Michael breathed in deeply. Standing in front of them, barring their way, was a massive, lumbering ogre of a zombie. Its breaths were deep, wet, and labored, like its internal organs were ripped and sewn back together, badly, then tossed back into it. Given its nature, actually, that wasn't exactly unlikely.
Michael slowly blew out. Obviously he stood no chance against it. If he got hit even once he would be pulp on the grass. As for Eve, he didn't know, but Kane could probably do it, if he took off his shirt.
That was still a ridiculous sentence, but oh well. Anything they could get, really.
The thing was, it was large enough that it should be slow...
"Eve."
The cold voice came from beside him. Luke.
The easier to spot the weakness was, the less likely it was to be true. That was directly from the Battle God, Shuizen, who had used to play with Michael before his father's debts had caught up with him. And he had earned the title, truly. There wasn't a person alive who had seen him and could honestly refute it. Michael had never seen him, but they had been best friends.
"Probing strikes first," Michael said decisively. Maybe if he spoke clearly Eve would listen. If not, Luke would probably tell her to listen, or come up with a better plan of his own, neither of which Michael was opposed to.
"Move forward slowly, and back up the instant it swings," Luke instructed. Eve nodded, to Michael and then to Luke.
Strange order, Michael noted. Was she listening to him now? And if she was, was that a good thing or a bad thing? Michael didn't have much experience with being in actual relationships with other people, aside from friendships. After all, if a relationship that was abusive, manipulative, and derogatory could be called a friendship, then Michael didn't have any qualms calling some things that. But even friends had to have some level of closeness.
Michael wasn't confident in himself when it came to relationships, but he still didn't like his chances without one. At least someone to complain to, even if they didn't care, was something. He had lost everyone when the servers for Righteous Evil had gone down, bringing every iota of data flowing through them to the ground.
Soon after, Michael had written his first and only article. It was titled "Thoughts for the Broken," and his pseudonym was "A Tortured King".
After that was when he had buried himself in psychology studies and textbooks, searching for meaning.
Philosophy, theory, even physics, biology, and chemistry, just looking for something, anything that could prove that he wasn't here for nothing.
But he hadn't found it. If life was meaningless, why live? The answer that Michael had come up with was simple, and more like covering the hole than filling it, but he didn't care, because it was his.
If I don't live for anything, then I'll live for living. I'll live to survive.
It wasn't really an answer at all. But it was what he had.
So he had thrown himself back into the pool. Game after game, discovered, bought, completed, then every challenge was obliterated. In a fervor, a focused pursuit, he had searched for it. He hadn't found it, yet. But it was closer.
And then, this. As though the very world was conspiring against him. Like there was some force that wanted to string him along in an endless dance of wordless groaning. How could he go on? How could he stand?
Philosophy didn't make a difference. The words of the other players, whether praising or accusing, didn't matter. His peace was in the single player variety.
Michael watched as Eve approached the beast, silent. They would see if it...
A movement.
It was fast. Too fast. Not just too fast for its body, too fast for Eve.
As it barreled towards the rest of them, Eve spewed blood, shocked. Her grip on her hammer was tighter than ever, but her grip on life might just be a bit more tenuous.
How had it gone so wrong so quickly?
Michael didn't even feel the pain before he fainted.
Cracked skulls, the thing hit like a small freight train. Maybe even a big one.