. In fact, top factions will gladly invest a mountain of resources into investigating your death, just in case a political rival of theirs had something to do with it.”
Freddy snorted. “Don’t I have the protection of the Umbras?”
“And who will keep you safe from them?”
“The empire?” he suggested with a scowl.
Smile widening, she asked, “And who will keep you safe from them?”
His mood falling, he hummed in displeasure. “I see. Isn’t it best to get this over with as quickly as possible, then?”
Madame shrugged. “You weren’t wrong with your first answer, darling. Establishing that fame on your terms is the lesser evil, indeed. And that’s what we’re here to do. I want you to answer a very important question. Not just to me, but to yourself. Freddy—what do you want to achieve with the performance arena? When the day comes, and you take the mask off, what do you want the audience to feel?”
A long moment of silence passed. Perhaps on another day, he would have had to fish deep into his mind for the answer. But at that moment, the answer was clear as day. He saw the numerous mocking faces of everyone who had ever looked down on him. And he knew damn well what expression he wanted to see instead. “I want them to be afraid of me.”
Nodding as if she expected the answer, she stepped back. “Fear it is. A good choice, too. Fear and respect go hand in hand, and you will need plenty of both if you have any serious plans of becoming a Lord in the future. And what do you think your persona should be, then?”
Freddy gave himself a long moment to think about it. It would be obvious to just make the persona scary or brutal in some way, but he felt that was a bit lacklustre. It would slot him right in with all the trolls who already plagued the anonymous matches. Sure, with his power, it would be easy for him to be scary, but he also needed to be interesting.
I’m already a pretty scary guy in real life, no? He slowly nodded. I need a contrast.
He walked up to the mirror. Then, he started singing. He had never gotten particularly good at it, but he was passable. He emulated the style of an opera singer, lowering his voice.
Once he was satisfied with how it sounded, he started speaking while maintaining that same cadence. “Halt right there, fiend!” He posed heroically, his voice and demeanor strongly resembling that of some kind of exaggerated hero from a children’s cartoon. “I have received word of a no-good evildoer on the loose, and I am here to stop you in your tracks!” Pressing a thumb to his puffed-out chest, he shouted, “Prepare for justice!”
Madame burst into laughter. “I must say, your acting is surprisingly good, but… really?”
Turning around with a massive grin, Freddy said, “I gave it some thought, and I realized something. It doesn’t necessarily matter what kind of persona I play as long as it provides enough contrast. I think I would like to try it out in action.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Madame shrugged. “There is no harm to experimenting, I guess. Worst case scenario, since it's anonymous, you can just swap the armor and try something else. Let’s get you dressed up, then.”
Freddy moved over to the stylists, where he saw his armor being done up. They were doing an extremely subtle paintjob on the armor. It gave it a slightly worn veneer, taking off that polished sheen in favor of a more natural look. The shadows looked just a bit deeper, and if he was seeing things correctly, the shading was done in such a way that he would look great no matter what kind of lighting he found himself in.
They were also preparing a whole collection of extra fluff on the side, from capes to crowns to horns, giving him plenty of options.
He was asked about whether he wanted anything changed, and he saw no reason to give them extra work. He ended up picking the cape, and with that, he was ready to start getting dressed.
“Uh… Sir…?” The stylist woman approached, holding the mask. “I take it you won’t be doing any makeup?”
“Oh, no. This will do.” He snatched the mask and then put it up to his face. Given that his flesh was pretty tough, the mask didn’t really want to sink in. He simply balled up his fist, smashing it into the mask until it was fully embedded into his face.
Every time his fist landed on the metallic face, everyone in the room flinched, with many turning around and even plugging their ears not to hear it.
He stemmed the bleeding with some light application of blood essence, and just as he was about to pull the spark of undeath from his storage ring, he paused.
It might not be the best idea to show that thing to Madame, huh?
“Uh…” His voice had a metallic note to it.
“Something wrong, dear?” Madame asked.
“I just remembered I don’t have a way to heal here. You’ve got something for me to punch?”
Chuckling to herself, Madame pulled a small mass of nondescript flesh from her storage ring. It made sense she’d keep some in stock, given her powerset.
Freddy gratefully accepted it and gave it a few punches. It healed him quite a bit more than the spark of undeath, a testament to the level of Madame’s mastery over life. He healed it just enough to heal around it, but not enough to kick it off his face. Once he had the helmet on, he wouldn’t have to fear losing the mask from extra lifesteal, as the helmet would keep it firmly in place.
“All done!” he declared. “Now, let’s get the costume on.”
They dressed him up, and before long, he stood before the mirror, armor on. He gave it a bit of a test, surprised at how light the armor felt on his body. His movement was barely hindered, which made sense given the price tag. It was a damn nice armor.
“Time to try this baby in action.”
Making his way over to the sac hanging from the wall, he located the screen. There, he selected PERFORMANCE MATCH: ANONYMOUS as the desired format. He could choose to be matched only against people his own rank, or also against people a rank above him. Not below him, though. “Makes sense, I guess.” He kept the rank to only two-stars.
He didn’t want to cause too much of a ruckus right off the get go. Besides, he would likely have to wait a while for a three-star to match up, and he did not want to spend any more time in the sac than was necessary.
Given how most of the parameters in this category were random, there was nothing else to select.
He begrudgingly crawled into the flesh sac. It was suffocating and uncomfortably warm. I hate this so much.
As soon as he closed the flesh zipper, the sac filled up with fluid, and he felt a gentle essence brush up against him, asking to be allowed into his body. Accepting, he lost consciousness.
***
Zack loved the Starhold Arena.
He was enough of a man to admit it—he was a sick fuck.
All he ever wanted to do in life was kill. But monsters couldn’t quite sate his appetite, and he wasn’t confident enough in himself to head over to the front lines against human nations. Not yet.
For the longest time, he had to settle for haunting poor cities. And while that was definitely fun, the secrecy killed a lot of his enjoyment. He wasn’t stupid enough to leave some kind of signature—that was a good way to get caught.
And just as he was getting tired of grinding his way to the third star, his path to the promised land was revealed. A stage where he not only had an audience, but also complete safety from the law, and he even got paid? It was a dream come true.
Sure, he lost a match or two here and there, and yes, nobody really died, which did kind of sap the fun out of it, but for the most part, it was a great time for everyone involved.
Just as he did every day, he appeared at the arena, matching up for the anonymous category. He had long burned the public bridges, but thankfully, there were plenty of dumb hopefuls taking their chances with the mystery matches.
He didn’t have to wait long for the pod to whisk him away.
The map was a bit of a disappointment. It was a generic picturesque forest, like something out of a girly fairy tale.
Clicking his tongue, he raised the rusty saw, resting it on his shoulder as he looked around. “Now, where are you hiding…?”
“Halt right there!” a cartoonish voice with a metallic undertone sounded from behind a nearby tree. A man in ridiculous armor strode out, pointing a gigantic sword in Zack’s direction. “Foul villain! Prepare to meet your end!”
Zack grinned.
Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.