A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial

It feels strange. Life continues. Somehow, I didn’t expect to survive until lunch. Or, at least, that if I were to receive lunch, it would be in the form of my final supper. Instead, I’m looking into a bowl of clear broth, a piece of bread in my hand, and my own face staring up at me. I don’t recognize it too well. The surface of the broth has left it deformed in both shape and color, so the eyes that stare up to me aren’t liver-failure yellow, but instead RED.

Sinking my spoon into the bowl, I take a sip. It’s good. Going by Moleman’s words, it was pretty cheap, too.

Looking up and across the table, I find him staring down at some kind of porridge, with a square of butter in the middle. He hasn’t touched it yet. I wonder if there’s something wrong with it. But I can’t smell any mold or worms in it, so it really should be okay. It's already been a couple minutes since we got our food, so he might still be waiting for it to cool off a little. I watch him for a few more minutes, but he still isn’t touching it. I’m actually starting to get worried, so after waiting for another minute or so, I ask, “Hey, Moleman, are you—”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t look up from the now cold porridge. As a matter of fact, to intensify his porridge-watching abilities, he puts his head in his hands, eyes shadowed so I can’t see his face anymore. But I can hear him mumble, “I’m not the one who might get executed tomorrow…”

“No,” I admit, idly stirring my lukewarm broth. “But… I’m also not the one bearing the weight of my friend’s life on my shoulders.”

He peeks up at me through a crack between his fingers. I’ve never seen him look so exhausted. “And that’s supposed to be worse?”

“It is,” I say. “If it were me, and I had to try to argue you out of getting killed… I’d be so nervous I wouldn’t even be able to eat!” That got a chuckle out of him, at least. Though it was a slightly bitter one. “But when you’re nervous like that,” I continue, “what you need the most isn’t to grind your teeth and pace in circles. It’s a bit of food.”

I slide my bowl over to his side. It’s still a little warm. Better than his cold, dry-looking porridge.

His gaze falls down into it for a second, looking up at himself, seeing himself—maybe seeing how tired he is. He almost looks as though he’s about to refuse, but then he smiles mellowly, shakes his head, and lifts his eyes to me. “Thanks.”

We finish lunch.

The time for the semi-finals of the group tournament is at hand. “And you remember what I told you?” Moleman warns.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say dismissively, but the look in his eye gives me pause. “—No killing my teammates.”

“And?”

“And…” I huff at the air. “—No eating people.”

He smiles wryly. “Yeah, something like that.” He looks me up and down. Reaching out, he fixes the collar of my shirt. I’m just about to start objecting about this whole thing when he preemptively shuts me up, saying, “The jury and judge will no doubt be in the audience today. We were lucky they were too busy to attend the preliminaries, but now you’ll have to make a good impression. Look like a person, act like a person. Follow the rules we agreed on. And maybe, just maybe, if they see your human side, they might show a little mercy on the whole having-you-killed thing.”

I frown down at the clothes. They aren’t uncomfortable or anything, but… “There isn’t a chance in hell that these won’t get bloodied beyond belief. You know that, right?”

“In that case, the chances are about the same as me not being around to clean them afterwards.”

Sly. I smile at him. He mirrors my expression and we share a fist-bump as I enter the preparation room. Everyone else is already here, apparently. Surprisingly enough, they’re already on good enough terms to stand huddled in a single big group, both parties mixed as though they were all on the same side. And… wow is the look they give me harsh. Just one of them has enough poison in their gaze to kill a fully grown elephant, and combined with the eleven others… Yeah, it’s not exactly welcoming.

Even though all of my instincts are screaming at me to run away from this skin-crawlingly awkward atmosphere, I remain steadfast. Moleman’s words echo through my brain and I try to keep in mind that he’s seldom wrong. If an earnest apology goes a long way, then a long way I shall go.

I confidently stride up to the gathered party members.

Technically speaking, they didn’t exactly ‘open up to accommodate me,’ rather, I think they ‘collectively retreated in mild fear and disgust,’ coincidentally creating enough space for me to join the gathering. Now that I’m among them, I can tell that Reef is actually here. Our eyes meet and—oh, I’m having a few flashbacks here. I mean, this is exactly how most goblins reacted upon meeting me a second or third time. Even the trembling jaw and wide eyes are exactly the same!

I almost want to point it out as a sort of fun ice-breaker, but I know that it wouldn’t be the right moment. Instead, I give a curt little bow, lower my head, and say with full honesty, “I’m sorry.”

Since I’m not looking at them anymore, I can’t entirely tell what their reaction is. Trying not to think about it, I resume my apology. “Yesterday, I acted like… I was… The things I did were…” I shake my head. Okay, okay, I have to get my head in the game. Moleman and I went through this! I just have to remember what we talked about… “I’m sorry. There are no excuses. I was caught up in the moment, and I was acting like a beast, all because I thought that it was the best way to beat the floo—erm, the preliminaries. But I was wrong. It wasn’t the best way, and I completely ignored how it would make you guys feel. I’m really sorry.” Now, I lift my head. “So…”

They’re gone.

In front of my eyes, a single message hovers.

Team VielSpass VS Team Wu-Li

will begin shortly.

Please make your way towards the arena.>

I blink at it. In the corner of my eye, I can see the light of the outside arena shining in through the open door.

I exit the preparatory room.

As I exit, Cathy inserts the shard in my chest again. It doesn’t hurt too much. Crossing the drawbridge, I find myself in the arena. On one side is the opposing team, seven in total, bundled tightly, and on the other is team Wu-Li, all five members standing closely together. Oh, and me, off to the side, looking at them both. An unwanted third party.

And the crowd? Yeah, uh, the arena is packed. It wasn’t empty yesterday, but now, it is absolutely jam-packed. And, let me tell you, it doesn’t take many seconds after my entrance for the audience to start chanting, in unison:

“””SKIN—THE—CAT!”””

“””SKIN—THE—CAT!”””

“””SKIN—THE—CAT!”””

Which is, all things considered, not especially nice. Even worse, one of the fighters in the other team actually gives a thumbs-up, which only makes the audience cheer even louder, booming, exploding through the arena. Pouring over me like boiling oil.

“What an audience!” the God of Pain comments. “It seems to Me that almost every single participant in the tutournament has decided to come and watch a certain cat get his comeuppance, including our very special Server Alliance Leaderships! Isn’t that right?” Cheering. Clapping. Laughter, even though I’m certain not a single thing He said was actually any funny. “Keep yourselves restrained, lovely audience! No need to try to join the fray. Remember: even the tamest of house cats still has claws and fangs!” Why do people keep laughing at this guy? Don’t they know they’re only encouraging Him?

“And now, without any further ado, we shall watch the match of a lifetime—will Kitty persevere, or be dragged down by the weight of his own sins? Let us see! Are all you brave fighters ready? In response, the audience cheers, bloodthirsty. Nobody in my own team or the opposing team say or do anything. “Great, love to hear it! In that case: ready… set… Go!”

A spear is plunged into my back. I whirl around, claws shooting out to gauge the flesh out of someone’s throat, only to freeze midair as my eyes meet those of Reef. I blink at him. “...Huh?” Wild cheering explodes across the bleachers.

While I stare at his determined face, a sword finds its way across my stomach, neatly slicing open the skin and flesh to reveal the coiled intestines inside. Much like a prank snake let out of its innocuous can, my intestines all leap out, which is quite a gruesome sight to see. The audience squeals with glee. I don’t recognize the woman who slashed me, she isn’t in my team, so I plunge my claws into her neck. A bolt of some sort of lightning hits me, but it doesn’t do anything, so with my hand still in her neck, I turn to the aggressor. One of the girls in my team. Ah.

A sword falls and severs my hand by the wrist. Booms of adulation. With the death of the one who sliced my stomach, her body turns to ash, leaving my bisected hand lying in a pile of soot. I turn to the swordsman, but I recognize him, so I can do nothing as he stabs his sword deep into my chest, one lung down, one to go.

“””SKIN—THE—CAT!”””

“””SKIN—THE—CAT!”””

“””SKIN—THE—CAT!”””

I open my mouth and blood I didn’t know was in there spurts out, down my face, onto my chest. I look down. Blood stains the light shirt Moleman gave me RED. Blood from my mouth. Blood from my chest. Blood from my stomach. It’s sliced up. Too much. As I watch, another sword slices the shirt, another spear stabs it, another arrow plunges into it, tearing it up so much there’s no salvaging it anymore. It’s gone. It’s dead. It’s in pieces and you can’t sew it together anymore.

So what’s the point in even wearing it?

I stand, listlessly, watching the blood leaving my body, the only sounds I can hear being the booming roars of the audience echo through my brain like the thunderclap following lightning. More, more, more, they demand. Blood isn’t enough, guts isn’t enough, flesh isn’t enough. They want my life.

So, I’ll give it to them.

The torn strips of shirt fall off my body.

I move. They only realize it once one of their own falls to the floor, turned to ash before their back could touch stone. They start shouting but I can’t hear it. In my head, there’s nothing but endless cheering, a thousand voices all as one, shouting for me, for me to fall, for me to show them what they want to see. And I show it.

One hand is enough. No, it’s more than enough.

Hands meet flesh, teeth meet blood, and both are turned to ash. I dance among the piles, even as the floor is littered with more of my own blood than theirs. Cheering, cheering, cheering, cheering. Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! Three cheers for Kitty!

See me! This is who I am! This is what you wanted! Aren’t I beautiful?

Among piles of dead ash, below, with his back to the floor, lies Reef, spear desperately clutched in his hand, saying something, saying anything, but I can’t hear it, and I don’t need to, his sort, his type, is prey, and I am their predator, above them by divine decree, so I put my foot on his chest, same as yesterday, another enemy to be crushed, to be defeated, foot raised, claws ready, lips salty with the taste of blood, and—

‘Wait!’

The cheering stops. There are no boos either. It is silence, save for one voice, one person, one gaze that sees me for what I am, below that, below it all, and I feel it.

Slowly, I turn, and I see Moleman, up in the bleachers. Looking at me like that.

…Huh?

Something stabs my heart. Something went through my back and through my heart and through my chest and I see it. It’s a spear. I touch it, pricking my finger on the tip of it. A little bead of blood forms on the tip of my finger. It hurts. It… hurts. It hurts!

The cheering becomes deafening again, roaring, booming, atom bombs going off, the sound barrier being broken, planets crashing and the universe being born and then dying, over and over again, explosions of sound, and it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—

My heart ends,

and I turn to ash.