Three hours later, Brock threw himself onto the perfect grass, wheezing heavily. He was sweaty, exhausted, and the smile crossing his face was so wide it threatened to split his head in half.
I'm terrible at soccer, he thought happily, but I'm getting better!
And it was true. For the first time in his life, Brock's body wasn't stuck on the lowest level of athletic competence. His juggling had improved from a single tap back to himself to three consecutive hits consistently, every so often he was able to trap a pass at his feet, and his shots were slowly developing some actual power behind them as Mark and the rest of the Fancy Fleeces explained the basics of how to properly kick a spheroid.
"Not bad, weird-ass Sekkie," Mark declared, sprawling out next to him as other members of the gang followed suit or stumbled over to the pile of water bottles. "You're willing to work hard, I'll give you that. Catch your breath, then we'll get back to your first touch and off-ball movement. We should be able to get at least another credit or two out of that." The mohawked elf groaned, massaging his calves. "Archibald! Is your Refresh skill refreshed yet?"
"Five minutes," the goblin gasped in between gulps of water. "It's my last one for the day, though."
"I thought you said," Brock panted, "that this was a no-skills game."
Mark scoffed at him.
"'No-skills' just means no using skills when you're actually practicing or playing. Recovery's a whole different behemoth. Nothing wrong with getting back out on the pitch faster."
"Uhhh, sure," Brock agreed genially. "Do you think we'll play an actual game today?"
Several of the Fancy Fleeces jeered good-naturedly at him, and Mark cracked a slight smile.
"Weird-ass Sekkie, you're months away from playing in an actual game with us. We haven't even started going over formation shape, or how to identify space."
"How to identify... space?" Brock rolled into a seated position and rubbed at his aching muscles. "What do stars and planets have to do with soccer?"
The group stared at him, then burst into laughter, and Brock soaked it all in. Their mirth wasn't the cruel mockery of fellow teammates who saw him as hopeless, nor was their instruction the banal patience of a suffering teacher stuck with a no hope student. He was far behind on the road they were walking, but it no longer felt like he could never catch up.
"But seriously, what does 'space' mean-"
A heavy rumble cut him off as the floor shook slightly and the overhead lights flickered. Activity stopped on the other two fields, and everyone looked up at the ceiling.
"Friggin explosion assholes are at it again," Archibald muttered, crossing his arms and scowling.
"They're not supposed to set off anything big enough to affect the warding spells," Mark explained, seeing Brock's confused look. Another rumble, even bigger than before set the building visibly swaying, and dust drifted down from the ceiling. "If they keep that up, they're going to get banned permanen-"
A third vibration split the air with the immediacy of presence, a thundercrack rip of sound heralding the explosive destruction of nearly a quarter of the ceiling. Time itself seemed to slow as jagged chunks of stone and warped metal bars peeled open like a flower, starting an inexorable descent, the lights flickering one last time before plunging the broad room into a mess of shadowed corners. Muted sunlight replaced the clean glow, fighting its way through the growing cloud of debris beginning to grow larger in the horrified eyes of the onlookers below. Brock stared at the descending devastation, shocked into stunned immobility, trying to wrap his senses around the abrupt violence.
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One second he'd been having fun. The next, the sky was falling.
A piercing alarm blared from all around, issued from a host of magiphones and hidden wall speakers, and accompanying words appeared in Brock's vision.
"Potential level two Sekkie event detected. Please follow your magiphone to the nearest evacuation route. Potential level two Sekkie event detected. Please follow-"
More explosions appeared in the center of the gaping hole in the ceiling, drowning out the alarm even as the words kept repeating themselves visually, a staccato rip-pop of furious light and noise. A half-seen humanoid figure floated down on a pillar of replenishing flame that constantly renewed itself from the figure's feet.
Brock's main concern, however, was on the small chunks of former architecture that were rapidly turning into quite large chunks of former architecture as they neared the terminal portion of their descent.
Two were directly overhead.
He finally managed to spur his body into motion, scrambling to his feet and ignoring the cramps threatening to seize up his legs.
"Guys! We have to move!" Brock shouted, trying to haul Mark upright. The shadow over them grew larger, causing the evacuation alert to stand out more noticeably.
"Oh shit," Chad the android exclaimed, finally grasping the situation, but even as the group broke their paralysis and stumbled into a belated scramble, Brock realized they weren't going to get out from under the impact zone in time.
What do I do, what do I do-
A tentacleg scythed overhead, one of multiple sprouting extensions whipping out from KB (Administrative)'s bulbous arachnid body, and the threatening tons of masonry were caught and gently settled to the ground, crushing the perfect grass but missing any fatal collisions. Booming laughter sounded from overhead.
"Haha! A worthy sparring partner for Super Explosion Dark Napalmgod appears! You will be a much better test of my skills than those pathetic imitators upstairs!"
The occupants of the practice space looked up in dumbfounded silence, taking in the figure revealed by the rapidly clearing dust. A paunchy, middle-aged man who looked to be in his early fifties hovered in the circular beam of sunlight, constant explosions still reverberating from his bare feet and holding him aloft. An eyemask that looked like two mushroom clouds turned sideways was perched beneath a receding hairline, and bandoliers of cartoonish red dynamite sticks were wrapped around his body in various bandoliers, not quite fitting the ambiance of his floral print shirt and swimtrunks.
KB (Administrative) finished plucking the dangerous falling objects out of the air and retracted itself back into its normal eight-legged configuration, then tilted slightly upward to face the floating man directly.
"Am I speaking to Barry Dullwhite, of Fifty Three West New Faerun?" the robot called out in a neutral tone.
The man threw his hands wide, causing a series of violent explosions to ripple the air around him and further threatening the structural integrity of what remained of the ceiling.
"Barry? Barry Dullwhite?! I am Super Explosion Dark Napalmgod, and finally," another percussive smack of heat and wind, "I have the power I deserve!"
"Confirmed level two Sekkie event detected," the alarm blared out again. "Please follow your-"
A simultaneous ring of detonations caused everyone to flinch, the hidden speakers vanishing in gunshot sprays of shrapnel and gouts of flame. As the smoke cleared, large holes became visible in the walls, which now resembled slices of swiss cheese rather than load-bearing structures. The ruined ceiling gave an ominous groan, gaping cracks spreading meter by meter across the pitted stone.
"Stupid thing," the man said petulantly, spinning in a circle and admiring the destruction. "Such an annoying voice."
"Confirmed level three Sekkie event detected," a voice in Brock's mind chimed, accompanied by a thin line of glowing text. "Evacuate immediately."
The ceiling gave one last soft 'pop,' almost unheard amidst the constant explosions keeping the man aloft, and the ceiling collapsed entirely. KB (Administrative)'s limbs shot out in all directions, transforming from arachnid to sea urchin, each slender spike straining to hold the building together. The man giggled.
"Such a pitiful attack. You didn't even come close to hitting me." He rubbed his hands together. "Let me show you what true power is!"
Three things happened extremely quickly.
An incandescent sphere engulfed KB (Administrative)'s core, throwing the room into stark illumination and blasting everyone's face with a wave of scorching heat.
The countless tentaclegs wobbled, then went limp, falling like overly cooked noodles, followed directly by an avalanche of crumbling building.
A thin metal band dropped into Brock's hand, deposited by a coruscating portal that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. It appeared to be just the right size to fit around the cackling man's neck.