Standing in the white enclosed space, Purple Berry thoughts swirled with disbelief as she recalled her battle against Dreamscape.
"How?" she muttered, pacing back and forth. "I didn't even see anyone attack! Isn't my armor supposed to reduce damage by eighty percent? Or… was it someone with a level two gift?"
Her hands clenched into fists as frustration coursed through her. "Wait, how the hell did he even kill me?!"
She accessed the simulation's replay system, pulling up the recording of her recent battle.
The holographic projection blinked to life in front of her, displaying the dark, winding tunnels she'd navigated.
Her gaze fixed on her own movements as she watched herself darting through the maze, her blade at the ready.
The replay progressed uneventfully—until the moment of her death.
The instant replayed in vivid, merciless detail: a single, sharp shot, and then… nothing.
Purple Berry frowned, rewinding the footage and slowing it down to x0.5 speed.
The privacy terms of the simulation barred her from seeing the perspective of her opponent, forcing her to rely solely on the external replay of her movements.
It wasn't until her third viewing that clarity began to emerge. Her eyes narrowed, catching a subtle flash in the distance just before the bullet struck.
"A sniper," she muttered, her lips tightening.
The revelation gnawed at her.
But, even if her opponent had used a sniper rifle, the numbers didn't add up.
"The damage from a sniper powered by the highest affinity level-one gift should be around 120," she reasoned, mentally calculating.
"And with my Jem Armor reducing 60%—thanks to the low defense of my helmet—I should have had about 28% health points left."
Her frustration deepened as she replayed the shot again, scrutinizing every detail.
"For me to be killed with a single shot…" She trailed off, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind.
Her eyes widened as she came to the inevitable conclusion.
"His battle strength must be at level two," she whispered, her voice tinged with both awe and anger. "Same with the level of his gift."
The weight of that realization settled on her like a stone.
If her opponent truly had a level two gift, it explained the overwhelming force behind the attack. But it also raised another, more unsettling question.
Who the hell is Dreamscape?
—
Desmond stood motionless in the sterile white space, his mind replaying every moment of his recent victory.
His brow furrowed as he dissected his performance, noting both the successes and failures.
"With so much distance between us, I ended up missing my mark," he muttered to himself. "Instead of her brow, it seems I hit her nose."
The miscalculation gnawed at him slightly, though relief tempered his disappointment. At least he'd pinpointed a weakness to work on.
Shaking off the thought, he pulled up the simulation interface and prepared for his fourth battle of the day.
This would be the second-to-last before hitting his daily battle quota—a rule designed to prevent overexertion.
The simulation whirred to life, transitioning him into the battlefield.
---
The moment Desmond materialized, an icy gust tore through him.
He squinted, his vision adjusting to the blinding expanse of snow and frost. Mere meters away, clouds swirled ominously, the thin air biting at his skin.
"Cold," he muttered through chattering teeth, instinctively wrapping his arms around his body as he crouched low.
The freezing air seemed to seep through every crack in his armor, sending a bone-deep chill through him.
The Jem Armor, sensing the sharp temperature drop, emitted a warning in his HUD:
(Temperature Critical. Releasing heat to maintain functionality)
A moment later, hot steam hissed from his suit, enveloping him in a warm cocoon.
Desmond let out a sigh of relief as the warmth spread across his body.
"Long live, Levi Jeremy," he muttered in thanks to the legendary creator of the Jem Armor, his lips curling into a faint smile.
Rising to his feet, he took a moment to absorb the breathtaking yet unforgiving landscape.
The snow stretched endlessly in all directions, glistening under the pale light. The peaks of the mountain loomed in the distance, jagged and majestic, their heights vanishing into the misty heavens.
"Welcome to Mount Everest, Desmond," he whispered, the awe in his voice tempered by the deadly reality of the terrain.
His gaze shifted to his armor, the deep black color standing out starkly against the pristine white surroundings. With a quick command, he activated the color-adjustment system.
In moments, the black faded to white, blending seamlessly with the snowy environment.
But his precaution came a step too late.
A streak of red tore through the icy air, its fiery glow crackling against the stillness of the snow.
The flames hissed as they clashed with the cold, leaving a faint trail of heat in their wake.
The flaming arrow slammed into Desmond's chest, its impact resonating like a thunderclap through the frozen silence.
The force sent him stumbling backward, his breath catching as the heat seared through his armor.
Desmond's body twisted in freefall, the icy winds cutting through his armor like daggers.
The explosion from the flaming arrow had hurled him off the mountain's edge, sending him plummeting into the abyss below.
Acting on instinct, he thrust his right hand upward, his fingers digging into the jagged surface of the frozen rock.
The impact jolted his entire body, and a sharp pain shot through his arm.
With a grunt, he swung his left hand upward, finding another hold to support his weight. The strain eased slightly, but his muscles burned with effort.
(-1% Health Points)
The notification flashed across his HUD, briefly distracting him from the numbing cold that battled for control with the resisting hot steam of the Jem Armor.
99% damage reduction is really insane, he thought, marveling at how little damage the flame arrow had inflicted.
The advantage stemmed from his Affinity stat, now rated at an impressive 6 - a feat unheard of for a level-one Jury.
It was a testament to what his system was capable of if given consent from the Will of Crown of Glory.
His eyes flicked to the map Kenny had displayed in the corner of his HUD. A single red dot indicated his opponent's position.
He's quickly heading this way.
Desmond's mind raced, calculating his next move. He needed to regain the upper hand, and quickly.
His plan took shape as he tightened his grip on the frosty rock, his determination hardening like the ice beneath his hands.
I just need a single shot with Hades, two with Zenith and Rainfall, or three with Kiss of Death to end the battle, he mused, visualizing the weapons as he planned his counterattack.