“Enough!” roars a thundering voice, echoing throughout the virtual Pankration. The crowd falls silent. Niko blinks to the center of the octagon, two identical swords in hand. A replica of the same sword Palin used what still seems like just days ago.
“Let’s make this interesting.”
The swords disappear from his hands, then liquefy into a metallic mold, snapping into existence in ours.
Three minutes remain.
“Prove yourself, Eros.”
The second Niko blinks out of the way I swing my weapon hard for my virtual’s neck. He deflects, dashing towards me, jabbing at my face.
I duck forward. His sword slices the air just above me.
With both hands, I send my sword straight for his chest, but he evades, jumping back against the cage.
Leaping after him I drive my weapon down.
He rolls left, as my blade slams into the cage sending sparks crackling in the air.
The uproar of the crowd intensifies.
With the back of his hand, he wipes the blood and sweat from his eye. We circle each other, arm’s length, at center ring. Like staring into a mirror. Each of us waiting for the other to make a mistake.
He strikes quickly.
I bat his steel away with mine and counter into his midsection.
I’m a half-second too late. He slides away, my sword slicing his robe instead. A trail of blood is revealed from the ripped fabric. The same look of disbelief on both of our faces.
He can be beaten.
Niko screams from above the cheering, “Enough holding back! Conquer yourself, Eros!“
My grip tightens on the leather handle. Sweat is pouring from me. My lungs inhale one deep breath. And exhale. I swing the tip of my blade for his neck, he blocks, throwing me to the side.
Circling around I cut for his legs, he leaps in the air over my attack, stabbing his weapon inches from my head.
Close miss left.
Planting my feet, I swing harder. Giving it everything I have left in me.
Off-balance, he attempts to deflect, but he’s too weak, exhausted at this point. The weight of my sword disarms him, sending his sliding out of reach.
I hesitate, thinking he would go for his weapon, but instead he rolls into me, tackling me to the ground. We wrestle without form, clawing at each other savagely like our very existence depended on it.
He seizes advantage and position. With his legs wrapped around my waist and the arm wielding my short sword twisted behind me, he takes my back, going for the choke.
Before I can pull away, he sinks it, and I feel the air and blood flow stop. The initial panic is followed briskly by the shame of dying to a virtual version of myself, dying a failure.
The giant countdown overhead ticks down from the remaining thirteen seconds. Time seems to slow when you’re dying. Seconds turn into hours.
We roll to my elbow as one, still locked tightly to my neck.
My vision blurs, fading to white and back.
Losing consciousness fast.
There’s no sound anymore nor thought that isn’t my brain begging for air.
With my free hand, I find his sword on the ground.
Conquer myself.
Wedging his sword upright on the canvas, I thrust myself into the blade, slamming it through my shoulder and into the heart of my opponent.
His choke weakens. The sound of him gargling his last breathes fill the silence until he slides off the sword, slain on the arena beside me.
The simulated crowd erupts, thunderous applause in all directions.
Trying not to choke on my blood, I pull the sword out of my shoulder and look down at my copy. Blood seeps from both wounds I delivered, staining our robes dark shades of red.
The cut in his midsection reveals something though.
My gaze slips just under his exposed ribs.
Wait a second.
Kneeling to the dead version of myself, my quivering fingers trace his spade-shaped birthmark, the exact same birthmark Palin had.
The tips of my fingertips dissolve to tiny green pixels that spread to my hand, down my arm until all of me fades from Lotus.
This doesn’t make any sense.
My eyes snap open, jerking out the cord embedded into my arm.
“What the fuck was that!? Why did it do that?” I demand. “Why did a virtual copy of myself, created from my DNA, have Palin’s birthmark on it!? This is some sick shit.”
Niko’s face is troubled. He rushes down the metal stairs towards me and a silent Vulcan.
Vulcan slides his goggles over his eyes and gives Niko some space.
“I think you know why he has that birthmark, Eros.”
“What? no. That’s not possible,” I laugh. “Obviously, I’m not Palin. He died. I saw it, remember? There was a grenade, Suits. He’s dead.”
“He didn’t die. The grenade never went off. Oriyen uploaded his consciousness to the Delta Project, replaced his mind, and shipped his body to populate Olympia, your body.
“Lies!”
“I’m not lying to you! Think! Think of one memory before Olympia. If you’ve always been here, think of who you were before the meteor hit. Try to remember anything. Can you? I remember it all. Every single day. I watched it happen.”
“No… I’ve just forgotten. It’s been so long. That’s what happens! That doesn’t mean anything.”
“They made you forget.”
“I don’t even have that birthmark! Your system must be faulty or something,” I cry out, raising my shirt, exposing my unmarked ribs. I don’t have a birthmark at all.
“They lasered it off along with the name that was tattooed to your arm, and any other defects or connections to the past. They got me too. There’s a Delta Project for nearly everyone here,” says Selene softly interjecting. “They lied to us all.”
Niko places his warm hand on my shoulder. “We chose you for a reason, Eros. This is your destiny. This has always been your fight. You are Palin, reborn.”
Chapter 16
It’s all clear now. The
