"And who, might I ask, dares to enter my study unannounced?"

"Your great great aunt Rita. Who else you think, dumb dumb?"

"Interesting.." The Count gives a twirl to his tea, taps the little spoon on the side of the cup and delicately places it on the saucer underneath. "I thought this day might come, although I am a bit surprised to meet you on such short notice."

"They say YOU'RE one of the chosen?" I say in a forced accent. "Have the Gods become so blaaaa blaaa blaaaaa…" I open and close my hand repeatedly, my fingers mirroring my words like a disembodied mouth.

"AND THEY SAY.." He slams his fists on the table and swipes everything on the floor. The steaming cup of tea shatters in a million pieces. "YOU'RE one of the chosen?? Before the collapse, the Kingdom was filled with Heroes so grandiose that the sole mention of their names made the ground shake under our feet. Have the Gods become so bored that they bestow their powers to any vagabond that walks under the sky??"

"If I keep it up all day, do you think I'll be able to recite it back perfectly on the last go?" I raise my eyebrows and look to the upper right corner of my eyes, where Dahlia's icon is displayed.

"I can cast Sage's Wisdom if you want. With an intelligence buff, you should learn it almost instantly." Her voice resonates in my head.

"I'd prefer if you kept your mana points for other more important spells instead. If you don't mind, that is."

"Yeah, no, you're right. Careful, there. He's almost done monologuing."

While Dahlia and I were talking, he looped around the table where he sat to stare at the dying cinders in the fireplace. Hands joined behind his back, he fell silent for a moment, having controlled his temper. I retrieve two throwing daggers from my thigh.

“You shall pay with your..”

“BLOOD!” I yell the word at him while he only whispers it back to me.

I brace myself and wait for the cutscene to end. As his hand reaches for the walking stick set against the wall, there is a slight shift in his animation frame. I release the tension and successively throw the daggers at his back ; one jamming itself in his back, right by his shoulder blade, the other tracing a bright red streak across his left cheek before bouncing off the brick wall behind him. He turns around to face me as I quickly retrieve another one, stepping back and sending it towards his leg. Miss. His study, a circular room plastered with bookshelves, is quite small. I take another step back, quickly turning my head, knowing I’ll soon have to change my tactic.

I cross my arms to reach the clipped satchels on my hips, flicking a firebomb at his feet. Blinded by the flash, he stumbles, his overcoat scorched by the flames, then stumbles again as I attempt to chain as many bombs as I can before the AI decides to change it’s course of action. He tumbles to the side to dodge the fifth one, flips his cane in the air and grabs it back onto the opposite side. Hooking the handle onto a nearby chair, he hurls it at me with surprising strength for a man of his build. I roll out of the way and towards him. As my feet come in contact with the floor once more, I unsheath my scimitar and dash past him, using my momentum to slash across his chest.

A roar of pain erupts in the room. I step away to let my stamina regenerate but his riposte comes faster than I expected. I telegraph the leg sweep and jump over it but the shove takes me by surprise. The blunt end of his cane hits me square in the chest and I fall heavily on the floor at his feet. The air gushes the last bit of stamina I had out of my lungs and I lay there, gasping for breath, waiting for the debuff to wear off. He powerwalks the remaining distance between us and unscrews the tip of his walking stick to reveal a thin blade resembling a rapier hidden inside.

Dahlia panics in my head. “Get up! Get up!”

“I can’t! I’m out of breath, if I move now my stamina will go negative and I’ll be debuffed even longer!”

“Can you at least dodge… Watch out!”

With blinding speed, the blade arcs down to my right and cuts cleanly through my leather armor, sectioning my arm. My vision turns to red, black spots fill my field of view. Dahlia finally decides to cast a restoring charm and energy again flows through my body. Before the blade hits again, I dodgeroll, grabbing my scimitar on my way, and stand up again to face him. My weapon feels out of place in my left hand. My fingers are restless, trying to get a better grip. I stretch my maimed shoulder as I stare back at the lifeless limb that now encumbers the floor of the study.

“Is that all you can do?” I tease him. At least I don’t have to worry about blood loss. Without even looking, I can feel the wound has healed already, leaving behind nothing more than a rounded stump. “I don’t need two hands to fight you.”

“My ethereal sword is unaffected by that leather armor of yours, Rogue. Carving your flesh is as easy as cutting through butter with a heated blade.”

I anchor my feet to the ground and brace my body for a high jump. I leap into the air for a heavy strike, instinctively raising my stump, wishing to be of use in this usually two-handed attack. I tense my body, hurling my blade towards him and bracing for impact. Using the rigid outer casing of his cane, he effortlessly deflects my effort, my scimitar popping off of my grasp. I land in front of him empty handed, one knee to the ground, frozen in place for 2 seconds because of his successful parry. Seeing him winding up for a big strike, I try in vain to free myself from the stasis, anxiety rising up in my throat. His entire body contorts in anticipation of the strike, like he's wielding a heavy two handed sword. He spins around and brings the blade down across my legs, throwing me to the ground.

Staggered and panicking, I struggle to pull myself away from him. Pushing on the floor with my only hand and the calf of my right leg, I watch him slowly cast his shadow over me. He secures his blade back into its sheath and kneels to come at my height. Right as he is about to begin talking, I put my weight onto my arm stump and unclip a poison dagger secured at my side. This attempt, heroic as it was, is nothing more than futile. Without breaking a sweat, he catches my wrist halfway through my movement to take a look at the greenish blade. With an unsatisfied pout, he pulls out a dagger himself and slices my hand off. I bring my stump to my chest, pressing the fingerless appendage against the leather straps on my chest. He brings the dagger to my neck.

“Now die.”

His face is deformed with hate. His entire body tenses under the effort and I see the kinetic energy bring channeled through the muscles of his arm from his shoulder. Right before the dagger slits my throat… he freezes. The glowing embers in the fireplace stop moving and so do the flames on the candlesticks that are scattered across the room. The only thing I can hear is the dusty air coming in and out of my lungs. I take a moment to collect myself. My chest is restless, fighting to catch my breath again. The Count is still leaning over me, his face still frozen in the same expression of determined anger.

“Strike one.” I say.

"They aren't getting easier, aren't they.." Dahlia materializes beside me and flies up to him.

“The enemies in here always remind me of these old games my dad used to talk to me about.” I slowly back out from the immobile blade, dragging myself away with difficulty. “Have you ever played any Dark Souls games?”

“I know them by name, but I’ve never actually played any of them. I’m not into retro gaming that much. Or at least not as much as you.” She flicks a finger on the Count’s dagger to produce a soft metallic tone.

“He made me play the first one. Dates back to 2011, so good luck on finding a system that can still run it. My dad kept all the old consoles he had when growing up. He made me play on his PS3.”

She turns to me with a look of surprised disgust. “With a controller?” Her brows burrow deep on the delicate lines of her character model.

I scoff. “Yeah.” I rub my stumps together, thinking about the fingers I don’t have for it. “It’s not nearly as immersive as this..” I flap my right arm like a shortened fin, meaning to show around the room. “But there was an ambiance to it. Everything’s heavy. The atmosphere, the world, the hope your character has for success.”

“Geez, great game.” She flies back to me and opens up my character menu. “Careful, I’m resetting.”

“Go ahead.”

I extend my arms and legs in front of me as she touches the interface. From all around the room, my severed limbs come to life. They softly glide towards me and reattach themselves on their respective spots. With both of my hands back, I chafe my left wrist to help restore my sensations.

“In the first game, you have no map, no tutorial, no help at all. It’s you against the game. The game is ruthless, unfair. You learn by dying and trying again.”

“Good thing we’re not stuck over there. The dying part would become problematic the first time it would happen.”

“Exactly.” I stand back up and kick the empty air. “Enemies hit hard. One wrong move and you get hit. Two in a row and you’re dead. Just like in here.”

The frozen model of The Count starts evaporating. As the pixels rise in the air, they disappear phasing out of the ceiling, the burn marks of my firebombs vanish from the charred wood. Still set in front of Dahlia, I can see my inventory filling back up.

I roll my shoulders. “Again.”

A blue shimmer runs along the walls of the study. The Count and his cup of tea respawn, still on the chair and table respectively.

"And who, might I ask, dares to enter my study unannounced?"

In my head, I picture the first few seconds of the fight again. The dagger and firebombs are good, I think. It’s not much but it still allows me to get a tenth of his HP off before he even gets a chance to touch me.

"And who, might I ask, dares to enter my study unannounced?" After waiting for my response for 5 seconds, the voice line cycled back and triggered once more.

“Oh right, um…” I clear my throat…

“YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE!” Dahlia yells at the top of her lungs. Her small size makes her angry voice sound ridiculous and I can’t help myself from laughing. “Stop that! We’re gonna kick his ass!

"Interesting.." The Count gives a twirl to his tea, taps the little spoon on the side of the cup and delicately places it on the saucer underneath. "I thought this day might come, although I am a bit surprised to meet you on such short notice."

While he does his thing, I go through the motions again. I look around me. I could wack him across the head with a chair or one of the heavy candle holders, it has good range. But what good can blunt damage do? Surely not any better than my blades…

“You shall pay with your blood…”

“Here we go.”

Both daggers fly off and jam themselves in the muscles of his back. Just like before, the third one misses its mark. He turns around and I start the barrage of firebombs, this time managing to throw one more than before, dealing just a little bit more damage. He flips his cane in the air, catches it by the opposite end, and hooks the handle on a nearby chair. I roll forward to dodge it flying towards me and again slash across his chest with my scimitar as I run past him.

This time, I put some distance back between us and analyze the situation. Despite his burned overcoat, he emanates elegance. His stride is calculated, aristocratic. With an audible click, he unsheathes his sword.

"EEK!!!" Dahlia is overcome with fear and dematerializes, flying inside my ear right as her body starts evaporating.

One step forward, one step back, I try to bait out an attack to give me an opening… but he doesn't bite. I charge towards him and roll to the side at the last second. His blade whistles past my ears and dives again quickly. I deflect it with my own once, twice, then dive once more as the final hit of his combo misses me by an inch. His weapon smashes down with force on the table behind me. Dahlia’s spell refreshes my stamina bar to full and I position myself. I unleash a flurry of quick attacks on his back, slashing, cutting, butchering his flesh like my life depends on it, all the while keeping close watch on his effort to retrieve his sword. On the third attempt, he abandons trying to dislodge his weapon and headbutts the table instead, shattering the wood, and turns towards me.

As the final slice hits him, he staggers. Down on his knees, he watches me as I prepare for my own powerful attack, putting as much strength as I can into a single strike. I sink my scimitar deep into his chest. One third of his health bar vanishes without a trace, bringing him down to a remaining quarter. I stand back, satisfied, to let my stamina recharge as he gets on his feet again.

But there's something wrong with his animation. Instead of supporting himself on his knee with both hands to push himself up, he brings his other hand on the hilt of his sword and thrusts it directly through my thigh. He swishes and flicks it out of my flesh to cut it out from under me. I fall out of balance to the side, hitting my elbow on the ground with all my weight. By the time I see his blade rushing down towards me, it's already too late. I raise my sword to try a parry but my timing is terrible. It passes right through my forearm and stops 1 mm before hitting my skull.

Just like before, everything in the study has frozen. I hit the ground with my stump.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!! I almost had him!”

“You should have stepped back, you were way too close to him.”

“There's only a 10 % chance of using that attack when I'm up close. Otherwise I had a pretty good window for a few more good hits until he could retaliate. Maybe even swipe for poison damage, then I run around until he dies from it.. Or try a parry just in case, then…”

“Well maybe, but now you're dead.”

“But I had him! Damn it, I had him! He had so little HP left. If only RNG could be on our side for once…” I let myself roll on my back to look at the ceiling, where Dahlia flies up followed by the shimmering particles that materialize her body once again.

“You can't rely on RNG when our lives are on the line, Prim. When we decide we're ready to fight him out of the Practice Tool, are you gonna bet our lives on a 10% chance of actually dying?” She looks around at the room, as if searching for a secret entrance. “I’d rather rely on your skills than on the game’s randomness.”

“Yeah, me too.”

I throw my arms upwards as I tense my abs and sit back up, unexpectedly drooping to the right. The Count’s blade ran through the hidden pocken of one of my knives and it slipped out, no longer secured by the latch. The rip is clean, the edge of the leather still smooth under my fingertips. Beneath it, a short stump cowers. I run my hand against it as I myself take in the room around me. It’s been a dozen times today already. What am I expecting to find?

“Ok, so what if…” I put my hand on the floor and tuck my leg beneath me, holding on to a nearby surviving bookshelf. “Does he break destructibles on purpose ever? Or just when they’re in the way?"

"I don't think any enemy or boss destroys decor elements unless it's in the wake of their hit towards you."

"Then…" I meticulously make my way to the second and only surviving table, one hop at a time. "Back myself up against this one too, get his sword stuck, and hopefully we'll get the window to punish him for his mistake." I set my right hip on its surface. What's left of my leg is so short that I'm not sure if I'm sitting flat on my thigh or on the tip of my stump.

"I like that! That would probably mean another stagger, another critical strike, and a first successful clear!"

She comes charging in, both hands in front of her, and I instinctively raise my right arm for a high five. Before the collision even happens, we're already laughing about it. I relieve an itch on my cheek and set my stump on the table, right beside my empty hip.

Dahlia resets my body and the room before turning back to me.

"Again?"

I tighten the leather straps on my thighs. "Again."