Hong swung the machete to finally bust through the jungle foliage, only for another tree to block his path. Hunching over, he listened to the ends of each breath collapsing into a wheeze. Again? There’s no use, I have to double back and find another way. The tree stood there, outstretched and menacing, and Hong lashed out at it. He cut it once, twice, the shock of striking thick bark reverberating through his wrist, but stopped just short of a third hit. He buckled, holding himself in. Hong wasn’t a mean person; he wouldn’t let his anger dictate his life. This skill he had built up since adolescence, a muscle he could squeeze to contract his feelings in at any time, but recently his control had been slipping. Recently, his feelings were too heavy not to drop.

Thick heat. Dirt. Sweat. Mud. Hong raised his machete, alert to the crunching steps of something coming from behind.

“Ey kid, having some trouble?” It was just one of the fellows of the expedition.

Hong relaxed. “Fine,” he said and nodded towards the tree. The fellow gave a knowing shrug, and Hong couldn’t help but smile with him. He was a nice guy. Sure, Hong was almost 30 at this point so the ‘kid’ thing was awkward, but the Battle Royale had spawned him inside a younger body, and honestly, he wouldn’t complain about the surplus of energy that came with it.

Gently grabbing Hong’s shoulder, the fellow pointed some distance ahead to the thickest tree, the one that stood out most in the distance. “Don’t walk blindly ahead,” he said, with a forward chop, “Plot a course, and travel between two fixed points.” He rapped Hong’s tree twice with his knuckles. “Got it?”

He turned and walked back, motioning for Hong to follow him through the passage in the undergrowth. “Oh, and cut only what you need to cut. Make a trail for yourself, don’t worry about others, if it’s good they will expand upon it.”

The fellow didn’t wait for Hong’s confirmation. In fact, he had this uncanny ability to read exactly what he was thinking. Wiping his brow off his long-sleeve, Hong tagged on behind.

He didn’t intent to actually go along with this expedition when he first spawned in. Hong didn’t even realize Bilgewater had jungle, always in the background, he supposed. As exhausting as it was to traverse, he was kind of glad he didn’t have to do the monotonous rigmarole of a Battle Royale. A jungle expedition? Now this was something new, environment and sensations both. Experienced not through a monitor and copious amounts of clicking but with the broad spectrum of the senses. And with the addition of this fellow that just accepted him for who he was, it was the most fun Hong had in years, maybe only comparable to the highs of his pro career.

As the pair walked in a pressure-free silence, Hong still couldn’t believe that the once low-budget company of his youth had transformed into a global entity that could make this.

Thank God, he thought, Once the new game is out I won’t have to feel guilty for not playing League. Re-invigorated, Hong marched up to the expedition fellow.

Once they almost reached the main clearing again, Hong had a thought. “If this is a big harvest, will we need to make a return trip?”

The fellow pulled at his leathery chin. “You may be right –Wait.” Dropping to a crouch, the fellow held out a hand to stop him.

“What’s wrong?” Hong asked, trying to peer around.

The fellow drew his own machete, carefully treading forward. Taking the cue, Hong readied himself too. The bright clearing illuminated several fallen bodies. Seeing this, they sprung forward at once, charged with emotion.

Coconuts lay scattered, joining the dots between the rest of the expedition party. All dead in bloodless execution. The fellow slunk to his knees, wailing, calling their names like they were just stubborn children playing a game. With his grip painfully tight on his machete, Hong circled the slaughter, blood pumping, fuming for his friend’s loss, family’s loss, angry at himself because he already knew by the lack of struggle that this was another player’s doing. An experienced one, and there were many of that type…This was Hong’s fault; it’s him they were hunting.

He checked every angle for clues. But between the roots, shoots, vines and tall grass, he was completely out of his depth in finding a trail. The fellow could’ve done it, sure, but how could he be so cold as to pull him out of his grief? And tell him what, that this was the doing of some entity outside his realm? Shit. Shit. Hong felt so useless, no knowledge, no idea who exactly he was fighting and what kind of weapon or skill they possessed. He knew he needed to focus, that this was no time for random fits. He squeezed that muscle, pushed it all down. But the feelings kept coming out again; a psychological hernia. Pulling back his machete, it was taking all he had not to start slashing the nearest brush -but then Hong found something.

Small glittering thorns, leading a trial through a clump of high grass. Parting a few feet of it, Hong fixed the direction in his head and began to slice his way forward.

*

After a certain point, Hong barely needed the machete. As long as he kept his momentum he could barrel through most of the greenery, letting his long-sleeved shirt take the swipes and tears, only resorting to the weapon when he got snagged. Finding the easy path slowly became natural too, the thinner patches appearing in a different shade. With that sense of progress, hope lurched in Hong.

Soon, upright trees became sparser, and mud and fallen trunks became the norm, the challenge now turned to keeping his feet. Throughout it all, though, the shiny thorns marked the path every few feet like road dividers.

Climbing over a dead trunk that was nearly twice his height, Hong believed he must’ve been close. And, he prayed that this murderer didn’t anticipate being followed. Slipping down the other side, Hong grabbed the nearest branch for a handhold. Instead, he found a pommelled leather grip. He hung there, feet just off the ground in absolute awe.

Of all of the things to finds in Runeterra, he had to find this fucking axe. He pulled down, spinning to a landing with the Ironspike Greataxe; the weapon of the champion he was famous for playing. And was given immediate reason to use it.

As a figure ran out towards him, Hong slid back his feet, visualizing the arc of the swing, ready to cleave through–

-a small blonde boy? He was sweaty, and marred in blood. His eyes bulged further from his tiny head when he saw Hong. “My brothers. He killed them. Mister, please, he’s coming!”

Hong faltered. But only for a moment; this was too much of a coincidence. If he had spawned in a younger body, others could have too. And this was precisely the type of tactic he, or rather, other pro players would use. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but Hong angled the Greataxe down to hit a child, and twisted.

“STOP!”

The voice was instantly recognisable as the expedition fellow, and Hong couldn’t help but obey -to the relief of the child, too scared to move. Or too stubborn?

“I know you’re angry, but this is just an innocent kid, kid,” the fellow told Hong, “How could he have possibly been responsible for…what we saw? Look at him.” Passing under the blade of the axe, the fellow embraced the lying bastard child.

“Step away! He’s dangerous, you don’t understand!” Hong warned. “He’s not—” Not from this place? Not an NPC, like you? How do I explain? Damn it, I don’t want this journey to end so soon.

“Oh, come on, have a heart. What proof have you that he could be involved?”

Proof? The golden thorns! Hong leapt over and searched the ground for a hint, a speck of gold. But there was none. Hoisting his Greataxe as a warning, Hong grabbed at the lying child. “He has it. Proof! He’s hiding it on him!”

The fellow thunked Hong. An open-handed punch square over his nose, causing him to stumble. “He’s a child! Has there not been enough death here today?”

Clutching his face, Hong turned red. Not from blood. No, no, from embarrassment. Watching the tears in the child eyes as he clutched the ragged shirt of the fellow, he slumped, sliding down against the massive trunk. Again, he had let anger force his hand. Again he shamed himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, planting the blade of his axe into the soft ground. “I was only trying to…I was certain I was right.”

“You should trust your gut more.”

Hong sprung up, but his Greataxe was lodged. The kid. He held the fellow by the neck from behind. With a thrust, golden light exploded out the fellow’s side and he drooped, the life purged from him. Roaring, Hong pulled at his axe with all his weight before the child could retreat into the jungle. And as he did, he realised what he had missed. The proof that he wanted.

Behind every step, the child left a few discoloured blades of grass, the clumps larger and the stalks higher where he had lingered. It’s exactly what he had been following. Exactly what allowed him to remain hidden; the Great Forest Spirit’s ability. He was a player, not an innocent. With a last tug, Hong regarded the fellow, allowing him a solemn moment, then ripped the Greataxe free to begin pursuit.

This time, the jungle seemed to be avoiding Hong, rather than the other way around. Axe levelled at his hip as he sprinted, he followed the ominous grass. Only the grass. Thorns flew past. Thickets thickened. Animals left and right were drawn to the hunt. He didn’t care.

Until the grass trail ended. A circular brush two paces wide. But no boy. No target for Hong to unleash his rage.

He knew he should focus. He used to be a pro player; he could tell when he was being outplayed. Turning and turning and turning, Hong searched for the damn kid, the player that had ruined his only good experience in years. In years! Sweating. Panting. Struggling to keep track of all the sounds; the rustling of the grass under his feet; birds above, mammals below; any slight movement, any opportunity for him to split this player’s skull –Focus! Hong! Rein it in! You can’t fail. This isn’t pro play, you can’t dissapoint him. You can’t miss this revenge- Snapping his eyes shut, Hong flexed that muscle, trying to unspool the many threads, the many lines of thought that angered him. Teeth clenched, he wrangled with his mind.

Be relaxed! Be professional! Stop having fun! This is serious! You can’t hold down a real job! What will you do without me? Where will you go?

The anger, the memories. They were stuck. Tied back too far and they wouldn’t let go. They were everywhere, and it was like only now they had measurable feeling and meaning, weight on Hong that wasn’t just pressure and guilt. So many things he had avoided for the sake of financial stability. For the first time in his life, Hong unleashed his anger freely.

Shredded grass rose and rained down all around.

And beyond that, the blonde kid. He pelted thorns at Hong, and they hit him like golden tears. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Kneeling and holding no weapon, Hong hurt, but felt happy. He bled, but he laughed. “You took out the expedition with one thorn each, yet I’m still alive?”

The kid withdrew a machete; the fellows. He was methodical. No anger in his eyes. No strained muscle.

“This game is balanced around us,” Hong told him, “Not the NPC’s.”

“Of course,” said the kid. He kicked the Greataxe out of Hong’s reach and circled around, pressing the blade to his back.

“What do you think the real world is balance around?” Hong asked.

The pressure lifted off his skin as the kid thought. “Money?”

“You sound just like my dad.”

The machete struck once, twice, then a third time. Hong left Bilgewater and started a new life.