Tokyo, 1:47 a.m.
ArenaX HQ. The review hall glowed with monitors looping the same clip: a violet-skinned elf pressing a bomb to a knight's chest, smiling like it was a private joke.
"AAAND OUT." the avatar said.
BOOM.
The knight ragdolled into the ceiling, limbs flailing before bursting into pixel shards.
Half the room laughed every time it looped. The other half muttered how did he even pull that off? You have to think really outside of the box to be able to calculate this progression of the fight. I would argue that even most pros wouldn't come up with this type of execution," some random worker said while others nodded in unison. Some even said maybe it's just luck. I mean look how wild that is — predicting where you would fall around and thinking he would get up again then launching him into the other bombs. Like come on, it's kinda far-fetched.
Kenji Arakawa adjusted his glasses. He only asked one thing: "How viral can this go and how fast can you guys add this to the current ads we have for the next update? No — scratch that. Let's build around this clip to begin with."
Before anyone could even reply, the dev team was already working to fulfill his request.
A nervous developer raised his hand "Sir, the ID's shows diamond player top 20. With the name Arisu. But we haven't picked up anyone before with that name. So highly likely a player from the lottery and not from the main teams.Should we confirm before pushing this to the highlight reel?"
"Anonymous top twenty," Arakawa said, eyes still on the ragdolling knight. "even better. A nobody takes the game by storm this would be the best out come for our game."
The room went quiet.
"Use it," Arakawa said. "Pair it with Vassili's Vanguard clip. We will have some contrast with both players as main highlights for the update."
---
Two days later, millions leaned forward at once.
ArenaX Early Access | 1.4.1 Highlights
The announcer's voice rolled like a seasoned commentator: "Early access has shown us invention, recklessness, and brilliance. Five base classes. A forest of subclasses. And players breaking the rules faster than we can write them."
Clips:
– An assassin vaulting off a wall into a fatal plunge.
– A mage freezing the floor so an enemy skidded past helpless.
– A barbarian hurling an axe through a torch mid-flight, setting it aflame before splitting armor.
And Then black armored knight appeared. A hammer. A rune-buckler glowing with warded light.
Vassili Vassilikov. Looking straight at his victim through his spartan like helmet.
His opponent — a robed earth mage — floated into frame, adorned in robes laced with thick, curling vines and blooming petals. A crown of flowers spiraled down one arm, and from his other hand sprouted vibrant plant monsters, twisting into motion like dancers made of bark and blossom.
Without hesitation, the mage cast forward — the first vinebeast surged across the battlefield, roots spearing ahead like skewers meant to impale.
Vassili didn't budge.
The knight raised his rune-buckler and with a fluid, practiced twist, smashed downward in a sharp arc. The hammer connected with the vinebeast mid-leap — a crunch, then a burst of green sparks as the construct shattered into glowing debris. At the same time, he dropped low — a 90-degree back lean, slipping just beneath a second creature's lunging swipe. Roots grazed over his helmet but missed their mark.
Without losing a beat, Vassili pivoted on his rear heel, shifting his weight cleanly as the second vinebeast changed direction mid-air. It lashed out wildly — but the knight's rune-buckler met it edge-first, a sharp parry that knocked the roots aside. The creature recoiled.
Vassili responded with brutal precision — a full-bodied uppercut with his warhammer, driving upward with staggering force. The vinebeast rocketed upward, imploding mid-air into a burst of pollen and pixel light. The crowd gasped audibly as its fragments rained down like glittering leaves.
The mage staggered back, weaving another spell — walls of earth erupted from the ground, twisting and jagged. A carnivorous plant lunged upward, snapping toward Vassili's waist.
It didn't matter.
He charged through it all.
One root latched onto his leg — he ripped free with brute force. A wall tried to intercept — he vaulted it using his shield, kicking off the edge mid-jump. The carnivorous bloom scraped across his shoulder, leaving sparks — but he didn't flinch.
He never stopped moving. Pressure. Always pressure.
The mage tried to cast again — vines coiled for defense — but Vassili fainted a hammer strike, raising the weapon high, only to let it drop behind him with a thud. The mage hesitated — just a second.
That was enough.
Vassili hurled his shield.
The buckler flew like a discus, crashing into the mage's face — knocking his hood back, staggering him. In the same motion, Vassili stepped forward, retrieved his hammer from the ground, flipped it in one hand, and delivered a crushing side-swing that sent the mage flying sideways across the arena — body skipping against stone.
The knight closed the distance.
He just raised the hammer with both hands and brought it down. And just kept pounding and pounding.
The mage tried to cast, but he was constantly interrupted — every spell cut off mid-chant.
Until the hammer began to glow — red light surging through its runes.
CRACK.
The mage exploded into a thousand flickers of light, the force of the blow echoing through the stone coliseum.
A long pause.
Then, the announcer's voice came through — flat, almost dry:
> "Vassili... ughm. Great performance. Very… orderly manner."
The feed cut.
"And sometimes," the voice said, tone brightening, "you chose chaos."
As it replayed, the world leaned in.
The bombs. The collapsing pillars. The knight's desperate swing.
BOOM—BOOM.
The Silver Knight shattered into confetti light, fragments scattering like shredded paper caught in a storm. The phantom crowd howled as if they'd witnessed a championship upset. The clip looped again. And again. Until it was branded into every mind watching.
Chat went feral.
> HAHAHAHA Fatty Guapo got deleted 🤣
Why was his name hidden??
SOMEONE called him Gremlin, so we stuck with it.
GREMLIN GREMLIN GREMLIN.
ragdoll world record 💀
Top 20 Diamond?? Really??
---
Mexico City — Guapo
Fatty Guapo slumped in his pod chair, headset sliding crooked over sweat-damp hair. A half-eaten taco sat abandoned on a napkin, grease staining the desk. On-screen, his knight avatar somersaulted skyward for the tenth time, limbs pinwheeling like a broken marionette before bursting into pixels.
"Of all the highlights…" He dragged his palm down his face, voice muffled. "They had to pick this one?"
His chat didn't let up.
> RIP streak 🤣
50–0 ERASED.
bro's just a meme now
gremlin gaming LMAOO
Guapo jabbed his taco at the monitor like it was evidence in court.
"You can't tell me I played bad. Fundamentals were clean—shield up, spacing tight, crystal timings perfect. I had him down." He groaned, staring at the looping ragdoll. "It's just… who the hell plays Bombardier in ranked? Nobody! Everyone called it cheeks, only good for team fights. I believed that—until I got turned into confetti mode."
A donation popped up: Balloon Knight 💀.
The chat exploded with balloons.
Guapo froze, narrowed his eyes at the username. "Balloon Knight, huh? Real funny. Next time I see you, you're banned." He tried to sound angry, but the smirk broke through. "I swear, you clowns would laugh at my funeral."
Another donation pinged. Don't uninstall, papi. We need more balloons.
Guapo groaned, head thunking against his chair. "Uninstall's looking tempting."
The chat doubled over in laughter, balloon emotes filling the screen until it looked like a festival.
For a moment, he almost laughed with them—until something in his chest tugged. That clip. That elf. Those bombs. Gremlin wasn't just a joke. He was something else.
Guapo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, headset slipping back into place. His eyes locked on the looping replay. "Gremlin it is," he muttered. "Clip it, meme it, tattoo it, I don't care. Launch week—" he pointed at the camera, voice sharp now, "—I'm finding him. And this time, no balloons. No confetti. I'm ending it proper."
The chat roared approval.
But Guapo wasn't reading anymore. He was thinking.
---
Moscow Training Facility — Red Legion
The gym reeked of chalk, sweat, and iron. VR pods lined the wall like coffins waiting for names. Dumbbells clanged in calloused hands. This was where reputations were carved.
Vassili Vassilikov sat on a bench, wrists taped, curling dumbbells with mechanical rhythm. His eyes never left the wall screen, where Maurice's fight replayed on loop. Bombs, pillars, the ragdoll knight.
"Gremlin!" Jokic chuckled from across the room. "Captain, that's your rival now. Careful—he'll drop the ceiling on you too."
No one laughed.
Thomas, the vice-captain, set down his barbell with a deliberate thud. His voice cut sharp as steel. "We don't joke about nobodies. Especially not when we're paid to dominate every format ArenaX throws at us. Six players. Six slots. Every seat costs millions upon millions of dollars. You think highlights make rivals? No let me repharse that. Do you think that we the Red Legion have rivals?! Keep talking, Jokic, and I'll trade you myself. Thirty million out, and that nobody gets a rookie contract in."
The room stilled. Jokic's smirk faltered.
"You serious?"
Thomas leaned in, eyes cold. "Dead."
A teammate laid a hand on Jokic's shoulder, murmuring, "Prove your worth first. Joke later. Until then—watch your mouth."
Jokic bristled, jaw tight, but he swallowed the heat and looked away.
Vassili never broke rhythm. He set the dumbbells down, tape peeling against his skin. " also ArenaX is going to release new pods. Yes not revealed yet, I just heard it from the coach eitherway what I have heard is your physical fitness will play a role. Just like the classic fighting games. So I want you guys to pick up training by tomorrow and nobody slacks of or else just like Thomas mentioned. You will get traded. " then he looked back to the replay.
"Gremlin…" His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room. "I'll remember him."
That was all. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet every man in the room understood.
---
Maurice — Home
The café's neon sign buzzed and flickered as Maurice slipped out, one hand raised in lazy farewell to the receptionist. The night air carried fried food, gasoline, and damp heat.
At home, lemongrass tea mingled with detergent. His mother sat curled with a tablet; his father rattled in the kitchen, humming tunelessly.
"Eat first," his dad said, tossing him a bun. Maurice caught it without looking, biting before it even cooled in his hand.
Dinner was easy. His father complained about office politics at the water plant—five supervisor seats, ten men stabbing each other with clean boots and fake smiles. His mother sighed about zumba instructors invading her Pilates studio, rolling her eyes so hard Maurice thought they'd stick.
Later, sweat slicked across his shoulders from pull-ups, he sat at his desk, towel draped over his chair. Notebook open, bombs sketched with arrows and stick-figure knights exploding in doodles.
A notification blinked. ArenaX Early Access | 1.4.1 Highlights — LIVE.
As he watched everything he noticed something funny.
Chat spamming one word: GREMLIN.
Maurice stared, then grinned. Pen scratching, he underlined the word twice.
"Gremlin, huh?" he murmured. "Could work."
Maurice leaned back, twirling his pen like a fuse already lit. "Alright then," he whispered, grin tugging wide. "Gremlin it is."