OPPONENT: abtruse_swordgod (Unranked | 0 Wins / 0 Losses)
WEAPON: Standard Iron Arming Sword
ARMOR: Initiate’s Cloth Shroud (Common)
====================================================================
“`
“Are you kidding me?” Vip3r spat, his voice echoing in the small arena.
He pointed the tip of his heavy broadsword directly at Asterius.
” ‘Abstruse Swordgod’?
Zero wins, zero losses, wearing basic cloth, and you have the audacity to choose a cringe username like that?
And also whats with that stupid mask?!
U think this is a carnival?!”
Vip3r scoffed, a sneer spreading across his face as he took a casual, arrogant step forward.
“Listen, kid.
Guys like you ruin this platform.
You buy a VR pod, pick a god-complex name, don’t even bother buying basic armor, and think you’re hot shit because you watched a few pro-tournament highlights.
You’re a joke.”
Asterius didn’t move.
He stood in a relaxed stance, his iron arming sword held loosely in his right hand, pointed toward the dirt.
His face was a mask of absolute, unbothered stillness.
To Asterius, the name was a crude translation of his true divine mantle—a title that had once caused entire star systems to tremble.
To this mortal amateur, it was just teenage bravado.
“You speak too much,” Asterius said softly.
His dark blue eyes locked onto Vip3r’s lead foot.
“Draw your weapon properly.”
Vip3r’s face flushed red with genuine irritation.
“You arrogant little trash!
I’m going to end this in one swing and send you back to the lobby with zero hit points!.”
[MATCH START IN: 3…
2…
1…
FIGHT!]
The moment the system banner dissolved, Vip3r exploded forward.
Despite his heavy armor, his momentum was fast for the Bronze division.
He raised his heavy broadsword high above his right shoulder, intending to deliver a broad, horizontal cleave that would split Asterius in half—a standard, high-damage opener designed to crush unarmored beginners.
“Suffer!” Vip3r roared, bringing the heavy steel blade down in a brutal, arc.
In the eyes of a normal player, the attack was lightning fast.
To Asterius, whose 100% Neural Sync Rate meant zero mental delay, Vip3r’s attack was painfully slow.
It was a biomechanical disaster.
Vip3r was over-extending his elbow, leaving his entire ribcage exposed, and putting all his weight on his front heel.
He was relying entirely on the weight of his weapon rather than proper footwork.
Asterius didn’t even raise his sword to parry.
Parrying a heavy broadsword with a light arming sword was a novice’s mistake.
Instead, Asterius took a fraction of a step inward—entering the dead zone of Vip3r’s swing.
*Whoosh!*
The broadsword whistled through the air, missing Asterius’s chest by less than a single centimeter.
The wind from the heavy blade ruffled the dark bangs of Asterius’s hair, but the ancient warrior didn’t so much as blink.
Vip3r’s eyes widened in sheer shock.
*He didn’t dodge back?
He stepped IN?!*
Before Vip3r could arrest the heavy inertia of his missed swing, Asterius pivoted on his rear foot.
His movement was terrifyingly efficient—no wasted motion, no dramatic wind-up.
Using the natural rotation of his hips, Asterius brought the pommel of his iron sword up in a tight, rising strike.
*BANG!*
The solid steel pommel slammed directly into the side of Vip3r’s jaw.
Because Battle Online simulated true physical impact, the force shattered Vip3r’s center of balance.
A loud, visceral crack echoed through the arena as his head snapped violently to the side.
Vip3r’s vision spun wildly.
Pain feedback flooded his pod, sending a wave of disorientation through his nervous system.
He stumbled backward, his hands flailing as he tried to regain his balance.
“W-what…?” Vip3r gasped, coughing up digital blood, his eyes wide with sudden terror.
He didn’t even see the second move.
Asterius stepped smoothly into Vip3r’s blind spot.
With cold, surgical precision, he reversed his grip on the arming sword and thrust the blade forward.
*THUMP.*
The sharp steel point bypassed the gaps in Vip3r’s leather armor, piercing cleanly through the soft tissue beneath his collarbone.
“`
====================================================================
[CRITICAL TRAUMA DETECTED: MAJOR ARTERY SEVERED]
[SYSTEM KILL EXECUTED]
====================================================================
“`
Vip3r froze.
His broadsword slipped from his numb fingers and clattered onto the dirt.
He looked down at the iron blade buried in his chest, then up into the cold, dark blue eyes of the unranked kid.
There was no joy in Asterius’s eyes.
No pride.
Just the dead, hollow glare of an executioner who had merely stepped on a bug.
“Your stance was hollow,” Asterius murmured, leaning in slightly as he pulled the blade back out with a smooth, metallic slide.
“And your tongue was sharper than your steel.”
Vip3r’s avatar shattered into a million glowing blue pixels, dissolving into the digital air.
The arena fell dead silent.
The simulated crowd stopped cheering.
The match had lasted exactly **2.4 seconds**.
A massive, golden system alert exploded over the center of the ring:
“`
====================================================================
[VICTORY: abtruse_swordgod]
MATCH TIME: 00:02:41
PERFECT FLawLESS VICTORY (0 TRAUMA TAKEN)
ELO RATING INCREASED: +50
RANK UPDATED: BRONZE V -> BRONZE IV
====================================================================
“`
Asterius casually flicked his wrist, clearing the virtual blood from his iron blade before sheathing it at his hip.
He didn’t wait for the applause, nor did he look at his newly updated ELO rating.
He simply stared up at the virtual sky, his mind already calculating the physics of his next fight.
“Next,” Asterius said softly to the empty ring.
The post-match waiting chamber had barely loaded around Asterius before a glaring red holographic challenge box flashed in front of his face, pulsing violently with urgent notification chimes.
“`
[INCOMING CHALLENGE – RE-MATCH REQUEST]
CHALLENGER: Ironclad_Vip3r
STAKES: Ranked Direct Match (200 Federation Credits)
MESSAGE: “Accept it, you lucky trash!
That was an input lag fluke!”
====================================================================
“`
Asterius glanced at the text, his expression utterly unbothered.
He didn’t care about the credits—he didn’t even fully understand how the Federation’s digital economy functioned yet—but he *did* recognize a persistent fly when it buzzed near his ear.
He pressed **[ACCEPT]**.
The virtual arena materialized once again.
The dirt underfoot felt cold, and the artificial floodlights hummed overhead.
Across the ring, Ironclad_Vip3r respawned in a shower of angry crimson particles.
His jaw was fully restored by the server, but his face was flushed bright red with sheer humiliation.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?!” Vip3r roared, rolling his shoulders aggressively as he gripped his two-handed broadsword with white knuckles.
“A pommel strike to the chin?
A soft-tissue thrust?
You got lucky on a frame-drop!
I had a spike in my ping, you little scammer!
A one-in-a-million fluke!”
Asterius stood twenty feet away, his iron arming sword resting comfortably against his shoulder.
His dark blue eyes held the mild, distant interest of a man watching a small child throw a tantrum over a dropped piece of fruit.
“A fluke?” Asterius asked, his voice calm and resonant.
“In my experience, when a man miscalculates his weight distribution, over-extends his elbow, and forgets to guard his centerline, it is not the fault of the heavens.
It is the fault of the man.”
“Shut up!
Shut your mouth!” Vip3r adjusted his stance, dropping into a heavy, low-slung guard.
“I’m a Bronze III!
I have sixteen hundred hours on this platform!
Watch how a real swordsman fights!”
[MATCH START IN: 3…
2…
1…
FIGHT!]
This time, Vip3r didn’t rush in blindly.
He crept forward cautiously, testing the distance, twitching his broadsword in small, erratic feints to throw off Asterius’s timing.
“See this footwork?” Vip3r taunted, taking a sharp lateral step to the left.
“You can’t predict this!
I’m baiting your counter-attack!
Come on, ‘Swordgod’!
Do that little trick again!”
Asterius didn’t take the bait.
He didn’t even shift his feet.
He simply waited until Vip3r entered his absolute striking radius, then took a single, unhurried step forward.
“Wait, what—” Vip3r panicked, mistiming his own feint.
He frantically swung his broadsword in a desperate, horizontal defensive sweep to force Asterius back.
Asterius didn’t block.
He didn’t duck.
With a movement so subtle it looked like a glitch in the simulation, Asterius laid the flat of his iron blade against the spine of Vip3r’s incoming broadsword.
Instead of stopping the blow, he simply *guided* it.
Using basic mechanical leverage and Vip3r’s own wild momentum, Asterius deflected the heavy broadsword harmlessly downward, embedding the tip deep into the dirt.
Vip3r stumbled forward, dragged down by forty pounds of his own unyielding steel.
“Woah—!”
“Your center of gravity is higher than a newborn calf’s,” Asterius observed smoothly.
Before Vip3r could pull his sword out of the ground, Asterius brought his left boot up in a clean, casual kick that landed precisely on the back of Vip3r’s right knee.
*CRACK.*
Vip3r went down hard onto one knee, gasping as pain feedback registered in his leg.
“Get up,” Asterius said, standing over him, his iron sword still resting lazily over his shoulder.
He hadn’t even bothered to cut him yet.
“If you blame the floor next, I will be disappointed.”
“You…
you bastard!” Vip3r spat, wrenching his broadsword free and swinging wildly from his knees in a desperate upward arc.
Asterius didn’t even look at the blade.
He stepped sideways, let the broadsword pass through empty air, and delivered a short, crisp horizontal strike with the flat of his blade directly to the back of Vip3r’s head.
*CLANG!*
Vip3r’s helmeted head bounced violently forward, his face slamming directly into the dirt.
“`
====================================================================
[CRITICAL TRAUMA DETECTED: SEVERE CONCUSSION / MOTOR DYSFUNCTION]
[SYSTEM KILL EXECUTED]
====================================================================
“`
“`
====================================================================
[VICTORY: abtruse_swordgod]
MATCH TIME: 00:08:12
====================================================================
“`
*DING!*
“`
====================================================================
[INCOMING CHALLENGE – RE-MATCH REQUEST]
CHALLENGER: Ironclad_Vip3r
STAKES: 500 Federation Credits
MESSAGE: “DOUBLE OR NOTHING!
MY POD HARDWARE STUCK!
RE-DO!”
====================================================================
“`
Asterius sighed.
*[ACCEPT]*.
The light flashed.
The dirt floor reappeared.
Vip3r dropped to his hands and knees before the countdown even finished, checking his virtual hands, flexing his fingers furiously.
“My haptic feedback loop was inverted!” Vip3r yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the ceiling, then at Asterius.
“The server haptics jammed my left forearm on that knee-kick! Find the original chapter at g.com.
It didn’t let me register a block!
You’re exploiting system latency!”
“Your haptics were fine,” Asterius said, taking a basic mid-guard stance.
“Your reactions are simply slow.
A mortal mind usually takes two hundred milliseconds to process sight.
Yours seems to take several seconds.”
“I have a ninety-two percent NSR!” Vip3r shrieked, his voice cracking.
“Ninety-two!
I’m practically a pro!
I am going to turn you into dog food!”
[FIGHT!]
Vip3r lunged forward, giving up on heavy slashes entirely.
He held his broadsword like a pike, executing a rapid-fire series of straight thrusts aimed at Asterius’s face and throat.
*Thrust!
Thrust!
Thrust!*
Asterius moved his head four inches to the left.
*Swish.*
He moved his head three inches to the right.
*Swish.*
He leaned his torso back by half a degree.
*Swish.*
To the simulated spectators in the stands, it looked like Asterius was standing inside a localized hurricane, completely untouched while broadsword steel whistled past his cheeks by millimeter margins.
“Stand still!” Vip3r screamed, sweat pouring down his face as his stamina bar flashed orange.
“Stop moving like that!
Fight like a man!”
“A man fights with discipline,” Asterius corrected mildly, taking a tiny half-step inside the rhythm of Vip3r’s fourth thrust.
He didn’t draw blood.
Instead, Asterius brought his left hand up, grabbed the crossguard of Vip3r’s broadsword mid-thrust, and twisted it downward with a sudden, violent torque.
*CLATTER!*
The broadsword was torn cleanly out of Vip3r’s hands, spinning through the air before stabbing point-first into the dirt behind Asterius.
Vip3r froze, looking at his empty, trembling hands.
“My…
my grip dynamic…”
“Was weak,” Asterius finished for him.
Asterius raised his iron arming sword and lightly tapped Vip3r on the top of his head with the flat of the metal, like a king knighting a particularly stupid peasant.
*TAP.*
“Is your hardware working now?” Asterius asked politely.
*TAP.*
“What about your haptics?”
*TAP.*
“Stop!
Stop tapping me!” Vip3r wailed, trying to backpedal, but Asterius matched his backward movement effortlessly, maintaining the exact distance needed to keep tapping him on the head.
*TAP.*
“This is abuse!” Vip3r screamed, completely breaking down.
“System!
System, report user for emotional harassment!”
“In my previous life,” Asterius said thoughtfully, raising the blade one final time, “we called this ‘instruction’.”
He flipped the blade in his grip and delivered a swift, clean thrust straight through Vip3r’s chest plate.
“`
====================================================================
[SYSTEM KILL EXECUTED]
====================================================================
“`
====================================================================
[INCOMING CHALLENGE – RE-MATCH REQUEST]
====================================================================
*ACCEPT.*
*MATCH TIME: 00:01:88.*
(Asterius sidestepped a charge and swept Vip3r’s legs, letting him knock himself out on the ring wall.)
*DING!*
*ACCEPT.*
*MATCH TIME: 00:03:12.*
(Asterius disarmed him instantly, caught Vip3r’s falling broadsword in mid-air, and handed it back to him hilt-first, before slapping him across the cheek with the flat of his own sword.)
*DING!*
*ACCEPT.*
*MATCH TIME: 00:01:05.*
(Asterius simply pointed his finger at Vip3r’s eyes as he charged.
Vip3r flinched so violently he tripped over his own boots and fractured his spine on impact.)
By the seventh consecutive loss, Ironclad_Vip3r remained on the ground long after the system reset, sitting in the dirt with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring blankly at the walls of the arena.
His ELO had plummeted.
His wallet was lighter by several thousand Federation credits.
His pride was reduced to microscopic dust.
Asterius stood a few feet away, wiping his clean blade with a small digital cloth he had summoned from his basic inventory.
“Are we continuing?” Asterius asked, genuinely curious.
“I am beginning to understand the friction mechanics of this server.
Your stubbornness, while foolish, has been somewhat educational.”
Vip3r slowly looked up.
The rage was gone from his eyes, replaced entirely by a hollow, vacant dread.
He looked at the seventeen-year-old kid in cheap cloth armor—a kid who hadn’t taken a single point of damage across seven matches, who hadn’t even broken a sweat, and whose dark blue eyes looked like they belonged to an entity that had witnessed the birth and death of stars.
“Who…
what are you?” Vip3r squeaked, his voice cracking pitifully.
“You’re not a beginner.
You’re a dev testing a new AI boss.
You have to be.”
Asterius sheathed his iron sword with a soft, metallic click.
“I told you before we began,” Asterius said calmly, turning his back to walk toward the exit portal.
“My name is accurate.
You simply refused to read the text.”
“`
====================================================================
[CHALLENGER HAS LEFT THE LOBBY]
[PLAYER ‘Ironclad_Vip3r’ HAS LOGGED OFF]
====================================================================
“`
Asterius chuckled quietly to himself as the white light of the lobby began to envelop him once more.
“Mortal entertainment,” the ancient god murmured, rolling his shoulders with a satisfied smirk.
“Fascinating.”