Bitter End
As predicted, that pissed Scrob right the fuck off. Red-faced, he made a laughable lunge that Lancelot dodged with no effort required.
The fight continued that way for several minutes, with Scrob desperately trying to get any sort of hit on him at all and Lancelot dodging and parrying effortlessly.
If the fool had any sense, he'd swap his overblown shield for a buckler.
It would improve his maneuverability significantly and give him better line of sight for his strikes. Let him struggle.
After about ten minutes, though, something changed. Scrob sort of…fritzed around the edges, a mark of a mod being activated, and suddenly his fighting was much faster and nastier, and Lancelot started having to work to counter his attacks.
First thing was getting rid of that shield. If Scrob lost it, it was out of play. Swords could be retrieved if knocked out of hand, but everything else—armor, shield, whatever—were removed for the rest of the match.
The rules said magic was allowed, and knocking his ass over with water would be the easiest route, but Lancelot preferred to hold that back for the time being. Something told him that this fight would get much worse before it got better.
Any chance this asshole is tied to our real problems? He sent to the group.
Merlin immediately replied No, I have quadruple checked. He's just an ordinary, run of the mill asshole. It's not outside the realm of possibility he'll be co-opted or something, but for now he's just a cheating loser.
How refreshing, to be involved in such a basic tussle.
"Almost got me that time, Ballsack," Lancelot said, parrying a blow and then slamming his foot into the shield, which Scrob had stupidly lowered as he recovered his balance. He was not very good at keeping track of everything. Even with the mods, his lack of training shone through.
"Shut up, Lancelot du Lame," Scrob snarled bitterly.
"That insult was lame," Lancelot said, clucking his tongue.
He let Scrob get back to his feet and try another lunge, this time swinging out of the way, shifting into a full turn, and slamming the pommel of his sword into the back of Scrob's neck.
The armor there took the brunt of it, but it was enough to give Scrob a nasty jolt and send him tumbling.
He kept his feet, but only barely, and as he turned, Lancelot rushed him, slamming his buckler down on Scrob's shield arm, making him scream from the sharp pain and drop his shield.
Lancelot withdrew, even though he could have easily ended the fight there, as he could have several other times. As Mordred could have, just seconds into their own fight with the dumbass.
To judge from the uproarious laughter of much of the crowd, many could see that Scrob was not just being toyed with, but that it was a team effort.
From the ever-increasing rage on his face, Scrob had figured it out too.
"You think you're so special, Sir Cuckhold?" Scrob hissed. "We'll see who laughs last." He started to fritz out heavily, and even the arena seemed to shudder.
Merlin, what the hell?
He's a plat-hack, it would seem. Do you want me to deal with it?
Platinum hacker. That explained the casual ease with which he installed mods while in the middle of a fight.
Not the best of the best, but damned fucking close.
There probably wouldn't be any getting out of this fight until Lancelot knocked the little bastard down for good or someone hacked him and put an end to it that way.
Nah, Lancelot replied. The point is to kill time. This just makes it all the easier for me to be me. Just make sure I don't get booted for cheating.
You're all clear.
Lancelot dismissed the message screen as Scrob charged him screaming bloody murder, because guaranteeing you'd need to take a deep breath in the middle of a swing was always a good idea.
As he got close, though, Scrob burst into flame, like a djinni of old or that dude from an antique comic he'd read once years ago.
Lancelot threw himself forward and rolled right past him, pushed to his feet, and turned just in time to meet a wall of flame, lifting his buckler to block the worst of it, throwing it away as the flames died and his buckler turned into scrap metal and ashes.
"Not so tough now, are you?" Scrob said, eyes like green flames amidst all the orange and yellow and red.
Lancelot scoffed. "Little Hobbit, nothing short of being tossed into a volcano will make me fear fire.
" He reached out to the water in the nearby river, calling it to him, requesting its help.
The water answered, as it always did, as it always would, unless he ever betrayed it, and should he do that, his mother would kill him first.
Scrob screamed, throwing out his arms, fire shooting out in multiple lines, all of them headed straight for Lancelot. As the fire reached him, it hit a wall of water that shot up from the ground in a circle all around him, filling the arena with hot, billowing steam.
As the steam slowly dissipated, Lancelot stood there in only the default tunic, fully in his aquatic form, the water in the arena up to their ankles and rising quickly.
He grinned as Scrob stared in wide-eyed dismay, much of his flames gone as he no doubt recharged from whatever that stupid, overblown special attack had been.
How are the wards?
Nearly done, Gawain replied. Well done. Show-off. You're always quiet right up until you're not.
Lancelot turned his attention back to Scrob. "Try again, Ballsack." The words were slightly garbled, sibilant, as his mouth was not made for talking in this form, not in any way humans could understand. The waters spoke in song and subvocals, in gestures and lights.
"That's not in the game," Scrob hissed, the words coming out rough and ragged. "That's not how the mermaids looks at all."
"I'm not a fucking mermaid," Lancelot said, and at his command, the water surged forward to knock Scrob down and drag him under. When he came up sputtering and gasping, eyes wide with terror, he was once more a cheap knock-off Hobbit, also in only the default tunic. "Surrender."
Scrob's mouth twisted into a mutinous pout. "Fuck you. Cheater."
"That's a bit rich coming from you," Lancelot said. "I haven't cheated. I am what I am: the son of the Lady of the Lake." The water was up to their waists now, so he sank down into it and swam for the little cretin, grabbing his ankles and once more yanking him under.
Scrob flailed, panicked, eyes wide but likely seeing nothing in the water that was murky and gritty from all the movement.
Lancelot surged in, wrapped a hand around his throat, and dragged him to the surface, which was at their shoulders now.
Well, his shoulders. A couple more inches and Scrob would have to tread water.
"Surrender," he snarled.
"I surrender!" Scrob said between sputtering coughs.
Lancelot dismissed the water as the victory sounded, sending it silent gratitude, receiving warm affection in reply. A stray eel twined briefly around his legs before vanishing into the cracks from which the water had sprung.
As the last of the water vanished, he called Arondight to him, and brought up his armor again, letting his true form fade away. He slicked back his wet hair and sheathed his word. How are we doing?
Before he could read Gawain's reply, Scrob screamed like he was dying.
Lancelot whipped around and stared in horror as Scrob thrashed on the ground, clawing at his face and head so hard he hurt himself.
"Merlin!" he bellowed as he ran across the arena.
He dropped to his knees beside Scrob, grabbing him close.
Around him the arena was a cacophony of noise, people screaming and shouting and pleading for help.
Nobody was running, of course, because they could simply log off or go somewhere else, but the numbers hadn't really changed near as he could tell.
People either thought this was part of the game or didn't care.
Merlin was there in the next breath, crouching on Scrob's other side. His UI was actually visible, numbers flashing across it at a rapid-fire pace, all gibberish to Lancelot. He looked at Lancelot, horrified. "He's being taken over. Possessed for all intents and purposes."
"That was supposed to be a joke!" Lancelot snarled. "What can we do?"
"Nothing," Merlin said. "We'd need direct access to the person possessing him."
Scrob abruptly went still, so limp and heavy in Lancelot's arms he might have been dead.
Then his eyes opened, and a mean smile overtook his face.
Lancelot recoiled, grabbing up Arondight and recalling his buckler.
He knew that smile. Of all the people in the world, only one person had a smile that fucking mean. That cruel. "Amphelise."
"Lady Amphelise to you, Captain," she said in Scrob's voice. The sword she called up was her own, glowing faintly purple, thirsty for the blood that would make it stronger and stronger.
Before they could fight, another figure appeared, moving into position so that the three of them formed the points of a wide half circle around Amphelise. "You're no lady," Gawain said, "just a child eating harlot."
"Not just children," Amphelise said with exaggerated, simpering tones. "I'll incapacitate you and then eat your brother's heart right in front of you."
Gawain scoffed and called up his fire. "Everyone knows Dred doesn't have a heart."
Ordinarily, Lancelot would have laughed, even in the midst of a fight. But right now something felt decidedly off.
His worries were confirmed as countless others jumped down from the seats to fill the arena, all of them sharing Amphelise's cruel smile. She hadn't possessed one person, she'd possessed…at least thirty. That number would probably grow. Or as they killed one, another would take their place.
"How is she doing this?" he asked as the possessed launched their attack, coming at him and Gawain and Merlin from all angles.