Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG
Chapter 112

After a few seconds, the feeling of thousands of volts of electricity began to fade. Awareness slowly filtered in. The long, textured wall of gray slate I was looking at was the sidewalk. The twenty or so pinkish branching fingers of my hands, returning to a normal number as my eyes refocused. There was an inherent feeling that something had broken within my ribcage, too deep-seated to be a normal internal injury.

I was inside, but the interior was different.

Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by blue ocean, the depths as endless as they were vast. The bag of lux had spilled open, bouncing across the ground.

A bolt of something stabbed through my back, and darkness rushed in as I collapsed with a pained yelp.

“…No.”

I staggered to my feet, unable to lift myself up to full height. One painful step at a time. When I bent down to gather the lux into the bag, an unimaginable weight pressed down on me, and I found my cheek pressed against warm asphalt. It was almost nostalgic. A living metaphor made literal. This was nothing new. Life, knocking me down, over and over again. Setback after setback. After you get hit enough, it’s tempting to stop. Give up.

That feeling is called learned helplessness. The notion that in the face of enough pain, enough adversity, there’s nothing you can do to change it. And the best option available is to just… stop.

But that’s a lie. Your mind attempting to cope with circumstances that are as difficult as they are unfair. In reality, the pain never stops until you break through. Ignoring a problem never fixes it.

I gave up trying to gather all the lux and picked up three, all the while muttering under my breath. “All that accumulated power, all your deities and fucked up magic, and you still can’t stop me.”

A gentle breeze chilled my chest. Which was odd when you considered I was wearing a hoodie. Then I looked down. A deep gash ran from my clavicle to my waist. From within the tattered curtains of my hoodie, I could see the exposed white of my hip bone and two matching lengths of bone beneath my chest that were probably ribs.

The pain filtered in after, rich and full, and my vision began to swim.

As I began to lose consciousness, doubt obscured my earlier confidence. Maybe whatever was out there wasn’t above ignoring the rules, especially if it meant taking an Ordinator out early.

Then I realized it was far more likely that the unseeable force obstructing my way forward was just playing dirty. These wounds were meant to be painful. Not to kill—at least not immediately. I’d bleed out in short order, but they probably wouldn’t let it come to that. If I lost consciousness, they’d accomplish what they wanted. Delay help long enough that the civilians were forced to eat each other.

Another laceration flayed my back open from shoulder to shoulder.

I screamed.

Not dying wouldn’t matter if I didn’t find a way to render their efforts useless. I didn’t like the option any more than I had when I first learned about it, but this was bigger than what I wanted. I navigated the level screen frantically, ignoring the stats entirely. The vision in my left eye faded to black, imbuing my actions with additional urgency as I scrolled through the feats, so quickly they were almost a blur, until I found what I needed.

I locked in the level, banking the stats.

“Your move, asshole.” I said through gritted teeth, fully prepared to burn my last feat on sleep resistance if it came to that.

A wave of electricity poured through me, same as when I’d entered the dome. But it felt different. Frustrated, almost. Like this attack was more punitive than anything else. Nonetheless, a pounding pressure grew in my skull. The dim vision in my left eye went black.

“Go on, finish it!” I screamed. “Do it, you malevolent bastards!” When no answer came, I licked my lips and whispered, more to myself than anyone else. “Nothing else is going to stop me from finishing this.”

Normally, that would have been a bluff. Something I said as bravado to unbalance, or serve as an intimidation tactic. But it wasn’t. As I pulled myself to my feet for the third time, blood dripping freely from me onto the concrete below, the image of a child’s ruined hand tugging at my forearm returned to me.

His name was Joshua Denborough. He lived at 3045 Oakwood Avenue, Apartment 582. Region 6. And I couldn’t take him home.

It wasn’t just about helping the Adventurer’s Guild. Or helping the people of this region. The ugly truth was, I’d benefited from Region 6’s downfall. Gathered their cores and lux, and left them mired in a gruesome mess they’d never deserved. And maybe it wasn’t logical, or rational, but there was a part of me that needed to do this.

To balance the score.

Slowly, the blue dome receded. I was back in downtown. I shuffled forward, blood from my mouth extending downward in viscous strands as I approached the receptacle. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the Users on the other side of the barrier. No one was arguing or even talking. It was eerie to see that many people standing completely still, a mix of respect and pained empathy struggled on their grim faces. Even the few that had their phones out, recording the moment, had set mouths and stoic expressions. Off to the side, Kinsley had buried her face in Sara’s waist, her shoulders shaking. The older woman held the girl close to her with her one arm, and gave me a solemn nod.

They saw everything.

I placed one lux into the receptacle, nearly dropping it. Then another. And a third. The glowing golding residue began to climb, only to stop millimeters from the rim.

Still moving the goalposts, huh?

With a groan, I shuffled in place, about to head back for the rest. That was when I saw it. A single butterfly that had frozen mid-flight. Kinsley’s shoulders had stopped shaking. When I took a single step, their gazes didn’t follow, rather remained fixed to the spot I’d been.

“Well, shit.” A voice said. I pivoted slowly towards the direction of the noise, back towards the receptacle. There was a boy crouched down over it, studying the contents. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He looked familiar, my foggy mind taking far too long to connect the dots that he looked the same as the boy from region 6. Obviously, I had no idea what that boy actually looked like, so what he actually looked like was the way I’d imagined him, down to the outfit. Basketball shorts and a light gray hoodie with cutoff sleeves, and close shaved brown hair.

“You, my friend, are an asshole.” He shook his head.

“People… keep… saying that…”

“Bet they do.” The boy in gray eyed my injuries, then extended a hand. “Die on your time, I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

I was about to say something sarcastic, when I realized the pain had stopped. No, not stopped. But the all consuming edge of it had been taken off. My wounds were still open, but the bleeding had ceased, the stream of blood from the gash across my chest frozen in place.

“You’re… the proctor.” I realized, remembering the system message.

“That’s your terminology for us, yes. Ideally, this would never happen. A face-to-face meeting. There’s no world where we should be having a conversation with any of you.” The Proctor scowled.

“Funny how… things work out.” My legs wobbled beneath me.

“Not funny. Not funny at all.” He stormed up to me and stuck a finger in my chest. Then wrinkled his nose and wiped his newly bloodied finger on his pants. “See, here’s the problem. A fortified region has many options, when it comes to transposition. Ownership goes to the group that contributed the most. They can then choose how that region develops. Generally, these are all positives, with some hidden downsides, but you know.”

I didn’t. But this seemed like an opportunity to pull back the curtain, if only a little. I needed to keep him talking. “And unfortified regions?”

“Therein lies the big chicken-fucking mess.” The Proctor seethed. “Unfortified regions don’t go to groups. They go to a single ungifted. One who contributed the most and is still standing. That ungifted is then uplifted to User status, and has to decide between several dicier options for region transformation. Their reward for winning the Battle Royale, to borrow your terms.”

“Can’t it go to the group that contributed the most before the time ran out?” I asked, not entirely sure what any of this meant.

“Nope. It has to be an ungifted. And—take a wild guess here, dickhead—who do you think that “ungifted” is now?” The Proctor made air quotes after the word ungifted.

Oh. Fuck.

Something must have slipped through my exhaustion and registered in my expression because the proctor clapped sarcastically. “Yep. Even though we both know what you really are. And I’m desperately trying to find a way to not just hand you this goddamn region.”

“I’ll relinquish it,” I said immediately. “Voluntarily.”

“Fantastic.” The Proctor’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Why?”

Belatedly, I realized I’d made a mistake. Spoke too quickly and revealed my motives to someone who was already pissed off and probably looking for a way to screw me over. There was no question that my short-term actions over the last hour as Matt would already shine a spotlight on my existence, one that would make it far more difficult to operate. I didn’t regret those actions, but the last thing I wanted was more public attention.

“As you said,” I responded shakily, only growing more lightheaded. “I’m not a legitimate ungifted. I’m not even from this region. And have no interest in it.”

“Really?” Still deep in thought, The Proctor pulled up a visible system screen, and shoved it over to me. It contained my identity information, including the listing for my home region. “Because that’s not what I’m reading right here.”

“This is petty. Aren’t you all supposed to be enlightened? Here to correct us?” I jabbed, hoping to distract him, keep him from connecting the dots.

“You throw away a position of power without hesitation. Now, why would anyone do that—Ah.” Understanding came over the Proctor’s expression, followed by a leer. “Your role works best with a certain degree of anonymity. You’re afraid drawing even more attention to yourself will make things more difficult eventually. It probably will.”

“Is using an entire region to spite me really the best way to salvage this?” I snapped, my veil of civility slipping.

“Maybe not, if I cared.” The proctor poked me in the chest for emphasis, cringing once more and wiping the bloodied finger on his shirt this time, leaving a gray streak. “My life is already forfeit for letting you get this far. So, there’s no reason not to dig the hole a little deeper. You made this bed. Now lie in it.”

There was a snapping noise, and time began to move forward. I stayed on my feet just long enough to ensure the rising level of the receptacle reached the top, then fell. My head bounced off concrete, but I barely felt it.

I stared up at the clear blue sky. A halo of faces stared down at me, more added by the second. Kinsley was among them. There were tears in her eyes. She wasn’t the only one crying. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ N0ᴠᴇFɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

“Get a healer over here! Hustle!” I heard Tyler shout.

“You’re really fucked up,” Kinsley whispered.

“I’ve had worse,” I lied, then groaned involuntarily. There was a murmur of sympathetic laughter.

“Anything else you want to do before we call it a day?” Kinsley asked, rubbing at her eyes furiously. “Fight a god? Unravel the fabric of the universe, maybe?”

I tried to shake my head, only to find I didn’t have the strength.

“I’m done.”

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