Lanark stared at the glowing screen in front of him. The *War Zone* lobby was deceptively calm, its shimmering blue skies and rolling hills designed to lull players into a false sense of ease before the chaos began. His fingers hovered over the controls, sweat forming on his palms. He could feel his heart pounding, the same way it always did before he launched into battle.
"Game starting in three… two… one."
The voice was mechanical yet omnipresent, as if the system itself was alive and watching. The world around him dissolved, and he was plunged into darkness for a moment before re-emerging in the game.
The battlefield was desolate. A dusty, barren wasteland stretched before him, broken only by jagged rocks and the occasional twisted tree. The air was heavy with a sulfuric tang, and the distant howls of unseen creatures sent a chill down his spine. This wasn't the peaceful lobby anymore. This was the *War Zone *
Lanark adjusted his grip on the longsword strapped to his back. It was standard-issue equipment, given to every new Gamer who entered the game for the first time. Basic, unadorned, and barely sharp enough to cut through the thick hides of the creatures that roamed this cursed world. He hadn't earned the upgrades yet. Not like the elite players who wielded glowing weapons capable of leveling entire battlefields.
No, Lanark was still at the bottom.
A growl snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned sharply, his boots kicking up dust as he scanned the horizon. His HUD flared to life, displaying the incoming threat: three red dots, closing in fast.
Terims.
The name alone made his stomach twist. He'd fought these creatures before in training simulations, but this was his first real encounter. There would be no safety net, no second chances.
The first beast came into view, its long, sinewy body moving with terrifying grace. Its scales shimmered like oil slicks, catching the dim light as it prowled closer. Behind it, the other two emerged, their low growls harmonizing into a sinister melody.
Lanark tightened his grip on his sword, raising it defensively. "All right, you ugly bastards. Let's see what you've got."
The first Terim lunged without hesitation, its claws extended. Lanark swung his sword, managing to deflect the attack, but the force of the impact sent him stumbling backward. The second Terim darted in from the side, its fangs bared. Lanark barely had time to react, rolling out of the way just as its jaws snapped shut where his leg had been.
His health bar appeared in the corner of his vision, a glaring reminder of how fragile he was. The first Terim's swipe had already shaved off a chunk, and he hadn't even landed a hit yet.
"Focus, Lanark," he muttered to himself, steadying his breath.
The beasts circled him like wolves, their movements coordinated and deliberate. They were testing him, looking for an opening. He needed to act first.
With a burst of determination, Lanark charged at the nearest Terim. His sword swung in a wide arc, the blade glinting as it caught the creature's side. A spray of dark ichor splattered the ground, and the Terim let out an ear-piercing screech.
It wasn't enough.
The other two seized the opportunity, rushing him simultaneously. Lanark barely managed to block the first attack, his sword clashing against claws with a metallic clang. But the second Terim was faster, its talons raking across his side. Pain shot through him as his health bar dipped lower.
He staggered, his vision blurring. The game's pain simulation wasn't lethal, but it was enough to make his nerves scream in protest.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, his voice strained.
He took a step back, trying to put some distance between himself and the beasts. His stamina was draining quickly, each movement feeling heavier than the last. He needed a plan.
The third Terim, smaller but faster than the others, darted toward him. Lanark feinted to the left, then spun, bringing his sword down in a desperate strike. The blade connected, slicing cleanly through the creature's neck.
The Terim collapsed, its body dissolving into a shower of pixels.
"One down," Lanark breathed, though his relief was short-lived.
The remaining two were enraged, their snarls growing louder. They attacked in tandem, their claws and teeth a whirlwind of violence. Lanark ducked and weaved, his sword flashing as he parried one strike after another. But he was running out of steam.
A swipe caught him across the back, sending him sprawling to the ground. His health bar blinked furiously, warning him of his precarious state. The beasts closed in, sensing victory.
No. Not like this.
Gritting his teeth, Lanark forced himself to his feet. With a roar, he charged forward, his sword aimed at the larger of the two Terims. The creature lunged, but Lanark sidestepped, driving his blade into its flank. The Terim howled, thrashing violently before collapsing.
The final beast hesitated for a moment, its crimson eyes narrowing. Lanark's chest heaved as he faced it, his legs trembling with exhaustion.
This is it, he thought. One last push.
The Terim pounced, its claws outstretched. Lanark didn't dodge this time. Instead, he stepped forward, meeting the creature head-on. His sword thrust upward, piercing through its chest.
The impact sent him staggering, but the Terim was already dissolving into pixels.
Silence.
Lanark stood there for a moment, his sword hanging limply at his side. His health bar was a sliver, flashing faintly. He had survived—barely.
The battlefield faded, replaced by the blinding white light of the lobby.
---
Lanark removed his headset, his body sagging against the chair. Sweat dripped down his face, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Around him, the real world of the gaming hub buzzed with activity. Rows of consoles lined the walls, each occupied by a Gamer immersed in their own battles.
"Hey, look who's back."
The mocking voice cut through the noise, drawing attention to Lanark. A group of Gamers lounged near the leaderboard, their sleek armor and glowing weapons a stark contrast to his worn-out gear.
"Three Terims?" one of them said, smirking. "Took you long enough."
Lanark's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
"Seriously, man," another chimed in, leaning against a console. "You're never gonna make it at this rate. Might as well quit while you're ahead."
Laughter rippled through the group. Lanark clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
"At least I finished it," he muttered under his breath.
"Oh, big accomplishment," the first Gamer said, clapping sarcastically. "You're officially the weakest player here. Congrats!"
The words stung, but Lanark refused to let them see how much it hurt. He turned away, focusing on his console as if their taunts didn't matter.
But they did.
Every insult, every sneer, only fueled the fire burning inside him. He might be weak now, but he wouldn't stay that way. One day, he'd show them all.