For Cain Hastings, it'd been easy transitioning to the Change.
Of course it'd been. He'd been the undefeated heavyweight boxing champion of the world! They called him the 'Lion of Manchester.' Part of it was his lustrous golden mane and rather impressive handlebar mustache, if he did say so himself. Part of it was how he fought—always stalking forward, supremely confident. Always with a winning smile.
He'd been in the middle of thrashing some American chump in front a raucous home crowd when the Change struck—and the stadium was trapped in a zombie nightmare. He'd beaten his way out with his own two fists! His Faction, the Knights Templar, soon had the run of the British Isles. From there he went from glory to glory. Besting the cliffs of Dover. Routing the terrors at Loch Ness! He'd been beloved before. But now he was Britain's great hero.
Then it'd all gone horribly wrong.
It started when he challenged Irina Volkova to a friendly duel. A duel he'd loudly advertised—a duel on home soil with tens of thousands of his biggest fans in attendance. It was meant to cement him as the best in the world.
Instead it was the worst humiliation of his life.
It wasn't only that he lost the fight. It was how. She'd toyed with him. Frozen him physically and mentally. He was literally an ice cube by the end of it—frozen spread-eagled in some clownish pose. As he lay stuck there, struggling desperately to break free, he'd caught sight of his heartbroken fans lining up to leave the stadium. He watched them give up on him one by one.
When he got home, he found his men were putting away the balloons when he came back to the castle, scrubbing the paint off the wall—'CONGRATULATIONS! STILL UNDEFEATED! STILL OUR LION!' One last twist of the knife—they'd had such faith in him they'd already set up the victory party. Now none of them would meet his eyes.
That night—well, he may have shed a tear or two.
Alright. If he was perfectly honest, he sobbed all night. He hid away in his chambers after that, drowning in the shame of it. It wasn't just the shame, either—for the first time in his life, his confidence had been brutally and extremely publicly shattered.
So he wasn't the best in the world. Not even close. Why, Volkova practically made him look second-rate! When he was in that ring… he felt like he was staring up a sheer cliff with no handholds. A cliff that went up so high he couldn't see where it ended.
He moped for weeks on end. Eating little, sleeping even less. He grew haggard, disheveled. His mustache drooped listlessly.
Until one day, he decided…No.
This would not be the end of Cain Hastings!
He picked himself back up. For the first time in weeks, he waxed his mustache—it hadn't lost that fearsome quiver, he was pleased to see! He took up his gauntlets once more and went out into the world.
True champions got back up. He'd prove that fight was a fluke. He'd claim his mantle again. It was time for his great redemption! He came out with fire in his belly and started training harder than ever. It was what brought him to VGI.
…Except since then, he was still getting passed up!
He'd been World Rank #6 once. Then that sleepy Yuki boy passed him by. So did that Brazilian menace, Dos Santos. And Mike Masters too! He'd slid to a piddling 9th place.
It felt like every week a new prodigy was breaking through the Foundation. Popping up like weeds! Just last week, some girl in a hoodie he'd never heard of. Now this 'Zane Walker' was the talk of town.
Life lately felt like some devilish treadmill—the faster he ran, the faster it went. He was trying, damn it all! He felt like pulling his hair out.
Sometimes—in certain dark, vulnerable moments—he was wracked with a horrible fear. That there was nothing he could do; that there was simply an insurmountable gulf between him and the true elites of the world… how else could you explain it? He kept sliding and sliding…
He snorted, mustache quivering. "Nonsense!" he cried. He was a champion, and a champion never gave up on himself. The world might've written him off. To hell with them! It'd only be that much sweeter when he took back his throne.
***
"…That much sweeter when I take back my throne!" Cain harrumphed.
His butler Adam nodded. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."
They were ambling down the main road on their way to morning practice.
There was a crowd off to the left. Cain frowned at it. It circled the Asura Hell Array. Was that madman Eze having another go at it? That man… something about him made Cain nervous. He reminded Cain altogether too much of Volkova. They were nothing alike in personality besides the brutal competitiveness. Just that same disturbing feeling—like looking up a sheer cliff. He shuddered and tried thinking of other things.
"What's got them so fussed, anyway?" He grumbled.
The crowd were all looking at the portal, whispering heavily. He caught the name 'Zane Walker.'
Zane Walker. They spoke of him in such hushed, awed tones. He remembered when they used to speak of him that way. But ever since that Volkova loss…he felt a prickling of sourness.
"That Walker lad's giving it a go?" he said casually.
"Seems so."
"Say—do you believe the story they're telling? That he broke through in thirteen hours? Bit far-fetched, isn't it?"
Adam hesitated, looking carefully at his face. "I'm… not certain, sir. Err—there were many eyewitnesses."
"People say all kinds of nonsense."
"I don't know, sir."
"You think he's about to pass me up too?" Cain chuckled. "Am I about to be ranked number ten—reduced to double digits? Knocked down to fourth on the Asura Hell leaderboards, perhaps?" There was an odd and highly unpleasant churning in his gut.
"Err—"
"Of course not. Preposterous!" He blustered.
"You think so, sir?"
"What else would you have me believe? I took twenty-six hours to break through! What—that this 'Zane Walker' 's twice as fast as I am?" Cain snorted. "Please. Why—if that were true, I might as well give up here and now!"
He chuckled. Adam stayed silent. His heart sank. "…Adam?"
"Err—" said Adam again quickly. His butler swallowed. "Yes! Perhaps there's another explanation, sir."
"Oh?"
"I hear he's conquered some demonic Faction and gotten their inheritance. Certain forbidden Skills let you trade chunks of your soul—perhaps even your powers—to break through bottlenecks…"
Cain stared at him. Then he was flooded with relief; he let out a big belly laugh. "By God, man—now you've said it, it's obvious! Of course! What else could it be?"
He'd gotten scared for a second there. Imagine if there really was such a monster...
He stroked his mustache. "Youngsters these days, with their shortcuts! But at what cost? There's always a price to pay."
He nodded, chuckling. "Let him have his day in the sun! But it's like that old story, eh? The tortoise and the hare. The tortoise and the hare!"
"Yes, sir," said Adam, smiling nervously. "Very wise, sir."
***
Soon the portal started swirling faster and faster, and gasps rang out in the crowd.
"Seems our man's about to come out," mused Cain.
But he wasn't looking at the portal. He was staring straight at his own name on the leaderboard, and his heart was hammering. Zane Walker had only just broken through to Foundation! Surely not… right?
Then a new name joined the pack. And Cain's breath caught.
ℤ𝕒𝕟𝕖 𝕎𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕖𝕣
𝟛𝟘𝟘 𝕂𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤
He was stunned. They all were; the crowd exploded in whispers.
As they should! For Foundation fighters, 300 kills was—why, it was downright mediocre! Every top Ranker was a great talent; every great talent should be able to fight well above their Level. 300 kills meant Zane barely survived the third layer. Dare he say—a humiliating performance?
Cain let out a broad grin. Then he laughed; he couldn't help it—he was just so relieved. Yes—always a price to pay, a price to pay indeed!
Did he feel rather bad about feeling so relieved? Yes. Did he feel relieved anyway? Also yes.
The man himself, Zane Walker, stepped out of the portal. And on a whim, Cain strode out to greet him. The crowd parted before him. "Zane Walker! The man of the hour," he chuckled. Damn, but he was a big lad up close. Cain easily cleared six feet, and he had a muscular frame too. But Zane dwarfed him. Cain had to look up to meet his eyes. Still, he put on an easy grin.
"Pity about that kill count, eh? Chin up, lad! Let this be a lesson to you. You do things the right way or you'll pay for it. It's tempting to cut corners. But a solid foundation's what separates the champions from the chaff! Take it from me."
He gave the man a pat on the back and a winning smile.
Zane looked baffled. So did the rest of the crowd, for some reason.
Cain looked around, blinking. What was going on? He got the odd feeling he was missing something. Something rather important.
The operator cleared her throat. "As requested, Mister Walker, I ended your run early."
Cain froze.
"Your final run statistics are: 300 kills in 30 minutes."
There was a long, dead silence.
"Err," said Cain. His voice came out strangely high-pitched. He gave a nervous chuckle. "Pardon me, miss—I seem to have misheard. This will sound ridiculous, I realize—but I heard you say '300 kills in 30 minutes.'"
"I did say that," said the operator lady.
"300 kills. In 30 minutes."
"That's right."
"30 minutes!"
"Yes."
There was a hollow ringing sound in his head. He couldn't seem to stick two thoughts together. His mouth felt very, very dry.
"Thanks for the advice," Zane said blandly. He turned to walk away.
"Wait!" croaked Cain. "Halt! What did you do?!"
"What?"
"You've—you've done a deal with the devil! You've sold your soul—your powers! What is it?! Tell me!" They were all staring at him like he'd gone mad.
Zane didn't seem to understand. "What?"
"How did you break through?!"
"…I just sat down and did it." Zane said, blinking. "It wasn't hard."
A long, painful pause.
"…Ah."
Then Cain got a very familiar feeling.
Like he was staring up a sheer cliff. He felt rather dizzy all of a sudden.
Zane scratched his head and left.
***
Well, that was weird.
Anyway.
The last thing Zane did before he set off was to take another couple droplets of Essence of Morning Dew. He squeezed out just enough soul power to make one last Skill upgrade.
𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕖𝕧𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕕!
𝔼𝕩𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕊𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕙 (𝕃𝕖𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕪) -> 𝔸𝕡𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕪𝕡𝕤𝕖 𝕊𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕙 (𝕄𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕔)
This one he was happy testing on the battlefield.
He set off around noon. He expected to be back for dinner. Time to wipe out the Number 2 Faction in America.