Ask any self-defense expert what the best way to fight three people at once is, and they’ll almost universally give you the same answer: Don’t.

If those people are tall, angry-looking, bloodthirsty orcs and they’re bristling with weapons, that advice probably goes double. Maybe triple. Unlike fantasy movies and games where a lone hero can fight any number of enemies without an issue, simple physics makes fighting three enemies by yourself a losing proposition in real life. It’s way too easy for one of them to get behind you and hit you in a vulnerable spot while his friends keep you busy from the front, or for one of them to rush you from the side and knock you over. Usually going to the ground is game over in a fight, because it’s nearly impossible to properly defend yourself while you’re on your back—especially against weapons. This was close enough to real life that the same rules would apply.

I’d learned all this fighting technique while visiting Mark in Seattle one weekend. Brianna was away on a school trip, and he’d taken me to a local park to watch people dressed up like real knights going toe to toe with real blunted weapons. These guys weren’t LARPers with PVC—that was genuine steel they were slamming into each other and actual chainmail and plate absorbing the blows. They’d fight until someone yielded or struck a “killing” blow to a vital spot, and if one person lost their footing while the other was still on his feet, it was almost always a quick end to the match. After the bouts, we’d grabbed a beer at a local pub with the largest of the fighters, who called himself Duane, King of Pain, and gotten a crash course lecture on close quarters fighting.

It had been an awesome afternoon and was one of my fondest memories with Mark, but the lessons I’d taken away from it unsettled me now.

My odds here weren’t good. If three puny goblins armed with sticks and no coherent strategy had brutally shattered my knee, how much damage could three orcs with dual carving blades do if they worked together and attacked at once? My only hope was to rely on the advice the knight had given me for dealing with a forced, unfair fight: avoid being flanked at all costs, strike first and quickly, and try to take them out as fast as I could. It was good advice, but I was still afraid I was going to find out what happened when you died in-game far sooner than I wanted to…

A whitish-blue projectile so cold that the air froze and crackled in its wake suddenly shot past me, chilling my arm and leaving the hairs beneath my gauntlets standing up straight, as it lanced into the left-most orc’s chest and exploded in a swirling, frosty burst. He flew backwards from the force of the impact and fell hard, ice crystals spreading across his body in a thin layer as he twitched on the ground. I whirled to see a fierce-looking red-haired girl in an embroidered purple robe standing beside me, her sharp eyes blazing as she fixed on the orcs.

“Who—” I began.

“Talk later. Orcs first.”

The roar of our charging enemies, pissed about their momentarily frozen friend, drew my attention away from the girl. At least the odds were even now. But they were headed for her, not for me, so I did what any good tank would do and stepped in front of her with my shield raised. As the first orc lumbered into my melee range, I thrust my hand out and willed my Smite spell to unleash. A golden bolt of force rained down from the empty air and walloped him across the shoulders with satisfying thunk sound. As he stumbled, stunned, I lashed out with the broad side of my steel shield and cracked him across the face, bashing him sideways and throwing him out of the way of the second angry orc that was hot on his heels.

“Nice,” the girl said. She stepped up to flank me and raised her hand, releasing three purple rapid-fire blasts that looked like arcane bolts from her fingertips. They whirled through the air in a clockwise twist and slammed into the back of the moaning orc I’d stunned. His back arched, legs jerking, as his body absorbed each bolt of force, and then he went limp and still.

Then the second orc crashed into me, slashing wildly with both of his curved blades, and I had no more time to think about anything but my own, immediate fight for survival. I deflected his twin slashes with sword and shield, fighting defensively and grimacing at the way each clanging strike rattled into my well-muscled arm and made my limbs itch and tingle. He was strong enough that a single missed blow would sheer clean through flesh and bone if not for the protective plate which encased my body. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the frosted orc was thawing as the magic faded and had now climbed to his knees, shaking his head.

“Finish that one!” I ordered, gesturing toward the rising orc with my shield.

“Low mana!” the girl replied, shuffling her feet and holding her staff in a defensive position before her.

“Already?”

“Dude, level one.”

I growled and surprised the orc battling me by stepping into his next blow instead of stepping back this time, and slammed my armored forehead directly against his face. His nose crunched under the applied force of a helmet-turned-battering-ram and he staggered backward, growling curses and leaking blood. Smite was still on cooldown—how I knew that I couldn’t say; I just seemed to know—but my sword wasn’t. The crude iron streaked up toward his unprotected face as I followed his backward stagger with quick steps.

He knocked my swing away at the last minute with a clumsy parry, but I could tell he was panicking. Getting hit in the face is really unpleasant no matter what kind of humanoid you are. I’d been watching him slash, and his fighting style was erratic and loose—he was untrained and unsophisticated. The orc might have a weapon in each hand, but my surprise attack had dazed him, and it was all he could do to keep me at bay while I pressed him backward, threatening him with nasty shield bashes as much as with brutal cuts of my arming sword.

I was just starting to get cocky when the girl shouted, “Watch out!”, and the frost-burnt orc I hadn’t been watching barreled into me from my left. He carried me off my feet and slammed me onto the ground like a huge lineman brutally taking out an unprotected quarterback. My shield went skittering away, and I groaned as my ribs flexed beneath the combined weight of steel plate and orc bulk. He pinned my shoulders and sat on my torso, keeping one knee on my sword arm while he used his fiendish strength to wrestle me. Meanwhile his friend lurched forward and hacked at my legs. I kicked and flailed my feet, trying to deflect his blows while I fought with the frost-tinged orc, but god he was heavy.

“Help!” I croaked out, watching my health blink down as dark orc steel bruised my legs and rattled bone wherever it connected, plate or no plate.

Michael Peters

HP: 133/200

MP: 15/20

Where the hell did that girl go? The orc on my chest was fully occupied with keeping me pinned, since I was pretty strong too, and I punched him in the side with the gauntleted fist of my empty shield arm over and over, trying to hit his kidney and pleased at the distinct sound of his ribs snapping instead. I’ll take that too. He winced and held fast, though, leaning back a little to allow the other orc to raise his blade over my head for a killing slice.

The deafening crack of wood connecting with bone rang out like a shot as the girl’s staff whirled through the air and connected with the side of the standing orc’s head, and again he staggered away, his hand held to his split temple. Then she raised the blunt instrument over the head of the remaining orc for another swing. He twisted off and released me just in time to catch her descending staff with a growl. The wood quivered inches in front of his face as his gnarled green hand gripped the haft, and then the girl cried out as he gave a sharp jerk and yanked her down before she could release it. She tumbled toward him and he seized her by the upper sleeve of her robe, his yellow teeth gnashing toward her windmilling arm. But now my sword hand was free. I sat up and sliced my blade in a blinding arc that separated the orc’s head cleanly from his shoulders, the sharp tip passing only inches in front of the mage’s pretty chin as it blurred through the air.

Staff and sleeve slipped together out of the orc’s hands as his neck spouted blood in a gushing red fountain of gore, and his body thunked to the ground beside his still-wobbling head and lay still. I lurched to my feet as the girl scrambled backward, breathing hard, her face pale and her clothes bloody. She looked like she was going to be sick, and I could understand—getting a face full of rank orc breath was unpleasant even when you were armored head to toe in steel, and the only thing separating her delicate skin from his very sharp teeth had been a thin layer of embroidered cotton.

“Are you okay?” I asked, throwing a worried look in her direction. But the momentary concern had cost me: The remaining orc seized upon my distraction to leap across the meter-long distance which separated us and jam the tip of his weapon into the flexible, lightly-armored joint where my right shoulder met my arm. It pierced mail and flesh both, and I shouted at the pain—which was extremely unpleasant even though it was dulled by the game mechanics—as I fell to my knees, involuntarily dropping my sword as my arm spasmed. The orc dropped with me, twisting his blade, and blood poured into my armor. I flailed at my assailant with my uninjured hand, panicking as my vision swam and my health blinked down in the HUD.

Michael Peters

HP: 45/200

MP: 15/20

He twisted his sword again, prompting a fresh groan and another wave of blood, and another ten health points dropped off. There was too much going on! I was getting overwhelmed. Sitting at home in front of my computer, tanking had been so easy: Identify the targets, keep their attention, pick up adds, and call for heals when my health got low. I could keep an eye on everything at once from a bird’s-eye view over my character’s shoulder. Now there was so much to track, and all of it in first-person while also suffering from the real pain of my injuries, however muted: I had to pay attention to the girl—Where is she now?—, my health, the orcs, my equipment—Where the hell did my shield go?—, the condition of my limbs, my skills—

Of course! My skills. I’d forgotten all about them in the frenzied back and forth of the fight, because I still wasn’t used to being able to summon magic with a thought, but I still had most of my magic left. And better yet, Smite was off cooldown.

I focused my will and once again brought the golden bolt of smiting force crashing down onto the orc’s head. The glittering, translucent column passed harmlessly through me, but drove my foe down further, stunned, and I staggered away and yanked the sword from my wound as he reeled from my magic. It clattered to the ground beside me as I gasped for breath and searched for the mage. Where had she gone? Had she just been going to let me die?

When I saw her sitting on the ground with her eyes closed, hands resting lightly on her knees while her staff balanced across her lap, I was furious.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted. “Help me out here!”

She didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at me. I couldn’t believe it. Who decides that the right time to take a little break is in the middle of a raging fight? But there’d be time to scold her after the orc was dead and I was safe.

I placed my left hand over the still-bleeding gash at my armpit and used the last of my mana to cast Light Healing. More golden light flowed out of my hand and surrounded my entire shoulder in a gleaming nimbus of holy energy. As the wound closed and the flow of blood ceased, I began to breathe more easily. It had only been thirty health points, and I was still in rough shape, but at least I wasn’t bleeding anymore. I grabbed my shield while the orc shook off my stun and rose once again, replacing his lost sword with a discarded blade from one of his dead companions, and I checked my status in the HUD.

Michael Peters

HP: 65/200

MP: 0/20

Not good. Out of mana, out of tricks. Less than half my health points left, facing an enemy two levels higher, and suffering from dozens of small nicks and cuts. Neither health nor mana appeared to regenerate in combat, and the only thing I had going for me was that the orc was wounded too. I wet my lips nervously and advanced with my shield held high and my sword raised overhead like a Roman centurion, prepared for a killing downward thrust. But one slip and I’d be toast. I couldn’t afford to take a cut to the head or to have another blade slip past my armor with my health this low.

Then the orc did… something. I don’t know what, exactly, but it looked like a skill which involved lowering his swords to his sides and howling toward the sky—or rather, the ceiling, in this cramped dungeon. His body erupted with a brief burst of flame, cauterizing all his open wounds, and when it faded away, the flames remained burning on his blades… and in his eyes. His movement quickened as he brandished his newly burning swords at me, and I suspected he’d healed considerably.

“Shit,” I breathed.

Then he rushed toward me, moving at nearly twice his prior speed, dark steel blades whirling in a flying blender of fire and death. There was no opening to stab at. Engaging him in melee right now would be moronic. But did I have a choice? I held my ground, gritted my teeth, and braced for the terrifying dervish to slam into me, hoping I could land a lucky blow before he finished me.

He came so close that I felt the terrible heat of those flames radiating off of his weapons, and then another whitish-blue bolt of frost exploded into his face, hitting him so hard that his head jerked backward with a sickening crack of twisted spine snapping. He dropped to the ground like a string-severed puppet, the fire on his blades dying alongside the fire in his eyes.

I spun to see the girl standing in a heroic post, right arm thrust out toward the dead orc and staff tucked underneath the crook of her left arm. She held my gaze as she straightened, smirking, and nonchalantly lifted two fingers to her lips to blow across the top of them like she was clearing the gunsmoke from the barrel of a pistol.

Killed: Orcs (3). XP +75, Gold +45.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

“You took long enough,” I snapped. “What the hell were you doing? He almost got me!”

“But he didn’t get you.” She shrugged, still smirking. “You’re fine, aren’t you? I don’t usually worry about taking care of other perfectly functional adults.”

I glared. “You couldn’t toss a few more of those arcane missiles a little earlier and finish the fight?”

Now her smile dropped, and her eyes blazed. “Dude. We can’t see their health points. I only have so much mana. If I had blown my load, and it didn’t finish him, and then you died, since for all I know you’re a fuckwit, then I’d be defenseless and also dead. Instead I let you keep them busy while I meditated, which is a skill you don’t have, probably, and got enough mana back to save your ass and protect myself. Good ‘nuff? Or do I need to explain basic group tactics to you?”

I opened my mouth to argue, hesitated, and then snapped my jaw shut. I sheathed my sword while I considered her answer. This chick was really abrasive, but her explanation was logical. I guess I preferred to have a competent, strategic player at my back than an airheaded bimbo—even if she was kind of a bitch.

“Good thing I’m not a fuckwit,” I grumbled. “What’s your name, anyway?” But even as I asked the question, my HUD answered it for me, now that I’d been staring at her for more than a brief second. The tiny blue pinprick appeared and expanded out into the standard info box I was becoming accustomed to:

Haley

LVL 1 Mage

HP: 100/100

MP: 25/60

She responded anyway, her confident smirk returning. “I’m Haley.” She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Michael Peters. I’m the best damn mage you’ll ever meet.”

It was a little unsettling that she knew my name already, but she had a holo-lens over her left eye just like I did, apparently feeding her the same kinds of information. I took her hand and shook it. Her purple, cotton glove looked tiny in my huge, steel gauntlet. Now that the battle was over and my adrenaline was cooling, I noticed little things about her which I hadn’t before, like how pretty she was. Everyone would be attractive here, probably—why would you make an ugly avatar when you have to wear it?—but I liked this girl’s style, despite her annoying attitude. She had long, flame-red hair tied back into a tight ponytail, light blue eyes not dissimilar from my own, and a cute dusting of pink freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose. She was slim, with only a small swell at her chest and hips, and her whole manner radiated energy. She held herself with the haughty swagger of someone who likes a good fight… and is willing to make one happen if nothing presents itself.

“That’s good to know,” I replied neutrally. “Do you know anything about this place?”

She shrugged again. “Probably not any more than you. Mysterious game console, right? Ataraxia? Got sucked in? Weird tutorial?” When I nodded, she continued. “Yeah. Me too. Dunno. I’m a gamer, I assume you are. It looks like they stuck us together, whoever ‘they’ are, so let’s watch each other’s backs, okay? I’m playing to win.”

Her short, clipped manner of speech was weird, and she talked really fast, but I wasn’t about to turn down a new partner who’d already proven that she had some skill. “All right,” I said. “But I followed my sister here, and I need to find her. You haven’t seen anyone else, have you?”

She shook her head. “You’re the first player. Otherwise it’s just been some goblins.” Her eyes darkened. “Those sticks… uh, they really hurt. Thank goodness for Mend, right?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. A chill ran over me as I thought about Brianna facing the goblins alone again, and a pang of sympathy for this Haley girl tugged at my heart. She’d been through everything I had. So she was a little rough. Was that so bad?

“Anyway,” she continued. “There must be other players. Right? It doesn’t make sense that there would only be two of us. Come on! We won’t find them standing here.”

Before I could reply she was striding confidently off toward the orc tunnel.

“H-hey! Wait a minute!” I cried, chasing after her. Man, this girl is as much of a handful as my sister. Maybe more. “I have more questions for you!”

“Keep up,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t wait around for slow people.”