After spending some time resting in his room, Xian let out a long breath, his thoughts running over the adjustments he had made to his equipment and strategies. The muffled chatter from outside began to grow louder, signaling the next round was about to start.
A voice crackled over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, the match you've all been waiting for is about to begin! Participants, please make your way to the arena!"
Hearing the call, Xian stood up, securing his gear one last time. He muttered to himself, "Alright, time to see how far I can take this." Despite his calm demeanor, he mentally braced himself, knowing Exusiai's relentless energy would make this match anything but straightforward.
Leaving his room, Xian made his way through the hallways, the cheers and murmurs of the crowd growing louder with each step. By the time he reached the entrance to the arena, the noise was almost deafening.
As he stepped into the arena, the audience erupted into applause and cheers. Some called out his number or nickname, showing their support. Others made comments about his mysterious mask and composed presence.
On the other side of the arena, Exusiai stood waiting, her signature cheerful grin plastered across her face. She waved at him enthusiastically the moment he entered, her energetic voice cutting through the noise. "Hey, Mask Guy! You ready for this? I hope you didn't hold back during practice, 'cause I'm going all out!"
Xian responded with a simple nod, keeping his expression neutral behind the mask. He raised his hand slightly in acknowledgment, but his focus remained sharp.
Exusiai pouted at his lack of response but quickly perked up, her excitement bubbling over as she began adjusting her weapons. "Alright then, let's see what you've got!"
The announcers wasted no time hyping up the match, their voices booming through the arena. "This is it, folks! A clash of precision, strategy, and pure skill! On one side, the ever-enthusiastic sharpshooter Exusiai from Penguin Logistics! And on the other, the mysterious dark horse who's taken the competition by storm!"
The crowd roared in approval, their excitement electrifying the atmosphere.
Xian took his position, mentally preparing himself for the worst possible outcomes. His eyes scanned the arena, taking in every detail of the layout, the targets, and even the wind conditions. He tightened his grip on his weapon and steadied his breathing.
The announcer's voice rang out once more, signaling the start. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the match begin!"
The buzzer sounded, and the match was on.
The arena buzzed with anticipation as the round began, the obstacles shifting into place and targets moving unpredictably across the field. A moment of tense silence was quickly shattered by the resounding buzzer, signaling the start.
Exusiai sprang into action, twin pistols drawn in a fluid motion, her infectious laughter echoing through the air. "Let's see if you can keep up, Mask Guy!" she called out, her movements a blur as she began firing at the targets.
Xian, pulling his own twin pistols from his hips, immediately started shooting, his shots landing close but not quite hitting the moving targets. His motions were steady yet lacked the finesse Exusiai exhibited. She noticed his struggle and couldn't resist a playful jab.
"Come on, is that all you've got? Don't tell me you're going to lose this quickly!" she teased, her voice lighthearted but challenging.
Xian ignored her mocking tone, his focus sharpening. His mind raced as he analyzed the movement patterns of the targets and obstacles, breaking them down into a mental algorithm. His frustration began to ebb as his calculations clicked into place.
His movements changed. What began as stiff, calculated shots turned into a graceful flow of motion. Xian's arms moved with precision, his steps calculated yet fluid. He fired, and the sound of a target shattering confirmed his success. Another shot, another hit.
The crowd, initially worried about his slow start, erupted in cheers as they witnessed his rapid adaptation. Texas, observing from a private room, narrowed her eyes. She leaned forward slightly, her voice low.
"That's… swordsmanship? But… with guns?" she muttered, bewildered by the elegance of Xian's movements. His style wasn't just about shooting; it was a combination of precise, deliberate strikes and fluid, almost dance-like footwork.
Exusiai, still darting across the arena with her trademark energetic style, was momentarily distracted when one of the moving obstacles clipped her shoulder. She stumbled, a rare misstep, and gasped in surprise. Quickly recovering, she gritted her teeth, her frustration evident as she doubled down, her movements more aggressive yet still retaining their elegance.
Meanwhile, Xian's plan was taking shape. In his mind, he combined his appraisal ability with the targeting information provided by his weapons' scopes. By integrating this data with his growing understanding of the obstacle and target movements, he adapted a novice-level swordsmanship foundation into his shooting. His shots grew more precise, his dodges more fluid.
Xian leapt onto a rotating platform, twisting his body midair as he fired. His shot shattered a target moving at a near-impossible angle. He landed smoothly, immediately transitioning into a roll to dodge a swinging obstacle. From the roll, he sprang into a backflip, firing midair and hitting two more targets.
The crowd roared. The spectacle was unlike anything they'd ever seen.
Exusiai, who prided herself on her unparalleled shooting and agility, was stunned. Her jaw tightened as she continued to fire and dodge, her frustration slowly giving way to genuine admiration.
"Using swordsmanship moves with guns… Who even does that?" she muttered under her breath, her eyes glued to Xian's movements.
As the round continued, Xian used every element of the environment to his advantage. When a swinging obstacle came toward him, instead of dodging, he leapt onto it, letting its momentum carry him closer to the targets. From his perch, he fired a series of pinpoint-accurate shots before jumping off and landing in a flawless roll.
Exusiai's frustration peaked as she tried to match his moves, only to find herself one step behind. Despite her own skills, Xian's unorthodox style left her both dumbfounded and impressed.
"Alright, Mask Guy, you're full of surprises," she muttered, a grin tugging at her lips despite herself.
But just as the match reached its peak, Xian suddenly stopped. His guns lowered, and his head tilted slightly as he seemed distracted. The audience murmured in confusion, their cheers fading into puzzled whispers.
Exusiai, Texas, and even the judges all turned their attention to him, wondering what had happened.
Xian reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. The arena fell silent, save for the faint buzz of a call.
It was Ch'en.
Xian frowned as the call ended abruptly, replaced by a text notification: Change of plan.
Understanding the gravity of the message, Xian sighed, muttering to himself, "Figures it'd be now." Without hesitation, he turned and began running toward the arena's exit.
The crowd gasped in shock.
"Wait, what's he doing?" Exusiai shouted, her competitive spirit flaring. "You can't just run off! Get back here!"
Xian glanced over his shoulder, his voice carrying across the arena. "I forfeit."
The single declaration sent waves of confusion and disappointment through the audience.
"Hey!" Exusiai shouted again, her frustration boiling over. "You can't just ignore me again!"
But Xian didn't stop. His pace quickened as he dashed out of the building, leaving behind a bewildered Exusiai, a cautious Texas, and an audience that would be talking about the mysterious contestant for days to come.
Xian's breath came in short, panicked bursts as his feet pounded the hard concrete of the city streets. His phone, clutched tightly in his hand, displayed nothing but the last set of coordinates that had been sent to him. His attempts to call Ch'en had gone unanswered, leaving him with a growing sense of unease. The streets around him were unusually silent, as if the city itself held its breath. Something wasn't right.
He cursed under his breath, his mind racing for any explanation. The coordinates—those final, cryptic numbers—had been the last thing he'd received before everything spiraled into chaos. What were they leading him to? And why hadn't Ch'en responded?
As he ran, he tried to regain a sense of clarity, his exhaustion gnawing at him. His legs felt like lead, but his thoughts were sharper than ever. Focus, he told himself, forcing himself to think through the haze. He needed to make sense of the situation before it was too late.
But the more he thought about it, the more the pieces refused to fit together. Something was off. His instincts—those honed by a year of surviving in Terra—were screaming at him, telling him he was being led into a trap. But why? And who was behind it?
His phone buzzed again, pulling him from his thoughts. He checked it absently, hoping for something that might give him a hint. But all it did was confirm his growing dread.
It clicked.
A trap. It had all been a set-up.
A cold chill ran down his spine as the realization hit him. He was being manipulated, his every move guided by unseen hands. There was no time to waste. He spun on his heel, his muscles screaming in protest, and began to run in the opposite direction. But just as his feet hit the pavement, another buzz from his phone stopped him in his tracks.
He glanced down.
The message was simple, chilling: Gotcha.
Before he could react, a sharp, blinding flash of light streaked toward him from behind, its trajectory deadly and precise. His heart skipped a beat, but before panic could take hold, years of training and the sharp instincts he'd developed in Terra kicked in. Without thinking, his body moved, sidestepping the attack with a speed he hadn't known he still had in him.
The flash passed him with a deadly hiss, embedding itself into the concrete in front of him, leaving a smoking hole where it had struck. A moment later, his eyes locked onto the object that had come so close to ending his life—a black metal arrow, its shaft gleaming in the fading light.
Xian didn't waste time dwelling on the near-miss. His eyes darted around, searching for the source. And then, he saw them.
Five figures stood across the street, their forms cloaked in black robes that fluttered ominously in the wind. They were calm, their stances steady and unhurried as they watched him, as if they knew exactly what he would do next.
A pang of panic shot through Xian, but he quickly stifled it. He couldn't afford to let fear control him—not now, not when he needed his wits the most.
His gaze shifted, scanning for an escape route. There—a motorcycle parked along the curb, its sleek frame promising speed and mobility. Without thinking, he sprinted toward it, adrenaline surging through him. The engine roared to life with a twist of the throttle, but Xian didn't stop there. His fingers flew over the controls, modifying the bike with the precision of a seasoned mechanic. He had just enough time to make it his own, tweaking the engine and systems for maximum speed.
As he completed the final adjustments, another arrow zipped past him, grazing his cheek. He flinched, feeling the sting of the scratch, but there was no time to dwell on it. He gunned the engine and shot forward, the motorcycle speeding down the street as he wove through the city with a mix of controlled precision and reckless abandon.
His hands moved quickly but deftly, continuing to modify the engine while the world flew by. His mind raced as well—he had to remain calm, make decisions on the fly. Every move was risky, every second counted. If they caught up to him, if they hit him again…
The five figures were still behind him, following at a distance but with deadly intent. Their arrows continued to fly, striking the surroundings with deadly accuracy, and the air was thick with the tension of the chase.
Xian's mind worked even as his body moved instinctively. He needed to lose them, and he needed to get somewhere safe. A location came to mind, one of the few places in the city where he might be able to regroup. The slums. It wasn't much, but it was better than being out in the open, exposed to their attacks.
His decision made, Xian veered sharply toward the less-traveled routes, pushing the motorcycle to its limits. His mind remained sharp, calculating the risks with every twist and turn, but there was a sense of purpose now. He had to survive. He had to fight back.
And he would.
The slums weren't far. He would make it there, and from there… he would figure out what came next.