After winning the VR race, the world slowly crumbled before my eyes. The roar of the engine still echoed in my ears, and my heart was beating as if I were still driving.
Iacreamore greeted her with a familiar yet unsettlingly strange appearance. There was no conventional architecture here.
The houses that stretched along the streets seemed to have been assembled from what someone had left behind: roofs made of old tin cans, walls made of compressed plastic and glass shards.
In some of the alleys, giant mushroom caps stood in place of houses, with rope bridges connecting them.
—It's like a dream made of trash.
As I ran my hand along the cool, sticky surface of the wall, my attention was soon drawn to a strange object in the heart of the city: a giant oak tree.
It was so large that it easily held an entire building in its lower half. The surface of the walnut was polished and gleaming, as if the tree itself had agreed to become a place for people to stay.
A faded sign hung at the entrance, with crooked letters written on it:
[ Eichel's Bar]
The golden letters seemed to be slightly shaking, as if they were laughing at the passersby.
—A bar... Even here, there's a place where people drink.
I climbed the steps to the massive bark door. It smelled of smoke and tar, as if someone had set fire to a forest but it hadn't burned completely.
I was about to push the door open when it suddenly swung open. A tall player came out to meet him with a hard look, almost contemptuous, and a thin and sharp smile.
At first glance, he looked like an ordinary avatar: simple leather armor, a belt with dried spots, and a long blade on his back. But there was a sign above his head that it was impossible not to notice, the Red Skull.
—You? A weakling like you decided to enter the Eichel? Don't even make me laugh. This bar is not for people like you.
He chuckled, looking me up and down. His voice was harsh, loud, and people started turning around.
—It's him…
—PCasher, he's been killing people in the city and in the locations. I've heard that he's been kicked out of the city three times, but he keeps coming back.
A player nearby was whispering, and a crowd was gradually gathering around. People were trying to keep their distance, but their voices echoed through the square, and then their eyes turned to me.
—Who's this? Look, this creature's name is glowing...
—Is that a player? Or maybe it's a monster that got into the city?
—No... Monsters don't have names above their heads. So he's a player. Just... strange.
Would you like to be looked at by a crowd of people? I didn't feel very comfortable either. The whispers spread like poison.
I could feel their eyes on me, some suspicious, others openly hostile. The man with the red skull in his name tilted his head to the side, as if enjoying my confusion.
—Did you hear that? Even they aren't sure who you are. But I know that you're too pathetic to go any further. If you want to enter, prove that you have the right to do so.
I held my breath, my instincts telling me this was bad. So soon into the game, and already on a PCasher with a red skull. A good start, to say the least.
The player with the mocking red name Leroy45 stepped closer, his smile cold and vile.
—Well, you're a weakling. You look like you haven't even figured out the menu yet. No, that's not the only thing... That smile looks familiar. Do you know who you look like? That yellow bastard from the old anime... the alien assassin.
He said the last words with such contempt that the crowd around him snorted, and some even chuckled nervously. Leroy45 slowly drew his sword.
—You know, I'm actually curious to see how many hits you can take with a single blow. Let's find out, shall we?
He raised his blade, and for a moment, it was clear that he intended to strike right there in the square. The players around him froze, some backing away, others eagerly awaiting the spectacle.
But I didn't feel anything, and suddenly a figure in a long, dark cloak appeared between them. With a single motion, he grabbed Leroy's blade before it could fall.
The name flashed on the screen: Zikei. This caused a storm of emotions among the crowd.
—Enough with the circus.
The crowd buzzed like a disturbed hive, whispers and murmurs spreading across the venue with increasing intensity.
—Did you hear that? Is that... Zikei?
—It can't be! I was certain that he had long disappeared, retired from the game.
—They say he used to be able to solo the most difficult dungeons, clearing them out until the last monster was gone...
Leroy45's face contorted into a vicious expression, his teeth bared in a snarl as he frantically tried to pull his blade from his opponent's grip.
But Zikei's fingers closed around the weapon with incredible force, as if they were made of stone rather than flesh and blood. Leroy tensed, but the weapon remained motionless, as if it had become part of a massive rock.
Zikei's movement was swift but confident, and his gaze was stern and even eerily calm.
—Get out. This has nothing to do with you.
Zikei looked him straight in the eye.
—Don't kill beginners here for fun. Move aside and you'll be fine.
The silence was so thick you could hear my heart beating. Leroy45 hesitated, his red skull glowing above his head brighter than the neon lights.
I suddenly found myself wondering who Zicay was and why his name had caused the crowd to freeze in fear and respect.
The crowd of players froze as a dark-cloaked figure stepped forward. Long black hair fell down from under the hood, and a carved ekai mask covered his face, a eerie, sharp-featured mask that seemed to have been carved from darkness.
Cold green eyes glowed through the slits of the mask. They looked straight at Leroy45, and there was more threat in that gaze than in a drawn blade.
—It's not proper to pester the newcomers and shame them for their choice of race.
The samurai's voice was low and calm, but every word sounded as if the drawn katana had already slid across the enemy's throat.
I couldn't help but meet his gaze.
And for a moment, my heart clenched. Those green eyes... I've seen them somewhere before. A strange image flashed through my mind, a brief moment of déjà vu, a familiar chill, as if this player was more than just a random defender.
—Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?
Leroy45 exploded, brandishing his sword. His voice shook, but his anger overcame his fear.
—Do you think a mask and a cheap show will stop me?
The crowd began to stir, and whispers spread like waves across the square. The name Zikei, displayed above the samurai's head, had already made an impression: some of the players chose to retreat to a safe distance, but they still hesitated to leave, held back by the grip of curiosity.
—If that's your will... I challenge you to a PvP match!
A system notification immediately appeared before Disava's eyes:
[ Player Zikei challenges player Leroy45 to a duel. ]
The samurai bowed his head slightly, his green eyes narrowing.
—Fine, but on one condition. The winner gets everything left after the opponent's death. Every last piece.
—Wow, a full loot!
—This Zikei is crazy... Leroi asked for it!
—But if Zikei loses, he'll lose everything...
I clenched my fists, because I didn't know this Zikei, and I didn't understand why his eyes seemed familiar to me, but I had a strange feeling... as if the outcome of this fight mattered to me.