"Yes!"
The crowd's roar shook the arena walls, a thunderous wave of bloodlust that made the air vibrate.
"How about spilling out some blood?"
Maragoya Makunda's voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"Hell yes!"
The crowd exploded, their excitement crackling like electricity through the packed stands.
"Makunda! Makunda!"
The chant built and built, each repetition louder than the last, until it became a pulse, a heartbeat of violence.
"Wow! I love his dancing. I can't get enough of him," Liona breathed into her headset, her pulse racing.
"My gosh, look at his chest! I am crazy about him. I love him so dearly, and he never disappoints me!"
"He is definitely going to win this match."
Dayana Johnson's words tumbled out fast, enthusiastic, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Maragoya Makunda raised both arms high, basking in the adoration.
"Shall I begin?" His grin was savage, hungry.
"Yes!"
The crowd's fever pitch threatened to crack the virtual sky itself.
Maragoya Makunda drew out his two swords in one fluid motion.
Metal sang as he attached them together—a red explosion erupted at the connection point, sending sparks cascading through the air.
He rushed at Delvin with blistering speed, leaving a trail of dust swirling in his wake.
Twenty yards out, he leaped skyward, his body twisting three times in mid-air—a lethal spiral.
His twin swords thrust downward, aimed directly at Delvin's throat.
"Wow!"
The spectators gasped in unison, the sound like wind rushing through a tunnel.
Delvin's reflexes kicked in. He ducked low, feeling the whistle of death pass inches above his head.
Maragoya Makunda landed cat-like on both feet, already switching weapons.
Four small knives materialized in his hands. He thrust them all at once.
Delvin darted left—the first knife whistled past. He twisted right—the second embedded itself in the ground beside him.
But the third blade found his thigh. Pain exploded through his leg. The fourth plunged into his belly. The fifth pierced his chest.
"Ahhh!" Delvin's cry tore from his throat, raw and primal. Blood bloomed across his avatar, spreading in dark crimson patches.
"Awesome!"
"Kill him!"
A spectator shouted, voice cracking with extreme thrill.
Delvin's health bar plummeted—five percent remaining. The red sliver pulsed ominously.
'Not good,' Delvin's thoughts raced, panic creeping at the edges. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his temples. 'I must win this fight.'
Maragoya Makunda launched six more knives in rapid succession. Each one found its mark—shoulder, arm, leg, side. Blood spilled out in streams, painting the arena floor.
"Spectacular!"
The crowd's acclaim washed over the scene like a tidal wave.
"I guess it's another loss for you, Morris,"
Nathaniel declared, his grin smug.
Morris's fingers worked at his ring nervously, twisting it round and round.
"I still believe in Alvin the Trickster!"
Morris hit back, though doubt flickered in his eyes.
Maragoya Makunda celebrated as if he'd scored the winning goal in a championship match.
He moved forward with predatory grace, his twin swords slashing Delvin everywhere—chest, arms, back, legs.
The crowd were on their feet, electrified, their screams creating a wall of sound.
Delvin collapsed to his knees, his avatar's strength draining away with each passing second. His breathing came in ragged gasps.
"Behead him!"
"Behead him!"
The crowd's suggestion rose in perfect unison, a chilling chorus.
"Any final words?"
Maragoya Makunda stood over him, savoring the moment.
"I—will—return—for—a—rematch."
Each word cost Delvin effort. Pain lanced through every nerve ending, even in the simulation.
"I—will—definitely—avenge."
The whisper barely escaped his lips.
"You need a thousand years of training to be able to defeat me!"
Maragoya Makunda's laugh was cruel.
He crossed his two swords on Delvin's neck. One swift motion. The blade cut clean through.
Everything went black.
---
Delvin gasped as the VR headset lifted him back to reality. His real body was drenched in sweat, his actual heart racing as if he'd run a marathon.
"Wow! That was intense. It felt so real."
His hands trembled slightly as he removed the gear.
"I hate losing!"
The mutter was bitter on his tongue.
He glanced at his watch—already noon. Always running behind, always in a hurry.
His fingers found his new smartphone in his pocket. Last night, after getting paid by Mr. Parker. Delvin had pushed himself to make the purchase.
The purpose was singular: get Jasmine's number and stay in touch with her. His pulse quickened just thinking about her.
---
Now, standing outside Plagatoscal Blueview Hotel, Delvin checked his watch again—12:15 PM.
George played idly with his bracelet, the beads clicking together in a rhythmic pattern. He asked the security guard to call Mr. Ben on their behalf.
A few minutes later, Mr. Ben emerged from the entrance. He was in a lively mood, full of joy, his face bright.
He adjusted his uniform before speaking, smoothing down the collar with both hands—a habit he'd had for years. His hand stretched out for a handshake.
"How are you?"
Delvin stood quickly, his hand reaching to meet Mr. Ben's. A genuine smile spread across his face, the kind that reached his eyes.
"I am fine. How are you?"
His grip was firm, warm.
A serene, calm atmosphere settled between them. Mr. Ben's smile widened as they continued shaking hands.
"I am fine, and it's lovely to see you again. Thank you for what you did last night."
Gratitude colored every word.
Delvin's chest swelled with quiet pride.
"It's lovely to see you too, and… Don't mention it."
The handshake lingered a moment longer before both men let go.
Mr. Ben's eyes shifted to George. His enthusiasm dimmed noticeably, like clouds passing over the sun.
"Hi, George."
The greeting was polite, but the warmth had evaporated. George's fingers worked faster at his bracelet.
The two definitely had a sarcastic past—the tension between them crackled in the air like static electricity. Mr. Ben cleared his throat, remembering why they'd come.
He needed to take them to Emasdale. However, George had already been there before. The awkwardness hung heavy.
"Well, I will go and ask for transport money from Miss Jasmine since Mister Parker is not around."
George's sharp voice suddenly erupted, cutting through the quiet moment.
"Yes, that's what we are here for!"
His bracelet twisted faster in his anxious fingers.
Mr. Ben stared at him with mischievous eyes that clearly communicated: 'I don't like you, so shut your stinking mouth.'
He adjusted his uniform again—smoothing, straightening—then turned and walked toward the hotel entrance. Five minutes crawled by.
Mr. Ben returned, his expression unreadable.
"Jasmine will sort you out. You can go into her office now."
Delvin's observant eyes caught the shift—Mr. Ben's mood had abruptly changed from lively to gloomy, like a switch had been flipped. There was no doubt he wasn't satisfied with the outcome.
'Did he want to escort us?' Delvin wondered. 'George knows the place already.'
His watch showed 12:30. He glanced at it. 'On the positive side, I'll meet Jasmine now.' His heart kicked up a notch.
'Great! Gather your courage, Delvin, and ask for her number. It shouldn't be difficult if you're as smart as you think.'
George interrupted his train of thought, his bracelet finally still.
"Delvin, shall we go?"
Reality snapped back into focus. Delvin nodded at Mr. Ben.
"Thank you so much."
The gratitude was genuine, heartfelt.
It didn't completely dissolve Mr. Ben's simmering frustration, but it eased something in his shoulders. He nodded once.
Delvin followed George down the corridor. They reached Jasmine's office door. George knocked—three sharp raps. They waited, anticipation thick in the air.