[It's chapter five hundred... one hundred million page views... and a cumulative ranking in the double digits... I tried to think of a joke, but all I could come up with was "Worship Wingman," so instead I'm going to offer my sincere thanks.]
[Thanks to all of you, my little work, Shangri-La Frontier, has come this far. When I first started writing, I never imagined anyone would make fanworks of something I'd written. The comments section has gotten a little out of hand because the author has absolutely no restraint when it comes to replying, but volunteers have even made a Shangri-La Frontier Wiki. It's a tremendous honor.]
[I think I've finally written about half of what I intend to, so I hope all you readers will continue watching with a certain lukewarm affection as the author keeps spewing out setting details.]
[Please continue supporting this work of mine. And whoever's reading this: worship Wingman.]
[Mozambique, buddy, you're beyond saving at this point. Why not go apprentice yourself to the Smart Pistol?]
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Eight: "The first strike! No Face landed the first strike! Th-that's amazing...! Wait, huh?"
Eight and the comment section were beside themselves with excitement, but when Eight turned, two people were staring at the screen with troubled expressions.
Kei: "...Who uses an ultimate here, seriously? I mean, sure, that guy's a romantic, but using an ultimate this early can't have gotten him that fired up... Is he after something? Sil...ver, what do you think?"
Silver Mask: "You mean why he wanted to eliminate Display first... in other words, why he wanted to avoid Forced Analysis—Hackrise—right? But even if it was because he didn't want to take any more damage, using an ultimate for that? I have my doubts."
It seemed the two pro gamers—or rather, one pro gamer and one mysterious masked lady—both found something off about how hastily the fight had been brought to an end.
Kei: "Ah, sorry, I got lost in thought for a second... Put simply, the cost-benefit ratio of that last play was pretty bad."
Eight: "Meaning...?"
Kei: "To be completely frank, once Hannya-san chose a straight fight, the matchup was about eight to two in Dust's favor. Even Hannya-san wasn't trying to wear him down in a head-on fight; she was chipping away at him by directing Valkyrie. Besides, in a Top Display composition, Display's a sacrificial pawn right from the start."
Eight: "So... if he'd just taken his time, he could have won normally?"
Kei: "Right. And Dust has a gauge-consuming move that reloads all his bullets. Honestly, I feel like that would've been the better move. It's not like he accidentally set off his ultimate, either."
On the screen, Dust, having successfully escaped Valkyrie, was presenting a thoroughly contradictory spectacle: knocking out every policeman he came across, while sometimes rescuing citizens from Mechanitan the Machine Swarm.
But just before the viewpoint switched over to Hannya, who had respawned as her second character, nobody had noticed that Dust had performed a maneuver that looked unremarkable at first glance but was, on reflection, distinctly strange.
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I feel like a dog. I don't intend to bark at my reflection in the water and drop the bone in my mouth, but I at least want to be a smart enough dog not to forget I've got a bone.
Dust: "...Something smells fishy."
A very troublesome smell. To be specific, it feels like some guy with enough Galaxia Power to burst out of his armor is going absolutely berserk. Come to think of it, I can hear one hell of an explosion.
Dust: "One, two, three... Guess that's about right. I can't decide whether to be glad Valkyrie left or wish she hadn't..."
For a player's second character and any subsequent characters, the respawn point is set at "the location farthest from the players remaining in the match." It's probably intended as protection against spawn-killing, but this time I'm seriously grateful for that rule.
For the player who wins a one-on-one, this tiny window of free time is a huge advantage. For a maniac like me, who fired off his ultimate early in the match, it's practically bonus time.
Dust: "Now I just need to put a reasonable amount of distance between us..."
Boy, am I glad I met that kind man riding a motorcycle along the way. We can't leave the city anyway, so I told him where to evacuate and he gave me his bike! Yeah, let's say that's what happened. I did gain some Evil Bullets along the way, but I'm sure that's completely unrelated.
Dust: "Is this what they call an American-style motorcycle? Well, I guess this is technically a Western game..."
We'll only be together for a few minutes—maybe a few dozen—but I'm entrusting my life to you, partner. Run like the wind!
Full throttle! Just you wait, Cursed Prison! I'll show you what the pro gamer once called the closest thing to a real-life Cursed Prison can do!
...
......
Partner, mind stopping the engine for a second? I have a feeling we'll be noticed even from this distance.
Dust: "........?"
I can't quite believe what I saw a few seconds ago. I ducked behind a building without thinking. Now I tilt my head, peek out again, and look at that.
Clank, clank, clank, pshhh. (The sound of Cursed Prison striding down a main road, the lower half transformed into eight legs.)
Crackle, dududududu... (The sound of the chainsaw on the right arm, clearly electrified, beginning to turn quietly.)
Shing, shing, scree-scree-scree... (The sound of enormous shears fused with the left arm opening and closing in search of prey.)
Dust: "...What the hell is that?"
No, seriously, what is that? Cursed Prison? You've got to be kidding. That's clearly a boss like some kind of mechanical life-form, Arachnea Deadly Arms. There's hardly anything human-shaped left!
Sure, by their very nature, Mechanitan units are practically expansion parts walking around on legs as far as Cursed Prison is concerned. But even so... What? Is it possible to customize something to look that murderous?
No, no, don't get intimidated. As far as I can see, every weapon is a high-powered close-range type. I can win by hitting and running. Dust's a midrange fighter; a weapon that can't reach you is nothing but dead weight!
Dust: "Here we go, partner... Now let us fight honorably—"
KRRR-CHUNK!!! (The leg parts transform, unfolding eight gun barrels.)
Dust: "Oops."
Cursed Prison: "Most welcomed."
Oh, crap. Those guns are Mechanitan—
In the next instant, I jump off, leaving the motorcycle without a rider. It skids out of control, gets shredded into scrap in a split second, and explodes.
Dust: "Reloa—whoaaa!!"
A hail of bullets tears through the explosion's smoke screen and hammers my entire body. Shit! Even if they're just mooks, taking eight Mechanitan guns at once is—my HP... gotta get away...!
Dust: "G-guuuuaaaagh!?"
I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die! Shit, I dropped my gun! I'll be dead before I can get back to it! Gotta get out of their line of fire...!
Dust: "Hyaaaah!"
I'm... alive! Not dead! But I'm below ten percent!
Damn it. Granted, there was no way I could know every attack of a form exclusive to content that was only implemented recently, but maybe I was too careless.
Dust: "My gun..."
No good. Stepping into their line of fire again would be suicide. Besides, there's almost nothing more I can accomplish as Dust. Beating Display already fulfilled most of my role. And though there's little point in stalling for time, meekly raising my hands and surrendering doesn't sit right with me either.
I dive through a broken window, cut across the inside of a building, and emerge on the opposite side. Good. I'm behind Cursed Prison. My bullets... damn it, they're Evil Bullets.
But I can't ask for much more. Here comes Dust!
Dust: "...!!"
Cursed Prison: "Tch! You cut through the building!?"
First shot, second shot... both hit. The third and fourth miss, but the fifth destroys a turret mounted on one of those eight legs. Knew it! Cursed Prison's variety is terrifying, but the absorbed outer shells are fairly fragile. Even Evil Bullets can destroy them!
But—
Dust: "What the hell is with that creepy spin-turn!?"
Cursed Prison: "To be honest, I'm a little freaked out myself."
Clatterclatterclatter! The eight legs writhe at high speed and spin the whole body around. Seven gun sights settle rather haphazardly on me. Tch, is this it...? Still!
Dust: "Don't hoard your elixirs! Use them properlyyyy!!!"
One last shot!!!!
I squeeze the trigger. The recoil pushes against my wrist, and a moment later bullets slam into every part of me.
Just before I'm blown away, I see my sixth bullet get blocked by those shears... Wait, so that's not a spider, it's a crab...? Hold on, can the top and bottom halves move independently...? And seriously, that's definitely a boss cha—
Dust: "Gaaah!!"
And Dust's HP fell to zero.
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Twinkle Pixie: "...It would appear that Dust has been defeated."
But courage deserves praise. Dust took down that damn TV and exposed Cursed Prison's freakish modifications... Though, well, it's still me playing.
I crack my neck, flick my wrist, and give my wand a little swish.
Twinkle Pixie: "TQC, inheritor of three thousand years of Fairy Divine Fist tradition... I'm going to engrave its true essence into your bones. Better prepare yourself..."
Let's Tinky! ☆