Real Dream: Infinity

Under the stage, in a dimly lit space illuminated only by faint, flickering red lights that seemed on the verge of failing, Melisfir tilted her head to one side, producing a sharp crack in her neck. She repeated the motion to the other side, letting out a barely audible sigh. The tension before a battle was almost pleasurable to her—a prelude to the fun she relished.

A synthetic voice broke the silence:

"Please select your equipment."

Melisfir let out a soft chuckle, crossing her arms as she studied the holographic interface before her. Unlike other competitors, who flaunted their weapons with a kind of ostentatious pride—like "that idiot with the scythe", she thought with a smirk—she preferred to keep things under wraps. The element of surprise was her greatest ally.

"Well, well. Give me my beloved Sleepy," she said playfully, selecting a dagger with a rippling blade, half white and half black, that seemed to shift as though it were breathing. With precise movements, she secured it behind her waist. Next, she added a sleek silver handgun—simple yet reliable—and a set of small smoke bombs with built-in anti-tracking technology.

"Luminar Melisfir, ready," she announced mockingly, giving a small, theatrical bow to no one in particular.

At that moment, the lights went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. The platform beneath her feet began to hum as it moved, the mechanical vibrations echoing faintly throughout the space. Melisfir adjusted her mask, feeling it activate with a soft buzz. Sensors came to life, overlaying data onto her vision: environmental scans, heat signatures, and subtle flashes marking nearby movement.

Finally, the platform emerged above ground, and the light of the arena enveloped her. The battlefield was a vast, simulated urban landscape: a ruined cityscape with crumbling buildings, overturned cars, and vegetation beginning to reclaim the structures. The air felt dense with dust and moisture, while shadows cast by towering structures gave the scene a heavy, ominous atmosphere full of potential dangers.

Melisfir took a moment to scan her surroundings, watching the movement patterns detected by her mask. Each reading pulsed in her interface like tiny heartbeats, marking possible threats.

From the Nexar Stadium stands—now cloaked in simulated nighttime—Aurora watched Melisfir closely through her glasses. The display enhanced every move the combatant made, showing details others might overlook.

"So that's her," Aurora thought, intrigued by the small figure moving through the shadows with an almost unnatural grace. Ever since she'd heard about Melisfir's reputation, Aurora had resolved to pay attention to her. But so far, she couldn't understand why someone with so many victories wasn't more popular.

Melisfir began to move with agility, gliding through the debris like a shadow. After several minutes, her sensors picked up the first participant.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man. His brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, an almost deliberate display of indifference to his appearance. He wore a standard-issue protective suit with a few personalized touches: the chest plates and gauntlets gleamed bright red, which, combined with his tight black pants, gave off the impression of a clumsy attempt to stand out.

"Good grief, how cliché," Melisfir thought, stifling a smile behind her mask.

The man moved clumsily, stepping into puddles of stagnant water and kicking loose stones that would alert anyone to his presence.

"Seriously? This guy walks like he's on a Sunday stroll. He should be disqualified just for being a moron," she mused, keeping her distance as she moved silently between the shadows, ghostlike.

After observing him for a minute, she reached a conclusion.

Definitely not a threat. But hey, one less to worry about.

***

Kael Drivon crept cautiously along the side of a crumbling building, his eyes darting nervously, scanning every shadow. The terrain was a labyrinth of rubble and abandoned structures, dimly illuminated by flickering lights that seemed ready to fail at any moment. Shattered windows and walls covered in graffiti and battle scars bore witness to countless previous clashes.

Kael froze as he heard a faint crunch. The crushed remnants of glass under his boots made him curse silently. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, a broad, heavy blade designed more to intimidate than to maneuver. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm the pounding of his heart.

And that's when it happened.

Bang! Bang!

Two holes suddenly appeared in the wall beside him, as fast as lightning. Before he could react, he felt sharp pressure against his neck—the rippling blade of a dagger. His wrist, the one holding the sword, was awkwardly twisted back by a firm and unyielding hand.

From behind the wall, hidden from view, Melisfir had struck, extending only her arms through the holes she'd created in one perfectly timed motion.

Kael swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"How did she do that? When did she do that?" His thoughts spiraled as he scrambled for a way out. He tried to move his wrist, but the pain was immediate and excruciating. Melisfir hadn't just immobilized him—every position of her body seemed precisely calculated to neutralize any attempt at resistance.

Then, he heard her voice—a teasing, almost playful whisper that sent chills down his spine.

"Kael Drivon, right?" she asked, her voice deep yet mocking. "Do you surrender... or shall we make this fun?"

Kael's heart raced, the sound of it thunderous in his ears. He knew there was no escape.

If I move, she'll cut me. If I do nothing... I lose anyway.

Melisfir's dagger pressed with surgical precision against his suit, right at the junction between neck and chest. While the blade hadn't yet pierced the reinforced material, Kael's mask displayed an alarming drop in his In reserves, warning him that any sudden motion could deplete it entirely.

But then, Melisfir did something unexpected.

With a cruel, calculated motion, she dragged Sleepy from Kael's neck to his waist, shredding his protective suit in the process. Sparks flew as the reinforced material gave way to the blade's lethal edge. The action triggered a surge of In, draining it completely within seconds.

Beep, beep, beep.

The monotonous warning sound from Kael's mask echoed briefly before cutting out entirely. On his display, a clear message appeared:

"In level critical. Disqualified."

Kael staggered backward, unable to process what had just happened.

"W-what... how cruel," he stammered, his voice breaking as his trembling hands futilely tried to cover the tear in his suit.

Melisfir didn't reply. She slowly withdrew her dagger and slipped back into the shadows, her movements as silent as they were deadly. Kael, his fists clenched and breathing ragged, felt a mix of humiliation and rage.

I was about to surrender. That wasn't necessary...

But the truth was even harsher: Melisfir hadn't been interested in his surrender. She was only interested in demonstrating her absolute control.

***

From her elevated position in the stands, Aurora hadn't taken her eyes off Melisfir. Her advanced glasses displayed real-time data: competitors' In levels, camera positions, and the general status of the match. But her focus was entirely on the shadowy figure.

Aurora blinked, unsettled. She had expected a tense confrontation—a clash of skills that tested both combatants. What she had just witnessed, however, was something entirely different.

"Is that all?" was her initial thought. But as she replayed Melisfir's movements in her mind, her disappointment gave way to something deeper: unease.

"She's not popular because her style isn't flashy," Aurora murmured to herself, analyzing the data on her display. "But her precision is chilling. She doesn't care about glory or recognition. Only results. It's almost like she's... hunting."

A shiver ran down Aurora's spine as she watched Melisfir vanish into the shadows.

"What kind of person acts like that? There's no honor in what she did—just cold, calculated efficiency."

Aurora shifted her gaze to Kael, who remained on his knees, pale and staring blankly.

He had his left arm free, maybe he could have complicated things, that's why Melisfir took him down quickly? He wasn't even aware that he was being followed...

"Kael Drivon… no victories. I guess this is what a skill gap looks like," Aurora thought.

Kael lifted a hand to his mask, as if hoping the system might miraculously restart. When it didn't, he let his hand fall with a defeated sigh.

"She didn't have to do that..." he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Aurora felt a pang of empathy as she watched him. She could imagine the storm of emotions he must be feeling: humiliation, helplessness, simmering anger.

"What drives her? Does she enjoy this?" For the first time in a long while, Aurora felt more than curiosity. She felt an urgent need to understand.

This scene was the perfect summary of Melisfir's effect: a whirlwind that arrived, achieved its goal, and disappeared, leaving only uncertainty and fear in its wake.

"That woman is terrifying," Aurora thought, leaning forward, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat tightly.

***

Melisfir stood at the top of a crumbling building, surrounded by an industrial wasteland. The structures around her formed a labyrinth of cracked concrete and rusted metal, faintly illuminated by flickering electric lamps that buzzed softly in the stillness.

She paused for a moment, surveying the scene. Adjusting her black military cap, a light smile crept across her hidden face beneath the mask, as if she were amused by how easily she had neutralized her opponent. "This is just getting started," she thought to herself, her playful tone contrasting sharply with her precise and calculated actions.

With slow and deliberate movements, Melisfir placed both hands on a concrete pillar. Her fingers, covered by reinforced black gloves, pressed lightly into the surface before applying pressure. A crack echoed through the air as the pillar fractured, splitting in two and sending chunks of debris crashing to the ground below.

Melisfir tilted her head to one side, as though listening to a sound no one else could hear. Without a word, she moved toward the edge of the building, where part of the ledge had already begun to crumble. She crouched down, resting an arm on her knee, and allowed her mask to scan every detail of the empty street below.

There she remained, completely still. Her breathing, her presence—even her In—seemed to vanish entirely. If someone had looked up at her from below, they might have mistaken her for a statue or a shadow cast by the flickering lights.

Then, something happened.

In the distance, a flash lit up the night sky, followed by the sound of something streaking through the air at high speed. A figure came hurtling from a nearby building and landed violently on the ground at the far end of the street.

Melisfir didn't move. Her posture remained steady, as though the person's fall were just another piece in the chessboard she had already mapped out.

"Who is that?" Aurora asked aloud, switching perspectives with her glasses.

The person who had fallen was a burly man with disheveled blond hair, strands plastered to his forehead with sweat. His protective suit was shredded in several places, and a wound on his left shoulder sparked faint traces of In, flickering like erratic electrical currents. His eyes were unfocused, and blood ran down his face in an uneven trail, mixing with the dust from the impact.

"Are you watching Melisfir?" Ethan asked beside her, his tone a mix of curiosity and unease.

Aurora nodded, her gaze returning to Melisfir.

Ethan let out a short laugh. "That guy who went flying? That's Daeron."

"How do you know?" Aurora asked, slightly surprised.

"It's a habit among veterans, you know?" Ethan replied, his tone hovering between amused and uneasy. "Whenever Melisfir is near someone, we make sure to keep an eye on her movements. It's a survival instinct in this place. You never know when you'll be watching someone and—bam!—she takes them out."

Aurora glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her expression serious.

"And... were you watching Daeron?"

Ethan grinned. "Nope. I was watching the one who gave him that beating—Thunder Jaw."