The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 408: Wolf of the West

Their synthetic overlord gave them eight hours, just as promised, and not a second more. Mason left his girls a few hours earlier and slept on the couch to remove temptation. He didn't need much sleep these days, but he did need a little.

He woke to the robotic, overly chirpy voice of the Neutral Zone dinging and ringing in his ears.

[We hope you've enjoyed your stay so far in the Neutral Zone. Please prepare yourselves for another exciting round of individual and team matches, this time to elimination! As a reminder, the final ten finalists in the individual matches, and the top three teams in each category, will be eligible for highly desirable final rewards. Good luck, players! We're rooting for you!]

Mason stood and paced in his suite as the five warning minutes counted down. Becky joined him about half way, and they exchanged a silent smile and put their foreheads together.

"Defer if it's a House match. Hit 'em with your metal stick. You got this," he said. Becky grinned and nodded.

"It didn't even say if it was team first or what."

"Par for the course." Mason took a breath. "Be ready for anything."

They waited the last minute or two in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Mason stared at the clock for the last few seconds, then vanished into the now familiar dark of teleportation.

[House match detected. Do you wish to defer this official match until non-house matches are unavailable?]

Mason mentally slammed yes, ignoring the system's acknowledgment and message of re-calculation and arena modification as it found him a new opponent. It was a bit of confirmation, at least, that it was picking the terrain with more thought and purpose than just random draw.

The new opponent must have been a non-house member because the fifteen second warning flared. It was a solo match, so Mason didn't bother calling Streak. Even if it was the emperor, he wouldn't want to give the man the chance to hurt his wolf.

Against an opponent like that the animal might be a liability more than anything, just because Mason wouldn't be able to ignore his suffering, and it might not have the strength to help enough to matter.

The waiting room lifted him up into a decidedly non-natural environment. It looked more like a mad scientist's laboratory, with strange looking furniture and an assortment of tables covered in tools. As Mason looked more closely, he realized 'laboratory' was the wrong description. This was a torture chamber.

He caught movement in the corner of his eye. A dark shape seemed to expand against the wall then vanish. A rogue, Mason thought, why was it always a rogue.

He dropped a series of four traps between a triangular shaped clearing between tables, deciding it would be his 'escape' point if he needed one. For now he kept out his bow, hoping to detect his opponent through his other senses for one good shot.

He touched one of the devices and activated his Sleeves, creeping through the disturbing collection of torture devices, trying not to get distracted by figuring out exactly what they were. He was no expert, but he saw a few racks, an iron maiden. There were knives and all kinds of tools one might expect to find in a surgeon's kit, at least one to crack ribs.

Mason felt a kind of insight strike as he considered the nature of the arena. Had it been designed for Mason, it would have been a forest or a mountain range, an open plain with high grass. But this was all useless to him, and therefore seemed designed for his opponent.

If a robotic observer decided your preferred, natural environment was a torture chamber, what exactly did that say about you?

Shadows flickered on one of the four walls, and Mason turned and loosed. His Power Shot smashed into the wall with a crack, splitting what appeared to be concrete. Whatever he'd seen he'd missed, or else his opponent was making distractions.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" whispered a voice, seemingly from multiple directions.

Mason squinted and turned in a slow circle, debating now if he should call Streak just to help find the man. But he'd wait a little longer.

"You're awfully calm," Mason said, "for a man about to die."

Another shadow flickered. This time it flew at Mason with incredible speed along the floor.

Not sure what else to do, he leapt to the side as if to dodge an attack. But the shadow stopped at his feet and expanded. And expanded. Mason was several feet away before darkness seemed to swallow him.

He kept moving, banging off a torture device with a wooden crack before he emerged back into the normal gloom. Even his eyes hadn't been able to see in that shadow.

"Jumpy. Afraid of the dark," whispered the voice. "The Big Bad Wolf of the West."

Mason sighed and unsummoned his bow, forming his Claws. He got the feeling he wasn't going to actually hit anything at range today. At least not until he'd gotten out whatever tricks the man had.

"What else are you afraid of, I wonder?"

Mason’s eyes narrowed as he felt some kind of mental effect starting to probe. It was hard to describe, exactly, like water trying to find a crack to seep into. It swirled around him and failed, not even activating Apex Predator.

Mason considered sitting on a table and waiting, but he figured he might as well use his time. He stared at a particularly large boulder attached to some kind of crushing device, hoping he might gain some 'insight' into its nature for Runic Magic.

"Just go ahead and attack when you're ready," Mason said. "I'd say I don't have all day, but, I guess I do."

His opponent seemed to be running out of quips. The mental searching came again, this time with a little more water pressure. Mason winced and kept his eyes locked on his boulder, wondering if he should shoot a lightning bolt just to fuck with the guy's eardrums.

Apex Predator finally flared with some kind of resistance warning. A bit of the water 'got in', and Mason resisted the urge to shake his head. He kept on staring, feeling the contest renew, though he wasn't so much 'fighting' as 'ignoring.'

It was a bit silly, maybe, but Mason didn't really feel like running all over the damn room chasing shadows. And the longer he stared at the rock the calmer he felt.

Yes, this idiot was going to jump out at any moment and try to kill him. But so what? Even if he took the hit, he'd just heal. Worst case maybe he'd spray some blood from a cut jugular or something until it closed. He knew in his bones it wouldn't kill him.

"What are you doing?" the voice hissed, clearly frustrated.

"Staring at a rock," Mason said.

It was a ridiculous conversation, but then it was a ridiculous world. Mason's impatience was probably growing in the post-apocalypse, but for a moment as he stared at the stillness of the stone, he was reminded he could be far more like it than the thing he'd been so far.

He was immortal, after all, almost invulnerable. He could weather the madness and escape from the world, leaving everyone behind. He could outlast almost everything.

He blinked as a symbol formed on the rock—a series of circles inside each other like tree rings. He smiled, feeling the weight of the 'god language' carving a new rune into his mind.

[Druidic rune identified: Lapis. You have gained a new rune!]

He grinned, still admiring the rock before everything vanished again in darkness. This time he didn't move. He just waited like a spring, a human trap ready to strike, annoyed he'd lost his view.

The hiss of air came from his left. He moved, but not away.

Something sharp and terrible struck his face as he reached out and simultaneously activated Aspect of the Cheetah, hunting for the wielder. He heard his own blood spray, heard his enemy scrambling to hide again somewhere in the dark. But not fast enough.

Mason caught fabric with one hand. He clenched and reached with the other, taking another stab in the chest before he found flesh and bone and rammed his body into his opponent. They tumbled together through the shadows, silent and struggling like predator and prey, only one of them knowing which was which.

Mason took another stab in the shoulder. A kick.

The rogue screamed as Mason snapped his forearm. He found the other arm and held it fast, clutching both and running through the shadows, smashing into tables and chairs without concern or interest.

He activated Shapeshift as he ran, feeling his joints popping, his damaged face twisting with canine features as he finally emerged from the black. He tumbled his opponent to the ground with himself on top.

As he looked down into the frightened, enraged eyes of the rogue he recognized his face. It was one of the men sitting by Jeong in their first meeting. Some kind of elite player in the emperor's council.

Mason growled as his fangs emerged, and looked down at his enemy with a smile.

"Wolf of the West," he said matter of factly. “I like it.”

The rogue was still struggling to free a hand, but Mason knew he had no chance at all. And he could recognize the monster now in the man’s eyes, even without the proof of the torture chamber around them. The usual mercy he felt drained away.

"Tell me," he said, “what are you afraid of?"

Before the rogue could answer, Mason snapped forward with a growl and an open mouth. He ignored his enemy's screams as he chewed.