I entered the arena, the cheers and jeers of the crowd filling the air with toxic electricity. This is where it had all begun, where I had taken my first step as a world champion.

This had been a small shop in the back of my best friend’s house. His father owned a small trading card company and used the room in the back to hold tournaments, but no one knew it would grow to this size. This area used to be a small gym with four benches lining the edge of it, but as my reputation grew, I invested whatever winnings I got back into the shop. Now it was a six-story octagon, with a penthouse suite on the fifth and sixth floors.

To say that my earnings were extravagant would be an understatement. Between 5 Olympic Gold medals, 12 World Titles, 30 National Titles, and more small-time championships than I can count, I have amassed more than 750 million dollars; enough to build and brand this stadium and still have money left over. Even so, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. I’d been through hell and high water, and with no family, I lived with my friend until I was 18. I built this stadium as a parting gift, and now it is being used as the venue for the Chess Grandmaster’s Tournament.

The stadium is a four-tiered octagon, the fourth floor being the largest. There are 128 tables lining the edge of the arena, arranged so that their numbers decreased until only one table remained on the first floor. My opponent and I stood on opposite sides of the lone table, staring daggers at each other that pierced through even the oppressive air of the crowd. He, on the white side, and I, on the black.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

“Fancy meeting you here, Henry,” I told him. He was tall and slender, with blonde hair and hazel eyes. A real pretty boy, if you ask me. We had faced each other in many aspects, but never chess until this tournament.

“It’s only natural.” He said with a slight smirk. It wasn’t much, but it made me laugh.

“You know, it’s almost like you know where I’ll strike next before I do, and it’s starting to get old,” I told him.

Henry Concord was not the brightest bulb in the box, but he was oddly keen when it came to predictive analytics. He was always off in his own world, mumbling things about the gods and other weird things. His results were good, though, so I dealt with it. He grunted, then sneered. “Says the man who’s got me beat at everything.”

We shook hands firmly and then took our seats, quietly awaiting the judge's direction. The judge looked at us.

“Are both parties ready?” “Yes.” We said, and the games began.