The beautiful holy creature of God and the Celestial choir had given me a control deck. I smiled as an idiot in love as I browsed the cards. The curve ended at eight. There was removal, card draw, and beefy wincons with enough text in their boxes to fill a fantasy trilogy.

I checked my undies. Still dry. Good, I was getting better at gawking at perfect works of the deckbuilding arts.

“Are you okay, master?” asked Blacky, eventually, bringing me back to Ear… back to however the place I was in was called.

“Yes, it’s just that I am thinking about how to play this deck.”

“Come on, it practically plays itself.”

The manual manifested in front of me once more.

3200, what do you say? 3200 and we forget this ever happened.

The warden started laughing as I read out loud.

“Desperate, aren’t you, Canela?”

“Canela? The goddess is called like a fucking spice or like a fucking poodle named after a fucking spice?”

I am Xin’Amon, the first cardmaker! Mother of Probabilities, Lady luck herself!

Yep, she was named after a fucking spice. I separated the kibble cards from the rest of the deck.

6400 mayhap? Come on, that’s enough for 21 card packs in your current situation.

“Warden, why is she insisting so much about me forfeiting your quest?”

“The deck has one card of my making. If I get players to successfully play it, that will pressure her to include it on the game and give it for free to all the beta testers. And she hates that.”

I raised my gaze from the deck up to him “Wouldn’t that cause balance issues?”

“I and the Clerk are the balance department, so to speak.”

“You mean a goddess of chance sucks at balancing a card game?”

The warden produced a coin from below his plates tossed it into the air. “She lives in a world where tossed coins always fall on the side she calls. A world where she gets six on the dice if she needs a six, or one if she needs a one. She lacks the human perspective on how to play card games. For her, playing card games is, ironically, a deterministic thing.”

“How many gamble cards did you have to ungamble?”

“Half the game initially asked for coin tosses, throwing dice, or calling the upper card of the deck. It was a mess.”

The Manual popped in front of me.

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TWENTY THOUSAND POINTERINOS ewe. You will have food for a week or more! May even get an harem of cute monster girls! Buy that mulligan! Any of the structure decks, too.

The warden placed his big hand-paw on my shoulder. “I won’t get mad if you accept the offer, you know?”

“I can either please the deity that made me a prisoner forced to play a card game for food, or the son of a bitch that keeps me hostage in his games by denying my surrenders. And you know what, Warden?” I gave him a thumbs up. “I’d do the same to you if I had counterspell cards.”

He slapped me playfully, and I felt the bones of my skull debating if they should just give up. I fell over the cat litter. The world was spinning, The Warden was spinning, Flat-Earthers and heliocentrists being debunked left and right. Creation was Shibainucentrist. The cards spread on the sand as I groaned in pain.

“Ups.”

“You could try not killing my masters for a change,” casually dropped Blacky.

“He still breathes.”

Blacky lowered his ears and sat on the floor, dejected. “I wanted to eat his corpse.”

“I am… unedible.” I said as I sat and silently prayed for reality to stop spinning.

“Ah. Shit.” Blacky so gracefully discoursed.

“Are you still up for testing the deck?” Asked the Warden.

I looked at him, caressing my swollen cheek. Then I gave him a second thumbs up. “Bring it on.”

The gamefield was set upon us again. This time, the sea disappeared properly, and the floor became that smoot surface under a thin veil. I drew my hand with haste, jumping in place like a child whose candy was about to be stolen but not quite there yet. Deal 3 damage to a unit for two. Draw three for three kibble and three health points. My units were understated, the joy!

I won the coin toss, invested and finished my turn by drawing from my normal deck.

“Why are your facial muscles so tense?” Asked the warden.

My teeth grinded against each other as I smiled as a madman.

“Play your pathetic cards, Warden. Play them so I can fucking send them to the grave!”

He shook his head. “Control players, I swear…”

He played a 1 cost 2/2 GBG rarity card: Sir Pugilist. It was a pug dressed like a professional boxer. Not the dog, the men who hit each other for money. Hit each other, not hit on each other. That’s gay dating apps. I digress. The pug wore tiny boxing gloves and a champion’s belt with gold engravings.

I looked at my life total: 24. The Warden had 26. I focused on the pug to read its effects.

Whenever a pug goes from the field to the rainbow bridge, deal 1 damage to the opponent, or 2 if it was due to breathing issues. When I get farmsent due to breathing issues, return me to the field. Breathing Issues.

The anime villain inside me was laughing and monologuing about potato chips. It was going to die, and it was going to suffer, and … I would be behind on tempo when I killed it. But who cared? Not me. Control was never about winning. Is always about the other person losing. Losing their units, losing their time, losing their sanity. My win condition could have been late game threats, but my true victory would be making the Warden feel slightly miserable. No fault of my own, thought, he knew what this deck packed.

And I didn’t know what his did. A huge disadvantage.

AS the warden drew form the kibble deck and my turn started, I considered my hand carefully. Chewed cable could kill his pugilist, but it was a split second spell. I could use it in the enemy turn just as well. I drew from my kibble deck, finishing the turn.

The Warden played two Pugmellers (1 cost 3/1, Breathing Issues) and attacked with Pugilist. I played my spell, and a nude wire connected to an electrical outlet appeared on the field, having an irresistible allure for Sir Pugilist. He walked up to it with his champion gait, and proceeded to chew the copper. What happened after was the time-tested story of toddlers and forks.

I began dancing to my inner cumbión. Palms, palms, palms, whoever doesn’t applaud is a Chinese Crested.

From The Warden’s Rainbow Bridge a little boxing glove flew up to my face.

WARDEN: 26

MAURO: 23

My turn arrived and I played the kibble card. I pondered about my hand for a moment. Even letting the cards go and float in place to make a planning gesture with both hands. You know, middle and ring fingers extended in front of mouth, rest crossed.

I raised a card aloft and laughed maniacally. “Prepare to lose, Warden!”

“Helping mendog?” he asked, tired of my bullshit.

“Yes.”

I played my 3 cost 2/1 with the following Walkies effect: Draw a card, heal 2.

The robotic, lamp-eyed Beagle appeared on the field and it printed a card for me, the question of when he took it out of my deck remaining a mystery.

Then it slapped a band aid on my face.

WARDEN: 26

MAURO: 25

I drew from my kibble deck and ended the turn. This deck made me feel things no man should. And I liked it.