Unholy Player Chapter 2: New MMORPG

August 10th, Year 215 of the Requiem Calendar.

University Campus, Shelter City 9

—

"I told you to stay the hell away from her, didn't I?"

The threat had barely been uttered when a fist slammed into the other boy's stomach. Doubling over from the force of the blow, the boy gasped, only for a second strike to crack against his face, throwing him onto the hard, chilly floor.

Documents and books scattered across the ground, sliding away. The sound of their impact was accompanied by muffled laughter from the surrounding students.

Showing no emotion, as if he were entirely used to such violence, the boy simply started picking up his fallen belongings.

Cole stood over him, his rage unabated. "What, you think this is a joke?" he barked, cracking his knuckles. "You deaf or just stupid?"

Seizing a handful of the boy's messy black hair, he jerked his head back, forcing their eyes to meet. Then, without a moment's pause, he smashed his fist into the boy's face again. Droplets of blood sprayed onto the tiles.

The boy went still, his shoulders twitching slightly. His dull, dark brown eyes glanced toward the blood—then... nothing. He took a slow breath, acting as if the entire ordeal was merely a minor inconvenience.

Wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, he barely looked up. "I thought you 'genetic salads' were supposed to be stronger," he whispered, his voice steady and flat—almost bored—as he returned to gathering his things.

"What the hell did you just say?" Cole snapped, caught off guard.

"I said," the boy answered, still not making eye contact, "even my pure-blood little sister hits harder than you, moron."

"You little—" Cole’s voice strained with anger.

There was no pleading, no sign of terror—only cold, cutting remarks.

His punches hadn't broken the boy's spirit. His intimidation had failed. And now, this social outcast had the audacity to insult him?

No one had ever dared to speak to him in such a manner—least of all some dirt-blood nobody. Humiliation burned in his gut, stoking the fire of his damaged ego.

Gritting his teeth, his hands shaking with rage, he raised his foot, intending to stomp on the boy's head and end the confrontation.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the tension.

"Hey, Cole. That's enough," one of his companions intervened, stepping forward with a worried look. "He's had it."

"Yeah man, chill," someone else whispered, shifting uncomfortably. "Sure, he's a freak—but he's also Victor's close friend. Keep pushing, and we're the ones who'll end up in deep shit."

Cole froze, his foot hovering in the air. His jaw tightened, and fury simmered in his eyes, but the warning hit home. With a frustrated grunt, he lowered his foot and stepped back, casting one final glare at the freak.

"Let's go," he grumbled, turning on his heel.

The others followed, a few casting nervous glances over their shoulders as they walked away. Just like that, the corridor cleared, leaving behind only silence and a mess of loose papers.

The boy remained still for a moment. Then, with slow movements, he collected the last of his things and stood up.

"Guess no one taught them to never mess with the quiet guy at school," he chuckled—only to wince as a sharp pain flared in his lip. He touched his mouth and felt the wetness of blood.

For a brief second, he stared at the crimson stain on his fingers. There was something strangely calming about the color.

He wiped his hand across his mouth, tasting the faint hint of iron as he breathed out. "Doesn't hit the same anymore," he whispered. "Might be time to pick up a new hobby."

Without saying another word, he turned and walked away as if nothing had occurred.

He had only walked a short distance when a loud, familiar shout rang out.

"Hey, Adyr!"

Turning his head, he saw the source—another student who was barely a meal away from being called scrawny. The boy was already jogging toward him, his movement light and easy, a wide, foolish grin on his face.

"Yo, Victor. Thought you'd already gone home," Adyr remarked, a faint, perfectly fabricated smirk appearing on his bruised lips.

"Nah, class ended a while ago," the other replied, scanning him with a casual look. When his gaze hit the cut, his grin widened. "Damn, man. Got your ass kicked again? That's what you get for messing with the queen of the school, huh?" He slapped Adyr’s shoulder, laughing.

Adyr shrugged, unbothered. "Told you, it's not like that. I'm just helping her with piano lessons," he answered, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. He pretended the rumors were irrelevant, but internally, he knew exactly what he was doing—he fed on the attention, particularly the kind that came from bullies.

He wasn't a masochist who relished being beaten, but the pain served a purpose; it was a tactic to keep his cravings in check. Since his reincarnation on this parallel Earth 18 years ago, he had vowed not to take any lives. However, that oath left a hollow ache inside him that he still had to control.

Overcoming an addiction was never a simple task.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Victor said, waving away Adyr's explanation. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a secretive whisper. "Maybe next time, teach her something with wind instruments. Who knows? Maybe she's better at... blowing?" He laughed, clearly enjoying his own joke.

Adyr didn't even look at him as he sighed, his voice dripping with irritation. "One day, that sense of humor of yours is going to get you killed, Victor."

Victor paused for a split second before scoffing. "Hey, come on, what kind of joke is that? Don't start pulling death flags on me, man. I've got plenty of years left." He kept pace with Adyr as they walked together.

"Anyway," Victor went on, his tone becoming slightly more earnest, "I came looking for you for a reason. The game releases tonight. You didn't forget, did you?"

It was the first virtual reality game to be released since the World War.

It had begun as a mere rumor, whispered across local forums and news outlets a decade earlier.

Initially, most people ignored it—why would a world still rebuilding from an apocalypse spend resources on a game? But as the years passed, the whispers turned into a roar.

The shift happened a few years ago when the 12 city managers validated the rumors and announced their direct participation in the project. From that point on, the game was no longer just a story—it was a global phenomenon that everyone was desperate to experience.

"Yeah, I know," Adyr said, his voice flat as he walked on without slowing down, his lack of interest obvious. "Not interested."

Victor froze, completely stunned. "Wha—? What the hell did you just say?" he stammered, rushing to catch up. The thought of playing without his best friend hadn't even entered his mind. Especially not this game—something that was poised to be larger than anything before it.

Victor hesitated for a moment, doubt crossing his face. Then, as if reaching a decision, he grabbed Adyr’s arm to stop him. His usual playful look vanished, replaced by a much more serious expression.

"There's something else you need to know," he said softly, lowering his voice. He paused once more, choosing his words carefully before leaning in.

"My father told me... the game is using the latest genetic mutation research."

Adyr looked at Victor, a flicker of curiosity finally appearing.

Genetic mutation had been the most significant topic of the last century.

It wasn't merely a cure for most human sicknesses—from small ailments to terminal conditions like cancer—it also provided a way to greatly increase one's life expectancy and grant physical powers far beyond the capacity of normal humans.

However, like all such gifts, there was a catch: only the wealthy, the powerful, and their kin had access to it. The only others were elite military units—those chosen and sworn to defend the city from outside dangers.

'Is this some kind of joke?' Adyr wondered, his brow furrowing. 'They're just giving something like this to the public? It's too good to be true...' He was about to ask Victor if he was serious—if his father's words were even reliable—when the reason he had befriended Victor came back to him.

His father.

Henry Bates...

The Minister of Defense of Shelter City 9. The most influential man in the city, second only to the City Manager himself, with total command over the mutant army known as the Superhuman Task Force.

Anything that came from that man's mouth would never be a casual remark.